Fining Parents Who Don't Read With Their Children?

You know that bit at the beginning of Parklife where Phil Daniels says "I wish you'd just shut up"?

That's what I think of, every time I hear a news story about Sir Michael Wilshaw.

His latest words of wisdom were spoken to the Times, and include:

If parents didn't come into school, didn't come to parents' evening, didn't ensure they did their homework, I would tell them they were bad parents. I think head teachers should have the power to fine them. It's sending the message that you are responsible for your children no matter how poor you are.

I'm almost at a loss as to where to start with this one.

What if you can't make it to parents' evening because you're working every available shift at work, in order to keep the wolf from the door?

What if you can't make sure your child does their homework because you're at work, then cooking dinner, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, collapsing in a heap on the floor? You know you should make your child do their homework, but you only see them for a couple of hours a day and don't want that to turn into a battle of wills where you try and force them to do something you can't help them with because you're not so good with academic things?

The headline on the front of today's Times reads: 

Fine parents who don't read to children, says schools chief.

I understand where Wilshaw is coming from on this one;  I know that teachers really have their work cut out for them if parents aren't doing their best to encourage learning and discipline in the home... but just as putting a child in detention doesn't make them want to learn, fining a parent will not suddenly make them inclined or able to read with their child. It makes them both resent the system.

Wilshaw accuses white working-class families of "no longer valuing education as a way to improve their family's prospects."

Wait a moment... if this country has come to the point where white working-class families do not think education can improve their prospects, whose fault is that? Who should be punished? The people who are disillusioned with the system, or the people who created that system and allowed that disillusionment to take root and grow?

If you've grown up in a situation where you have little choice but to believe you are stuck here, detested by the government that rules over you, assuming you are a feckless loser who defrauds the system for all you can get from it, why would you think going to school would make a difference to you? Why would parents send their children to school every day, when their own schooling amounted to the situation they are in at present?

In the same way that many older people are advising their children to put their money anywhere other than in a pension, because "look what happened to my pension fund," many parents do not see a great deal of value in education these days.

Apparently "too often deprivation [is] used as an excuse for low achievement."

Excuse?

An excuse?

Or perhaps it's a valid reason for low achievement.

Perhaps white working class children are not achieving a great deal because they're constantly hungry, their parents unable to provide balanced, healthy meals every day? Perhaps white working class children look around at the situations they live in, and think perhaps this is just their lot in life. We're working class; we're relying on benefits to make ends meet; middle class Britain resents and despises us for it.

Yes, of course there are some parents who need a bit of a shove in the right direction, but I really don't think fines are the way to go. Very few people in this world intentionally hurt their children, intentionally do things that may damage their future prospects. Some parents don't know any better. Some can't read with their children, because they can't read themselves. Surely we would be better off identifying parents who are not helping their children, and providing them with the skills and support to help with this.

In my opinion, we don't need tougher sanctions, fines, punishments; we need more teachers like Mr Drew from Channel 4 TV shows Educating Essex  and Mr Drew's School for Boys. This man, and many like him, work hard at what is more vocation than career to them. I believe people like this, given the right tools and powers, can make infinitely more positive difference to our schools, and to society as a whole, than any arbitrary fine or sanction.

Imagine a situation where a child is not performing well; his parents have not been to the last few parents' evenings, the child is disruptive in class.

You could fine the parents for their child's behaviour and hope they will suddenly start doing whatever was lacking in the child's life in order to create an improvement.

Or you could call up and speak to the parents. Find out why they didn't attend parents' evening; can they perhaps come in for a meeting at a different time? Has something happened at home to cause their child's disruptive behaviour? What can the school do in order to work with the parents, and help the child to achieve his true potential?

Once this has been exhausted, once you've spoken to the child's parents and they've shown a distinct lack of interest in their child's wellbeing... call Social Services! Isn't that why they exist? Yes, you could fine them - but if the parent is really that bad at their job, who do we think that fine will hurt? The parent, or the child?

Exercise Your Right to Vote!

Today is polling day across the UK.

We're all voting for our representatives in the European Parliament. Some of us are also voting for local councillors.

I've spoken to so many people recently who have said something along the lines of:

I'm not voting; there's no point.

 This worries and saddens me.

Voting for European Parliament especially, seems to have a low voter turnout; people don't seem to care. Nobody's quite sure what they're voting for, and whether it really makes a difference. Voter turnout for European elections was just 34% at the last elections in 2009.

The European Parliament passes laws that affect the entire EU. In recent years, they have set a cap on mobile roaming charges across the EU, controls on food labels and pesticides, and ruled that airlines must show the full price of flights rather than advertising misleading prices that don't include tax etc. 

