Saturday is Peekaboo Caption Day

Can you caption my photo?

Weekly Gratitude Linky

I'm experimenting with running a linky party. I've never run one before, so please bear with me.

I'm also experimenting with positivity. According to Shawn Achor, when you feel positive dopamine floods your system. When you're feeling positive, you're 31% more productive.

Writing about three new things you're grateful for each day, for 21 days in a row, helps to "re-wire" your brain so that it starts to retain the pattern of always looking for the positive in situations.

Don't worry, I'm not going to do 21 days straight of the Pollyanna thing; I'd drive everyone mad, myself included. But I thought it might benefit us all if we made an effort to think of at least one positive thing that's happened each week. 

So here it is: the Weekly Gratitude Linky. With any luck, I'll get a badge made up and ready to go for next week!

Here are some things I'm grateful for this week:

• I went to a Damsels in Success meeting on Monday morning, which always makes me feel all inspired and motivated. Fantastic start to my week.
• On Tuesday S woke up early and I didn't need to be anywhere, so we had stories and giggles in bed before breakfast.
• S's nursery have had a particularly bad case of Hand, Foot & Mouth going around lately, plus a fairly horrid bug described by one parent as "like the Exorcist in my living room." To date, S has succumbed to neither and is reasonably chirpy, most of the time.
• Our new bedtime routine means that we have a lot more cuddly, mummy/S time - which is always a good thing.

Here are the rules to this linky:

• Link up a post about gratitude. Something you are thankful for this week. Anything at all, in any format.
• If you like, follow me on Twitter and Facebook. (it's not compulsory)
• Please make at least some effort to visit and comment on other posts!

Health & Fitness Tips

I'm doing my best at the moment to be more healthy. I need to lose some weight.

The most irritating thing is that I used to be fit and healthy. I know what I need to do; I just don't do it.

So here are some things you can do when trying to get a little more fit and healthy.

• Ditch the two-hour slog in the gym or running. Waste of time (in my opinion). HIIT workouts are where it's at. Short, bloody hard bursts of effort that make you want to die... and then stop right before you do. Tabata training is similar, and that's what I do when I train with my friend Simon. It's freezing cold, I ache everywhere, I eff and jeff more than I ever have - but it's over quickly and it gets results.

• One thing I've used for a long time is protein powder. I used to make a shake using just the powder and water or milk, but that's a bit... vest-wearing body builder for me. These days, after a workout I'll chuck some frozen fruit in a jug with some coconut milk, a spoonful of yogurt and a scoop of protein powder, and make myself a nice smoothie.

• Never underestimate the power of water. Drink lots of water. And then drink some more. I know we've all heard the story of that marathon runner who drank too much water and died... that is (most probably) not going to happen to you. Drink some water. Now. I buy a 750ml bottle of mineral water and refill it from the tap whenever it's empty. I aim to have to refill it at least twice through the day. Everything feels better when you're well hydrated.

• Fat doesn't make you fat; sugar makes you fat. Not just sugar in your tea (though that's a good place to start), but the sugar that refined carbs turns into when you digest it. You can make simple switches like wholemeal bread instead of white, wholemeal flour and pasta etc.

• I know I said fat doesn't make you fat... but it's probably best not to bathe all of your food in it either. You can switch the type of fat you use as well. I use a lot of coconut oil for cooking these days.

So there you go... watch this space for a shiny new Vicky in a few months, once I've got my diet under control!

Small Steps, Amazing Achievements: Shoes!

On my day off last week, S spent a lot of time pottering about in her wellies. She loves her wellies, despite the fact she kicks them off her feet whenever she's out of the house in them!

At one point she had taken them off and was on the play mats... I turned my back to respond to an email, and when I looked back she had her boots on and was sitting at my feet.

I asked my sister if she'd put the boots on S, but she said no; she thought I had. It seems someone has learned to put her own wellies on - and on the right feet too!

Fast forward to Sunday, and we're playing in the living room... then S wanders off to the hall and collects her shoes...

It looks like we're learning how to put our shoes on!

Wordless Wednesday: Our Week in Instagram

Dodgy + Trussell Trust = Winning!

This Christmas, the Trussell Trust predicts that: 

• 60,000 people in the UK will need to use a food bank. That's three times more than last Christmas.

• 1 in 3 UK children will be living in poverty.

• 1 in 5 UK mums will skip meals to feed their children.

Just stop for a moment and have a think about what that means. 

I know first hand what it means, and it's not very nice.

All over the UK, a supposedly affluent country, people are going hungry. People like you. And me. The Trussell Trust provided my Christmas dinner last year. This year thankfully I am in a better position. But I have not forgotten. 

Here's for the nice part...

Dodgy were asked to do a cover of a Christmas song for the Festivus Project. But Nigel (their singer) is pretty good at writing songs, so he went one better and wrote "Christmas at the Food Bank." In a day.

The song is released 10th December, and all proceeds go to The Trussell Trust.

