Titchy Talk

Arse the size of a planet

2011-04-13T10:37:00.004+01:00

My new swimming costume has just arrived. It's navy with spots and, importantly, has a bit of padding where I desperately need it. I was quite pleased until I tried it on and turned around in the mirror, only to discover that someone had removed my butt and replaced it with a small planet.

I have four weeks until I'll be seen in public in my new swimming costume. That's four weeks to shrink from Jupiter to, say, Venus. Do-able?

I'm off for a 6 mile run. That's a good start.

Rone-ry

2011-04-11T16:23:00.006+01:00

I don't really give much of a hoot if anyone reads this (lucky, that). Which is obviously why I haven't written in ages. But I feel its time for an update, for my own benefit.

Yesterday saw the departure of the two Smalls to their Grandparents way out east (close to Chelmsford). They're off for a week, as I have to work and the childcare would cost a fortune.

As the car pulled out I felt a gnawing in my belly and pricking in my eyes, and sure enough, the tears flowed as I came back into the SILENT house. Eerie. Everything I saw reminded me of them... from the oddly symmetrical feathered Easter card from Small Boy, with a googly eye instead of "I" in "I 'heart' you" to the mulched hard-boiled egg that Small Girl had painted and then blended by hand in her play kitchen. Yum.

I had to escape to take my mind off the sadness. So we strolled across the park in the sunshine at 5.30, the time we would normally be thinking of starting bathtime. We enjoyed a film at the cinema (Jake Gyllenhaal, mm).

I had a chat with the children over the phone as we walked back. (So, contrary to my over-active imagination they had survived the journey intact). The first question I had from Small Girl was "when are you coming?" [tug at the heartstrings]. The first from Small Boy, "have you finished your work yet?" [another sharp tug]. But they seemed chirpy enough.

What's interesting is that Husband seems absolutely unaffected by their departure. How is this so?! Can this kind of unemotional nonchalance be bottled and sold to anxious mothers? In fact, he had an enormous grin on his face and rubbed his hands with mischievous glee. I suppose his reaction is frankly more rational than mine. They are only going for a few days. They will be well cared-for and dearly loved, they will have a fantastic time and be spoilt rotten, they are bonding with their grandparents, and we get some time alone as a couple. Not to mention, we're saving about £400 in childcare. What's not to love?

Actually, now that I'm getting used to it, I don't feel sick with sadness any more. It's settled into an underlying unease. I am going to try and enjoy this peaceful time we have together. Dinner out, romantic evening walks in the park, lie-ins... not all bad!

This morning I got out of bed at 9a.m. Unheard of. So, let the (grown-ups) party begin!

Satin slippers

2011-02-15T14:10:00.003Z

Last week I went along to my Tuesday circuits class, only to discover that it was now something called 'ballet tone'. I had been away for so long that they'd shuffled the timetable without me realising. Instead of doing a runner, my instinct, I decided to stick around.

I took off my trainers, revealing a nice holey sock, and sidled to the back of the class. Half the class had proper ballet shoes, and others were in socks like me. I had no idea whether I'd manage or not, but it seems that my hands and feet 'remember' what to do from ballet classes as a little girl. The music was a classical, which makes a nice change to pumping house, but the exercises were just as challenging. More so in many ways.

The next day, muscles I had never felt before were aching. I have just been back for a second time. I love how it makes me walk tall on the way home, and I'm going to keep it up. All I need now is some satin slippers!

Monday musings

2011-02-14T13:37:00.004Z

Holey moley, how time flies. This year I am mostly immensely under pressure, but kind of enjoying it. January zoomed passed in a whirl of assignment-writing (omega-3 and depression - bottom line: eat fish) and freelancing (new job at Mind). It left me in tears a few times, and of course there was massive guilt over missing the school drop-ins and giving up weekends with the family. It go to the point where Small Girl would start the day with, "who's looking after me today mummy?" .

But, now its February. Valetine's Day, no less (we celebrated on Friday so we're off the hook tonight!). This morning Small Girl and I took her bike out for the first time. It's a Barbie pink nightmare of a contraption, but was a hand-me-down from a gift horse, so we accepted gratefully. Also, it's fairly light. Which is a good thing, as I would say the riding: carrying ratio was about 10:90. Still, great she wanted to go for it. And she took the falls with good humour.

We ended up at the 'Mosa, our favourite local cafe/deli. They do a fluffy babyccino with, most importantly, a little individually-wrapped chocolate on the side. We're there a couple of times a week, no other cafe can quite match it (if only they knew how easy it is to woo kids!). Then we headed to the post office and bought some packing tape. The footrest on the M&P buggy has broken, for the THIRD time. This time I am refusing to cart it into town and instead they are picking it up, but it needed to be packaged in a box they have sent.

We got back just before lunch, the usual mixture of rice cakes, cheese, houmous, cucumber. I have learnt that, apparently, kids will eat anything as long as they are exposed to it often enough. SG dislikes cucumber, so I give her a nibble every day, and we'll see how long it takes for her to come round. It's been two months so far, but she's stubborn.

Which brings me to comment on my last post. When I wrote it, SG was being a little tike. Since she's turned three though, an amazing thing seems to have happened... she listens! She is an utter pleasure to be with. Obviously not all the time, but I do feel as though we have turned a corner and I am mightily relieved. We are friends again. Phew!

Driving me nuts!

2010-12-06T22:02:00.008Z

Wow, is it really that long since I've blogged?! I've been absent for a while because I've been worrying about how wise it is to wear my heart on my sleeve and publish my life. So, I'm going to carry on, but just from time to time. And my only purpose is to have a record to look back on, a diary of The Small Child years to help my sleep-deprived mind remember.

Small Girl, who is almost three, has been - now how can I put this politely? - 'testing the boundaries' recently. Frankly, she's had the devil in her. Flagrantly ingnoring my polite requests/strong directions/furious orders and seemingly immune to any sort of discipline technique.

This morning, I asked her to go and choose what she wanted to wear. Normally she manages - though tops and bottoms don't co-ordinate - and she's happy because she is fiercely independent and rarely likes my wardrobe suggestions.

She was gone a long time. Always a worrying sign. When I went to find her, she had emptied the entire contents of her drawers into a collosal heap in the middle of her room. Then she sulkily declined several requests to help put them away. Not even one pair of socks.

One 'time out' later, for both of our benefits, and we were friends again (almost - actually I was still seething but trying hard to hide it).

This is just an example of her typical behaviour recently. At bed time, Small Boy was on the receiving end of it. She emptied his bag of marbles all over the floor and would not help to pick them up.

He came running in to me and shouted "Because of her, I've lost my marbles!!"

Know the feeling.

I've ordered a book called 1-2-3 Magic, about effective parenting. Anyone heard of it? Got any tips...?!

Everywhere we go, a splash of red

2010-10-19T22:17:00.010+01:00

I took this picture in the park this morning after dropping Small Boy off at school.

Small Girl loves her shiny red shoes and her cosy red coat. And the admiring attention she gets when she wears them. Bliss for her.

This post is for Tara's Gallery. Check out the red theme this week.

Thinking about having a baby? Thoughts on motherhood

2010-10-07T21:39:00.000+01:00

I very rarely get all deep and meaningful here. But I was reading a thread on Mumsnet, in which a 40-something woman was asking the crowd whether she ought to have a baby or not, as she couldn't decide.

I think any attempt to make motherhood into a rational decision is futile. You can try. You can try to think about the practical, like money and work and childcare. But no parenting decision is purely practical. Everything is emotional. You could discuss the pros and cons of motherhood until the end of time, but until you've done it you have no idea how it's going to affect you, personally.

But if you could, what would you say to her?

What I would say is this: parenting is, above all, a thing of extremes. When you have kids, you experience a completely different kind of love. A different texture and size of love: totally unconditional, all-encompassing, on a whole new level to what you even thought possible. But it comes at a cost: stress, anxiety, sleep-deprivation, boredom, possibly depression, all at new levels too.

Motherhood expands your human experience to the extreme, so you feel like an elastic band stretched in all directions.

But I would find it hard to call it 'rewarding' like some do. I don't take much credit for my kids, they are their own people. I don't look at them and feel proud about what I've done, I just feel proud of them. And it's certainly not rewarding in any concrete sense, in that nobody ever tells you you're doing a great job, well done, here's your bonus. It's not like a paid job, in which you might have a manager or a mentor to learn from. There is no feedback.

What I do get, though, is love back from them. I get soft hair, sweet kisses and handprinty pictures, which I cherish and enjoy. I also get a new perspective on my relationship with my own parents, which would otherwise have remained one-dimensional.

On balance, I'm very glad I am doing it. I am pleased to be part of the rich relationships and depth of feeling that parenthood provides. Plus, I look forward to having grandchildren and growing old with family around me. Grandparenthood... now there's something to look forward to!

Here come the girls...

2010-10-07T20:56:00.004+01:00

This is post is (belatedly) for Tara at Sticky Fingers' Gallery!

This was Small Girl's birthday barbecue (strictly speaking her half-birthday - her real one is Boxing Day so we celebrate in summer).

She's been cajoled into a dress (over the compulsory leggings) because all the girls were wearing one. Even, for once, me. It was 28 degrees and this is the coolest garment I have.

We are both wearing cheesy smiles and girly necklaces. I love looking at this pic because it makes me so glad I have a little girl to get all excited about necklaces with!

Ten Steps for Healthy Toddlers

2010-09-29T14:12:00.008+01:00

Unless you're one of the fabled families in which the kids gobble up everything from broad beans to jelly beans, then it's quite likely that mealtimes have occasionally been a battle site. Or if not battle, then at least disgruntlement and defiance.

Feeding toddlers can be a nightmare. It's all well and good knowing that sprouts and broccoli are good for them, but that information is useless if the green stuff never makes the move from plate to belly (plate to floor is more like usual). The holy grail of child-feeding is a relaxed, happy time, where everyone smiles and says thank-you and plates are cleared.

Well in fact, according to Little People's Plates' Ten Steps for Healthy Toddlers, the first part is important, but the last part, not so much. If you can keep calm, not cajole or persuade, eat piles of broccoli yourself, then the rest will follow. In time.

They have made it really easy to know how to keep your toddler healthy with these ten steps:
1. Eat together as a family and make mealtimes relaxed, happy occasions. Make food easy to eat - finger foods are good. Eat the foods you would like your toddler to eat. Praise your toddler when he or she eats well or tries something new - toddlers take time to learn to like new foods.
2. You decide which nutritious foods to offer, but let your toddler decide how much to eat.
Never insist your toddler eats everything on their plate.
3. Offer foods from all 5 food groups each day. Together they give the right mix of nutrients your toddler needs. (Carbs, F&V, protein, dairy, small amounts of fat/sugar)
4. Have a routine and offer 3 meals and 2 snacks each day.
Offer 2 courses at each meal and only offer nutritious snacks. Don't allow grazing.
5. Offer 6-8 drinks a day. Give all drinks in a beaker or a cup - not bottles. 3-4oz or 100-120ml is about right. Water is a good choice.
6. Give vitamins A & D each day. Choose a vitamin supplement suitable for toddlers. Most don't get enough in their food.
7. Respect your toddler's tastes and preferences - don't force feed. Some children eat almost everything while others are much more picky. Some like foods kept separate at a meal and others are happy with foods mixed together.
8. Reward your toddler with your attention - never use food and drink as a reward or treats. Play, read or talk with your toddler as a reward for waiting foods or for good behaviour.
9. Limit ... fried food, crisps, packet snacks, pastires, cakes and biscuits to very small amounts...sweet foods to four times a day eg as part of the three meals and one snack... and avoid sweetened fruit squashes, fizzy drinks, tea and coffee, undiluted fruit juice - only give fruit juice well-diluted at mealtimes... whole nuts, which may cause choking or be inhaled.
10. An hour of active play every day and 12 hours sleep. You can break up play to short 5-10 minutes periods...play in the park, walk up steps, bounce on a trampoline, dance, walk to nursery. Limit TV and other screen time like computers to just one hour a day.