The European Working Time directive states that nobody must work more than an average of 48 hours in a week. The UK have opted out of this directive, so that British people can work more than 48-hour-weeks if they so wish. In 2008, the European Parliament voted to cancel the right to opt out of this law, but our MEPs have been in talks to try and work out a new directive that will keep the European Parliament and UK residents happy. 

All of these things affect us, whether we like it or not. When you go on holiday to Spain, you know your mobile bill will not be sky-high. You know the labels of the foods you buy there are subject to the same standards as in the UK, and that pesticides that aren't used in the UK, are also not used there. You know that your airfare home is the price quoted on the board at the travel agent's office, not that price plus a load of compulsory add-ons.

These, along with many other reasons, are why you should care who represents you in the European Parliament.

I live in what is deemed a Conservative stronghold. We have had a Tory MP here since 1924. I firmly believe that is because all of the people who support the Conservatives and want them to be in power go out and vote; and all the people who wish we didn't have a Conservative MP sit at home and think "there's no point in my voting; this place is a Conservative stronghold." If they all stood up at the same time and expressed their dissatisfaction at being represented by a Tory, they might just swing the vote in the favour of a Labour or Lib Dem candidate. As it is, they all sit at home and bemoan the status quo, and the status quo remains. In the last two elections, not one person from the block of flats I live in has voted. 

To those who claim they don't vote because "they're all the same, it makes no difference," I say this: there is a difference between staying home and not voting, and using your vote to voice your discontent.

By staying home, you are saying to the government: 

go ahead and do as you wish; make laws to govern my life, tax me as you see fit; I will do as you tell me and never complain. I am your willing servant.

By voting, you can say:

I disagree with your policies. I do not think you are fit to run this country. I want a change.

We are very lucky to have the right to say this to our government in this country. We should consider it a privilege.

You don't have to vote for the Conservatives, Labour or Lib Dems. A lot of people are feeling disillusioned with all three main parties and are voting for other parties as a "protest vote." The problem with a protest vote is, if everyone has the same idea as you, that person may well be elected just because you didn't want the other guy to win.

If you have no faith in any of the candidates, that does not mean you shouldn't bother to vote. It means you should turn up to vote and write on your ballot, "I have no faith in any of these people to accurately represent my views." Or you can scribble on it, draw a funny face, whatever. By spoiling your ballot, you say:

I care who runs this country. I care that it should not be you.

The right to vote is so very important, and something that not everyone has. Not so long ago, women did not have the vote here. In Brunei, women are only allowed to vote in local elections; in Saudi Arabia, they are not allowed to vote at all. Black people were not guaranteed the right to vote in the United States until 1965. In South Africa, non-whites were not allowed to vote until 1993. Should I repeat that last one? In South Africa, non-whites could not vote until 1993. You have had the right to vote since you were 18. Bloody use it.

We have this amazing ability to stand up and say "I don't agree with what you are doing" and the powers that be have to listen. We have a coalition government in this country because in 2010, no one party won the election - and they had to listen to what the electorate had said.

At every election, when they read out how many votes each candidate received, they also read out the number of spoiled ballots. That number, that voice of dissent saying "I disagree with you" is counted and recorded and reported on. To me, that number is just as important as any other in an election. It shows the rising voice of discontent in this country. It shows government: you need to change what you are doing, because we are not happy.

There is a massive difference between not voting because you can't be bothered, and spoiling your vote because you do not support any of the candidates.

I am not telling you to spoil your ballot today; I am telling you that if it comes to a choice between not going to the polling station, and going but spoiling your ballot, then bloody well get down there and spoil your ballot. Make your voice heard.  

The Joys of Free Stuff

Comments I have heard lately:

Where do you get all this free stuff?

I'm always on Facebook; I might as well set up a blog and get some free stuff too!

Wow, blogging looks like a good gig, you get so much free stuff!

Ooh, you're onto a good thing there by the sounds of it.

I have been writing this blog for eighteen months now. I love it; I enjoy writing my posts. But it is still hard work, keeping on top of it, making sure posts are proof-read, getting photos for it, researching posts, and reviewing products. 

At the time of writing, I have eight reviews waiting to be written. I know of bloggers who have more, piled up and waiting until they have time to do them justice in a blog post.

Yes, it's nice to be given products to review for free. I've been lucky enough to be sent some fantastic things in exchange for a review. 

On the other hand though, companies send me their products to review in order to get the word out about their brand. Some bloggers do write reviews that amount to a photo, a link to the website and "I was sent this thing to review" - but most of us tend to put a little more effort in. I try to think about what I would want to know, if I was thinking of buying the product. How much is it? What did I think of it? Does it do what it says it will? Would I buy it if I hadn't been given it? I believe this attention to detail is the reason I have eight products waiting to be reviewed, and why I have a good relationship with a couple of PRs who will email me when they get new opportunities.

