Good Mother, Good Father?

At the moment, I am reading Bad Mother by Ayelet Waldman. It's a collection of essays about motherhood. In one essay, Waldman mentions the difference between society's idea of a good mother, and that of the good father.

Think about the women you know, who you would describe as a good mother... 

I asked people on social media what they thought made a good mother. The answers I got included:

• She would sacrifice anything
• She gives and loves unconditionally
• She never gives up
• She will do something she doesn't want to do, if it's the best thing for her child
• She sees her child as an individual, not an extension of herself
• She puts her child's needs before her own
• She gives her child both praise and boundaries
• She meets her child's physical and emotional needs
• She spends quality time with her child every day

As mothers, we are expected to be all things to all people. 

We may not admit it, but we judge other mothers; whether in the street, on social media or in the gossip magazines. I do it too, especially with the gossip magazines, which seem to be designed to invite our judgement. That's for another post, though. My point is: we all think we know what a bad mother looks like; we all like to think we're a good mother; we all have an idea of what a good mother looks like, and the list is rather long. 

A good mother should sacrifice of herself and her happiness for her child. She should be there when her child wakes in the night; she should be there in the morning when they wake, and for stories at bed time. She should put her child's needs before her own.

Stop for a moment now, and think about the men you know, who you consider to be a good father. 

Pretty much, the only requirement for being considered a good father, is being in the room. 

How often do we refer to a man as a good father, when all he's really done to warrant that title is change a few nappies, maybe do a bit of rocking. As the child grows up, perhaps they take them to the park every now and then. Many men refer to their time taking care of the children as "babysitting." Babysitting their own children.

S's father was on his own with six children when I met him. His children mostly ran ferral around the estate during the day, unless they were required to do chores at home. People knew that the children had no clothes that fit them or were appropriate. His 5-year-old daughter's school shoes were a pair of knee-high boots with heels. He was quite vocal - and proud - about the fact his children did all the housework, from cooking meals to mopping the floors. Everyone commented on what a good father he was, to be raising six children on his own... I wonder, if the situation had been reversed, and his wife were left at home with six children, having them do all the housework or run wild around the estate, whether she would be considered a good mother by the neighbours.

I was talking the other day with a friend. She works in a shop and had worked a busy Saturday. She came home with her feet burning in pain, to find that her husband and daughter were curled up on the sofa watching a dvd. How lovely; father and daughter spending time together. Meanwhile, the washing basket was overflowing; the sink was filled; the bin needed emptying. 

It seems that while men go to work and "win the bread," they get the weekends off. Women, meanwhile, whether we stay home to care for the children (arguably harder work than any paid employment, and more important) or go out to work, are also responsible for most household chores in the majority of homes. We just seem to have lower standards for men; they get a pat on the back just for turning up, but the women have to jump through fifty hoops, and even then we all still bitch about each other's wrongdoings.

I have mentioned this point before, but I feel fortunate to be on my own with S. She was breastfed on demand, all day and night; if a man had been laying in bed next to me, snoring through the night feeds, I would have resented him to the end of the world and back. I am the only person here; the only one that empties the bins, the only person to do the washing up, mop the floors, do the washing, make sure there's milk for the morning. If I don't do it, it doesn't get done.

I know women, though, for whom "if I don't do it, it doesn't get done" is true despite the fact they have a husband living with them. 

Guest Post from Trina Brooks

Go into anyone's house and the one thing you will always find are pictures. Our homes are filled with photographs of family and friends - the people we love and want to remember. We look at a snapshot that has captured a single moment in time. Memories of that time flood our senses. How often do we display pictures of people we don't like? Of a person whose very face is a reminder of bad times and hurt feelings? We don't. Our walls and mantles, like our Facebook pages, are a chronicle of the happy times in our lives.

I've raised my daughter on my own since she was two months old and her father left us. For over ten years we have gotten along just fine. Then, out of the blue, she tells me she wants to contact her dad. He had never been in her life. No birthday or Christmas cards, no phone calls or emails. He was a name and a myth of a man who lived across the ocean. For some reason, at this time in her life, that wasn't enough anymore. Contacting him wasn't difficult. I still had his email address and people tended to keep those over the years. Still, I hesitated. It wasn't easy to put aside the myriad of emotions that go with a broken relationship. In my mind, he didn't deserve her. Other than her actual creation, he had contributed very little to her life; no child support and definitely no emotional support. So what rights did he have? None, legally, but this wasn't about him or me. It was what she wanted. I was afraid he would hurt her or disappoint her, as he had me, so many times. Still, I tried to stay neutral. Over the previous decade he had slipped from my mind, any anger or bitterness had long since dissipated. My life was full. I had my daughter, a good job and, after a decade of being single, had met the man I was planning on spending the rest of my life with. There was no room for hostility - or so I thought. On behalf of my daughter I contacted her father. I kept it short.

"Your daughter would like to get to know you. Would it be alright if she emailed you?"

He responded within a day, "Yes, I've been waiting all my life for this."

Long buried resentment rose up. If that was true why hadn't he taken time out of his busy decade and sent her an email? I restrained myself from saying anything to that effect. Later that week I helped her compose her first letter to him. At the end she asked, "Is it okay if I write that I love him?" She was so full of love and affection for people. "Of course you can." I told her. Although later I complained to my boyfriend.

"I raised her. I've been there for her every day. I gave up a career for her. I take her on vacations, arrange birthday parties, taught her to skate...and she loves me. He's never lifted a finger or contributed to her life in any meaningful way...and she loves him. It's not fair." I knew I was over simplifying things, but it still galled me that his mere existence elicited her love and devotion.