Easy, right? I have been following these rules for a while now. Mostly it all works well, except that even when I remain relaxed at mealtimes, the cucumber still doesn't get eaten. I keep putting it on the plate though, and eating it myself. One day maybe...

There's also a genius tool that allows you to tot up everything your toddler has eaten to find out if it adds up to a healthy day's food. Here's where you find out that the half piece of toast they nibbled at breakfast and the morsel of bakes beans for lunch to actually count. Yay!

I was approached by Little People's Plates to cover their new tools - I agreed because they really do make sense and fit in with all the healthy living advice that's important. It's nice to have it all in one place though.

Are you happy Mummy?

2010-09-22T10:55:00.004+01:00

This is the mischievous grin I get from Small Girl when she has done something she knows she is not supposed to, like, say, pouring three packets of cereal onto the breakfast table.

She looks up at me, into my face of storm and looks me straight in the eye: "Are you happy mummy?" She knows the answer.

But then she cocks her head to one side, gets nice and close to me and cracks such a huge cheeky smile that it is very hard for me to stay cross with her. And she knows it.

This post is for Tara's Gallery: A smile.

My son, the Thinker

2010-09-21T13:24:00.006+01:00

Small Boy (just turned 5) seems to be a deep thinker. Among his ponderments there are already those that are quite tricky to reply to...

1. On evolution: "Mummy, where did the first person ever come from?" (How do you explain evolution to a 5yo?!)

2. On evolution again: "Mummy, where do wasps come from?" There followed a discussion about eggs, and then "Mummy, where did the egg come from?" and then "Yes, but mummy, where did the mummy wasp come from?" etc etc etc.

3. On death: "I want to die at the same time as you. You are going to live until you are old, and I am going to live until I am very old."

4. On philosophy: "Sometimes my brain tells me I like school, and sometimes it tells me I don't."

5. On parental responsibilities: "Daddies have to do more than mummies. When I am a daddy, I will have to teach my children to do up shoe laces."

6. On sexual equality: "When people get married does the man ask the lady or the lady ask the man?" I said either, but usually the man, by convention. Then he said, "I am glad I am going to be a man. There are lots of things men can do that ladies can't." (As far as I know, he is referring to stand-up wees, marriage proposals and tucking his napkin into his T-shirt to make a bib - his granny told him that one!!)

We seem to have had a lot of conversations that end up with me saying "I don't really know why, it's just convention." Seems a bit weak. I can see why he might deem it an unsatisfactory answer.

7. On depression: "My brain always remembers the sad things." Then he burst into tears - sensitive soul! After a lot of probing, it turned out he was recalling an 'accident' he had in the park, about which he is obviously still embarrassed.

8. On reproduction: "Can girls get babies?" When I said no, only women, "They can. A girl in the playground said she was going to." Terrifying. I thought we were years off that conversation.

So tiiiiiiiiiiiired...

2010-09-20T15:14:00.003+01:00

Small Boy has been utterly exhausted. I would like to say this has been just since he's been back at school, but it's been going on for months and months. He drifts around with his thumb jammed in his mouth, looking pale and wan. He lolls on the sofa and just wants to watch DVDs. Not to mention the crabiness.This is not my notion of normal five-year-old boy behaviour.

In fact, I was so concerned that I took him to the GP. We have recently uncovered several cases of coeliac disease in the family (aunt and cousin confirmed, brother and dad suspected) so I began to wonder whether this might be the problem with Small Boy.

One blood test later (he was very brave, though a bit pale afterwards) and the result came back today: normal.

Phew! This is a relief, I wasn't looking forward to embarking on a gluten exclusion exercise. But of course, it leaves me wondering whether there is anything else the matter.

Mind you, I have noticed that he has put on a massive growth spurt since January when he first started school. I bought him trousers age 5-6, and they were so big I had to roll them over at the waist and on the legs. Now though, his ankles are showing and it won't be long before he begins to look a bit daft in them.

So I'm wondering if the tiredness is actually just a reflection of a period of fierce growth. He has changed ad grown up so much, I suppose it's a lot for a little body. And maybe he is still adjusting to school. Now he's in Year 1, I gather he has to sit and concentrate for longer periods, and he takes his learning quite seriously.

He gets a good 11 hours of kip a night, sometimes more, so I don't think he's chronically sleep deprived.

How are your lot faring? Do they get knackered too?

Bemused reindeer

2010-09-14T16:45:00.007+01:00

This post is for Tara's Gallery this week: a celebration.

I took this photo at Small Boy's first Christmas, he's about three months old. He looks a tad worried. He's no doubt wondering why his mummy has dressed him up in a furry suit indoors, why everyone keeps laughing at him and what all the snapping flashy lights pointed at him are for.

I used this photo to make some Christmas cards - it's funny, isn't it, how your ridiculous excitement at being a new mummy will make you do silly things like that?!

Anyway, it was to mark his first Christmas celebration, which I think, all-in-all, he mostly found bemusing. It was fun playing in all the scrunchy paper though.

Here's to many more celebrations, and 'comedy' costumes to go with them!

Leave them alone for FIVE minutes...

2010-09-07T20:27:00.007+01:00

This pic is for Tara at Sticky Fingers' Gallery. This week the theme is Back to School.

Back to school, back to morning rush. So I left them at the breakfast table while I went to get ready for the school run. Uh-oh. What was I thinking?! This is the entire contents of a 1kg bag of muesli, plus a bag of oat bran.

From the bathroom, I could hear Small Boy saying "Don't waste it!" but then there was silence. Playing nicely, I thought.

Playing, yes. Nicely, no. This cereal volcano is what met my eyes on my return, accompanied by a smirking Small Girl (the instigator) and Small Boy (the accomplice). I was none too pleased, to put it mildly. I admit to being rather vocal (in fact the thought crossed my mind that the neighbours might wonder whether there was some kind of violent crime being committed).

They were both sent out of the room for five minutes of 'thinking time' on the stairs (they had to be separated to stop them giggling together), while I set about sweeping. Needless to say, we were then running late and had to rush, adding more stress to already fraught tempers. Not a great start to the school run routine. I wonder what my blood pressure went up to?

This was yesterday. Today we were up half an hour earlier, so that any unplanned morning mishaps could be dealt with calmly. It worked, all was sweetness and light. But we didn't have any muesli for breakfast, sadly.

Seat scratchin'

2010-09-06T21:35:00.005+01:00

Warning: best not to read this post while eating your tea.

Unbe-blinkin-lievable! Back at school for just three days and already Small Boy has some kind of scratchy thing.

Today, Day 3 of the term, I received a call from the school at 11 a.m. The kind office lady's first words were "Don't worry, but...". At which point I started to worry, of course. But next there followed a tale of itchiness in the pants region ("He's almost scratched his trousers off" were the exact words). Apparently Small Boy had confessed his ailment to the teaching assistant, who (discreetly I hope) duly removed him to the First Aid room. I was required to collect him as his itchness was too great to bear in class. When I went to pick him up he was sitting there happy as a sky lark, reading That Pesky Rat.

In fact, it was his second visit to First Aid already this term. On Day 2 of the term, he fell and lodged a stone in his hand, and grazed his knee ("braised" if you ask Small Girl). This was drama enough, as he refused to let me anywhere near either knee or hand. In the end I had to tear the knee plaster off in one quick swipe, in the bath, while he was looking the other way (aren't I mean?!). It was getting too soggy.

So, I reckon it's either threadworms or something fungal. Nice. Both pretty easy to treat, but tell that to a boy sitting on the stairs wriggling and writhing in his pants.

We are now following strict hygiene measures, with our own different-coloured towels, and rigorous nailbrushed hand-washing before eating. I've also washed all his bedding and soft toys (some looking a tad bedraggled now) and vacuumed everywhere, and am about to clean the bathrooms and damp-wipe the surfaces. If it is threadworms, this should keep the eggs at bay. We've all taken a dose of mebendazole too.

I was bracing myself for the next round of school bugs, but I had no idea they'd arrive this soon. Actually, if it is threadworm, he would need to have swallowed the eggs a good two to six weeks before the itching, so may have picked up the infection at the end of last term.

Anyway, we're off to the doc's on Friday for another reason and will talk about it then. Watch this space.

If you want to read more about the kind of infections that lurk in classrooms, and how to try and avoid them, I've just done a post on Ready for Ten, check it out! Great website for parents of 6-9 year olds.

Autumn excitement

2010-09-02T14:04:00.004+01:00

I love autumn. The mellowed quality of September sunlight always brings on nostalgia and makes me excited and energetic. All to do with the start of term I suppose. And memories of crunching through leafy streets in new school uniform, or on the way to lectures in Edinburgh.

Today was Small Boy's first day back at school, and we were both very excited. Him to play with his classmates again and me to meet his new teacher and catch up with the other parents. Neither of us slept well last night. Maybe he was having anxiety dreams - he was having some kind of dream anyway. He called me through for cuddles twice.

So this morning he was a little droopy and didn't exactly rush to get dressed. But he went off to school quite happily, saying he was going to be the "smartest boy in school" with his new shoes and haircut.

And if he hadn't been calm when we left the house, he may have been more misty and mellow by the time we arrived, judging by the fragranced smoke coming from the man we walked behind on the way. A feature of South London living.

I will be leaving to pick him up soon, and look forward to long and detailed descriptions of his day. Yeah, right. I hope he'll have an exciting term though, and maybe find his way socially a bit more.

My own autumn plans so far include a post-holiday resolution: to be more tidy and organised. I'm taking a leaf out of mum's book, who we holidayed with for a week. Four kids, and yet everything in the right place and everyone on time. A major achievement, I see now, though I took it for granted then.

Anyway, so far I've cleaned out the cutlery draws and have been right on top of the laundry. Having a new machine helps with this - I can do an hour-long eco-wash and get though it all in no time.

I'll also be registering again for my eternal degree. Still a student at 34, not bad eh?! I'm in the last year now of my Diploma at Bristol Uni. By March, I'll have finished. No more student life. I can stop kidding myself that I may get mistaken for a "real" student on campus rather than an ancient post-grad. Sadly, I'll be losing some discounts (gym membership, Topshop) along with my illusions of youth.

I'll hang on to my autumn term excitement though, even if I'll never actually be a student again. I've got children to be excited for instead.

Small children and social glue

2010-08-20T22:01:00.003+01:00

Laughter, they say, is social glue. (Another example might be alcohol, but this is false glue: incredibly sticky for one evening, come unstuck by the following morning).

But the strongest social glue I have found is small children.

From NCT group, to playgroup to school gate, parents bond closely over discussion of the minutae of their children's lives. How can you fail to become friends with a group of people you are required to discuss the merits of perineal massage massage with? I'm still close friends with some of our group, and they provided massive, essential support during the wobbly days and weeks of early parenthood.

But it's not just the making of friends I'm talking about. It's passing comments with complete strangers. It's making contact with people in ways I never did before children.

This week, I had to go to the laundrette (long story, rates a 9 on the irritation and stress scale). It's not a regular haunt, and I was not at all sure what I was meant to do. It all looked a bit complicated. Did I need one giant machine and two medium? Or two giant? Where does the powder go? Which setting do I need? How long will it take? I really wanted someone to help. Actually I wanted to someone to do it all for me - I could have gone down the service wash route, but I did want to get some change out of a £20.

Sadly, the woman running this laundry outfit was sour-faced and surly, not unlike a large bull in appearance, and about as keen to help me as I was to be there in the first place. I tried though. I smiled, made small talk, joked about the amount of laundry that could accumulate in three days. Nothing. Not the merest whisper of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Not until, that is, I mentioned the two Small People. Ahhh, that did it. The maternal instinct seemed to kick in, and she was almost happy to engage in a brief but friendly exchange about the trials of potty training with a broken washing machine. She showed me what to do. She even smiled.

This is just an example. But everywhere we go, if the children are there, kindly folk grin, wave and make sweet comments about them. And if they're not there, talking about them always opens up common ground easily.

On the bus today, a complete stranger gave my little boy 50p because he was wearing his birthday badge (he turned 5 yesterday) and, I suppose, because he has a sweet face that embodies small boy innocence and hope. It is incredibly gratifying, and fills me with a sense that there is goodness in the world.