There's a special Facebook group for people who want to help promote the single and raise funds for a fantastic cause. The group goes secret on 2nd December though - so you need to get over there and join up quickly to be a part of it!

What else can you do?

• Download the single from 10th December from the Dodgyology site

• Send money directly to the Trussell Trust by texting FBUK13 and either £1, £2, £3, £4, £5 or £10 to 70070

Dodgy are heading back into the studio shortly to work on their next album, a follow-up to "Stand Upright In A Cool Place." They're also still on tour and pretty awesome live, so I'm told.

Don't forget to join that Facebook group to get in on the action, and to download the single from Monday!

The Great Elfathon!

Elf has become something of a Christmas tradition since its release ten years ago. Every Christmas it's on TV, and we all sit down with our families to watch, knowing that families all over the country are doing the exact same thing. It's a sort of shared Christmas spirit.

This year though, Elf won't be shown on TV. Or rather it will, but on Sky Movies - a channel a lot of people don't have. I was really sad when I saw the link to this story on my Facebook timeline this morning. For a lot of people, Elf being shown on TV is the start of Christmas. 

Yes, I know we all have it on dvd these days, and you can get it through rentals or Netflix or wherever else... but there's still something special about it being on TV, isn't there.

I thought it might be nice then, to have an online "event" on the Sunday before Christmas, where we all agree to dust off our dvds, and watch Elf at more or less the same time. Then we can share in the Christmas spirit together, and stick our collective fingers up at Murdoch and his growing empire of exclusivity.

I've created a Facebook event here and I would absolutely love it if you'd join in - and invite all your friends to join in too. Let's have our Christmas spirit, and start our festivities with a collective smile.

Is Father Christmas Real?

I've watched with interest lately, a debate on Facebook surrounding Father Christmas/Santa Claus, and whether he is indeed real.

When I was little, Father Christmas came in the middle of the night and left presents in a stocking at the foot of my bed. He ate the mince pie we left out for him, and left a little letter saying thank you.

Then one year, my older sister told me she'd seen my dad putting presents in her room.

The year after that, my parents divorced and when Father Christmas left his note, it was in different writing.

The debate on Facebook has been between "traditional" parents who tell their child Father Christmas/Santa is a real person who brings them gifts... and parents who don't. Instead they tell their children that Father Christmas is a made up character who is part of Christmas, or something else. 

These parents don't encourage their children to sit on Father Christmas's lap at parties, or have them leave out mince pies and carrots, or ring bells outside their bedroom door in the night. Father Christmas is just a storybook character.

At first I read the argument and couldn't decide whether this approach was a clever way to avoid that crushing disappointment of realising it was all a lie... or just really mean in that it stopped the children ever believing in that magic in the first place.

I've a friend who has two children. The ten year old recently discovered that Father Christmas wasn't real, and now Dad feels like a big fraud, "keeping the magic alive" for his seven year old son, when he's always taught both children to always be honest. Whenever his son mentions Father Christmas, my friend's daughter catches her father lying - something he's always tried to drum into her that you don't do.

I spoke to a lovely German lady who grew up in Hamburg. She told me that in Germany, children don't start school until they are 6 or 7, and by that point parents tend to have told their child the truth about Father Christmas - so as to avoid them hearing something on the school playground. In Germany, children are encouraged to be more inquisitive generally, and their questions - about Father Christmas or otherwise - are generally met with truthful discussion, rather than the usual "stop asking questions" or similar that I grew up with!

I also then read this piece about a child finding out her mother is Father Christmas. I loved the letter the mother wrote to her daughter: Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch...Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy. I think that's nice... but something you'd have to trot out a little later than the age of 5 or 6 really.

I hadn't really given the whole debate much thought until recently, when I realised I need to make a decision about what to tell S. 

Part of me thinks, with so many different depictions of Father Christmas and Santa in books, movies, cartoons, shops etc, one can't really expect a child to believe it's one real person who flies around the world in one night and so on. In one film he's old and doddery; in another he has children; in another he's a grumpy old man. I tend to think that by never telling the lie to begin with, you're not at risk of your child having all their beliefs dashed by that bratty kid in the playground who insists on breaking their friends' hearts by shouting about it all being a made-up lie.

But on the other hand... it just seems a bit cynical to never have your child enjoy that particular magic of waking up on Christmas morning and exclaiming, "he's been!" Of finding snow in the hall way and crumbs from a mince pie... I have good memories from my childhood, despite feeling a bit cheated when I found out the truth.

I probably have another year before I need to make up my mind on this; S isn't really bothered one way or the other right now, and I sincerely doubt she would ever volunteer herself to sit on the lap of a stranger in a red suit and fake beard. 

I'm wondering though, what do you tell your children? Have you ever been caught out with this one?

Recipe: Simple Gingerbread

Last year I commented on Facebook that I wanted to make some gingerbread men, and my friend Caroline very kindly sent me her apparently foolproof recipe.

I made them, and I loved them. So this year I made them again, and thought I'd share the recipe. It really is very easy!