Over the next few months they exchanged the occasional email. It seemed enough for her that they had connected, although she sometimes spoke of visiting him. Through their emails, which she shared with me, I learned he had lost his job, his apartment and had moved back home with his mother. Through my daughter he was aware of my career successes and my relationship status. They say success is the greatest revenge, and I admit I was reveling in it. When I mentioned, smugly, to my sister that I was going to post pictures of our latest vacation just to rub it in to him, she admonished me. "You have so much, all he has is her, at least give him that." She had never been a fan of his but she was right, I was being petty.

My daughter asked if she could send him some pictures. She even picked out a frame. He sent her a thank you email and said he keeps the picture on his bedside table, so he could see her face before he went to bed and when he woke up each morning. I rolled my eyes at that comment.

Last week it was her birthday. No card or gift arrived from her father. It was my boyfriend and I who ferried a rambunctious group of eleven year olds around for the party. In one year my boyfriend had done more for her than her father ever had. Yet, when I went downstairs the next morning to clean up, I found a photograph in a frame. It was the one of her father she kept in a frame in her room. She must have brought it down to show all her friends that she did indeed have a dad, and that she knew him, talked to him and would some day visit him.

I realized then and there, that no matter what my own personal demons were, this was her father. To her that meant something. I couldn't help thinking about this little girl with the picture she kept beside her bed and the grown man, an ocean away, with his own bedside photograph. It was their link. It had nothing to do with me. For him, I can only surmise, his photo was proof of something good in his life. For my daughter, it grounded her. She was no longer the only kid in the class who didn't have some kind of dad. Hers' just happened to live far away, but he loves her. She knows this, because he tells her so.

So there on the mantel, beside the school portraits and vacation pictures, is one photograph of a man, who is a stranger, from a far away place and who smiles with my daughter's eyes.

Trina blogs at An Unscripted Life.

School Children in Nappies - Too Busy for Toilet Training?

The news today is full of stories of children being sent to school in nappies. Apparently as many a nine per cent of  head teachers and senior staff  have had children rocking up for school in nappies, up to the age of seven. I heard a deputy head teacher on the radio this morning saying she knew of an eleven-year-old who still wore pull-ups at night. According to The Independent, children as old as 15 with no medical conditions or developmental issues are not properly toilet trained.

Everyone seems outraged about it, and rightly so. General consensus seems to be that these are not children from deprived backgrounds, whose feckless parents are too busy watching Jeremy Kyle to toilet train their children. These are the children of parents who are just too busy to teach their child to use the toilet properly.

Reports of this story have focused on the figure given, that many children in Reception year are missing out on 25% of teaching time because they're being taken out to have their nappies changed. When asked whether teachers are being asked to do too much, Michael Gove responded:

I do think hard about how much we ask of teachers, because we do ask a lot.

Well, Mr Gove, you keep thinking hard about that. Keep thinking about the endless tests and assessments and inspections, and the fact that Ofsted's chief inspector recently said that nurseries are failing to ensure children are ready to learn when they reach school, using toilet training as an example. Aren't we also asking too much of nursery staff to become surrogate parents? And they're paid less! 

One panelist on Channel 5's Wright Stuff commented this morning: this is child abuse; if you can't find the time to teach your child to use the toilet, they should be taken and put into foster care with parents who do have the time.

I agree, it is the responsibility of the parent to teach their child to use the toilet, as well as to hold a knife and fork and other basic life skills. If my child were to become one of the thousands of five year olds turning up for school still in nappies, I would see that as my own failure and nobody else's.

But aren't we all missing one glaring point here?

Parents are actively encouraged to return to work, and many are working longer hours in order to make ends meet. Everyone must return to work, and children must be farmed out to nurseries or childminders. Nobody must stay at home and care for their children; why on earth would you do that, when you can go to work and... pay taxes.

As a single parent, even though I work from home, it's hard to find the time to get my work done, prepare decent meals for my child, spend quality time with her, make sure there are clean clothes for the morning and do some house work here and there - and we've not started toilet training yet!

Increasingly these days, parents - mothers in particular - have to be everything to everyone. You must go to work and not act as if you're missing your child. Woe betide the mother who arrives at the office with toddler snot on her shoulder, who looks a bit tired after a sleepless night with a teething toddler, who calls the nursery at lunch to check her child has settled ok. You must never show weakness, never let them think you're not up to the job. You already stand no chance of promotion or pay rise, because you can't put in the over time, the early starts or whatever else that your peers can. 

Then you must collect your child from childcare and be all happiness and light; you must play games, interact with your child, never leave them watching CBeebies for that is the mark of the lazy parent. You must do sensory play, messy play, fine motor skills, imaginative play, outdoor play, educational play. Then you must construct a nutritionally balanced, yet appealing meal for your toddler to eat, clean it up after they throw it at the wall because they wanted chicken nuggets and dippy sauce, bathe them, read educationally sound stories at bed time, and put them to bed... and then you must clean the house, do the washing up, ensure there are clean clothes for morning, ensure a bag is packed for nursery, ensure you have done everything you needed to do for work tomorrow, clean sticky hand prints from every surface, find your other shoe, find the toddler's other shoe. 

When you return to work, it's usually before your child is a year old. You bundle them up for nursery or the childminder with some spare nappies, maybe a spare change of clothes, and off you go. Suddenly, when you're finally starting to get used to the never-ending routine of life as a working mother, you realise that you need to toilet train your child. So every weekend you think to yourself, yep, we really need to start on this. But every weekend, you're beyond exhausted from a week of being both working mum and mum mum. The concept of spending your weekend in a battle of wills with a toddler, cleaning up puddles from the living room floor, fills you with a terrible sense of foreboding worse than any board meeting; so you put it off until next weekend.

But the next weekend, there's this fun day/village fete/soft play/festival/whatever going on, and you really should take children to these things and not keep them cooped up at home; make the most of the good weather while it's here, and so on. And so on, and so on.

I'm not saying parents who end up sending their children to school in nappies are faultless; I'm saying it's understandable that this could happen.