Foul play

2010-08-11T19:58:00.009+01:00

I think there is a law about dog fouling - owners are supposed to clear it up straight away. But some of the charming folk down South London way do not appear to trouble themselves with such pesky things as laws.

Strolling in the park with the buggy, Small Girl (who has an acute sense of smell) suddenly piped up "Whassat smell?". Sure enough, I could also detect the unmistakable odour of poo. "Is it our smell?" she added.

I replied that it wasn't, although it did seem to be travelling with us, and given recent history it would not be outside the realms of possibility. I soon realised the delightful aroma was drifting up from the front wheel of the buggy. I looked down, and wretched at the sight and smell of a giant frothy yellowish dog turd, well and truly squelched into the tyre treads.

What followed involved twigs, leaves, scraping and picking. And more wretching. I decided to leave the proper clean-up for when we got home. I did leave the buggy outside the cafe we were headed to, thinking the stench would put people off their lattes, not to mention the hygiene aspect.

When we got home, I stationed the buggy outside the house and began the clean-up. Jeyes fluid, a bucket of water, a sponge (binned now), yet more twigs and wretching, and the tyre was clean. Eeew.

Later, I spotted a pair of dog-owners walking a giant Rottweiler. He was off the lead, loping about, and then proceeded to deposit generously under a tree. It looked suspiciously like the offending article from earlier in the day. The owners did nothing. They just left a mammoth steaming shit under a tree ready for an unsuspecting picnicker or, worse, toddler, to discover.

I so nearly said something. I wanted to. But the dog was a Rottweiler and the owners bore an uncanny resemblance to their pet. And he was wearing a collar covered in spikes (the dog, not the owner, although I didn't look that closely at the guy - not the type you'd want to stare at). I suspected they would at best ignore me.

I love our park, but increasingly I feel uneasy about letting the kids run around and explore - don't even get me started on the used syringes and needles I found behind the bushes the other day.

Why do the few have to spoil it for the many?

Who are you? Playtime

2010-08-04T10:03:00.011+01:00

Tara's Gallery prompt this week is Playtime!

Ever since he could talk, Small Boy has been role-playing. I have lost count of the times I've asked him "Who are you?".

One minute he's a knight, the next a builder, a chef, a prince, a vet. One day he was spinning around in the kitchen and I asked what he was up to. "I'm a microwave!" he said. Some of the best have been home-made costumes. He's been covered in foil, had multiple pairs of pants on his head and dressed up in my silky tops and heels, all in the name of make-believe.

So that's what playtime is for us. We all get involved in his narratives, he's a pretty bossy director. Everyone has to be someone - Small Girl often ends up as a dragon.

His imagination is boundless. It comes in very handy when persuading him it's bath time ("Dragons need to clean their scales or the humans will smell them coming") or tidy up time ("A good builder always keeps his site clean") or breakfast time ("No knight can go into battle without energy!").

I've captured many of his characters on camera - some are already here: astronaut, tribesman.

This post is also featured in NurtureStore's Play Academy - great for playtime inspiration! Which I clearly need.

My weekend: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

2010-08-02T17:53:00.008+01:00

Lest we be accused of over-parenting, we have sent the children off for a week's holiday with their grandparents. One of the reasons for this was a wedding we were due to go to, and at which we planned to drink champagne and generally make merry in a very non-parental manner. Which we did. So, here's The Good, The Bad and The Ugly of our weddingy weekend:

The Good:
- The venue - Blenheim palace, birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill and home to the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough - suitably fairytale-like
- The theme - grown-up play-time! Ice creams from a van, musical chairs, Mad Hatters Tea Party, a photobooth and fancy-dress. The only difference was lack of kids. But we managed to be ridiculous quite well without them.
- The colours - neon brights. I was sceptical when I first saw the lurid green tie Husband was required to wear, and wondered how I would dress to match (monochrome is the answer), but in fact it all looked amazing. Stunning. Mad, but stunning.
- The bride - she looked like a fantastic frothy dove-grey fairytale princess with neon pink lipstick and cascades of curls.
- Incredible details, like the individually decorated favour boxes, with various gifts according to guest; the knitted table signs with kids story themes (we sat in Moomin Valley!), the giant heart-shaped bouquet, custom-made bright-orange cocktails and lots more...
- I could go on, but the best part was it was all so very personal. The Bride's vows were poetry that had everyone in tears, as did the speeches.

The Bad
Nothing about the wedding itself, but we could have done without cutting the timing so fine. We were lulled into a false sense of sat-nav security. We knew exactly where we were going, so why not stop off for a coffee? Plenty of time. Turned out the services were a bit of a diversion from the route, and the queue at Starbucks was massive.

We finally bought bucket of Americano to share, but Husband was (not surprisingly) too busy driving and couldn't really drink it. So I did.

So not only were we running late, with just 10 minutes to get ready in the hotel room, but I was jittery from caffeine-overdose. We arrived in time for the service, and I found my self jabbering away to anyone who would listen. Or anyone in earshot anyway.

The Ugly
- My crotch (I imagine) as a gust of wind picked up my dress and flashed black M&S knickers to 100 wedding guests.
- Me, as I squatted, bent and contorted to attach a safety-pin to the underskirt (and, crucially, not the outer skirt as per the first attempt) of my dress between my legs - in the privacy of a toilet cubicle, you'll be pleased to note.
- My feet, as I removed my shoes to leap about the dance floor.
- Husband in leopard skin cowboy hat and and pink feather boa.
- The drinking games back at the hotel. Best to say no more on this one.

My heart is breaking

2010-07-30T15:52:00.005+01:00

What a day!

Small Boy's acting debut was this morning. He played the Dormouse in Alice in Wonderland, all done up in brown felt and fur. He is a softly spoken boy with big blue eyes and he made an excellent mouse (good casting ;-)). He had three lines to learn, and he got two of them spot on!

I thought I would weep throughout - usually the innocence and earnestness of the children moves me to tears at this kind of performance. Motherhood has made me over sentimental, so tears are always just a small nudge away and I cry in a way which I previously thought was frankly a bit sad. Anyway, today, having Small Girl squirming on my lap and trying to grab the video camera took my mind sufficiently off things to stay dry-eyed.

Small Boy has really enjoyed his week of acting. He is forever role-playing anyway, so this was just like a giant game with 18 children plus an admiring audience. On the way home he turned to me and said, "I love drama!". An Olivier in the making?!

Though he's no Billy Elliot as far as I can see - by the time he clicked which dance move he should be doing, and had a good stab at a pelvic wiggle or jazz hands, everyone else had moved onto the next move. We'd better keep a hold of the recording for future episodes of Before they were famous!

But now, I feel completely heavy-hearted because both my babies have gone away! We are off to a wedding tomorrow, to which children were not invited, so the little people have gone to stay with their grandparents. They are actually going to stay almost a week, partly because it will mean I can get loads of work done and free up the rest of the summer (as long I don't get toooo distracted by various social media tools - you know who you are) , but also because the Grandparents wanted to take them on holiday for a week to the beach.

I know it's good for Husband and I to have quality time alone, and good for the children to build strong relationships with their grandparents. But oh does it hurt?! I'm not ashamed to admit - the tears that were threatening this morning, as I proudly watched Small Boy deliver lines to a room full of strangers, finally broke through as their car pulled off and he mouthed "I love you" through the window... Oh, there I go again.

Beware the tipping buggy

2010-07-28T20:43:00.008+01:00

Overloaded buggy, child out and running wild, chasing after child to prevent a accident/incident/angry shoppers... Then the whole thing crashes backwards under the weight of milk and bananas, crushing your shopping and any suggestion of parenting competency along with it. Every time it happens, you curse yourself because it's so bloody predictable (laws of physics and all).

Small Girl may have some hope of avoiding this embarrassment in future, she's learning the lesson early.

One of her favourite games these days is filling bags with random items (a single baby wipe, a burst balloon, a selection of cars and a handful of stones). But she got it wrong the other day and the whole lot, babies and all, tipped over backwards. I have to say though, she wasn't overly bothered about it. In fact she left them in that state when she went off to bed. If only I could muster such nonchalance.

There was no place for nonchalance this morning though. It wasn't actually an overloaded buggy this time. We have a Phil and Teds double buggy, and use it on days that the nanny and her little girl do the post-nursery pick-up. Today I was only going out with Small Girl, and didn't need a double buggy - I took it out because it was nearest the door and I was (for a change!) in a rush and didn't have time to fiddle around maneuvering buggies in the hallway.

At the park cafe, Small Girl was out of the buggy, not running too wild, playing beside me. I bumped into a friend, and we'd just started chatting when there was a huge crash, and I looked down to see the buggy tipped over backwards and Small Girl underneath it. Screaming. Her leg was caught up in the seat: she had been trying to climb into the back seat, with the front one empty. I picked her up and soon realised the cause of her anguish - her finger had been crushed under the frame and her own weight. There was blood, and I could see the nail changing colour.

The screaming was dreadful, and I moved her away from the staring crowds. Nothing would console her, and I began to wonder about a trip to the hospital for an X-ray. We had to go and pick up Small Boy - a half hour walk. I decided if she was still bawling then, we would go to A&E.

She did calm down eventually though. I gabbled on about anything I could think of to try and distract her. She was quiet and miserable when we got home, but perked up after lunch and by bathtime, she was back on form. She is being very cautious with that finger though, and I am pretty certain she will not try and climb into the back seat of the buggy again.

I do think it's a design fault with the Phil and Teds double though. It may have improved now - ours is a 2006 model. It's not the first time it's overbalanced backwards, and the time before was potentially really dangerous. Small Girl was a tiny baby in the carry cot at the back.

So, beware of the tipping buggy. Especially if you have a Phil and Teds double: don't let go of the handles unless you are sure you've got enough weight at the front.

Food, Jim, but not as we know it...

2010-07-26T16:17:00.010+01:00

I am totally cheating here. This post is for Tara's Gallery: Food, but I actually posted it first in July for English Mum's bake-off. Still, I think it warrants a second look!! It's food, Jim, but not as we know it...

This weekend was The Party. I will post the full story if, what with summer hols and all, I ever get more than a micromoment at the computer. Anyway, as a warm-up, here is the cake.

It was a space theme - that is a rocket, just in case you were wondering... I shall be entering it into the fantastic English Mum's Big Bakeoff .

The theme is 'baking on the edge'. I have to say, as I was decorating this cake I was on the edge of a stress-induced meltdown, it being the morning of The Party and with a to-do list as long as my leg to get though. The prize is a Green and Black's hamper (ohhhh heaven!) and though I am not sure if this cake is wholly in keeping with Green and Black's organic, sophisticated and definitely grown-up ethos, it was most definitely in keeping with the 'great tasting' part!

The launch pad is a vanilla sponge, and the rocket was a chocolate sponge baked in two tin cans and stacked with a wooden skewer to hold them in place. The rest is yummy chocolate butter icing. I always use a brilliant sponge recipe passed to me by my mother-in-law - a closely-guarded WI secret. Hint: it involves a bit of milk which means you always get a lovely moist cake.

The space invaders are more cakes-in-cans sliced and decorated with icing and various chocolatey bits, the leftovers of which are gradually (well, not that gradually) finding their way into my mouth.

And the moon rocks are sliced marshmallows sprinkled in cocoa-y moon dust.

It took a good hour to do the decorating, but hey, we all love playing with chocolate! And the kids loved it - Small Boy was delighted.

Confession

2010-07-21T22:04:00.007+01:00

I have a little confession to make: playing does not come naturally to me. There. I said it. Is it bad?

I've only just realised this today, as, for the umpteenth time I put it off a little longer: I'll just finish my coffee or I'll just clean the sink or My hands are busy right now or I just need to send this text. So many times Small Boy and Small Girl tried to get me to play with them. They wanted me on my hands and knees, in the thick of it, with bricks and dolls and roads and convoluted make-believe plots.

