Bernard O'Shea: There's no place for crayons in adult colouring
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Last week we were on a little holiday down the country. We decided to rent a mobile home by the beach to keep the cost down and cook at home. What transpired was us eating out nearly every day.
The thought of cooking the same meals for your kids on your holiday does not make it a holiday anymore. That was the rationale I convinced myself of. However, I love eating out, and our kids are getting that little bit older now, so dare I say it, we can almost enjoy the experience.
What wasn’t so enjoyable was the frequent quarrels our offspring got into in the back of the car. In fairness, we travelled a lot to visit relatives, and they were pretty good, but there were always a few mental breakdowns.
As I was giving out to them, I could hear whispers of sage advice in my head from my mother, “You were like that too, Bernard”, and had to check myself when I said a well-worn 1980s Mammy O’Shea phrase; "You're only quiet when you’re eating.” This is as true now as it was then. When they were eating, you wouldn’t hear a word. Their mastication gave us some momentary golden silences. As we ate our way through north and West Kerry, sampling nearly every “99” the Kingdom had to offer, my children noticed some annoying table manners that made them formally complain to their Mammy.
It’s interesting how they complain. They almost force us to be quasi-independent HR departments for their bespoke irritations. They will generally go to my wife for severe pressing matters like “What time are we going to (insert indoor soft play area of your choice)”? Or “the teacher said we need (insert something important they have to get the very last minute because they never told us or lost the note)”
My HR department must deal with less pressing but far more complicated and consequential issues like “Dad, can we fill the bath and make bubbles, and see if they float outside?” or “Dad, if we are super good today can we go the shop and buy whatever sweets we want even the ones you say are rubbish?” So, when they went to Mammy and complained about my restaurant behaviour, I was genuinely shocked. The nub of their protestations centred around colouring.
Most of the restaurants we frequent will have a restaurant-style worksheet for kids. On the sheet, you can do a word search, follow the line, play a maze game and generally colour in a picture. The server will also provide you with a cup of crayons. Let me be clear. This is for your kids. I know this. But I like to colour, and my kids often ignore them, so why not? I find it relaxing. I may be 43, but I love it.
Over the last decade, adult colouring books have had a significant moment. Some of them are highly complex and take weeks to complete. Thousands of web pages are also dedicated to the more senior colouring-in enthusiasts. It also has some significant health benefits, and I’ve had first-hand conversations with people who exclaim the merits of this pastime contributed to their improved mental health. One friend of mine even told me she bought a set of colouring pencils for over a hundred euro.
Last week, Medical Xpress (a scientific information hub) reported, “Although colouring isn't the ultimate cure for stress and anxiety, sitting down for a long colouring session holds great value. As you colour, pay attention to your breathing rhythm, ensuring steady, full breaths from your diaphragm, and tune into your heart rate periodically if you can.”
But being 100% truthful, I’ve no interest in the intricate adult variety. The regular restaurant ones give me just enough time to complete a tractor colouring masterpiece utilising all the crayons in the cup, and completing the mini-quiz. However, my kids are not just furious about my behaviour but embarrassed. Our eldest is beginning to find her once all-knowing and powerful Daddy to be a complete and utter buffoon who constantly embarrasses her. We are still at the 60/40 stage, but I can see it happening.
She protested, “Mammy stop him. They are supposed to be just for us. You don’t see any other adults in here doing them,” Mum tried. “Bernard, it is a bit odd. Just stop.” Even after me doing my best to explain to a 3,6, and 8-year-old the mental health benefits, they weren’t sold on it, and I ceased my dining drawings.
Then I had a brain wave. Why don’t restaurants supply adults with fun sheets? Especially couples. You could have a first date fun sheet. It could have activities like “Draw what you expect from this relationship” or “Find your ex’s name in the word search.”
Or you could have one for recently engaged couples with games on them called “Draw what is beginning to annoy you about your future partner but you put up with anyway” and “Follow the line through the maze to see if you can get rid of the all your partner's clothes you don’t like before they get home.” But what would be an excellent idea is one for long-term couples who have run out of things to say to each other.
“Draw yourself and your partner when you were happiest” or “Write down five conversation topics that cannot mention the following; your kids, mortgage or the price of things.”
So if you run a restaurant, you are more than welcome to try my idea out, just one caveat — you’ll have to supply colouring pencils, not crayons. After all, we’re adults, not kids.