Health visitors seem to be few and far between these days, and parents don't know who they can speak to for help with toilet training. One correspondent wrote to me recently, "but my child is over 1 now, so I can't go to the health visitor with my problem." It's entirely possible that no health care professional would even see a child between their second birthday and their first day in school, let alone have the the time to notice there's a problem and help the parents to resolve it. Perhaps more resource should be put into helping parents to parent well, rather than publicly shame them (and their child) for their failings?

It's easy to lambaste parents for being too busy to toilet train their children, but really, who made them that busy? We are expected to be busy; we are discouraged from just taking time to spend with our children. It's easy to say, well, you chose to go back to work; don't have children if you don't have time for them but when society as a whole looks upon stay at home parents as just stay at home parents, only stay at home parents, lazy stay at home parents watching daytime telly all day while I have to go out to work, when people are actively encouraged to return to work and discouraged from staying home to care for their children, what did we expect was going to happen?

Chidlhood Memories

In my very first memory, I am around two years old.

I was having my nappy changed, laying on my parents' bed. I remember holding my legs up and feeling good, being told I was being helpful. I remember my mum's smile; I was being such a good girl, holding my legs up.

A little while later, I remember going to the paper shop across the road from our terrace. My brother was in the big, old Silver Cross pram. I was in a seat fixed to the top of it. My older sister walked next to the pram, which my mum pushed. I don't remember going into the paper shop; I don't remember being in there. What I remember is coming out of the door, and my mum crying. she had a tissue to her face. When I turned around, I saw two people lifting something out of the road and putting it on the opposite side. At the time, I didn't know what was going on, and I don't know how much of the memory has been manufactured by the tall tales my older sister liked to tell, but I know now that the thing the people were lifting out of the road was our cat, Mister Sandy.

Another very clear memory is from when I was a little older. I think I was maybe 3 or 4. My mum had picked me up from nursery, and we'd walked home in the rain. I was wearing a pink jumper with a brown elephant on it; I think my nan knitted it for me. I suppose my little brother must have been with us, but I don't recall him being there. What I recall is getting into the house, and my mum sitting me on the kitchen table while she dried my hair and took my wet shoes off. The table was wooden, with yellow check plastic over the top; something from the 1970s in my parents' first proper home since they'd married. I remember it being a big treat, for me to spend time with my mum; just the two of us, and nobody else. We had scrambled egg sandwiches for lunch, which was a massive treat. I remember feeling so special, and like I was getting something my brother and sister weren't: special time with my mum.

I asked some friends about their first memories, and got:

• Going down a slide on Christmas Day when I was 3
• Being in the sea and getting salt water in my mouth when I was around 18 months old
• Moving into our new house when I was 3 
• I'd just turned 3 and my sister came home from her last day of second grade and told me she hated it
• Watching my dad putting up hessian wall paper when I was 2 or 3
• Standing with my dad to watch my primary school being built when I was 3
• Being in a cot in hospital when I was around 2; I was freezing but they had fans on me.. I had pneumonia.
• Being weighed as a baby - I didn't like the crispy paper they had in the bottom of the scale!
• Drinking warm milk from a bottle, looking at Christmas decorations, aged around 3-4
• Aged 3 or 4, sitting in the airing cupboard with my teddy, reading a book 
• Aged 2-2.5, sitting on the seat of our Silver Cross pram with my brother beneath me (someone else has the same early memory as me!)
• I was 1 year old, and my mum threw a bag of rubbish over the back wall because the gate was stuck

Some of these memories are based around Christmas - a time that's exciting and fun for children. Some are based on a time of great trauma and anxiety. Both of those are reasons a memory might be fixed in one's mind. But equally, several are just normal, every day things in life. They might have meant something to the child, at the time, but to you or I they would be as inconsequential as brushing ones teeth or going to the shop.

Interestingly, research has shown that if you ask a young child about their first memories, they will tell you what they remember... if you ask them again when they're older, they might tell you different things. Many also remember the memories they gave before, but will now tell you they happened to someone else. Children don't crystalise their early memories until the age of ten.

I write this because I realised that my very first memory is from around the age of two.  It occurs to me that S is coming to the age where her first lasting memories will be formed. Something that happens over the next 12 months or so, will be the very first thing she remembers when she is my age... But I have no control over what those memories will be.

I mean, I'm sure that during the year I was 2, having my nappy changed was not the most exciting thing that happened to me. I have numerous photos of birthday parties; my brother was born when I was 18 months old, and he would have been christened a while after that. I have vague memories of being at nursery, but no specific memories until I was almost old enough to start school. My first memories are random snap-shots in the life of a toddler.

My point with all of this reminiscing is this: I don't know which random parts of the next couple of years will be forever imprinted on my daughter's mind as her first memories. I have no control at all over which parts of the next couple of years she will pick out and cling to as the essence of her childhood.

Many people think I'm a soft touch because S ends up in my bed most nights. They think I'm stupid to have her cot next to my bed. People tell me it's not healthy that it's just the two of us for large portions of time, and that there is only one person I will leave her with (apart from nursery). 

Just lately, having realised that my first memory is from around S's age, I'm acutely aware that any tiny, insignificant thing from the next year or two could be the one thing she picks up as her first memory. I'd rather that tiny thing was being cosy in bed with Mummy, than crying in another room and wondering why I don't come to make her feel better.

And yes, that photo up there is of me. It won a competition. 

What is your earliest memory? How old were you? Is it a good or a bad one?

#MySundayPhoto 2014-04-27

We took this photo yesterday, when I realised my Chromebook had a webcam. 

I'm thinking I might print it out and stick it on our kitchen door; it makes me smile!

Guilt Trip

Parental guilt: we all have it, right?

And we all know the majority of it is ridiculous.