Ingredients:
350g plain flour
1tsp bicarbonate of soda
2tsp ground ginger
1tsp cinnamon
125g butter
175g light soft brown sugar
1 egg
4tbsp golden syrup
When I made them, I put some mixed spice in too.





All you do is, chuck everything into a bowl and mix it up. See how it's the best recipe in the world?

The dough eventually comes together and looks like this:

Tip it out of the bowl and roll out onto a floured surface. I find that this dough soaks up tons more flour once you start to work it, so keep a big pot next to you!

Cut the gingerbread into shapes and put on a baking sheet. I'm lazy about washing up (and everything else!) so I line the tray with greaseproof paper.

A word of caution here: spread your gingerbread men out on the sheet, because they expand a lot while cooking - and if you don't spread them, they'll come out of the oven holding hands!

Bake at 190 degrees C for 10-15 minutes. Be aware that the gingerbread is still a bit gooey when it comes out of the oven. Don't leave it in there until it hardens, or nobody will want to eat them!

See how they've grown slightly obese during cooking?

Leave them to cool, then decorate as you see fit! I decorated mine using tubes of writing icing and melted chocolate. Yummy!

If you try this recipe, please do post a picture here or on my Facebook so I can see how yours turned out!

Magic Moments: Story Time!

S loves her books.

She has a small collection of books in her cot and often falls asleep holding one.

A week or so ago, I decided to change our bedtime routine. We've always done stories throughout the day whenever she waved a book at me... but now, on the nights when she doesn't need to be hosed down in the shower before bed, we sit together on the beanbag and read as many books as she wants (as well as through the day as well, obviously).

These days our bedtime routine looks like this: we sit on the beanbag and read some books together. Then I'll say "shall we go and get ready for bed and read some more stories?" To my amazement, every time I say this S will turn around and give me a cuddle, ready to be carried upstairs. Once upstairs, we put her PJs on and she gets into her Grobag, and we read the books from her cot, in whichever order she chooses: Pop-Up Dear Zoo (with mostly empty boxes and escaped animals), Spot Loves His Mum, Peekaboo Baby, Orange Pear Apple Bear, Yak Yuck, Dear Santa. Sometimes Oh Dear if we've brought it up with us. Then I give her a million kisses and tell her I love her, and pop her in the cot. No fuss, no crying, no noise. I go downstairs, and she lays down and goes to sleep. Just like that. She also seems to sleep a lot more soundly than before and doesn't wake in the night so often (touch wood). 

I'm definitely buying S lots of books for Christmas this year. Stories seem to be the way forward here!

Messy Play: Snow!

When we did the porridge messy play earlier this week someone commented on my Facebook page saying she'd made snow with her children and they'd loved it. She gave me a link to the blog where she'd seen the snow, and it looked so easy and so much fun, we just had to try it!

The "recipe" is basically half a cup of hair conditioner to 3 cups of bicarbonate of soda. I added some silver glitter too because... well, any excuse! This is what it looked like in the bowl:

I poured it into a big baking tin and put a penguin cake decoration in it and presented it to S in the living room.

Look at that tongue poking out!

She seemed to enjoy using a small plastic dish to flick it out of the pan more than anything else, but the texture did eventually intrigue her.

She enjoyed making it snow, but most of the snow ended up on the floor or on her legs.
Then she discovered that her wellies were quite a good way of making it snow on a larger scale...

Here's a video of S enjoying the snow:

The clean-up on this one wasn't so much fun. Whereas the porridge is more dusty and brushes off clothes easily, the snow stuck to S's clothes and just came off like sand all over the place. Luckily my sister was here so she took S upstairs to change her clothes while I cleaned up.

The bicarb is very much like sand, which doesn't mix well with laminate flooring. It made it very slippery and was a nightmare to get up the vacuum cleaner. Also, once I'd cleared up all the bicarb, the conditioner was left behind and I had to wash the floor! 

You can apparently keep the snow and save it for another time in a plastic food bag; if it dries out you can just add some more conditioner. 

I ended up throwing all of ours in the bin because it was just going everywhere. I think perhaps when S is older we'll try it again and hopefully she'll be able to keep more of it in the container! It was really good fun, and she did enjoy it - but the porridge held her attention for much longer!

Silent Sunday 2013-11-24

Saturday is Sofa Jumping Caption Day!

Whose Job is it to Care?

A version of this post was originally published on the blog I write for my local paper. The original post can be found here.

I spent an hour in my local council offices earlier this week. I claim Housing Benefit, and that means that every month I have to go in and provide proof of my earnings and child care costs. I don’t begrudge doing this; I understand that if you want to receive a benefit you have to prove you need it.

Some of the things I over heard in the office got me thinking though.

One person seemed to be in a position where they were being forced to down-size. She was clearly quite vulnerable and upset by the prospect of having to move. She was telling the council worker that she needed to have her space; she couldn’t cope with living in a smaller place. If she moved to a smaller place she would end up splitting up with her partner because she couldn’t cope with it. She was also adamant that she needed to have her dog with her. And she didn’t want to have to change doctor and dentist and so on; she needed to be close to where she already was. She couldn’t deal with bus journeys and so on.