I have a Klout score that's reasonably high. I have over 2000 Twitter followers, and my blog is inside the Tots100 top 500 UK parent blogs. When a company decides to have me review their product, they do it having seen these stats; they know I will tweet links to my review and promote it on Facebook and Google+. More importantly though, this site is cached by Google every 24 hours. It has a reasonable Alexa ranking and when bloggers review a product, we usually include a link to the company's website. Backlinks like this help a company with their Google ranking and often it's this they're after as much as the review.

Either way, my point is this: I wouldn't get half as many nice things to review, if I hadn't already put in the hard work to make my blog popular, to ensure someone was going to come along and read the review or click on the link.

So yes, by all means, set up your own blog in order to get some free stuff. There's plenty out there for everyone, and I wish you all the luck in the world. You may find though, that without the figures to back you up, brands will want to place their products on more established blogs with wider readerships.

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?

Are you Pregnant?

Yesterday morning on my way back from dropping S at nursery, I was asked - for the second time in a month - whether I'm pregnant.

Aside from the fact I've put on a little weight, I have a hernia. My belly sticks out a bit.

Aside from both of those facts, what the hell happened to, you know, being polite?

Interestingly, both people asked me not only if I was pregnant, but wanted to know, "are you pregnant again?"

To clarify here - I have one child. To ask if I am pregnant again suggests I already have too many. Is one child too many these days? Furthermore, I am notoriously (and seemingly terminally) single - so what, exactly, where those people implying?

Incidentally, neither person apologised for what I would consider to be a terrible social faux pas. The most I received was a look of mild surprise.

Neither of these was a person I know terribly well; they were not people I see very often. Incidentally, neither could exactly be described as skinny themselves.

I have made this mistake once myself; someone I vaguely knew told me someone we both knew was pregnant. I saw her a couple of months later and said, "oh, I heard you were pregnant; congratulations!" to which she replied, "no, I'm not..." I was absolutely mortified, and spent the next ten minutes apologising profusely. Since then, even if I've been told a person is pregnant, I keep my gob shut until they mention it themselves!

Besides the fact my feelings were hurt by these comments - both the assumption that I'm pregnant and the insinuation that a second pregnancy would be excessive - I'm a little shocked at the fact these people would have asked in the first place. Whatever happened to social niceties, to being polite, to not ... well, to not being a bitch?

I have a hernia. It bloody hurts a lot of the time. I often have to resort to wearing a rather unsightly tube-grip type thing, in order to stop parts of my intestines from poking through my abdominal wall. The hernia is a left-over from my pregnancy, and since my mother has the same thing, I'm inclined to believe it's a hereditary weakness.

Yes, I could probably make it a little better with regular exercise and core exercises, but even when I was really skinny in the months after S was born, even when I was exercising every day, the hernia still poked out a lot of the time; it still bothered me; it still hurt.

Ergo, it's fair to say there's not a lot  can do about it. I just have a hernia. It just sticks out. And apparently this gives people the right to make comments about my personal appearance.

I'm thinking of changing my stock response from "no, I have a hernia and it's playing up at the moment" to the shorter, pithier, "no - are you?"

If you've enjoyed this post I'd love if you would nominate me for a Brilliance in Blogging Award:

The Murder of Creativity

I'm reading a book at the moment, called The Element by Sir Ken Robinson. I bought it after seeing a Ted Talk he gave about how schools were killing creativity.

In both the talk and the book, Robinson talks about Gillian Lynne. When she was at school in the 1930s, Lynne's teachers told her parents there must be something wrong with her, because she could never sit still in class. Her mother took her to a doctor, who talked to them both together. Then the doctor stood up and told Lynne, "I'm going out here to speak to your mother alone; we won't be long." He switched the radio on, and left the room with her mother. As soon as they left, Lynne began to dance to the music on the radio. She didn't realise the doctor had stopped with her mother just outside the door of the room. He turned to her mother and told her, "your daughter is not ill; she's a dancer." Her parents moved her to a school of performing arts, and allowed her to nurture her talent. If you're not already, aware, Lynne is actually Dame Gillian Lynne; she is arguably the most successful and famous choreographer in the world, having worked on Cats, The Phantom of the Opera and many more.

I wonder, if Gillian Lynne were a child in school today: would she be moved to a school for performing arts? Or would she be given a label and some Ritalin, and told to sit down and shut up?

I wrote a post earlier this week that seems to have gone a little bit viral. In it I spoke about how I think nurseries should be there for children to have fun, not for certain EYFS targets to be met. I also asked: 

What does government think will happen, if my daughter just gets to play and spend time with her friends until she is 5?

I worry that as a society, we are forcing children into a structured learning environment earlier and earlier. And while yes, they do get to play at nursery/pre-school/school, I would argue that this is a case of too much work and not enough play.