Here are some of the things I have felt guilty for lately:

• When I went back to work and S started nursery, I promised both of us that I would make an extra effort to ensure the days we spent together were filled with fun and special time... Fast forward a year, and I'm not doing so great at the special time. I need to make more effort to do fun stuff, to go fun places.

• S doesn't have a daddy. There is no male influence in her life. While I would die before allowing her biological father within 100 feet of her, I feel bad for her that she doesn't have someone to do dad things with. I try, but I can't really be both parents.

• She doesn't have brothers or sisters to play with; when we're home, it's just the two of us. And I'm not much fun to play with. I would love for her to have someone closer to her own age to play with, but it's not likely to happen.

• Sometimes, when S is being... well, she's just being two if I'm honest - and I am losing my temper for things I know she can't help, I just stick her in the buggy and hope that a long walk will help both of us to chill out. I feel bad that she's being shoved into a buggy and wheeled around town just because I can't deal with being a good mother.

• Despite this post (and this one) she still watches too much TV.

• I have been offensively tired for the last few days, and have done very little house work. I mean, even less than I usually get by on. Yesterday, I spent her nap... napping myself. This means that firstly, her living space is filled with unsorted washing and general junk that needs putting away, and secondly, I'm spending the time either side of her nap trying to catch up on boring crap rather than having fun with her.

• I feel endlessly guilty that we live here, on this estate, surrounded by drug dealers and people who have their arguments loudly, outside of our windows. More than once in the last couple of weeks, I have had to usher her out of the kitchen under the pretence of "let's go and play in the living room, quickly, right now" because the words we can hear clearly through the kitchen window are not ones I ever want her to hear. 

• Sometimes she doesn't want what I've cooked for dinner, and I have the dilemma of "well, she won't eat this, but I can't send her to bed on an empty stomach... what will she eat?" - the answer to that question is never "some carrot sticks with hummus." Not even close.

• This is possibly the most ridiculous one: when she wakes in the night crying, and she doesn't want a cuddle, and nothing I whisper to her can make her calm down... I feel like I am failing as a parent. Because I'm the only one she has. And if I can't calm her down and make her feel safe, then who can?

All of these things and more, on daily basis, make me feel like I'm failing as a mother. I'm a bad mother. 

But when I stop to think about it, I know most of these things are ridiculous. I know that the very fact I feel guilty means I am doing a better job than those people who don't  feel guilty or worry about whether they're doing a good job.

In everything - not just parenting - I find the complete lack of questioning ones actions very worrying. We should constantly check ourselves, wonder whether we're on the right path, re-evaluate our positions. If we don't, we risk getting past the point of no return before realising we did something wrong.

I believe parental guilt is there to make us question ourselves. It's there to keep us wondering, am I doing the right thing here? Should I choose a different option? Is there anything I can do to make this better? 

Weekend Blog Hop 2014-04-26

I am very excited to be co-hosting the Weekend Blog Hop with Laura from My Life As A Mummy. I looked after the blog hop while she was off having a little rest (and a baby!) and now she's asked me to co-host. Awesomeness.


So here's what you do:

Add a link to your blog, and visit the two blogs ahead of you to leave a comment on their most recent post.

Also please follow Laura on Bloglovin - and follow me too!

The social media link up and blog showcase will be back next week...

So here's the linky...


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Review: What's Your Excuse...

I was sent these lovely books to review: What's Your Excuse For Not Getting Fit? and What's Your Excuse for Not Eating Healthily? - both by Joanne Henson.

The basic premise of the books is... it's like you're having a conversation with one of those people who doesn't take any of your shit. 

You say "I can't go to the gym, I'm too tired" and Joanne says Countless studies have found that regular exercise reduces feelings of fatigue. 

You say "I can't eat healthily because I have to prepare meals my kids will eat" and Joanne says Just because they say they don't like it the first time doesn't mean they won't like it a second time if it is served differently.

Reading these books is like someone holding up a big mirror to your whining, excuse-making, sorry self. Joanne has an answer for every excuse, so you're left with... er... ok. I'll join the gym and buy some apples. And then... the books sit there and taunt you... 

There's nothing in these books that's ground breaking - but that's the beauty of them. They tell you everything you already knew, in language you can understand. They're like that voice in your head that's usually drowned out by your expert excuse-maker voice (I don't know about you, but that's often the loudest voice in my head)

And yeah, after reading these books I got up off my behind and joined the gym.

Disclaimer: I was provided with these books free of charge in exchange for a review - but I was not obliged to write a favourable review. All words and opinions are my own.

Feeling Grateful

I used to do a weekly gratitude linky on a Friday... but I'm a bit rubbish at remembering (and bothering) to keep it up, so I sort of fell by the wayside. But today, I thought I would resurrect it - because I'm feeling decidedly grateful.

Here are a few of the things I am grateful for today:

• S has moved from Ladybird Room to Bumblebee Room, with what seems to have been minimal fuss, no disruption and even a certain amount of excitement. I went to collect her from her first day, and found her sitting in her new key worker's lap, reading The Cat In The Hat.

• Last night after tea, S was plastered in melted Easter egg. I said, "would you like to have a shower?" at which point she jumped up, climbed the stairs, and waited for me in the bathroom. When it was time to get out of the shower, she said goodbye to her bath toys one by one and put them away. We got her dried and into her PJs, and then she sat in my lap to read The Cat In The Hat with a massive grin on her face, before giving me a kiss and a cuddle goodnight, having a little giggle as we looked for Ted, and then going into her cot and going to sleep with a smile. I have no idea how I produced a child who does these things.

My child is a legend.

• I am lucky enough to have a job I enjoy. I am also lucky enough to be able to fit that job around other things. I can take an afternoon off to go to a stay and play at nursery, and I can do over time in the evenings if I so wish. I have money in the bank and clothes on my back, and life is sweet.