Your first reaction may well be that of “well if you want to live in a bigger place, go out and get a job and earn the money to afford it.”  But what if she can’t? What if her mental problems are so bad that she just plain cannot cope with the day to day life of working? What if she really does need to have her dog with her in order to have any semblance of wellbeing?

There seems to be a certain sense of “beggars can’t be choosers” where council assistance is concerned. The lady behind the desk clearly wanted to help, but her hands were tied. The most she could tell the lady was to go to her GP and ask him to write a letter confirming that she really did need her dog with her.

I can see how the Council can’t spend all day wringing their hands over whether people get to keep their dogs, or their relationships breakdown because of house moves. They have a limited number of houses, and a limited amount of funds for benefit. It’s not their job to make sure this lady doesn’t end up being sectioned.

But if it’s not their job, where does that duty of care lie? Surely social housing and benefits are there specifically for this sort of situation, where a person is vulnerable and for whatever reason unable to fend for themselves without some sort of assistance? Where does that duty of care lie?

The problem is that the policymakers, the government and the people in charge at Wiltshire Council, have never sat behind one of those desks and met the people who need their help. They’ve never had to listen to someone crying because they have to choose between being homeless and losing their dog. They’ve never had to tell a pregnant woman “just wait until you get kicked out of your house, and on that day we’ll find you temporary accommodation somewhere in the county.”

I’m not saying that people should be able to go into the Council office and dictate “yes, I want to live in this area, in a 3 bedroom house, with a medium-sized garden and a fence not a wall, and there must be roses…” But for some people the very thought of moving house, of packing their entire life into boxes and uprooting themselves, of getting used to new surroundings, of having to get to know new neighbours, of learning a new route to the shops… it’s just too much for them to cope with. What do we do with these people? The current climate seems entirely uncaring: if you can’t fend for yourself, have what I give you and be grateful. 

It seems almost Darwinist, doesn’t it? If you can’t survive on what you’re given, and you can’t cope with normal day to day life right now, then sink.

I understand that the Councils need to have guidelines and cut-off points and means-testing and all the rest of it. It can’t just be a free-for all and there do need to be rules in place to ensure people are not taking advantage. But can’t there also be some basic human understanding and compassion?

This is not me saying I have the answer by the way; it’s me asking the question.

Gingerbread and Absent Fathers

I've written posts about Gingerbread before. They are an organisation that provides advice and support for single parents. I think they're great, and do a lot to help fight the stigma often thrust upon us.

They are currently campaigning against the government's plans to charge people to use the Child Support Agency.

For those lucky enough to have never had dealings with the CSA, this is what happens: you fill in a form and send it to them. They contact the other parent and ask how much they earn. Then they decide how much of those earnings you should get. The absent parent either agrees to send them the money directly, or it can be done through the person's work as an attachment of earnings - meaning the payroll department just take that money out before it's paid, and sends it to the CSA.

The absent parent has until the 21st of the month to get the money to the CSA. They then wait for the money to clear before sending it back out. I think they quote a turnaround of "up to 5 working days" for this. So basically, the absent parent gets paid on the 1st of the month, and you might not see your child's share of that until the end of the month. If the absent parent or their employer doesn't send the money to the CSA, from my experience the CSA doesn't do much about it. They have the power to take people and their employers to court, but they rarely seem to get around to it.

They want to charge for this service.

The proposal is to charge a one-off £20 fee for setting everything up, and then an ongoing 4% of everything going through them.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds an awful lot like penalising a parent who has already been very much left holding the baby?

You may notice that I titled this post "Gingerbread and Absent Fathers." This is not because I am stupid enough to think it's only the fathers who are absent, but because of a study that was reported yesterday regarding absent fathers.

Apparently there is an issue with fathers losing contact with their children once they have entered a new relationship and had more children. I think the figure was 21% of fathers with children in a subsequent relationship never see the children from their previous relationship.

The Mail (God love 'em) referred to these men as "serial fathers."

So here we have two related stories; one of them is being reported, the other not. 

To me, they seem interlinked. On the one hand, you have these men going around fathering children, then running off and setting up another family and forgetting about the first. They lose contact with their first family. And now the government is effectively saying to the mothers of those children, "yes, that's a perfectly acceptable thing for him to do. And if you want us to help you get any maintenance out of him, you can pay us for it."

Nobody chooses to use the CSA; they are pretty rubbish at what they do. You use the CSA when you have no other way of getting money out of an absent parent - mother or father, it makes no difference. I went to the CSA when I realised that monthly payments from S's father would be used as another way of controlling me - you can only have this much money this month because I only saw her this many times. My health visitor practically ordered me to use them rather than have monthly contact with someone who had already done so much damage to both of our lives.

So where does the government's new proposal put me? Over the Summer I was receiving £2 every two weeks from the CSA. Taking 4% of that probably costs more in administration than they would be making out of it.