Books, I can do. I am happy to read, and with Small Boy I do often. Small Girl can't seem to sit still long enough to get through a whole book - by page 2 she has usually lost focus and started arranging things around her in a fidgety way. (A cushion right here, a cat right here, my legs tucked under the blanket here. Not there, here.) Art and craft and Playdoh and cookery and trips to the playground, yep, I can do them.

But I'm just not that good at what, in educational lingo, is called free play. I try. I can do a good ten minutes, but then I run out of steam and ideas. I get bored, lose patience, lack imagination. If only I could get in touch with my inner child more easily. It must be buried deep. Unlike Husband's inner child, who is lurking just below a thin adult patina, bursting out easily to join in with bear growling, alien invasions and dragon enchantments and endless... endless... endless... hilarious games of hide and seek under the duvet.

In the end, I did help Small Boy to build a car park. But he was ill today, off school, and so he was grumpy and not much fun as a playmate. Which, I suspect, is how they see me most of the time. Ho-hum. I'm the one to give the cuddles after bumps and scrapes, always busy in the kitchen, utility room, office... Husband is The Fun One. What a terrible cliche.

Now, of course, while they sleep, I am feeling Guilty (that's another stereotypical role I adopt with ease). I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach and tears pricking my eyes - because I've been thinking about how fleeting these young childhood days are. In a few years they won't want anything much to do with me.

So, tomorrow's resolution: dig deep and find my inner child. Leave the sink for another time.

I got the key, I got the secret

2010-07-20T10:14:00.004+01:00

The next free moment I get (could be a long time coming), I'm off to visit the locksmith. We have doors leading from the kitchen to the garden, and since we moved in three years ago we've always kept the (only) key in the lock. Stupid, I know. Now the inevitable has happened and a small person, currently choosing to remain anonymous, has removed it.

I questioned the suspects. Small Girl first told me that it was in the bin. I had just taken the rubbish out to the wheelie bins. So I duly donned a pair of gloves, retrieved the filthy full bag of rubbish, and spent an stinky 10 minutes rooting through mouldy baby wipes, banana skins and general soggy grossness. No key.

Small Girl then chirped up: It's in Miguel's pocket. Miguel is a nursery buddy of hers, but as far as I know he has never been to this house, so this is an implausible explanation. And of course, as demonstrated by the bin-bag rummage, you should never believe a two-year-old.

By this point, I realised the key's whereabouts would not be uncovered by Small Girl. Though she was obviously keen to help me find it, which was heartening.

I pinned my hopes on Small Boy, and when he returned from school he told me he had put the key in his pocket the day before. Ironically, he had been rescuing it from a smaller child so that it didn't get lost (so he tells me). His shorts from the day before had just been through the wash. Cue another rummage, this time through a pile of wet clothes. Still no key. Learning: never believe a four-year-old. Or maybe it fell out it during some bed-jumping escapade.

Since then we have searched high and low (well, mainly low). It could literally be anywhere in the house, tucked inside any tiny toy car or doll's shoe, in any box in any room. Things are often in random places. This morning, there was was miniature knight under the loo and a saucepan under Small Girls bed, and I twisted my ankle on a dinosaur in the kitchen. All standard findings here (especially after Husband has been in charge, but that's another post...)

FIL has removed the lock, and I am taking it down to get a new key made. Plus a spare. And then, I'll find a really really cunning hiding place for it. Like I did for all the window keys (so I can't open any locked windows now. Pah). Keys, huh?!

Beans, beans are good for the heart...Detox verdict

2010-07-14T20:30:00.007+01:00

Reaching the end of my "detox" diet trial, what have I learnt? Well, having been writing about and studying healthy eating for ten years now, it's finally clear to me that what I've been preaching appears to hold a wholegrain of truth. Excellent.

A diet of spelt, quinoa, beans, lentils, veggies and nuts is in fact tasty and satisfying. If you eat low GI foods you actually do stay full until the next meal. Also (and "Dr" Gillian McKeith will love me for this, sadly) it really is good for your guts. And I thought All Bran was the only answer.

Avoiding sugar is not that hard, and once you start eating sweet foods again they taste really sweet - almost (but not quite, sadly!) too sweet to eat.

I learnt a few other things.

It is really very lovely not have to worry about cooking for yourself of an evening. I could get used to it.
The above is slightly pointless if your in-laws are staying and you have to make steak and mash as well.
Eating 1300 calories a day might make you feel weak and feeble (or maybe it was using hitherto undiscovered muscles to remove wallpaper). So I topped up with the odd morsel of apple pie/fresh white bread/whatever-the-kids-were-having-for-tea.
It's possible to lose a bit of weight (2lb in my case) in a week even if you don't strictly adhere to The Detox Rules (snack only on vegetables - tchya, stuck to that for day one, but after that I still mostly ate apples or strawberries when peckish).
Caffeine withdrawal gives me an evil headache. Either that, or I coincidentally had a headache on the first two days without caffeine. Headaches now gone, I will be sticking to a lower caffeine intake, though I don't think I'll cut it out. It's antisocial.
On that note, eating individually wrapped portions of oatcakes and vegetable pate in public makes you look like a loon. I was with people I don't know that well, people who were eating a normal picnic. I fear I may have made the wrong impression.

There's no need for most people to follow detox or exclusion diets or otherwise "cleanse the system". Usually someone is making money out of it - books, supplements, food packages. I didn't need to cut out wheat and dairy, I have no problem with them. If I did I'd need to cut them out for ever, not just a week.

But cutting out sugar and processed food, eating loads of vegetables, and taking stock of alcohol intake is good to do. It felt pretty virtuous too. If a bit crazy.

Back to normal today. And that's really the main issue with faddy diets like this. They are just not realistic for most of us on a long-term basis: as soon as they're over, we bounce right back into our usual patterns, or worse (like me!) we celebrate the end with cake! How long until those 2lbs come back? I'll give it three days.

Detox Diary: Days 2, 3 & 4

2010-07-12T11:01:00.005+01:00

Day 2 presented me with the ultimate challenge. A school trip to the beach, accompanying Small Boy and 120 other 5 year olds (it's a big school!). I enjoyed my spelt cereal with goji berries for breakfast, though I polished it off fast again to avoid tiny prying hands. It was OK - marginally soggy and tasteless rather than completely. I thought it would never keep me going til lunch.

Next came a 2 hour car journey (got off travelling in the coach - yay!) - and by the time we arrived my caffeine-deprived brain was complaining painfully. As soon as someone mentioned diet coke, I'm sorry to say I jumped at the chance... It eased my addict headache slightly, but the pain lingered all through the day. Which was mainly spent doing stressed-out headcounts and chasing after wayward youngsters, who are so easily diverted when given a large open space and told not to run off.

The heat was such that in fact I wasn't really hungry at lunchtime after all. My measly three oat cakes and veggie pate did the trick, and I finished off the leftover pate with some carrot sticks. The pate would definitely have been nicer had it not been sweating in my handbag all morning.

Having had much less caffeine than usual, and possibly less water than was wise, the coach ride (I lost my car place!) home was fair torture. Thank god the kids had a DVD to watch. Kept some of them quiet at least (not mine, who kept telling me not to listen so that he could say rude words - tricky when I was sitting beside him).

Friday evening's temptation, with headache dispatched by two Anadin Extra, was G&Ts. Sad to say, I caved after very little persuasion. Only four singles though, and washed out with water. A-hem. Not cut out for "detox" am I?

The weekend was hard work, spent stripping reluctant wallpaper from Small Boy's bedroom. I struggled, probably being a bit calorie-depleted and missing my usual stimulant too. By Sunday afternoon I felt weak and tired, though at least there were no more headaches. The food was good though, and I have been surprised at how it keeps me going, so I haven't been snacking. Much - the odd bite of the kids' tea to check it's OK, obviously.

I wouln't recommend this diet though if you're not keen on international cuisine. MIL, for example, has been repulsed by more or less every meal I've brought out - the rest of them have been on steak, white bread and ice-cream! Currys, quinoa, red cabbage, beans and nuts have featured strongly for me. I love them though, so have been very happy with my meals.

I had a cup of tea with my breakfast this morning. My resolve is very weak now, mainly because I need to neither detox nor diet really (jelly belly aside, obv) so it's hard to stay motivated. I did say no to apple pie last night. That should count for something.

Detox Diary: Day 1

2010-07-08T21:44:00.000+01:00

The doorbell rang and the kids rushed out, eagerly anticipating the arrival of friends for tea. But, even better, it was a delivery man in a yellow jacket carrying a giant BOX (everyone knows big boxes are the best toy in the world). The kids 'helped' me unpack all the green ploystyreney stuff onto the floor, tried to open the food bags, then climbed in.

I upacked, and as I did so I noticed no wheat and no dairy. So they must be Toxic, then (except not really, are they? unless you have an actual allergy or intolerance). Plenty of spelt though. Spelt is having its heyday.

Dinner was a stodgy but tasty nut and bean slice with gravy and veg. Washed down with a glass of vino - not strictly on the detox but I was easing myself in gently.

Breakfast this morning was a very yummy spicy fruit and nut bar. I am a cereal addict, and I was doubtful that one flapjack could fill me up and keep me going until lunch - especially as I had to share it.

I tried to eat it lurking behind an open kitchen cupboard, but the Small People have a sharp nose for anything sweet and can sniff out a potential injustice too - no way was I allowed to eat that if they weren't.

So, I rammed it down as fast as I could to limit the amount I had to give away - I imagine taking your time over it and sipping lemony water between bites would be much the better option.

I did miss my morning cuppa - I had a sweet chai instead, which was nice in its aniseedy own way. Once I got into town, I picked up a decaf soya coffee to try and trick my brain into thinking it had had caffeine. Later I had a decaf diet coke, which I'm pretty sure goes against the ethos of a detox, without specifically breaking the rules. Bit like an MP claiming for interior design.

Lunch was a long time coming, it seemed (Spanish omlette stewed gently in a laptop bag for 3 hours). Slightly soggy, but quite tasty anyway. It did need a fork though - as my T-shirt now demonstrates. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough of it: I was just as hungry when I'd finished lunch as I'd been before. So I popped over to Costa where I discovered they do soya decaf frescatos. Excellent. Though again, not quite in the spirit of the thing.

I snacked on tender sprouting broccoli on the way home (I kid you not - and yes, I did get funny looks) and wound up with a courgette and (spelt, again) pasta soup. Hearty and homemadey. Maybe spelt is the vital ingredient.

Trouble is, two hours on and I am feeling decidedly peckish. And I have a caffeine-withdrawal headache. Maybe bed would be the best option.

Detox Diary: Day 0

2010-07-07T14:48:00.006+01:00

I know. I am a health writer and I should know better. I do know better. Detox diets are a waste of the nasty news papers they are promoted on. They are an sham, an expensive ploy to get us to buy in to unfounded health myths... And yet... I've never done one. And I want to see what all the fuss is about.

Plus, I got an offer the other day to buy a week's worth of food-to-my-door, fully tox-free, calorie-counted and nutritionally balanced, for £40. I reckon I don't spend much less than that anyway, so why not? At the very least it will mean I can forget about feeding myself, so it appeals to my laziness.

Now, I'm pretty sure my liver is doing a good job of ridding my body of "toxic residues" - it mainly manages to process the gin and the diet coke (not together, although...). And, after all, I am alive and well. So I don't have any tox's to de-.

But I do have a definite caffeine addiction. I chain-drink caffeinated beverages, barely letting the mug cool before refilling. I'm going to struggle to step away from the cafetiere for a week. I've got in some lemon and ginger tea, and some sweet chai to fill my hot-drink gaps - there are roughly 10 a day. Sweet chai is good: it tastes like cinnamon. The drawback is it makes everything else in the cupboard taste like cinnamon, a rogue polo in a box of chocolates.

I don't really need to lose weight, though I might do anyway on the tiny 1300 cals a day I'll be getting. A fair proportion of my calories comes from bonus bowls of Tesco's own brand rice snaps, malt wheats, bran flakes and muesli. So I'm sure I'll eat a more balanced diet this week - I do tend to scrimp on pomegranates, quinoa and acai. I know, right?