I am fully aware that a good teacher, can make work seem like play. I am aware that many children enjoy learning and find it fun to count to ten or write their own names. 

I am also aware that children can learn an awful lot through just playing without there being any ulterior motive or hidden learning.  Yesterday I posted this photo online, with the caption "I think my child is about to learn a valuable life lesson."

Guess what: yesterday we learned that when you step on a balloon, it either slips out from under your foot, or it pops. Other lessons we have learned lately include: "if you try to stand up while you're under the table, you're going to hurt your head" and "the best place to try out these new pens is in the book, not on the floor." Both are valid life lessons, and I would argue that at the grand old age of 2, all three of these lessons will serve my child better than anything Ofsted might like to dream up.

We seem to put so much importance on reading and writing, on being able to add up, on science. What's important to me is that my child finds what makes her happy, and pursues it with gusto. I don't care if that's being a mathematician or scientist, or an artist. Or a painter and decorator. Surely it takes just as much skill to be able to hang wall paper properly or safely cut down a tree, as it does to solve a particularly difficult equation? It's just using a different set of skills. Some of us are good with numbers; others of us are better with practical things.

How many people leave school believing they are stupid, because they don't find reading and writing as easy as others? How many people consider themselves a failure if they don't pass a GCSE in maths? To me, Gillian Lynne's story should serve as a warning to us all: look what could have happened. Look what the whole world would have missed out on, if it weren't for that one doctor. I would not consider Gillian Lynne a failure or stupid, by any stretch of the imagination.

How many children have already been failed by a system which favours science and maths over art and drama? How many more will be failed by being forced into this strict academic structure of testing and gradings at younger and younger ages?

If you've enjoyed this post I'd love if you would nominate me for a Brilliance in Blogging Award:

Do We Expect Too Much of Nurseries and Pre-Schools?

This photo is how I know my child is well cared for at nursery;
I don't need EYFS stages and charts.

Last week, Ofsted's chief inspector Sir Michael Wilshaw said that nurseries are failing to ensure children are ready to learn when they get to primary school. Apparently children are arriving for their first day at school unable to hold a pen, unable to recognise numbers or to use the toilet independently. In the poorest communities, as many as eight in ten children fall into this "unprepared" category.

I was a "people's panel" guest on BBC Wiltshire last week discussing this. You can listen here (the discussion is at about 01:27)

I went to a Montessori nursery school, where I learned basic letters and numbers before starting school. When I got to school though, I was in a minority - a lot of children had never attended any sort of institution before that point, and were all taught the alphabet at the age of 5. Granted, my first school was exceptional in that it had only 30 pupils in the whole building (years 1-4), so we all got an arguably higher standard of education any way, but still - not until we were 5. Many of the children from that school have gone on to great things, despite not beginning their education until they were 5. They have not been blighted by this terrible neglect faced by most children of the 1980s.

What is this rush with having children in a structured learning environment at younger and younger ages?

And is it really the responsibility of a nursery to teach children these things?

My daughter goes to an absolutely fantastic nursery. The staff are all lovely, the building is lovely, they do such a vast range of activities I can't keep up with it all. She wanders off happy in the mornings, and chatters all the way home. For World Book Day they had a whole week of activities, including a day where they re-enacted Oh Dear complete with toy animals and hay everywhere.

Last week, I went to parents' evening, where her keyworker talked through with me how she was getting on, and we discussed her moving downstairs to the next room when she's two. She showed me S's Learning Journey, which I assume is something they have to do for each child. It was lovely to see photos of S playing with her friends, feeding herself, etc. It was nice to see photos of us together from the times I've been into nursery for things. It was nice to read little notes from her keyworker saying "S picked up this and played with this and I said this..." What bothered me about it was that this wasn't just something they'd done as a keepsake for S's time in nursery; beneath every photo and observational note, there was a list of the observational points the activity covered.

Example:

S was on her way outside to the playground. An adult held on to her hand and began to walk down the stairs. S held on to the banister as well as the adult's hand and walked all the way down the stairs, two feet to a step. 

- physical development; moving & handling; 22-36 months; Walks up or down stairs holding on to a rail two feet to a step.

Am I the only one who thinks this sort of thing is turning my daughter's childhood into some sort of clinical experiment?

Nursery staff have a tough job; they have to be there before the children arrive, setting up for the day; they have to be chirpy and happy and endlessly patient with a marauding gang of snotty toddlers, to think up endlessly fun activities, to field queries and complaints from over-protective parents. I've never asked S's keyworker how much the average nursery worker gets, but I'm pretty sure they're not paid the big bucks. Why should they then be pressured to also do mountains of paperwork on top of looking after the children all day?

Don't get me wrong; it's nice to look at her Learning Journey and see that she's had fun, but if I though the nursery weren't looking after my daughter well, if I thought she wasn't happy there, no amount of paperwork with EYFS key stages carefully noted down would stop me from removing her.