• Because S and I live alone, it's up to us how we decorate our house. So our walls are increasingly covered in S's pictures that come home from nursery - the photo sheets they give me, and her numerous  pieces of artwork. I love that my interior design is toddler chic - including the grubby hand prints all the way up the stairs!

• I recently bumped into the mother of an old friend. She is a retired teacher, and someone I have always looked up to as being "someone I would like to be like." It hadn't occurred to me until we started chatting, that she had been a single mother the entire time I was growing up. My friend lived up the road, with her mother - who never re-married until we were almost fully grown. There's not much point to this one, except that I'm really glad to have bumped into her, and really glad to remember that someone I've always looked up to was actually a single mother. Single mothers can be role models too, people!

• S is doing the whole vocabulary spurt thing, which means that every single day she comes out with a multitude of new words - including pointing to the turquoise stone in my necklace and saying "boo" before moving on to point out my nose, my ears, my cheeks, my mouth. It's so much fun to see her learning all these new words!

If you have written a post recently that's about being positive, happy or grateful, please feel free to link it up here.

Sensitive Skin-Friendly Play Dough

S has the sort of skin that's sometimes a little sensitive. A while back she had some sort of eczema that eventually covered her whole body. We tried several different creams before we found one that worked. None of them made it any worse, and I had gloriously soft hands from applying it twice a day... but they didn't solve the problem. 

Meanwhile, S loves to play with play dough of any description. I usually make it with corn flour and oil, but the oil can stain her clothes - she's a bit of a mucky pup, and it tends to get everywhere. Traditional play dough has a lot of salt in it, and can make her hands dry and sore quite quickly - which is not ideal as she doesn't like to have cream on her hands. I was delighted then, when I found this post on The Imagination Tree, for play dough for sensitive skin.

The basic idea is that you mix up dough using corn flour (the God of play dough ingredients!) and cream - moisturiser, medicated cream, whatever you know works for your child. I've no idea why I didn't think of this before! I mixed ours with Diprobase, because we have tons of it, but it doesn't work for S. I added some green food colouring, because I know she's ok with colouring, and set her to playing with it.

I think I added too much cornflour, as it was fairly crumbly - but she enjoyed playing with it any way. She's not really into rolling out dough for shapes, as much as she is just squishing it up and making a mess any way!

I think next time I make this, I'll use less corn flour. By the time S had finished playing with it, it had become really crumbly. Also it's worth noting here that the green on S's hand in this video is from previous colouring shenanigans, not the play dough!

My Baby...

One day last week, I collected S from nursery, and she seemed to have grown noticeably, since I dropped her off. Just lately, she has been growing up and learning new things at a rate of what seems like a mile a minute: 

• She used to sit quietly in the pushchair when we walked into town, perhaps reading one of her books. Now she sits up, pointing out doors, cars, bikes, dogs, cats. 

• When we get to the shops, she demands, "out!" and takes my hand to drag me around.

• When we go into the supermarket, she demands a banana. 

• She tells me which colour she's using to draw all over the floor. 

• She has learned to ask for Mr Tumble (though she calls him Mummle). 

• Asking for a drink has gone from "nuck" to "too" to "dink" in the space of a couple of weeks. The first time she said "dink" her face lit up, like she knew she'd finally hit the nail on the head!

• She can unzip her coat and pull it off.

• She can mostly hold her umbrella over her head all the way to nursery.

All of this, seemingly overnight.

On the one hand, it's a bit *sniff* that I no longer have a tiny baby I can cradle in my arms and coo at... 

I know babies have growth spurts; I read all about wonder weeks, and I've written essays on toddler vocabulary spurts... but this, I was not prepared for. It's kinda fun! She loves to say her new words and watch my face. We walk down the street shouting, "Car! Tree! Cat! Dog!"

I've just downloaded the Timehop app to my mobile. It's been very weird to look at it each day and see what I was updating last year, two years ago, three years ago. This time in 2010, I was having a breakdown. This time in 2012, I was a petrified new mother. If at either of those times, you had told me I would have spent yesterday afternoon with my two-year-old, reading "Mummle" and Dear Zoo, I would have laughed at you. 

It's so lovely to see my baby growing up, to see her learning new words, new things, new sounds. 

And yeah, I did this. Would you just look at what I made!

Easy Home Repairs

Easy home repairs

Being a mum is both rewarding and daunting at the same time, and sometimes completing even the most simple of tasks can seem like a chore – especially if you have your hands full with the little ones!

Organisation

The key to completing a number of household chores is to be organised. Whether you plan a play date with the children or use your time wisely while they’re at nursery, having a few hours to yourself is a sure-fire way to get things done.

Top tips

From cupboard doors to replacement doorknobs and faulty taps, a number of home repairs can easily be competed without the help of a professional. However, there are also some tasks that will require the help of an expert. For example, if you live in a period property, then you may need to repair sash windows. The overhaul may be as simple as a draught sealing service, maintenance or a slight adjustment. A professional will be able to complete the repair without compromising on the aesthetic character and charm of your existing property.

Take photos

When replacing the likes of a cupboard door or a hanging rail, it’s important to pay attention to its appearance prior to removing the existing item. Taking photos of the different stages will certainly help you to easily reconstruct the replacement item.

Replacements

If you need to repair or a replace a cupboard or drawer door handle, removing the existing handle and taking it along to your local DIY store will ensure you purchase the correct fixtures and fittings. If not, you may end up purchasing the wrong size or shape.

Preparation

If you’ve decided to repaint an item of furniture, an old desk or a tired-looking door, then preparation is key. It’s important to ensure that all of the surfaces are clean and sanded down prior to beginning your paint job. It’s also wise to wash or vacuum the surface as debris has a habit of getting trapped under wet paint, which will only result in a shabby finish.