So, I'm not really expecting much of this "detox" except balanced meals that I don't need to bother preparing. It's just a small taste of celebrity-style self-indulgence. I'm going to imagine J-C Novelli sweating away in my kitchen (I might imagine a chef making my food for me as well!).

Delivery is due any moment!

Conference health tips

2010-07-05T11:20:00.006+01:00

Okay, I wasn't going to, because I know everyone who was at Cybermummy is... but I couldn't resist a post about it.

So, here are my Top Ten Tips for a Happy, Healthy Conference Day:

1. Do not go out the night before. A hangover does not get you off to a good start.
2. Do not forget to order business cards in advance, preferably designed by a designer and on high gsm matt card. It can be stressful trying to print hastily written notes onto crappy, glossy Staples business card paper at midnight. Drunk. It's also pointless when you are too embarrassed by their crappiness even to hand them out.
3. Try to get some sleep the night before. It's better if your room is quiet and cool. It's better if your other half isn't also drunk and therefore snoring, if your bedroom temperature isn't 28 degrees, and you forgot to bring a glass of water up.
4. Do leave plenty of time for travel. Your train will be cancelled. Your tube will not run on time. You will get lost. This can be stressful.
5. Bring a map of your destination, or pre-arrange a meeting with someone more organised than you. If you don't though, you may be lucky and stumble upon some other bemused delegates, and can then wander around in a noisy gaggle heading in the general direction of the conference.
6.Your feet are your friends. You'll need to rely heavily on them throughout the day, so treat them well or they'll come back to blister you. Comfy yet stylish footwear is a must.
7. If you are prone to sensitive teeth, use the right toothpaste so that any exceptionally irresistible cupcakes with inches of sugary, buttery, glorious icing do not induce spasms of pain. Though it's worth it even if they do. Maybe bring some gum.
8. Remember everyone else is just as nervous as you about meeting 200 new people. So, smile and make like an extrovert.
9. A few weight-lifting arm exercises before the day may help you carry swag without too much of a swagger. Or, leave bags under a chair, but do try not to remove someone else's when you go to reclaim them.
10. Wine. Have a bit. Enjoy... but don't forget to take water up to bed...

Hand, foot and mouth disease

2010-07-04T21:32:00.009+01:00

...is not the same as foot and mouth disease. Which is a relief, because when the latest disease-of-the-week letter came home from school informing me it's at large amongst Small Boy's peers, I began to imagine disinfectant foot baths and pyres. But no.

Foot and mouth affects cloven-hooved animals. And though, sometimes, I do consider searching Small Boy for the mark of the beast, he doesn't fall into this category.

Hand, foot and mouth is a caused by a virus and gives you little blisters on the palms of your hands, soles of your feet and sometimes ...you've guessed it, in your mouth. There might also be a fever and a sore throat. It doesn't usually make you really ill, and will go away on its own after a week or so. But you do need to keep the kids back from school until they feel better.

In fact, I suspect we have already had this particular plague. Small Boy inexplicably complained of a "sore mouth" a few weeks ago. I'm sorry to say I more or less discounted it as another of his "I Am Not Going to Sleep" ploys, though I did think maybe he had a bit of sore throat and couldn't put that into words. He did sleep in the end, and there's not much to be done about it anyway, apart from a dose of paracetamol in case of high temperature.

We survived this one then. I wait with blistered breath to find out what the next disease-of-the-week will be.

I'd love to run, but...

2010-06-30T20:12:00.005+01:00

School Sports Day!! Oh the excitement. The nervous anticipation. Getting the team-coloured t-shirt ready and the shorts packed,baking a cake (yes, another one) for the cake sale... and spraining my ankle just in time to ensure I couldn't participate in a parents event, should it arise (true, though not deliberate, honestly).

The big day dawned, and it was was about 40 degrees C outside (well, I reckon 29 anyway). Small Boy went off to school all excited, though he was marginally disappointed I hadn't made a giant banner for him to wave. The way he asked, he made it sound like he'd be the only one without, but in fact he would have been the only one with.

The plan was that I'd drop him off, then pop home to get the picnic and head up to the school field in time to watch him race at 10. All did not go quite according to plan. First, I had to make the picnic, which had not been prepared the night before as intended. No big surprise, knowing my organisational skills. So, two rounds of cheese sandwiches, some cereal bars, some fruit and a box of cherry tomatoes. Ready to go.

And then this morning, of all mornings, Small Girl decides she has to push her baby in the toy buggy all the way. What should have been a 7 minute walk took 37, with me cajolling her along and her asking "What that say?" every time she saw a bit of writing on a manhole cover, street sign, car sticker etc etc etc...

So were late, and we missed the "sprint". He didn't come last apparently though, which is all one can hope for. Next I saw him climb into a giant yellow sack at the start line, and I moved forward with my camera ready to catch the action. But then, he climbed out again. Someone else got in, he went to the back of the line (he later old me he just didn't fancy it). So, I didn't see him race.

Next event: Vortex throwing. Now, this is a new term to me. I thought a vortex was some kind of spacey spinning thing, like a black hole (I'm wrong). Nope, it's a spongy rocket-shaped projectile, the child's equivalent of a javelin. He was at the back of the line for that one too. And by this point he had spotted Small Girl and I negotiating the bumpy field between "events", me pushing the buggy, carrying (inevitably) her toy buggy and baby and cajolling again, her doing anything but walking in the right direction (mainly begging for more bits of picnic to eat). As soon as he saw us he went a bit to pieces, wanted to be with us, was absolutely not going to throw a Vortex.

There was no time for the egg and spoon race. Children and parents alike were wilting in the midday sun, blood sugars were low, and it was time to retreat to the shade for some cool drinks, sweaty cheese sandwiches and squabbles over cup cakes. All pleasantly positioned alongside a choice piece of fox poo. Ahhh. English summertime.

So, my Sports Day experience contained precisely zero sports. But it was nice chatting to the other parents. And it didn't rain.

Cake haze...

2010-06-23T14:08:00.006+01:00

I've been absent for a while. I've had a work deadline hanging over me. This is the way it usually goes: I accept 12 pieces of work to do between April and June, and then spend the first couple of months fiddling around online, ordering stuff, window shopping, reading blogs etc... You know how it is (I should add that until the end of May I did have an actual job three days a week as well!).

Then I end up with two weeks until the deadline, and 10 pieces of work left to do. This frenzy of stressful activity induces migraines and exhaustion and often needs extra childcare and/or weekend and evening work. Urghhh. Next time I'll be better organised. Probably. It's all over now anyway, I met my deadline (I always do, even if I have to stay up all night) and I can engage with humanity again.

During this productive stint, I did still manage to attend the school fair and bake the required 24 cupcakes. Obviously the kids "helped" - and I'll be amazed if nobody ended up with food poisoning seeing the way they were decorated. (Small Girl: a little lick of this sweetie, and then stick it on here...)

The day itself was mostly fun, though it was an expensive affair which resulted in an empty purse, slight nausea, and one injured finger (there were two bouncy castles). Small Boy attempted to eat an ice cream the size of his head. Sadly (a-hem) he couldn't manage it, so I bravely took on the job. Yum. (Wo)manning the cupcake stall did involve a few tasters too.

We also ate a hec of a lot of cake when our nanny left (boo hoo!). She has gone home to Canada, and now that I am totally freelance I have more flexibility and don't need much extra childcare. Anyway, we're all caked out for now.

The next challenge is sports day. No cake involved.

Bye bye babyhood

2010-06-12T21:40:00.005+01:00

I feel so sad. Today I finally sorted all the old baby stuff, clothes and toys out, and we took 8 black bags and two boxes off to charity shops. It took a while for me to sort through it, I kept stopping and smelling things, and pondering over the tiny vests and babygros that I remember so well from night-time cuddles.

I kept a few things, of course. The outfits they wore coming home for the first time from hospital...the vest we were given by the midwives as a Christmas present, because Small Girl was born on Boxing Day (it has a letter 'A' on it, and it helped us decide on her name)... the tiniest blue sleepsuit that made Small Boys eyes look so beautiful (and that he puked down so impressively when I took him in to show him off to my work mates!).

So, it seems a decision has been made. Four we are, and four we'll stay. We don't have a baby bouncer or a sling any more, and I've no stock of bottles, teats and breast pads. Hhm. Feels like a big decision, and it fills me with a kind of sadness. Babyhood is so special and so fleeting. But maybe that's just nostalgia (and the powerful tug of maternal hormones!) - we are a very happy four, and I don't think I want to rock the boat. I have a feeling Small Girl would not make a good middle child anyway.

Lollipop warning

2010-06-09T15:55:00.005+01:00

Be warned. Excessive consumption of raspberry lollipops may result in temporary insanity and tummy overhang.

As evidenced by Small Boy, wearing a hat of feather-and-magazine plus blue leopard skin cloth, and Small Girl, wearing a tight waistband and a grin.

I'm off visiting friends

2010-06-04T10:36:00.003+01:00

You'll find me round at Rachael's today. Here's a map, join us for a coffee: Rachael's pad.
Thanks for having me Rachael!

To infinity and beyond...

2010-06-03T22:41:00.001+01:00

With Small Girl safely delivered to nursery, Small Boy and I headed to the London Planetarium for some quality time. We watched starry skies and planets zoom towards us and came home with an astronaut poster and some real space food.

Here is Neil Armstrong about to set off in Apollo 11. Wearing full space suit (pyjamas), space helmet and moon boots.

Nitpicking - Still (moving) life

2010-06-02T09:01:00.004+01:00

This week's Sticky Fingers Gallery theme is 'Still life', though this one may show signs of movement. Yes, the object du jour for me is this nit picker, with which I have recently become too well-acquainted. Not a nice snap, I know, but I challenge you to take an arty picture of a nit comb with a smart phone.

There's a slight story behind this one. I'd started with the neon yellow plastic one given to me free by the school (the least they could do, as harbingers of unwanted pests - lice, I mean, not kids). But, like many things in our house, it has gone walkabout. I wonder if the lice carried it off.

So I went to the chemist to get new one, and was about to buy a nifty looking thing with a white handle. But there was a woman in the chemist accompanied by her brood of three tightly-curly-haired girls. When she saw what I was buying, she said she'd had trouble with her kids' hair infestations (yes, I can see you might have, I nodded) and this was the best one she'd tried. Apparently it can remove nits as well as lice, and it's got a lifetime guarantee. What more could you want in a nit comb, I ask you?

See yesterday's lousy post.

Lousy weekend

2010-06-01T10:09:00.007+01:00

My first trip out of the house in three days was to buy delouser.

Yesterday I discovered seven head lice creeping around Small Boy's scalp. And three more when I did a wet comb at bath time. We had a letter from his school last week, plus he woke me up at 1.30a.m. the previous night complaining of itchiness - so I wasn't surprised.

It's been causing psychosomatic tickliness in my head - I've done a thorough search with a fine-toothed comb and there are no signs of life (wow, my pysche is good at tricking my soma!). I'll be off to the chemist for treatments later today. There are non-insecticide options, so less worry about poisoning kids as well as bugs.

How I'll manage to pin down Small Girl to inspect her head I don't know. Mind you, her hair is as wispy and fine as smoke, so the damn lice will have nowhere to hide. Ha, we'll get you, you see if we don't.

The other highs and lows of our Bank Holiday weekend:

Good: Having plenty of freelance work
Bad: Working all day Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday (not leaving the house for two days)

Good: Trips to the Horniman museum, to soft play, and to the park twice
Bad: Without me

Good: Discovering a new favourite wine - Tesco finest Sauv Blanc, even better than my previous favourite (Cloudy Bay) and half the price
Bad: Breaking a wine glass on the kitchen floor - we are now down to two of the original eight wedding gift glasses. I'm sad.

Good: Learning about Africa for Small Boy's World Cup school project (Ghana's coastline is the Gulf of Guinea!)
Bad: Missing the 'research' trip (East Dulwich, not Africa)

Good: Eating yummy Moroccan stew made by Husband in the name of African research
Bad: Hearing Small Boy screech about it being too spicy and having to make him a ham and tomato sandwich instead (Small Girl wolfed it down - I suspect she has inherited Husband's fireproof taste buds)

Good: Discovering a new DVD series to watch - Prime Suspect. Brilliant!
Bad: Accidentally staying up too late watching the entire first series in one sitting ("This is a really long episode..." Doh!)