I judge how good S's day has been by the smile on her face, the number of bags of dirty clothes I'm handed at home time, and the amount of pen/paint/sand/glitter smeared across her face and into her hair. I can tell she loves it there; I know she's having a good time. The other day I arrived to pick her up to find one member of staff on the floor with a child on each knee having cuddles, another reading stories, and another watching several children playing in a tent. I couldn't see S until one of them called her name, and she emerged from a tunnel with a massive grin plastered across her face. That is what I pay nursery fees for; that is how I know my child is well cared for and having a good time.

The staff would tell me if she had any sort of problem with socialising or joining in with activities. They shouldn't have to try and fit her play into a specific framework set out by a government who really should be looking at those much larger fish they should be frying.

It seems to me that on the one hand, the government are trying to increase class sizes and change the law regarding ratios in nurseries and classrooms; but on the other hand, they're piling more and more responsibility onto these nurseries.

Furthermore, should it really be the job of the nursery staff to teach my child to use the toilet independently? Is it their responsibility to teach her the alphabet or how to hold a pen? I would count all of those things as my job, and while the nursery help with all of these things, it's not their responsibility. If S leaves nursery to start school unable to use the toilet by herself, it will be me who has failed more than the nursery staff.

What is this fascination with having children shoved into school-like settings at younger ages?

If you look back at the great people of our history, how many of those started school aged 4? And in countries where children generally achieve higher levels of literacy and numeracy, they tend to start school later. What's so wrong with letting our children play? What does government think will happen, if my daughter just gets to play and spend time with her friends until she is 5?

I've heard plenty of horror stories from friends who are primary school teachers of parents depositing their beloved child in the playground at the start of Reception year, still in a nappy. Or at a point where they probably should still be in a nappy. Whether they've been at nursery or not up to that point, it was the responsibility of the parent to toilet train the child. Perhaps if it was obvious they weren't succeeding - for whatever reason - more help should have been offered before September rolled around and the poor child had to sit in a classroom of peers who were all perfectly able to go to the toilet without assistance?

Perhaps, in those "poor" areas where children are arriving at schools without basic capabilities, more support should be given to parents early on. Rather than lumber nursery staff with the job of preparing a child for school, why do we not look to the parents to take an active role in teaching their child? Perhaps more funding should be put into the provision of health visitors and suchlike so that children can be visited in the home to see how they get on, and help given to parents to improve where skills are lacking. There are relatively few parents out there who genuinely do not want to help their child to succeed. Many may need extra help with it - but they need help, not someone to do it for them, surely!

If you've enjoyed this post I'd love if you would nominate me for a Brilliance in Blogging Award:

A Ranty Post About Nurseries and Steve Biddulph.

Yesterday morning, we got up at 6 and read Hairy Maclary in bed. We made breakfast and ate it, then had a few spins on Mummy's work chair before putting our coats on. I carried S down the filthy stairs that stink of dog piss, over a large pile of dog poo right at the bottom of the stairs, and round the corner out of the estate.

S sitting on my lap, reading Hairy Maclary.

As soon as I let her get down to walk, we were off! S set the pace, and we practically ran all the way down the road. When we stopped briefly to cross a road, there was a cheer of "hooray!" when we started moving again. We rushed up the small ramp and through the gate to nursery. In the front door, up the stairs... and in the door to the Ladybird room.

We were greeted by E and A, S's two best friends. They have both learned to say her name, so that's what we heard as we came through the door. I put S down, took her coat, hat and shoes off, and turned to put them on her peg. When I turned back to kiss her goodbye... she was nowhere to be seen. She'd gone off with E and A to dance to the music that was playing in the corner. I went over to give her a kiss goodbye, but she didn't pay too much attention; she was busy with her friends.

In the afternoon, I arrived to find her wearing her second spare change of clothes. She spilled something down the first lot, and the second lot got drenched when she went outside to play and found a puddle. She gave me a big cuddle, said goodbye to everyone, and we wandered home via the post box, several detours and a muddy puddle.

Anyone who knows us will tell you: this is an unfeasibly happy child. She is securely attached, she is sociable, energetic, a bit too into risk-taking with her climbing, but happy. She looks forward to nursery; she loves her friends; she loves her keyworker; she loves coming home.

And that, Steve Biddulph, is why I "slam" my child into nursery. That is why I pay out £150 a week for her to spend 4 days in a room filled with snotty toddlers.

For those who don't know, Steve Biddulph says that one in five children who are put in nursery before the age of 3 will develop mental health problems. He says we damage our children by putting them into nursery.