Electrical work

Although certain tasks can easily be completed alone, others require expert help, such as electrical repairs. In order to ensure your own safety and also, the safety of those around you, it’s imperative that you employ the services of an electrician. If the job at hand is as simple as replacing a light bulb, then this is an entirely different matter. It is however important to ensure that the power is off prior to doing so.

What's In Your Handbag?

This is my handbag. It's beautiful, isn't it? It's a Hobo. It is worth more than the sum total of anything I will ever put in it. I love it.

These are the things my handbag contains, most days:

• my diary
• some pens
• some business cards
• my mobile
• my purse
• my keys
• some lip balm, if I remember it.

Sometimes, I compete with myself to see just how little I can get away with carrying around with me. I don't take my diary out with me, unless I think I'm likely to need it. Sometimes, I don't even take my bunch of keys out with me; I just take the spare key I keep on the hook by the front door.

I used to have a massive handbag. I used to take emergency make up out with me every day... until I realised I never used it. There used to be several half-used packets of ibuprofen and paracetamol, until I realised that any time I was out and needed pain killers, I was too impatient to rummage through the detritus, and instead just headed for the nearest shop and bought some more (of which I would take two, and then shove into my bag, for next time). For a while, I even carried a box of plasters... they usually went along in the same way as the pain killers, and now I have a drawer in my living room, literally filled with plasters.

I know people whose handbags could quite feasibly be used as a weapon. My mother's handbag is like a brick on a string; it is so crammed full of crap that when she removes her purse to pay for something, you have to wrestle to get the thing back in. If she buys a new handbag, she transfers the junk from one bag to the other, without ever going through it to check what it is, whether she needs it, whether she ever needed it.

Yes, this is the post where I make handbags into a metaphor for life.

“You can't fly if your wings are holding the baggage of yesterday. Let go. Fly.” 
― Steve Maraboli

In the same way that the state of your living space reflects the state of your head, I think the things you carry around in your handbag can be a good barometer for how much you're carrying around with you, generally.

I've written before about how my house was a mess when I was going through a breakdown. I really think that what you're carting about with you in your handbag, every single day, everywhere you go, is bringing you down. You might not notice it; you might just shove those receipts out of the way every time you're rummaging in the bottom of your bag. You might lose track of what's in there, and routinely come back with a handful of loose change for parking, or a half-eaten chocolate bar. Or worse!

I used to go to school with a girl who once, while rummaging for her French text book, pulled out an exercise book covered in yogurt and remarked, "oh... I haven't had yogurt for lunch this week..."

Incidentally, this also applies to the men who have been in my life. S's father, who is by far the most bonkers person I've ever been with, used to carry a full-on camping pack to and from work with him every day. It was crammed with... well, I've no idea what was in it to be honest - but he carried it back and forth every day. It was big enough to take on a 2-day camping trip and still have space for the tent!

Take a look in your handbag right now. Can you see the bottom?  Do you really need to take all that crap, every single time you leave the house? Are you carrying around huge mounds of crap with you, all day, every day? 

Easter Monday: Ponderings on Motherhood

S was born on 9th April, 2012.

It was Easter Monday.

We have already celebrated S's second birthday, and it was great fun. 

But Easter is still a big deal for me.

I went into labour early on Easter morning. I spent Easter afternoon in hospital, tied up to monitors. I was induced early on Easter Monday, and S was born that evening.

Yesterday, as I watched my child trying valiantly to bite the top off an Easter egg, I thought to myself, how different this is from two years ago. I thought about how scared I was, to have gone into labour 5 weeks early; to be scared not just of losing my baby, but of showing my fear or any other feeling.

On Easter evening two years ago, they gave me some codeine, attached me to some monitors and told me to try and get some sleep. I probably got a couple of hours, spread over about 7. 

That was the last night I spent alone. In fact, there have been relatively few nights since then that I've even been alone in my bed!

That night, I knew I would be a mother within 24 hours. I knew, in a kind of abstract way, that my life would change... but nothing can actually prepare you for that change. 

In the bit where you're in labour but it's moving slowly, all you can think is that you want it to just get going and be over with. When you're at the part where it's painful, you're in too much pain to contemplate what happens when it's all over. And then... then suddenly you're a mother. And there's this tiny little baby and people are cooing and it's all so surreal.

It's not until the dust settles, and the visitors leave and you're left there alone... that you realise you're not alone any more. It's not just you any more. You realise that at some point, back there when you weren't paying so much attention, your life changed completely. And whatever happens next, nothing will ever be the same again.

At least once a day, I think:

This is bonkers! They let me keep this kid? I'm not responsible enough to be a mother!

And at least once a day, I look at my child and think:

How the hell did I ever get this lucky?! 

Honestly, I feel like the luckiest person in the world. Every. Single Day. 

And so today, I will mostly be playing with my child, making a mess, breathing in every single ounce of her awesomeness. For she is the first, and quite probably the only perfect thing I have ever produced.

(Insert corny comment about Easter and rebirth here)

Social Media: The Return!

Today, I return to social media, having given up interaction for Lent. Throughout Lent, I have gone from missing social media interaction, to welcoming the lack of knowledge about people's lives, and back to missing it again.

I think what I have missed of social media is the few people I don't keep in touch with any other way, in whom I am genuinely interested. I've missed being able to ask 800 people at the same time whether the buses are running or what is going on with this or that news story. Realistically though, that sort of thing only makes up about 10% of social media, doesn't it. There's a whole lot of bitching and sniping and crap which you can't help but get sucked into if you're there watching it, but it does nothing for you but bring you down.

On Good Friday, I was looking forward to getting back to social media. Then I stumbled across this article by someone who did a "Facebook detox." In it, the author makes a few salient points: that if you're on Facebook, you're so busy living in someone else's present, you're not living in your own; that we can often get caught up with what people we barely know think of our ideas and desires, rather than our own opinions; that so much of what you see on social media is negative, and it's difficult to filter all of it out.