Good: Having fun hoovering... with Small Boy taking a ride on it
Bad: Breaking the hoover (and thus being unable to properly clear up broken glass)

Good: Dancing round the kitchen madly to 80's tunes
Bad: Stubbing my toe

And actually, I didn't go out just for the delouser - I found a new circuits class. Yay!

Booooze...

2010-05-29T14:57:00.004+01:00

You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. So said Dean Martin.

In which case, I wasn't drunk at a wedding on Friday when I removed my shoes to dance, talked endlessly about personal subject matters with people I don't know that well, danced til 3 to awful chart music in a club afterwards wearing inappropriate wedding attire, scoffed down a chip butty and a biscuit Boost on the way home and tore my beautiful silk top because it wouldn't come off as easily as it had gone on.

That's OK then. For a moment there, I thought I was.

Prickly heat and dentist chairs...

2010-05-24T19:09:00.006+01:00

It's not all a bed of summer roses, this 'heatwave' (what the media will inevitably call these few days of slightly warmer weather). Small Girl has come out in prickly heat all over. It started on her back, yesterday, and when I got her up this morning, it was all over her legs and arms as well. Poor mite. The only advice is to try and keep her cool. This is impossible, since she is rarely still for a nanosecond, whatever the weather.

I'm relieved that it's going to be 10 degrees cooler tomorrow, although my washing won't dry so fast.

You might expect that the itch a heat rash apparently causes would translate into crankiness, but actually, so far, so good. She's been right up to her usual standards of chirpiness today. By which I mean the normal level of intensive needling of her big brother, peeing in the wrong places, building climbing frames out of chairs etc etc.

In fact, even in this heat, I dared take them both to the dentist. Here's what Small Girl got up to in the waiting room:
- refused to sit and listen to a kindly-offered story, like the other kids - the water cooler looked more fun!
- removed cup from dispenser beside water cooler
- filled it with water
- drank one sip
- poured the rest on the floor
- 'cleaned' it up with a fistful of baby wipes
- removed another cup
- scrumpled it up
- protested loudly about not being allowed to continue this fiasco
- demanded a drink
- had another tiny sip from a clean cup... scrumpled that one up too

I hoped that being called into the surgery might ease the stress (at least there wouldn't be a waiting room of people watching). Sadly, no. Although, to be fair, she did sit nicely while the dentist took a peek at her teeth (two more bigguns still to come it seems). But then - rejoice, sweet toddler heaven! - mummy is held captive, pinned down with her mouth wide open, incapable of seeing let alone stopping what's going on.

So, there began a systematic emptying of the contents of my handbag onto the surgery floor. This was slightly embarrassing when the questions started up.

Her: "What are these mummy?"
Me (craning to see, it's box of Migraleve): "These are for when mummy gets a very sore head."
Her: "What's this mummy?"
Me (craning to see...Always with wings!): "They are kind of tissues..."
Her: silence
Me: "Not the lipstick!!" Or rather, at this stage, "Nggg,nackaghcissi!!

I did manage to jump down and stop her before there was too much damage.

I do think the nurse might have been just a tad more helpful. Maybe she was doing something. Anyway, the obvious answer is not to take a toddler with you to the dentist, that's just common sense. But we don't do these things unless we have to, especially in 28 degree temperatures. And prickly heat girl needs to learn about oral hygiene sometime.

The Gallery: Self-portrait (or, WYSIWYG!)

2010-05-19T10:32:00.001+01:00

This is in response to Tara's Gallery (see link, left) - I wasn't going to do this one, I am a bit, slightly nervous about being "out there" in cyberspace, but then I turned my phone around, took a snap, and thought what the heck. Here I am, in all my bare-faced, slightly-minging-having just-been-to-spin, (unusally) sporty-clothed glory.

I'm sitting on our immensely uncomfortable futon where that day (Monday) I decided to work. Or rather, I hadn't quite been arsed to move from there to turn on my work computer in the office, and sat there getting bum-numb with the laptop on my knees all day instead.

The fact I am still wearing my sports stuff even though I got back from the class 3 hours earlier is another testament to that day's inertia. Humph. Mondays.

I have published my skin small enough that you can't see the crows feet. Or the muddy brown freckles all over the place.

Okay, off to see the rest of you then!

Party politics

2010-05-15T20:53:00.005+01:00

Small Boy's birthday is not for another three months, but I've already started to worry about the party.

Now he's at school, it's all a bit more complicated. I don't think I can get away with just inviting my friends who have kids the same age round for a coffee and a bit of cake, and blowing up a few balloons.

I now have the whole class to consider. Invite everyone? Or just the select few he mentions? This is tricky though, as he mentions different people from one day to the next.

Which brings me to my second concern, at the heart of the first. Has he really got any friends? It's not just who to invite, but, will they come?

We were at a party today, and it was the first time I'd seen him in a big group with his peers for a while. As a toddler he was always quite happy going off and doing his own thing - he plays role play games in his head, talks to himself as different characters etc. Today was not really any different, which worries me a bit.

When we arrived, he ran off and played with his class mates to begin with, but soon began to drift off on his own, and when it came to a race, he was the only boy out of 16 who declined to join in.

From then on, he was on his own, or hanging round the grown ups, while the others ran about, climbed unsuitably tall trees, jumped off dangerously high objects etc. in the way that (most) small boys do. So, I am now worried that he's a bit of a loner, and that even if we had a party nobody would come.

I am totally aware that this is a reflection of my own insecurities. Growing up, I desperately wanted to be liked by the cool gang (and almost was - on the outskirts).

So when I see a bunch of boys playing happily around, and him on his own, it makes me sad. Although, maybe how it makes me feel isn't important.

To be honest he seems happy enough. He is (usually) very keen to go to school. He seems to play with girls quite a lot - I think he shares more of their interests. But then, he won't get invited round for play dates with them, it seems that's not what girls' parents do at this age.

He is extremely young in his class (Reception year), and has only been there one term. His birthday is at the end of August. Some of the kids are a whole year older, and the difference really shows. He still has a baby face, and he just can't keep up with them physically.

So maybe I just need to wait. He'll find his place. And I'll put off the party decision to nearer the time...

Any advice gratefully received though.

Getting out of the house

2010-05-14T20:39:00.005+01:00

You're cutting it fine, if you leave now, you should be on time. At this point, Small Girl insists on using the potty (she should not be allowed into the new buggy without either a nappy on or a prior visit to the potty). But she wants to poo. She needs her bum wiped and her sticker reward. She wants the purple one. No, she wants the pick one. THE PINK ONE! Then, she wants to "help" you carry the potty up to the loo, she wants to tip it down the loo herself, and flush it. She needs to wash her hands. Herself. Not with that soap, with this one. This delays proceedings.

Yet, you might just have been on track for timely departure, until Small Boy pinches his finger in the hinge on a door, resulting in blood-curdling cries and screams of "It bleeds! It bleeds!" This delays proceedings. He doesn't want a plaster. Then he does. But not that one. Then he can't put his shoes, the pain is too severe. Or his coat.

And then - a heart-sink moment - "I am NOT going to school!" This, over and over again, amid sobs of lingering pain. Oh gawd. And we were so close to being on time. I toy with the idea of calling the school to say he'll not be in, so upset was he.

But instead, to try and talk him round, I switch on the laptop and bring up his newly-started class blog. This is a genius notion from his new head teacher. Every class has a blog now, and they update it with what they've been doing, so at last we can find out what actually goes on after we leave the playground. Small Boy is yet to have seen his, it's only been up a few days, and we sit down together and look at pictures of him and his friends having a good time, meeting a fireman, making flags, playing with lego... It's enough to distract him.

We finally get out of the door. We are officially "late" - I have to report to the office. But he gets to his classroom just in time for a singing lesson. I loiter in the hall so I can hear them begin. Soon 30 happy 5 year olds can be heard chirping away, and I can picture them doing the actions to the warm-up song as they chant, "Pick bananas, pick pick bananas, peel bananas, peel peel bananas etc.". I know he loves that one.

And after school he says, for the first time, out of nowhere, "I had a great day at school today mum!" So, better late than never. And to think, it was all thanks to a blog!!

It was the smell that first alerted me

2010-05-11T14:00:00.002+01:00

...and the sheepish look on Small Girl's face when I came into the kitchen. She was reaching for a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter. She was wearing only pyjama top and pants, which were all huched up around the bum area. And then I saw it. Lurking on floor between the car playmat and the sofa, a lovely great big poo.

This was a Test. My reaction was crucial. She's been in pants for weeks now and has not misplaced a poo yet, so this was an experiment on her part.

SG [cheerful, innocent]: Are you happy, mummy?
Me [stony]: No, I am not happy.
SG [cheerful, seemingly genuine]: Why?
Me [serious, calm(ish)]: Poos should go in the potty, not on the floor. Then you get a sticker.
SG: Oh. [Pause] Are you happy mummy?

Then I noticed the extent of the mess. On the sofa, floor, down her legs and up her back. The situation called for more than a baby wipe. I picked her up at arms length, none-too-comfortably, and up we went for a rinse off. I started off sluicing her with warm water in the shower.

SG: This is fun, mummy!

Oh-oh. We do not want to be rewarding misplaced poos with a fun water-play session. So I turned down the temperature, just cool enough to be uncomfortable.

SG: I cold mummy. I don't like it.
Me: Well, next time, catch your poo in the potty, stay warm, and get a sticker too!

The next half hour or so was spent with a bleachy kitchen spray, a bowl of water, paper towels and a bin bag.

That was last week, and she has "tested" me again. On the brand new sitting room carpet. This time, she got what I guess must be her desired reaction - I was really cross. And then again, worse, at a friends house (luckily a very good friend at exactly the same stage we are with respect to potty nonsense).

Since then though, I'm pleased to say that number 2s have been winding up in the right place. And the stickers have been flowing (one for a wee, two for a poo!). Lets hope it lasts. Or I might have to bring out the cold shower again.

The Gallery - The world we live in

2010-05-05T20:37:00.006+01:00

Park life. That's the world we live in. The park on the other side of our road is the Best Park in London (nay, the World!). Here's why.

Unlike every other London park, it never ever feels overcrowded. It's hilly enough to feel secluded even on a sunshiney Sunday. But it's also buzzing enough that we rarely go without finding a friend.

It's scenic. Look in one direction, and there's a rural church scene, like you're in the middle of the countryside. But behind you, the Gherkin and St Pauls. There's a secret walled garden, bursting with roses. Heavenly scent.

In this park, there is something for everyone. Sporty types of all ages can chose from lengths in the lido, football, tennis, BMX track biking, bowls or basketball. The tiddlers can wade up to the their ankles and splash in the sprinklers at the paddling pool, and swing, spin and bounce in the playground.

And when you're hungry after all that, you can choose from two cafes for your coffee,ice cream and urgent kiddie meal needs.

I have so many memories in this park. I run there - we trained for two marathons, round and round, chatting as we went (it's 1.7miles around the path - I didn't do all the training there!!).

I've sat with Husband on warm evenings with a bottle of wine, two plastic cups and a bag of crisps. We've talked about our lives and dreams, planned our wedding, and wondered at the amazement of pregnancy and tiny lives in this park.

When Small Boy was due - an August baby - I went there on the first day of my maternity leave. I sat on a hill in the hot sun, and watched with nerves and excitement as apparently seasoned mums pushed buggies and happily chatted. A few weeks later I joined them. I pushed the buggy holding my own pride and joy, gingerly bumping it over every little pothole, worrying about whether his head would be OK with the bumps, was the sun too hot, would I ever be able to stop crying...

Then, I found my friends again, and we shared the park. We took it turns to babysit our little bundles while we ran, tentatively at first, round the park to begin shifting the baby poundage.

Right now in our park, the blossom is in bloom, and the park is so beautiful. On a fine summer's evening, we grab the keys and go for last-minute picnics. No planning needed, 10 seconds and we're there - we can pop home if we forget anything.