Believe me when I tell you: if I thought my daughter didn't absolutely love nursery, I would quit work tomorrow and just learn to survive on £71 a week benefit. Actually, as it happens, once I've paid my rent and suchlike, at the moment I think I'm surviving on less than that. But I'm happy in my work, and S is happy in nursery. She spends time with children her age, doing the things children her age do, learning from them as they learn from her. Nursery has a light box, a play kitchen, 400 puzzles, a gazillion books a Tuff Spot, an outdoor play area that has no dog poo and no unpleasant smells, a sand pit, several different kinds of building blocks, and a big round table where all the children sit to eat lunch and snacks together. When I pick S up from nursery, they tell me what she had for lunch, and how many helpings she had. She eats very well at nursery, when surrounded by children her age all eating the same thing. At home... not so much. When you're inside the nursery, you can't hear the disaffected youth shouting up and down the street to each other outside. You can't see people dealing drugs from their windows. When she is playing outside, there is a chuffing great padlock on the nursery gate.

At nursery, my child is safe and secure and stimulated and educated and socialised and happy. How dare anyone tell me that she will grow up with mental health issues caused by going there?

Studies have shown that if children are not shown enough love in the first 2 years of their lives, their brains don't develop that capacity properly. So... choose a nursery where the staff are clearly taking care of the children well! When I collect S from nursery, all of the staff are just as excited as me or her keyworker at any new development she's made. When she's poorly and I arrive to collect her, she is invariably in her keyworker's arms getting a cuddle. Just because she is in nursery, that does not mean she doesn't receive love and affection. If anything, she receives more - because she has several adults with whom to mesmerise with her charm!

Women already feel endless guilt about returning to work. We already hate to leave our children. I spent most afternoons counting down the minutes until I can go and collect S. It's irresponsible and downright unkind to tell us that we're damaging our children!

What are we supposed to do? We're not supposed to claim benefits; everyone hates people on benefits. But now they hate us if we put our children in nursery too? How do we win this one?

Ranty Friday: "You Should be Thankful..."

The other day, a lady on Twitter was posting about how she'd eaten loads even though she wasn't hungry. I tweeted back that I had too and she said, "why do our brains do that to us?" I replied that I didn't know about hers, but I was fairly sure that mine had done it because it was pissed off about being single at Christmas.

Her response was "but you have your baby, you can't be lonely."

This is a lady who can't have children; she's written for a national paper about how she can't have children and how she's sick of hearing how hard mothers have it because at least they can have children and she can't.

I didn't want to be insensitive; I know how hard I found it when I thought I would never have a child. I told her that yes, I was very blessed to have my child, but she goes to bed at 6pm and the evenings are lonely; it would be nice to have some companionship. We ended up having a bit of a Twitter argument where I tried to explain that having a child doesn't mean I want for nothing, and she tried to explain that apparently, yes it does. Some of her tweets:

With respect, I'd say my position is harder. And everyone would like someone to lean on from time to time.

Don't know how to say this politely but I really don't have the capacity to hear it from people in, what I see as, a blessed position.

This really upset me. I really wanted to send her a string of 50 tweets explaining exactly how my position is not really the ideal she imagines: how I live on a grotty council estate surrounded by drug dealers and people who let their dogs shit on the stairs; that I often have days where the only person I speak to is my toddler, who isn't quite capable of holding up her own end of the conversation; that her saying these things were tantamount to my saying she was in a better position than me because she was single and could go out and get drunk in the evenings.

Instead, I switched my phone off and went to bed. But a week later, it's still bothering me. 

Don't get me wrong; I am eternally thankful for my beautiful daughter. I am beyond happy that we are both alive and safe and have escaped a dangerous situation. I am grateful. I know I am blessed.

But does that mean I should want for nothing? 

Isn't that the same as when other women complain about their husbands and I think "at least you have a bloke to pee on the loo seat and leave the lid off the toothpaste..."

I think the human condition is such that we are generally never satisfied. We always want more. And we always look at someone who has what we want and feel like they should just shut up complaining.

Perhaps I should just accept my lot in life, and stay here on this estate where some kids seem more able to swear than to count to 10 and all of the outside areas stink of piss. Maybe I should just buy some ear plugs for the night times - or better yet, go outside and get drunk/stoned/whatever-ed with the people who stand out there shouting in the wee small hours. Perhaps I should just settle for the life I have. After all, I have my child and I should be happy with that, right?

By the same token, women who are single without children should accept their lot, and be happy that they can go out and party whenever they want; they have no ties to bind them, no responsibilities, nobody waking up screaming from a nightmare at 2am; no man snoring and keeping them awake; nobody to have to share the bathroom with.

I think there's a fine line between living with what you have, and wanting more. The trick is knowing the difference between what you have to accept, and what you need to change. 

I'd like to think I can change where I live, the fact I'm single and lonely, and the fact I write posts like this a week after the event rather than having the ability to think of these words on the spot and reply in 140 characters.