And what will we get for our 4%? Will they suddenly begin chasing late payments? Making thorough checks of absent parents' income figures to ensure they are telling the truth? Will they investigate whether the absent parent is perhaps doing a bit of work "off the books" so as to avoid paying maintenance?

I don't claim maintenance through the CSA because it is of any use to me. In all honesty, I would rather not be taking anything from that man. My health visitor tells me we should take the money, because when you father a child you are responsible for that life forever. That is what being a parent means. 

What the government are planning to do seems to me to be removing that responsibility. They are saying to people: go out, get pregnant/get someone pregnant. Run off and leave the child. It's fine. You won't be held responsible.

Review: Choc Extreme

I was asked to review "Choc Extreme," which is a food supplement containing Chocamine cocoa extract.

The idea is that the Choc Extreme capsules contain chocolate extract, which satisfies your craving for chocolate without you ending up knee deep in Quality Street wrappers.

They do seem to have a fair bit of caffeine in them though, so go steady if you're sensitive to it - or if you already drink 50 coffees before lunch.

They're pretty easy to take; you have 2 capsules per day, with food, before 3pm. 

I thought this was a load of old rubbish, but actually I did find that I went from going a few hours between chocolate bars to a few days. I would sit on my sofa in the evenings and think, "oh yeah, I've not had any chocolate today..." I found that actually, I was only eating when I was hungry - instead of  munching my way through the day like a blonde Very Hungry Caterpillar. I started to lose a little weight too; my clothes fit me better and I felt less bloated.

Then I changed hand bags and misplaced them... and started eating my bodyweight in chocolate every day. I found them the other day though so I think I might start taking them again - before there's a serious chocolate shortage in Salisbury!

Disclaimer: I was provided with a pack of Choc Extreme for free in exchange for a review. This was not dependent on my writing a favourable review though; all words and opinions are my own.

A Nasty Email

I was lucky enough to be asked to speak on LBC Radio this morning about absent fathers.

Shortly after I finished speaking, I received this email:

Hi Vicky

I heard you on the radio this morning and it really made me sad.

Your Ex sounds like a real scumbag and I can see that he has hurt you, but you have no idea of the damage you are doing to your daughter, I think it is very selfish of you.

A child needs TWO parents and whilst I understand where you are coming from I think you owe your daughter the chance of a well adjusted happy life, with all of her emotional needs being met and that can't happen with one parent.  You will find out down the road that she will be very insecure with boys in her teen years and later on fail to be able to sustain a normal relationship with a man, then so the cycle will continue for another generation.

Forgive me for saying it but sometime the truth is painful, it seems to me from reading your blog that you have some way to go with regard to your own mental health.

I urge you to put the past behind you and stop using your daughter as some sort of validation, she is a human being and you have been given the privilege of raising her.  So stop celebrating your "single mother" status and put your child FIRST in everything.

Good luck


I'm unsure as to how to respond, or indeed whether to bother. It seems the single mother hatred is alive and well in the UK this morning.

Small Steps, Amazing Achievements: Please!

For last week's #SSAmazingAchievements, I talked about how S had learned to say thank you.
A few days after the thank you's, the pleases started.

When she wants something, she puts her hands up and says "eeeeessshhhhh!" 

I must admit, it took me a while to figure out what she was saying; then one day she took a packet of crackers out of the cupboard, handed them to me and said "leeesh!" 

She's now figured out that you need to say "please" if you want something, and she uses it more than she says "thank you."

"Thank you" is still used, usually only with my sister; if my sister gives her anything, she says "aah-doo!"

And now I'm really excited to see what her next word will be!

Wordless Wednesday: Our Week in Instagram

Review: Debenhams Children's Clothes

Those of you who follow me on Facebook or Twitter (what do you mean, you don't?!) will have seen many photos of S in her lion suit.

It was sent to us by the lovely people at Debenhams to review... and I can now review that it is blummin awesome. We love it. S wears it pretty much every time we're home for the afternoon. The photos on the website (here) really don't do it justice and I was really surprised by how fluffy and cosy it is. It ranges from £19-21 depending on the size you buy; ours is 18-24 months which is £20. Normally I'd hate the idea of spending that much money on a single outfit... but this is so much fun. It's one of the only things she'll actually keep on while we're at home, and I know it keeps her nice and warm. Plus there are poppers on the legs for easy nappy changing.

I took this photo the other day while we were messing about. As you can see, S has gone a little overboard with the colouring, and her lion suit ended up with a fair bit of pen on it. When we washed it, it came out as good as new and just as fluffy as when it went into the washing machine. This is a major plus for us, as S is a typical messy toddler and a lot of her clothes just don't stand up to the dinner/pen/paint/milk/dribble/whatever she can get her hands on and constant washing. 

Debenhams also gave us this gorgeous Gruffalo t shirt:

You can't see terribly clearly in the photo, but it says "Oh help! Oh No! It's a gruffalo!" in yellow embroidered writing. The gruffalo is printed on next to it... and there's a fox on the back!