I feel excitement when I walk through our park. Here is where our children will learn to ride their bikes. Here, they will hang out with their friends after school, share secrets and first kisses. Here we'll build snowmen, rollerskate, run, picnic, snooze on rugs, watch November fireworks, collect conkers and sticks and stroll hand in hand. I can't wait. If I could live anywhere in the world, I'd choose here.

(In case you're wondering - Brockwell Park!)

TV or not TV?

2010-05-04T20:44:00.004+01:00

The great kid's TV debate is back in the news again today. Another study has found - shock, horror! - that it's not such a great idea to plonk your toddler in front of the telebunkum box (thankyou Mr Dahl!) for hours on end.

This is not entirely new news, is it? Here are just a few other headlines from the BBC website:

'Couch potato' toddlers warning - January 2004

Children's progress 'hit by TV' - March 2004
TV 'may stunt toddlers' learning' - July 2005

Is TV delaying child development? - June 2009

What this new study adds though, is that the effects may be long-term. The researchers recorded the viewing habits of 1300 29-month old kids, and followed them up aged 8. The tots who watched more had lower concentration and were worse at maths. They were less active. And, they were more likely to be bullied.

I wondered whether it was right to assign cause and effect here though - maybe the kids who watched more TV were from families already likely to be inactive or less academic? But the researchers took account of other family characteristics, like socioeconomic status. So it looks like TV-hours are an independent predictor for having a rubbish time at school, all-in-all.

It's not a huge surprise, and its more or less the basis I've been working on anyway. Intuitively, we know it can't be good to have our kids lolling in front of a glowing screen for hours on end, rather than chatting, running, jumping, thinking...So TV is a treat round our way. Small Boy, if his behaviour is up to scratch, is sometimes offered a half-our of CBeebies on the iplayer (I'm lucky that he rarely asks). This way I can limit it - he can chose three 10-minute programmes, and he's happy with that. Small Girl gets none, and is not interested.

This weekend, though, I decided to break the pattern (as every parent knows, consistency is key, so I may well have opened a can of worms - we'll see!) Anyway, I allowed Small Boy to watch a film on TV. A whole film, something CGI about insects. He seemed to be enjoying it, until Small Girl arrived on the scene. Bored by TV, she generally prefers to pootle about, purposefully moving things from place to place in a small plastic shopping trolley - relatively unobtrusive. But this time she was bored. What was stealing her playmate away for so long? She wanted his attention. She embarked upon a campaign of maximum irritation, one minute standing sprawled flat against the TV and the next jumping onto her brother, wrestler-style. It didn't take long to break him. I was alerted by full-volume screams from the sitting room.

Small Girl was removed, and the film finished uneventfully. He didn't really understand it - I watched most of it with him and he kept asking basic questions about the plot. He did enjoy it, but I enjoyed it more! I'm not sure if the bullying story is going to fortify my views on kids and TV, but the squabbles were enough. We'll not go down the whole-movie road again for a while. Peace and sanity, larking in the park, excellent maths results and no bullying!

The Gallery - Portrait

2010-04-27T22:30:00.010+01:00

A portrait is meant to capture the essence of its subjects.

See the closeness and co-operation between Small Girl and Small Boy, and their eager helpfulness in domestic chores?

Both features are always in evidence ... (a-hem)

Take a squiz at some other lovely portraits by clicking on The Gallery

Spinning and reading... an unlikely comparison

2010-04-27T22:12:00.003+01:00

I've just got back from a torturous spinning class (you know, you pedal your pants off and get nowhere fast). Our usual instructor was away, recovering from the London marathon. The stand-in played things a bit differently.

First, oddly, she didn't get on the bike, claiming she'd already done a spin class today. Pah! Anyway, she got us going with some high BPMs and it was fun/hell, exactly as it should be. But here's the thing. As we climbed steeper and sprinted faster, she kept saying, "Come on, nearly there!", implying (I thought) that we were on the last track. I kept believing her. Each time she said it, I pedalled my heart out (almost literally), thinking it was the final push. I cursed under what was left of my breath every time it turned out to be a lie, but I had an amazing work-out.

As I staggered, quivering, homewards, I thought about how the tactic of using microgoals and small incentives along the way, was pretty effective at getting the kind of behaviour you want out of people. And it's one we use regularly with the Small People.

Small Boy is learning to read, and he's doing really well. His teacher Miss B gave us a pile of flashcards of the words he's supposed to know by the end of the Reception year. We took them on holiday with us and Husband cooked up a great game, involving a lot of jumping around and talk of magical stones, where the cards would be held up for him to read as part of the narrative. The game was a massive help, but also we offered a reward for learning all the words. So last weekend the boys went off to the toy shop to choose something (strangely he chose a horse - he normally goes for something with wheels rather than legs!). Learning to read is a long slog, but we'll be celebrating and rewarding achievements along the way.

But the spinning teacher didn't deliver on her promises - we were not nearly there. It's called shifting the goalposts. She's taking a gamble, because next time she takes the class it would make sense for me to be a little more cautious, and save a bit for the end. I won't though, because I want to shift a few pounds and I understand that the pain of the journey (wrong word in the case of spinning!) is worth the joy of arriving in my old jeans comfortably.

With littluns though, if you don't deliver on your promises, pretty soon they realise they're meaningless. You'll have lost your incentives, and they'll have lost faith.

The Mother of All Tantrums

2010-04-22T21:58:00.007+01:00

It started with a rake-related accident.

We were doing a spot of gardening with our neighbours, kids the same ages as Small Boy and Small Girl. The littlies were moving soil from bag to path to shoe and back etc. The older kids were readying the soil for planting using implements twice the length of them.

Despite repeated reminders to watch out for the other end of the tools, eventually the predictable happened, and Small Boy was clonked on the head with the rake handle. He cried as if someone was slowly removing his fingernails. I cuddled and soothed, and eventually he calmed down. A bruise came up on his forehead, but luckily it's not too big.

And the day just went downhill from there.

He'd been in school all day and was clearly tired, drifting around with his thumb jammed in his mouth. He'd been a bit teary since the bump, but the tantrum suddenly blew up like a freak whirlwind. It was sparked by a minor issue, as they always are. Earlier I had bought him an alien to decorate his crocs (a present, I thought he'd be pleased - ha!) and his sister got a butterfly. But he wanted the butterfly. All hell broke lose and he began thrashing around like an angry dragon.

I told him he'd need to calm down before I could listen to what he was saying. He was helplessly out of control. He kept yelling at me "I'm trying. I can't stop. Help me mummy! You're not helping me!"

Usually I find ignoring works best, but he really was trying to calm down and couldn't, so I pinned him down and held his flailing arms still(ish) in a bear hug. In the end though, his trusty Taggie and his tasty thumb did the trick. He eventually recovered enough to eat bites of chicken and noodles between sobs. Clearing his plate, he moved on to a giant banana and a yoghurt ... and suddenly, as fast as the whirlwind had whipped up, it calmed down. The sun came out. He was all perky smiles and politeness.

What did I learn? That minor injury + tiredness + low blood sugar = tantrum. Like a fire triangle, remove one side and the fire goes out. Phew.

Sunscream

2010-04-20T22:08:00.008+01:00

Today I reached for the wrong cream from my bag, and almost headed out for a lunchtime run with my face slathered in foot cream. I was aiming for the Factor 50. Foot cream, I have discovered, makes the absolute best hand cream. Overnight, it magically heals the cracked knuckles I have from washing my hands 12,000 times a day. OK, slight exaggeration, but Small Girl likes to use the potty (or a carefully selected doorstep or floor area) often, so there is much hand-washing to be done. Still, I think it's more likely to cook my face than prevent sunburn.

It may seem like overkill going for SPF50 in April, but I'm a celt and the freckles pop out at the merest hint of sunshine. Already, I look mucky. Still white underneath, just a bit grubby. So I put the SPF over the foot cream, and went out feeling somewhat greasy, the sunshine bouncing off my gleaming nose. Not good for the pores.

The other reason for baby-strength sun cream is that I've recently been to a sk:n clinic. I've been walking past the clinic for months, nonchalantly trying to get a look inside without appearing to do so. Finally I plucked up the courage to go in. Thankfully my fear of intimidatingly over-botoxed and preened receptionists was unfounded. They were nicely groomed but normal, with seemingly natural facial movement. I had gone in to look at face creams, with a possible view to finding something a bit more hardcore than you can get in Boots. Sleepless nights have taken their toll and I feel I've aged more than my child-free friends. As I browsed, the receptionist thoughtfully suggested a skin consultation with a nurse.

The assessment didn't involve much apart from having some kind of photo taken that magically made my skin look totally terrible, showing every brown spot and line in hideous detail. You know, the kind of image you see on adverts designed to scare the bejeezus out of you so you use suncream. Well, it worked. My 'scores' were OK apart from the sun damage one. The nurse asked accusingly if I used sunbeds (never) or had hot holidays (usually Scotland). But I am a runner, and I suppose that regular long runs in the middle of the day, often without suncream, have done some damage even though I never got sunburn. I already knew that sun was Bad. But somehow it didn't quite reach my consciousness until I saw that picture. I thought I could get away with it as long as I didn't burn.

I'm impressed that the only suggestion was a suncream that wouldn't block pores, and even then the nurse wrote it all down so I could buy it elsewhere. I'd half expected her to rush off and get syringes of face-fillers.

To preserve what's left of my youth, I'll be sharing the same suncream as the kids. I know that aging is basically down to genes, but anything that might hold back the clock it worth a pop.

Sporting heroes

2010-04-19T20:48:00.010+01:00

I've been trying to fire up a bit of sporting spirit in Small Boy. A few weeks ago his school did a sponsored run for Sport Relief. The whole school marched down to a local field and ran around it as many times as they could. Four circuits made a mile - some of the big kids managed 12.

Small Boy set off at a slow, slightly distracted, trot but fairly soon he bumped into a teacher he knew who was leading a group of nursery kids around by the hand. He joined in a leisurely walk with them. I think he possibly made it round 2.5 times. It seems there's a way to go before he develops his dad's competitive drive.

We went to You Tube in search of motivating clips of sporting heroes. First up I looked up one of my personal heroines, Paula Radcliffe. Sadly though, the most popular clip is the one from the Athens Olympics, where she failed to complete the marathon and ended up in tears at the side of the road. Not what I had in mind as inspiration.

So I found a website with a list of kids' sports to get him interested. I read out the list, from athletics to waterskiing, and asked him whether there was anything he'd like to try. His response? Fishing. Sitting by a pond wasn't exactly the health-giving activity I'd had in mind for him (not to say it isn't a great sport in it's own right). I puzzled over his choice, until I remembered that a few weeks back he'd been watching Deadliest Catch, a documentary about Alaskan deep-sea fishing on Discovery Channel, with his grandpa. The pair of them, glued to the screen, in deep conversation about the structure of the boats, the depth of the ocean, and how they haul the crabs into the boat. He was full of questions (including what the beeps mean - they bleep out the foul fisherman's language). So he obviously sees himself navigating treacherous cold waters and enjoying boisterous fisherman's banter. I'm not sure that Alaskan crab fisherman are the perfect role-models, but nice to see the spirit of adventure in him, if not sporting prowess.

Random acts of kindness

2010-04-18T19:57:00.005+01:00

Two touching moments have topped up my faith in small-child kindness this week. I burnt my arm taking a tray out of the oven, rushing as always to feed the hungry hoards. I ran it under the cold tap for a while (although not the recommended 20 minutes - no way could they wait that long for their fishfingers), but still it blistered and I think it will scar. Ouch.

Small Boy was concerned. He disappeared and came back with his comfort blanket, Taggie (he has four, and it used to be I could rotate them, but there's now a firm favourite - his sister's light pink one, obviously). He offered me a choice of any of the tags to ease the pain. Having first-hand experience of each of the different tags available, he recommended I try the dark green one. Apparently it is the most silky. And then he stroked it softly on my sore arm, to make it better (it actually made it worse, but I hadn't the heart to tell him).

It's amazing, the total faith in the ability of these scraps of smudged and smelly fleece to make things better. Most of the time, they do. That made me smile.