It has been interesting, over the course of Lent, to see who has stayed in touch with me. It has also been refreshing to hear only the things my friends feel warrant a phone call, email or text. Things have been quiet, and sometimes that has felt rather lonely. But it's also been quite refreshing and relaxing not to be vaguely involved in all sorts of randomness that I used to see on Facebook and Twitter all day, every day.

Although I am looking forward to going back to my newsfeed, I don't think I'll be spending so much time on there!

Simon's thoughts:

Taking joy in the simple things in life:
piggy backs at Hengistbury Head

It’s Easter Sunday and the end of what has felt like a really long 40 days off Social Media.

Long not because I’ve been missing it or pining for it especially but having logged in and seen the last event I tweeted and posted about (a photo at a gig on the 4th March) feels so long ago.

I’ve had a lot of fun since then. Fun doing mostly the everyday stuff that I’ve always done.

I’ve read a few articles from other people about giving up facebook and found myself nodding in agreement to many of them.

Sarah Anne Stewart is really spot on when she says : “When you're on Facebook 24/7 you aren’t living in the present, focusing fully and savouring the experience that's right in front of you.

Facebook had been really useful to help me through an unsettled few months.

It was there as a reassurance in lieu of someone special in my life and stopped me needlessly rushing off to fill that gap.

No need for pills, no need to sit around and feel remote when your social network is just a few clicks away.

But just like the role anti-depressants play in some people’s lives it was only really there to help me cope with the low times.

As for Twitter I’ll be continuing to use that as a way to connect with the audience of the radio station at which I work.

Although it looks like I have picked up more followers by doing nothing so clearly the broadcasting maxim of “less is more” applies to tweeting too.

You can follow me there @simonontheradio

You can read our first post about giving up social media for Lent here.

How Do You Find The Time...

If you've clicked this link looking for clever lifestyle tips or life hacks... you'll probably want to click away now. I don't really have any clever tips. Sorry about that.

I'm a single mother; I work from home; I maintain (what I'd like to think is) a successful blog. People are forever asking me how I have the time to bake biscuits with S - or make a kick ass Easter bonnet for nursery. One person did rather sniffily ask me how I find time for housework.

Here is how I manage to find the time to do the things that matter:

The things that matter come first in this house.

Now, I'm fully aware that what matters can differ from household to household, person to person. In this house, cleaning and tidying are fairly close to the bottom of the list. I believe that when my child grows up, she will remember afternoons spent sitting on the kitchen work surface making biscuits, not how often the bath was cleaned. 

Here are a few things I do that allow me more time to do the fun stuff (and the blogging and the obsessive West Wing watching):

• I only wash up once a day. There are only two of us here, and there are plenty of plates and cups to last us a day, so we pile it neatly next to the sink, and I wash up after S has gone to bed.

• I never read the instruction manual, so I've made an executive decision to just assume my oven is self-cleaning.

• I make piles of things at the bottom and top of the stairs. Every time I go up or down, I take something with me, and put it where it belongs.

• Similarly, I keep my recycling in a pile, and take a little of it down to the bins every time I go out without S (when she's with me, it's just not worth the effort!)

• S has a shower instead of a bath. She enjoys splashing under the water, and I can use the time to potter about on the landing, sorting washing and tidying the toys that are usually left hanging about.

• My housework is done on a "critical mass" basis. Everything is left until it can't possibly be left any more, and then tackled in a massive spree. I'll often have the washing machine and tumble dryer running for 2 days solidly, and then not use it again for a week or so.

• When S has nursery the next morning, as soon as she's in bed I get her clothes ready for the next day. I bring a pair of trousers, two tops and two pairs of socks (so that she can choose what she wears) down to the living room and put them on the side along with a clean nappy and the baby wipes. 

• As soon as S takes her shoes off when we get home from anywhere, I pick them up and put them on the side, out of her reach. She has a tendency to play with footwear, and there are a million places to hide such small shoes, so I keep them where I know they'll still be when we need them in the morning!

• I watch very little TV. I haven't watched any live TV on a regular basis since... I don't even remember. I use the catch-up function on my TV package to browse through what's been on. It cuts down my viewing time considerably, to see that a show I thought might look vaguely interesting is an hour and a half long. In fact, the only show I watch every week without fail is Casualty. And while I'm "watching," I'm blogging and researching. And sorting washing and tidying away some toys, and flicking through magazines for ideas, and scheduling tweets.

• When it comes to blogging, I type very quickly so once I have an idea for a post it doesn't take too long to get it written up. I keep a notepad next to my bed, and make notes on my mobile when I think of ideas.

• When I'm using Facebook, Twitter etc, I'll often compose updates, respond to tweets or comments etc, while I'm queueing in a shop or on my way home from nursery drop off.

• I use apps like Trello, Work Flowy and Asana to keep track of what I'm doing, what I need to do, what I've done.

• Probably the biggest thing I've learned to do is just plain let go. Instead of rushing around, worrying I won't get things done, worrying about this or about that, I just chill out. S and I meander to and from nursery, usually taking a couple of detours. When we go to town she will have a little wander and I will follow along. If I don't stress about being late or missing something or whatever, S doesn't pick up on it. Realistically, there aren't many things in life that absolutely can't wait, and I find that actually, if I'm not stressing about things, I get more done any way.

So there you have it: my secrets for being Wonder Woman/Mum of the Year. Don't go telling anyone!

When I Grow Up...

I was talking to a friend the other day, and she said that when she watches cookery shows on TV, she often thinks "I'll cook that when I'm an adult..."

It reminded me that I still think "When I grow up..." on a regular basis.

When I grow up...