I have to say, I took one look at the printed pictures and thought, yeah, I give that two washes maximum. I really expected them to just flake and peel off - but they didn't. We really love this t shirt; S loves to see the Gruffalo on it and we always have to sit and read her Gruffalo book when she has it on. Also, I've just noticed it's on offer at the moment and starts at £6.50. Perfect Christmas present for that little Gruffalo fan in your life!

The third thing Debenhams gave us is quite simply delicious. I'm actually looking forward to some proper cold weather so that she can wear it more often (despite it being too big!)

I usually hate pink things "for girls" and avoid them at all costs... but I saw this Ted Baker snow suit and just fell in love! It has lovely soft faux fur lining and a faux fur hood on the trim. There are the usual zips both sides to help them get in and out and two poppers at the top of each zip. As this suit is still too big for my little pickle, I put it on her with the poppers undone, and fold the neckline down a bit. The sleeves have those elasticated bits that flip over the hands as well, which is great because S is still not old enough to understand the concept of glove wearing. This thing is so thick and cosy, I really just wish they did them in adult sizes. These cost between £45-51 depending on the size. Ours is 18-24 months (hence why it's so big on S) and cost £51 because it's the largest size they do. 

Disclaimer: We were provided with these items free of charge in exchange for a review but this was not dependent on my writing a favourable review. All words and opinions are my own.

Messy Play: Porridge!

I wanted to do some messy/sensory play with S this weekend, but I didn't fancy having to mop the floor and give her a bath, like I do with most things... So I decided to use porridge!

I'd seen tutorials online for making porridge play dough, but since S tends to eat things like that, I thought I'd try just using the porridge as a sort of substitute for sand.

I used a massive oven tray that's only ever used for the Christmas turkey, and put a thick layer of porridge oats over the bottom. I toyed with the idea of hiding some small toys in it, but I couldn't think of anything suitable - so instead I sprinkled some sequins from the pound shop over the top instead.

Doesn't that look exciting to you?
S really enjoyed herself with this one. First of all there was the pushing it about in the tray with an upturned plastic container...

Then she realised she could flick it up and out of the tray, onto the mat and the floor...

And then she discovered that she could shake it up in a cup, for maximum floor coverage.

She also spent a fair amount of time just laying on the floor in the porridge, enjoying looking at it close up.

The porridge on the floor was great for making shapes and patterns in...

Then we took her socks off so that she could feel the porridge on her feet. She thoroughly enjoyed stomping on it, and then decided it would be good if it rained porridge.

One thing nobody ever mentions about messy play is the clean-up. For this one, it was easy. I used a brush to sweep it all together, and then put it back into a container to use again another day. The last few bits were vacuumed. The easiest post messy play clean-up I've ever had!

An Unwelcome Visitor

Just to clarify - this did happen, but a few months ago. It's taken me until now to be able to write about it.

Saturday night. I'm exhausted and go to bed at 9:30pm, falling into a deep sleep almost immediately. S is asleep in her cot next to me; I go to bed praying she won't wake up for at least a few hours.

11:30pm. I am woken by the sound of knocking. I don't know where it is coming from... if I ignore it, it'll go away.

It's not stopped.

It seems to be my front door.

First the brass knocker goes a few times. Then a hand knocks the door. Then the letter box goes a few times. Then the brass knocker again.

In my drowsy state, I lay in bed for a while and think maybe they'll give up and go away.

They don't give up. I begin to worry the noise will wake S. I don't want her to wake up. I begin to get angry with whoever is idiot enough to be knocking my door in the middle of the night. My first guess is the bloke I was seeing at Christmas, on his way home drunk. Or another bloke who's been sniffing around lately. I figure it's one of those two, thinking it's ok to knock on my door in the middle of the night.

I begin to get angry. After fifteen minutes of trying to ignore it, hoping they'll go away, I storm out of bed and down the stairs. I pull back the door curtain. Through the glass I can see red flashing lights. My first thought is that it's the police or someone. I unlock the door and open it, keeping the chain on. Ready to hurl abuse at whoever dares risk waking my sleeping child. 

It's not the police or anyone official.

It's not the boy I was seeing at Christmas.

It's not the other bloke.

It's someone I always knew might come knocking, but didn't actually expect to see; certainly not close to midnight on a Saturday night.

It's S's father.

He is clearly drunk. The flashing lights are coming from his bike, which he has brought up the stairs to my door with him. He is leaning against the edge of the balcony. He sees me and says, "howdy." 

Without a word, without even thinking, I close the door. I lock it and draw the curtain. I calmly go into the living room and collect the cordless phone and sneak upstairs to check S is still ok. Check that he hasn't somehow gotten in here and taken her. She is sleeping soundly. I check she is breathing, as I do every time I check on her when she's sleeping.