And yes, I fully get the irony of doing a post about gratitude followed by a post that rants about people who tell you to be grateful. I'd like to think there's a marked difference between the two though.

Ranty Friday: Advice on Parenting

You know what really irritates me?

Parenting experts. Or really, any sort of parenting advice.

We don't need your advice!

It's not just the "experts" and the books I dislike though; I also hate all the random, unsolicited advice you just seem to be a target for when you're a parent. Just this week, a lady in the chemist told me she'd give me a syringe for S's medicine, but that I really should try and get her to take it from a spoon... Why? Are they going to stop making syringes soon? Will the ones that come free with Calpol suddenly become the wrong shape to fit in child's mouth? Will I have to turn to the black market for one of the old-style syringes that currently come with every single bottle of children's medicine available on the shelf in Boots? Who gives a shit if she never takes medicine from a spoon? I certainly don't I have bigger fish to fry, lady.

You get people telling you your baby is too hot, too cold, should be wearing a hat, shouldn't be wearing a hat, should be in a buggy, should be crawling by now, should be sleeping through the night, should be, should be, should be. Based on what? Your extensive experience of working with thousands of children from all walks of life, with different needs and temperaments and personalities? Or the one or two children you're still busy raising? (who are usually fighting/spitting/swearing in the background while you're busy dishing out your wisdom)

I've had numerous people tell me that I "needed" to do controlled crying with S to "make" her sleep through the night. One person who tried to make me do this was a parent to one child, a little boy who was very clingy and insecure. I found myself thinking, I don't want my daughter to be like yours, so why would I take your advice?

When they reach toddlerhood the advice seems to reach epic proportions. I shouldn't be letting her walk to and from nursery; I shouldn't be carrying her either, though (perhaps she should have learned to float by now?); she shouldn't be allowed to lead me around the shops in town (I should do the leading apparently, even if we are in no mad rush and it doesn't matter if we never get to the till to buy this magazine).

It also makes me really uncomfortable when people ask me for advice on any aspect of parenting. I want to laugh at them and ask, "does it really look like I've got my shit together enough to know how to handle my own kid? Let alone yours?"

I am an expert, but in a very narrow field. I am an expert in my child. I can tell you what she's eaten today, the consistency of her last bowel movement, how many hours' sleep she's had in the last week, what sort of mood she's in, what colour pen she's drawn all over the bottoms of her feet with. I can tell you how to calm her down if she's upset, the best toys to give her, which dvds and TV shows are her favourites, which foods she is most likely to want for tea. I can tell you what she wants when she's saying that sound. I can tell you what she likes to do on our days off together, which shops she likes to go in, where she likes to stand to stare at the Christmas tree in town, where she likes to go to feed the ducks, the long route she likes to walk home from nursery. I can even tell you the exact circuit of toys we will do each morning in nursery before she lets go of my hand and allows me to leave her (yes, I wait for my child to be comfortable and settled before I bolt out of the nursery door. Tell me not to, I dare you).

How much of that is of any use to you, raising your child?

Of course, if you're having trouble getting your child to go to bed at night, I can tell you what works for me. And you'll most probably balk at the idea of leaving your child watching Despicable Me until they fall asleep.

There is some science involved, and psychologists can tell you about typical brain development, which concepts a 4 year old is and is not typically able to grasp - which can be useful if you're trying to understand how your child's brain works, why they don't understand when you ask them to do this but they're able to do that... but it's all pretty abstract isn't it. It still all comes down to the individual. No expert, scientist or otherwise, can say to you "yes, when you child is exactly 3 years and 7 months of age he will understand this but until that point, it will remain a mystery." They can give you a ball-park figure that "most children grasp this before they reach 4" but that's about the limit of it.

Children are all individuals. Even babies. Even when they've just been born. There is no one size fits all parenting model that fits every parent and every child. I detest the idea that anyone can tell me how to raise my child, especially those that state with such certainty, "oh, you need to get out of that habit." It drives me up the shitting wall.

Ranty Friday: Christmas Carrots/Sticks

I took S into town the other day to have a look at all the Christmas lights and trees. She loved it. We went into every shop I could think of that might sell Christmas decorations, and she wandered around, wide eyed and grinning from ear to ear. We spent twenty minutes looking at some tacky "tree" made from baubles in BHS. She was completely spellbound by it. In fact, we ended up buying a lot of Christmas tat and bringing it home to play with. 

One thing I was struck by this year is the number of "Christmas behaviour charts" or "Christmas reward charts" or other ways of turning Christmas into a carrot with which to beat your child. That bloody elf on a shelf can do one as far as I'm concerned. In my house, behaviour/reward charts stink regardless of what time of year it is, but at Christmas they just seem particularly distasteful.