• I will keep my house clean and tidy, and vacuum every day.
• I will have money left over at the end of the month.
• I will read proper, grown-up magazines instead of the lowbrow tat I currently entertain myself with
• I will understand the other 80% of the jokes on Have I Got News For You
• I'll be able to stay up past my bed time (the bed time I impose on myself because I'm always so tired!)
• I will have a dinner repertoire that stretches beyond one chicken dish and one beef mince dish.
• My dirty clothes will find it to the wash basket without languishing on the landing for a while first
• I will organise my time properly and not waste so much of it dicking about.
• I will cease to find lolcats funny
• I will see what's coming, and plan for it.
• I will be prepared for every possible outcome
• I'll be able to just keep chocolate in the house for unlimited amounts of time... without having to eat it.
• I'll be able to speak my mind in person, not just on my blog.
• I'll feel like I know what I'm doing.

Is it just me, or does everyone still think When I grow up... - even when they're 32?

What will you do when you grow up?

Toddler Behaviour Ideas for a Happy Day

Having written this post about toddler issues last month, I decided to do some reading.

The problem is that I don't really agree with a lot of behaviour modification techniques.

I don't agree with naughty steps/chairs/corners, because I don't believe that any child will sit on their naughty step and think about what they did wrong. I believe that at S's age, they don't necessarily understand what they did wrong, even if it's the third time they've done it. I think kids mostly sit on their naughty step either thinking Mummy doesn't love me any more or - as they get older -  argh I hate Mummy, she's so mean to me.

I was finding it increasingly difficult to cope with S's behaviour though, so I did delve into the parenting books in the hope I might at least find one tool I could use to help S when she's having a hard time. One book I found that is proving really useful is Happiest Toddler on the Block by Dr Harvey Karp. I bought the DVD  a while ago, but didn't really do much with it since S was still pretty young... I think I'm going to dig it out and watch it again though, as the book has some great tips in it!

Here's what I found, and have begun using:

• Remember I wrote that post about the idea of Tooth Brushing? This book actually suggests a similar thing with toddlers, where you sit down at the end of the day and reflect on all the great things that have gone on. I started doing it with S as I cleaned her teeth, and she seems to really respond to it. It helps us both to focus on the positive aspects of our time together, so even if she's just had a massive tantrum and thrown her dinner on the floor, we end the day on a high note. The book also suggests "hand checks" where you give your child a little mark on their hand with a pen, for every time they are helpful or kind or do as they are asked - then sit with them at the end of the day and remember how they earned them all.

• "Could you help Mummy?" S is often disgruntled if I've laid her on the floor and forced her to get dressed, or to have her nappy changed. I find that I can help her out of this mood by saying "would you put your pjyamas in the wash basket for me please?" or "shall we put the nappy in the wash bucket together?" She helps by putting things into the bin or by fetching me a book to read to her. I suppose it makes her feel like a grown up and like she has some control over whether she helps or not. Actually this reminds me of when I was a teenager, and my younger sisters used to beg me to give them "jobs" to do. She can be getting into all sorts of mischief, but if I say "S, could you put your socks in the wash basked please?" She happily picks them up and runs to the kitchen with them!

• Magic Breathing: I love this idea. You teach your toddler to take deep breaths; you sit quietly and use your hand moving up and down to show your deep breaths going in and out, encouraging your child to join in. Once they've got it, you can sit with them and do some magic breathing every day. It works as a great time together, but also when they're getting a bit toddler-ish you can say "let's do some magic breathing together" and hopefully the deep breaths will calm them down. I've only just started doing this one with S but I think it's a great way to start the idea of meditation in children.

• Allowing a choice: I let S choose her top and her socks each morning. If we're buying clothes for her, I give her a choice between two things. At first she didn't really understand the question, but now she knows exactly what I'm asking, and quickly decides what she's going to wear that day. If we're out and I don't need to do anything specific, I let her choose which direction we go in.

• The last one is really simple but I think it's something we all forget: listening properly. At the moment S does a lot of babbling, but only a few of her words make sense to me. On the other hand though, she is learning words really quickly. It's easy for me to just respond to her chatter with the standard "oh really? Wow!" and so on, without actually paying attention, but often when I take the time to stop and listen, it's fairly clear what she's after and we work it out together. For example, the other day she was saying what I thought was "boo" but then she started grabbing at her nappy - and then she took the lid off the box where I keep her nappies. She'd done a poo.

One point Karp makes in his book, which I think is worth bearing in mind all the time, is that toddlers usually lose at everything. They're weaker, shorter, slower, clumsier, and less able to express what they want. The idea behind a lot of his techniques is that toddlers "just want to win a few" and that as parents, by letting them choose their clothes, or win a pillow fight, we let them win a couple of things.

An example Karp uses is that if you've no money, and someone asks you for £10, you'll say no - but if you've just won the Lotto, and someone asks you for £10 you might just give them £20! So if your toddler feels like they've won a few battles through the day, and then you want them to clean their teeth and go to bed, they might just surprise you.

Last night I said to S, is it bed time? She put her pens away on the side (!) and ran to the bottom of the stairs. I opened the gate, she climbed the stairs and went straight to the bedroom.

Since beginning this with S, we've not had a full on meltdown.

Weirdly, if I sense a meltdown coming on, and hand her a banana (still in its skin) she calms right down. I often end a shopping trip by buying her a banana to carry home. Strange but true. 

I'm thinking of writing my own parenting book about that: Bananas Parenting. Wadaya think?

If you have any other non-naughty-step related ideas for helping toddlers to "behave" please do leave a comment, I'd love to hear them!

What I'm reading: Above All Things - a novel about the 1924 expedition to climb Everest. It's written from several different perspectives, including that of George Mallory's wife, left at home.

What I'm watching: The Wire: Season 3  - I absolutely love The Wire, and am re-watching the seasons... as and when Love Film sees fit to send them to me, that is.