Every sound I hear is him trying to get in. I am sure I closed all the windows properly, and even if I didn't, I had the council fit safety catches on them so they don't open more than an inch. But he might find a way around them. He might find a way to get through the door, even though it's locked and the chain is on. The last time we were half-talking via email, he told people, "she's tired, the baby is teething. Teething is hard, she won't be able to cope. She'll give in eventually and let me look after the baby while she sleeps, and then I'll take her." This is what is now sending chills down my spine. I cannot let that man take my baby girl. I cannot let him anywhere near her. I need to protect her.

I go back downstairs and shut myself in the living room and dial 101. 

The dispatcher comes on the line and I tell her, "My ex is outside my front door and I don't know what to do..." Then I begin to cry. 

She puts me through to someone in my local police station who takes my address. At this point something flashes up on his screen about it being a domestic abuse situation. He sends two officers out immediately, and in the meantime talks to me. We go through a series of questions I've now been through numerous times. But never while I was shaking, crying and petrified. Do I feel threatened? Has he ever threatened me? Do I think he will hurt me or someone else? 

While we are still talking on the phone, the door knocks and I jump out of my skin. The man tells me to stay on the phone to him while I check who it is. It's the police. I let them in and put the phone down.

The police tell me they have checked thoroughly outside. There is no sign of anyone lurking. I ask if they checked under the stairs; they tell me they checked the whole block. By the bins? Yes. On the street outside? Yes, that's where their car is parked. In the car park out back? Yes, they've checked and there is nobody there. He is not outside any more. 

They talk to me until I've calmed down a bit. Then we go through some safety precautions. They tell me if he comes back, they will come back. They tell me that keeping the chain on the door is all well and good, but once I've unlocked it, that chain is only good for the first couple of kicks.

They tell me that in a domestic disturbance where children are involved, they need to check on the child. One of them comes upstairs with me and I show them my beautiful S, still sleeping soundly and oblivious. I check and she is definitely breathing.

They leave around 1:30am. I lock the door behind them and put the chain on. Then I check the door is locked. Twice. I pull the curtain closed. I want to get a drink, but I don't want to go into the kitchen; the window is right next to the front door.

I go upstairs to bed, and lay there for over an hour before I go back to sleep. 

I don't eat for two days. S gets sick and we both have to have  a couple of days off nursery and work.

When we go back to nursery, I have a long meeting with the manager and the safety coordinator. I give them a photograph of S's father and tell them if they ever see him hanging around outside of the nursery, they are to call me. Under no circumstances must he be allowed anywhere  near my child. They reassure me of their safety procedures. When I leave, they take the photograph and show it to all of their staff. S's key worker tells me later that they've all seen it and been told not to let him into the nursery, and to call the police if he doesn't leave.

After a few days, we are back to "normal" - except now, the door is always locked when S is in the house. When I take the rubbish out I have no choice but to lock S inside of the house while I go down to the bins as quickly as I can. I don't open the kitchen windows unless I am in the kitchen. If I step out, even for a moment, they are closed and locked. When I leave S at nursery, my phone is in my hand. I never switch it to silent or off. I never go further than home or the shops while S is not with me, in case I need to get back to her.

Looking back, I am pleased with my reaction. I didn't speak to him. I didn't react. I just closed the door and walked away from him. That was the first time I have ever even vaguely stood up to him.

I am not the person he controlled through eight months of pregnancy.

I may be physically petrified, but not mentally. Not any more. I will protect my child until the end of my days. He will not take her.

This was the last time we saw or heard from S's father.

People say to me, oh, it's been a few months now; that's a good sign. It's not a good sign. He plays the long game. But so do I. I have far too much to lose, not to.

Magic Moments: Afternoon Cuddles

S is usually too busy exploring and playing and drawing and building and mess-making for cuddles these days.

On Friday though, things were different. When I arrived to collect her from nursery, she was having her nappy changed - and she was crying. I've no idea why. I picked her up and gave her a cuddle, and the tears got worse. We got her dressed to leave, and she just about managed to stop crying enough to wave goodbye to her keyworker.

Normally S walks at least part of the way home, but today she wanted to cuddle me all the way home. I began to worry perhaps she was coming down with something.

When we got home, I sat her down on the sofa and put Carrie and David's Pop Shop on; her favourite show. I put a blanket over her, and gave her Ted to cuddle, then sat down with her. We watched the whole 20-minute show cuddled up together under the blanket.

I always see people on Facebook and Twitter talking about watching movies on the sofa with their kids, but I've never done it with S; she's a bit young to appreciate the joy that is a duvet day just yet. This was the first time we've sat and watched TV together, all curled up on the sofa together.

And the best part was... once the show was finished, she recovered from whatever was bothering her and we went on to have a rather fabulous weekend!

Give a Hug for World Prematurity Day

Today is World Prematurity Day. The theme this year is #GiveAHug.

As regular visitors to this blog will know, S was born 5 weeks early. At the time, I was petrified. It was the end of the world. I wasn't ready yet; I didn't know what I was doing.

We were very lucky; S weighed 5lb 7oz when she was born. The only thing "wrong" with her was that she hadn't yet developed a suck/swallow response. They put a tube up her nose and began feeding her formula.