Later in the week, we had an Easter egg hunt. A bit late, and it was the third for the kids, because all the grandparents wanted to have a go at being Easter Bunny. It turns out Small Girl, though just 2, is eagle-eyed when it comes to shiny-wrapped chocolate. She found more eggs than Small Boy, and he was loudly distraught.

My egg-hunt recollection is of a real competition between me and my three brothers, which suited me fine as I'm pretty good at foraging for chocolate. But in the name of peace, we tried to even things out by suggesting that Small Girl donate one or two of her eggs to her brother. I was ready for shrieks of protestation.

But to my utter amazement, she agreed immediately and handed them over. It doesn't matter much in the end since they both forget about the actual chocolate soon after the hunt is over, which means someone else has the chore of eating it. Ho hum.

Still, nice to see their caring sides, and something to hang on to when the squabbles start up.

Cough-ache

2010-04-11T16:56:00.015+01:00

No sooner has the ache in Small Boy's ear subsided, than the first ominous signs of a virus show up in Small Girl. Snotty nose and even-more-than-usual crabbiness - completely and utterly impossible rather than than just completely impossible. So when the vomit came at bedtime I was fairly well prepared, psychologically and practically.

Ready for a long night, I'd already brought her downstairs in her PJs and got the kitchen bowl lined up in waiting for her stomach contents (a spoonful of paracetamol plus approximately two baked beans). She always vomits with a high temperature. My mum tells me I was the same. It's very awkward, because medicinal attempts to reduce the fever always end up down the front of clothing, in hair, beds, carpets etc. And of course, at the first puke, you never know if you're in for a full-on, four day vom-fest and headed for A&E (that's only happened once, thank god) or a one-off inconvenience.

The fever thing is a bit of a mystery. It's hard to know what you're dealing with, and not massively helpful when your two-year-old tells you she has 'cough-ache'. Should you give medicine? (Yep, apparently that's fine, but not for more than five days or if you're really worried). And when it's chucked up soon after it's gone down, should you re-dose or not? I think it depends on how long it's been in there. A half hour or so and enough has probably been absorbed, so best not to. Anyway, pain or not her temperature was very high, so I gave her paracetamol, and when that came out immediately, ibuprofen, and when that came out immediately, another dose of ibuprofen. Thankfully that one stuck.

To cut a long and tedious story short, an hour or so and roughly 15 visits to her bedroom later, she was asleep. I backed, catlike, downstairs for a stiff G&T. I fully expected to be in and out of her room all night, but as it turned out, I didn't see her again until 7.30 a.m. - a rare lie-in. She was still pretty crotchety (read between the lines there), but the fever was better and there was no mention of cough-ache. A step in the right direction then.

Flower-shaped toast

2010-04-10T21:09:00.015+01:00

We're on holiday for a week, in a lovely self-catering house in a beautiful village. The preparations were predictably stressful. Husband, with (dare I suggest) less-than-helpful timing, was off playing footie while I was at home packing, with Small Boy and Small Girl to help (in heavy inverted commas). The ear seems greatly improved and though it takes a bit of coaxing, the foul yellow concoction is going down. Nevertheless the mood was fraught. Hideous squabbles flared up every time I turned my back. Pushing, screaming, tears, and me trying to promote calm while desperately trying to remember to pack the monitor, the potty, two sleeping bags, nappies yada yada yada.

The plan was to have lunch in the car, but, an hour late by now, we decided to eat at home and then go. Small Boy decided today should be the day for flower-shaped toast. Seriously. Nothing else would do. And I gave it a shot (see how desperate I was?) So, he had a snow-drop shaped lunch (toast and cream cheese, cut into a circle with cucumber petals) and Small Girl licked the marmite off a slice of toast, and then they both had Easter eggs in an effort to keep them happy until departure.

On the drive we tried out some new marriage-saving technology - sat nav. Amazing! The relief to be free of the burden of attempted map reading is enormous. We didn't get lost once. The only hint of an argument came the moment it announced we were at our destination, and yet we clearly weren't - in the picture, the house had been less warehousey. Right post-code, but no idea what the actual address was - I'd scribbled it down on a shopping list and lost it. We were in too much of a rush to leave (so that Small Girl could drop into silent sleep) to go and find it, so I gambled that somehow we'd just spot it. Wrong move. We cruised around likely-sounding lanes, reading house names through the window, until eventually we spotted a woman peering expectantly out of the window and checking her watch. Only an hour late. Not too bad, all things considered.

Clean sleep

2010-04-10T09:59:00.011+01:00

The notion of 'sleep hygiene' has always appealed. Crisp cotton sheets, cool fresh air, cosy jammies, darkness, silence, calm, listening to your body clock. But lets face it, that's the sleep of dreams. It may have happened before kids, but there's a snowball in hell's chance these days. My body clock ticks to other people's rhythms. Last night was fairly typical, and will sound familiar to all mums.

Small Girl was up to every trick in the toddler's book, 'How to Rile Mummy'. We're currently potty training (so-called due its effect on parents). She's doing well, though is still in nappies at night. But that didn't stop her wailing about wanting a wee two minutes after saying goodnight. To her credit, she did manage to squeeze out a couple of drops when I held her over the loo (most of it had already been soaked up in the nappy).

Next came shrieks about music (she listens to a calming classic FM compilation on an iPod). If she had been quiet for just a second she would have heard it was already playing. Next, hair clips (one still in her hair, must be removed).

A few minutes later and she can't find Little M, her soft, pink bunny blanket (under her bum).

Next, she's shouting, 'I got a ache, I not weahwl!' (well). Now here's a quandry - faking or real? What to do? She's just getting over a virus and feels hot and sweaty, so I administer a miniature dose. The next I hear is a whimpering, whiny noise. I decide to let it ride, and after about 10 minutes, peace. Phew. Until about midnight. This time, a few head strokes and re-starting the music does the trick.

The rest of the night is uneventful except for creaking floorboards as Husband gets up to the loo, which wake me at some point. I remember vaguely wondering, in a dozy rage, whether a marriage can be expected to survive when sleep is disturbed in this way. Every. Single. Night. But then I drift back to sleep and forget it.

Morning dawns, in Small Girl's world, when 'Mr Sunshine' wakes up. This is set for 7.a.m. She knows there's little point in shrieking before then, as she'll only be told that mummy will come when Mr Sunshine wakes up. It's actually a great little clock thing, and it has really helped us get a few more zzzs. So, at 7.01, the yelling begins: 'The Mr Sunshine wake up!'. This is repeated immediately, louder. And again a third time, with her panicky voice cracking into tears. It's a mad rush to leap out of bed, dizzy, and leg it to her room before the racket wakes Small Boy (grumpy when woken prematurely, which sounds familiar). In this way, my day begins. Sod the body clock.

Oddly, although mummies definitely do wake up more easily to the sound of a crying child, sleep deprivation affects us more. What is Mother Nature playing at? Where's her maternal solidarity?

Like a child with a sore ear

2010-04-09T08:42:00.006+01:00

Even from 100 miles away, our children can raise us from deep slumber. I had a phone call at 7.45 this morning. I was sound asleep, making the most of my last lie-in, and my body clock wasn't quite ready to get me up. I let the phone ring, thinking that if it was important they would try again. They did. And sure enough, it was the grandparents with a tale of woe involving Small Boy and an ear that had rudely kept him awake since midnight, and everyone else too. Its been brewing all week. I spoke soothingly to him, and he sobbed down the phone at me. Mothers have that effect, don't they?

And so the peace of the house was shattered as the children returned for a mummy-cuddle and a trip to the GP. Before we went, I looked up the advice about otitis media (ear infection to you and me - best to be prepared for what the doc will say - check out Clinical Knowledge Summaries and you can see the advice doctors get about treating us). You get a bottle of sweet (but sugar free) yellow antibiotic medicine if he's had a sore ear for 4 days or more (he has, on and off) is systemically very ill (he is not, but is systemically very miserable) or is under three months (nope, 4 years) or has other ongoing illnesses (thankfully no heart, lung, liver, kidney problems here). So I trotted over to the chemist and picked up the banana stuff and a bottle of ibuprofen on prescription (it's free for kids), and things have started to look up.

The recovery is wobbly though, and we have had a few rough moments. For a start, only the first dose of medicine went down well. Then he announced he would not be having any more of that, thanks. Apparently luminous yellow liquid tastes horrible (I can confirm this having licked the spoon - not the best hygiene practice I realise but it prevented a sticky yellow spot on the table). I wonder what kind of laws there are on additives in medicines? That yellow colour does not look like it's been extracted from an actual banana or anything else occurring in nature. Anyway, I explained in 4-year-old terms the concept of antibiotic resistance, and armed with a bite of fish finger to take the taste away, we got the second dose in.

We even ventured out to the shops. It all ended in tears on the way home, with Small Boy toppling over the front of his scooter and Small Girl screeching it was her turn on it anyway and wanting to see the blood on his elbow (request denied). Ah, all back to normal. The rose tinted specs have possibly slipped a bit already. But now they are both safely tucked up in bed and I've a glass of wine on the way I can honestly say I like having things back to normal. All is as it should be.

Fruitful thinking

2010-04-08T16:51:00.007+01:00

Feeding the kids...oohh where do I start? Keeping wildly irrational toddlers (OK let's be charitable, 'picky eaters') happy and trying to get a good balance of foods down their gullets can bring me to tears. Small Girl likes to chew a bit before spitting it out down her top. Then she does it again, with the same food (I mean, why?). Small Boy is more black and white. It's either a clean plate or nothing is touched, each pea in exactly the same place half an hour later. Which is more than can be said for his squirming backside, but that's a whole other issue.

So, whoops of joy - the benefits of five-a-day have been called into question! The link with cancer protection is 'weak'. No more chucking out plate loads of cold broccoli... an end to the angst when nothing goes in but Petits Filous and toast. We're off the hook!

I admit that was my gut reaction. But this news is, sadly but not unsurprisingly, not a green light for giving apple-flavoured rice cakes in place of the real thing. For obvious reasons. The main one being that fruit and veg are low calorie, low fat foods with fibre and vitamins and kids biscuits - even well-intentioned ones - clearly are not. Eating five-a-day still means we're less likely to get heart disease and be fat. Therefore maybe we'll live longer. And, as is usual for health stories that appear ground-breaking at first glance, the advice about what to do doesn't change.

So I'll keep offering platefuls of greens (and oranges, reds and yellows - not Smarties) and keep throwing 90% of them into the bin or my mouth. But some of it goes in, and apparently you need to present new foods 10 times (more if they taste gross) before littluns take to them. A food refused today may be a flavour-of-the month next time. They'll come round in the end - I did.

While the cat's away...

2010-04-08T10:38:00.002+01:00

I wonder...is it just coincidence that my opening entry appears on a day when the little people (Boy, 4 and Girl, 2) are away (Easter break with grandparents)? I don't think so. I've not had this much uninterrupted thinking time in 4 years. It's disconcerting to be in a quiet house on my own. Luxury and loneliness rolled into one. And it has had an interesting affect on me: I've decided to share my meandering thoughts on motherhood ...

The time alone has made me realise quite how much being a mummy changes you. These past few days I have felt like the 'old me' (for 'old' read 'young'). I've been out, drunk wine, seen a film, played loud music, caught up with friends and bought some slightly trendy clothes. And of course had a lie-in or two (it turns out my natural waking time is 8a.m. - not a million miles from the usual 6.30, but it makes all the difference to the eye-bags). Basically I've been doing all the things I'd be doing if I wasn't a mum. And I've loved it (guilt aside, of course). It's incredibly relaxing not shouldering responsibility for other people 24 hours a day.

So, do I think the 'real me' has got lost in the fray of tantrums and poo? No. Motherhood is hugely fulfilling in ways too numerous and complicated to go into now.

But I have many hats, and I need to wear them all from time to time. Now I'm ready to put the mummy hat back on and snuffle the soft necks of my bundles of joy. I'll try to hang on to the rose-tinted specs I've been sporting, and wear my hat at a rakish angle. Until the first tantrum at least...