The morning after she was born, a lady from NICU came in to see us. I didn't realise it, but because S was premature, she was under the care of NICU and not the normal postnatal ward. The lady was called Kit. She told me to take my bra off, and she undressed S. I thought she was crazy. What is this woman doing? I thought newborn babies, especially tiny ones, were meant to be kept warm! She placed S on my chest and put a blanket over us. She told me this was the best place for S to be. She explained that my body heat would keep her warm and help her to regulate her own temperature, and that my breathing and heartbeat would help S's to remain steady.

S and I enjoying kangaroo care in NICU

Over the following days, S spent a lot of time down my shirt. After her first feed in the morning, I would pop her down my top and go back to sleep. She would come out for visitors and to feed, and at night she went down in her fish bowl, but other than that I loved to have her as close to me as possible.

Even when she was in NICU under the bili lights for jaundice, the staff encouraged me to take her out and cuddle her regularly. Those moments were the high points in my days. When we came home from hospital, she would often sleep on me in bed, if she woke in the early hours and couldn't settle.

Now, S is a 19 month old rambunctious toddler. If I ask for a kiss, I get "nah!" as she pushes my face away. I don't get a cuddle when she goes into nursery in the mornings; she's too busy playing with the toys and having fun. In the afternoons though, I rush down the road to collect her at 4pm and run up the stairs to the Ladybird room. As soon as she sees me she runs across the room, covered in paint and glitter and sand, with her arms out. I get the best cuddle in the world. I look forward to that cuddle from the moment I drop her off at 8am.

Sometimes, in the afternoons, if S is a little tired, she'll leave her toys and come over to me. She puts her head on my lap and her arms around my legs and says "ahhhhh!" and I instantly realise just how lucky I am.

I was very lucky that S was born as late as 35 weeks. I have a sister who was born a lot earlier. I have friends whose babies were born much earlier, weighing as little as one pound. We are so very lucky to live in a country where babies born so small can not only survive but thrive. 

Silent Sunday 2013-11-17

Saturday is Christmassy Caption Day!

We got the Christmas decorations out the other day, to check we had everything we needed.

Then we went to Poundland and bought some more shiny goodies.

The verdict was: not enough. Must buy more. We had fun investigating what we had though!

Can you caption my photo?

Have You Been Good?

Following on from yesterday's post about reward charts at Christmas, I thought I'd write another in a similar vein.

S having fun making a mess. She's not being "good;" she's not being "bad;" she's just having fun.

I hate it when parents tell their children, "you can have that if you're good." or "we'll go to the park if you can behave."

What does that even mean? The idea of being "good" or "behaving" is so subjective and dependent on circumstance, isn't it?

Today it's "naughty" to run across the road, but yesterday it was fine to run around the park.

Today I'm not allowed to get excited and giggle and jump, but yesterday Mummy was tickling me and giggling with me.

Today I'm not supposed to shout, but yesterday Daddy was shouting at me.

We all seem to forget that children are born without any sense of social norms. They don't know what "being good" is, and since the definition can change daily, isn't it a bit unfair to hold them to ransom by it?

This reminds me so much of the baby "experts" trying to tell mothers that their tiny babies are somehow trying to manipulate them. Babies aren't born with any concept of control, manipulation, good or bad. They're just born.

I remember when I was a child, one of my mum's friends came over for lunch. We all loved her and were really looking forward to seeing her. We had a great time with her. After she'd left, my mum told us off, saying it had been "like a monkey's tea party." I had no clue what she was talking about; we'd just had fun with Jennie, same as we always had. If she'd said to us "please don't jump on Jennie while she is trying to eat her sandwich" or something, we might have stood a chance.

Having spent time with children whose boundaries were never set in stone, and often changed by the hour, I know that this sort of thing does not make for contented, secure childhood. 

It's ok to do this now, because my parent is too tired to pay attention, but yesterday I was told not to do it, and tomorrow I'll be hit for doing it... but I'm doing exactly the same thing.

I avoid saying "good girl" to S at all. I know other people say it, and they say it at nursery, but I never say it. I say "wow you did really well at that!" or if she comes to me to put her coat on I say "thank you!" If she eats all her tea I say "wow you must have been hungry today!" I say "thank you" in place of "good girl" in most instances - which may be why she says "da-doo" so much now.

I don't want her to think her being "good" is dependent on some random, changeable set of unspecified rules. She's "good" if she gives me a kiss, "good" if she puts her shoes on, "good" if she gets into her pyjamas without a fight?

So instead of saying "we'll go to the park if you're good" or "if you can behave, you can have a sweet" how about "if we can get all the way around town without you running away from me, we will go to the park" or "if you sit still on the bus home we will have sweets?"

And yes, I'm fully aware that this is all largely academic to me now, while I'm blessed with an angel of a 19 month old who can't answer back yet; but I'm determined that my attitude will remain the same, even on the most testing of walks to nursery.