When I was growing up, we all got the whole "Father Christmas won't come!" or "You'll be on the naughty list and only get a lump of coal in your stocking!" Although it did scare us, and (usually) made us stop pulling our brothers' hair, Father Christmas seemed to have been very ill informed, come Christmas morning. I remember one year seeing that my naughty little brother seemed to have exactly the same number of presents as me - but I was absolutely sure he had been much more naughty than me over the course of the year (I'm fairly sure my brother had undiagnosed ADHD, and were he growing up in the current climate, he'd be off his tits on Ritalin by now. I'm also fairly sure the word "naughty" was used more often than his name. It's a reasonable assumption for an 8 year old book worm to think he'd been more naughty than her).

Growing up in the '80s, "stop doing that or I'll tell Father Christmas" was probably the most-heard sentence by children across the UK by mid-November. It was used when we didn't eat our tea, when we sneaked food between meals, when we didn't get ready for school on time or dragged our heels walking home, when we didn't get on with our siblings, when we refused to give that uncle with the scratchy beard a kiss goodbye. 

I'm wondering what parents are hoping to achieve with behaviour charts. What if your child doesn't get all the stickers or whatever it is they're supposed to "earn" by Christmas Eve? Will you really withhold some of his/her presents? Will you really go shopping and think "ahh, but little Johnny didn't eat his sprouts last night, so I won't buy that present..." Really? REALLY?

A while back, I was listening to a podcast where the lady interviewed some parenting "expert" from the US. He had a book out, so of course he knew what he was on about. He said that his daughter kept leaving her bike outside in the garden at night, where it might be stolen. He said he'd kept telling her that if she didn't put it away it would be stolen. Then he told her, if you leave it out again, I'm going to take it and sell it to teach you a lesson. The woman asked him what he would do if his daughter left her bike out again and he said he would have no problem with selling it. "You have to be prepared to follow through," he said. And I switched the podcast off.

I know everyone will get up and vehemently disagree with me on this, and say that behaviour/reward charts are a great way of getting children to behave or whatever. Well balls, it's my blog and my opinion. And I think they suck. I'm not going to buy some creepy looking elf to sit on a shelf and spy on my daughter; I'd like to think I can not only teach her right from wrong, but also be understanding enough to realise that kids get a bit excited and do crazy shit at Christmas time. I don't think it's nice to punish them - or threaten to punish them - for being excited. All too quickly, my darling wide-eyed toddler will be a moody teenager who doesn't give a shit about Christmas and sullenly hands me a list of expensive electronic devices for Father Christmas to bring. I want to enjoy her excitement while I can.

this post was added to Mummy Barrow's Ranty Friday.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Mug.

I'm pissed off.

Three times in the last month, I've been taken for a mug.

The first one, some bloke on Twitter, started re-tweeting everything I posted. Everything. Then he started turning up at things I was at. Then he started tweeting to say he'd just seen me leaving the shop and he liked my hair today. Being the fool that I am, I said, well if you saw me why didn't you say hello; come into my work and say hi. He did. And then he kept talking about going out for coffee, wanting to take me out for dinner, thinking I was gorgeous. As soon as I started to believe him, he disappeared into thin air. 

Well, I say thin air; he's still on Twitter, and probably re-tweeing someone else's every move instead now. That one, I wasn't overly bothered about. He was weird and creepy and I'm just glad to be rid of the weirdness.

The second one, I really should have known better. Someone I used to go out with started sending messages saying he missed me, would I consider giving him another chance, blah blah. I said no. He said would I let him take me out for a coffee some time (why always with the coffee? What ever happened to dinner and a movie? Am I really only worth a 3 quid fucking latte?). He told me he would take a day off work to come and take me for coffee. I said I would believe it when I saw it. I didn't see it. I've bumped into him in the street twice since that conversation; no mention has ever been made of coffee. I should be relieved; I did not want to have coffee with this man, and would have felt obliged if he'd ever gotten around to it but... shit, why don't men ever just fucking do what they say they're going to do? It's not like it's difficult.

The last one, the soup bloke, I have no clue. He thinks I'm fantastic, talented, clever, I have a lovely way of painting a picture with words apparently. He brought me soup. He was clearly flirting with me. On more than one occasion. And as soon as I start to think that actually this could be something, as soon as I start to entertain the idea of not being single for the rest of my days and dying in a house full of cats, I get the "it's not you it's me" bollocks. He actually told me I have a nice personality. Thanks, I'll just go get that paper bag for my head then.

Is it just me? Do I just attract this calibre of... I don't even know what you'd call it. It's like they're just using me to boost their egos, to know they could have me if they wanted me, and that's all they want. Clearly I make a great ego boost. It must be the boobs. Or the fucking personality.

Mental Health Care and Abusive Relationships

When I was pregnant, I came off the medication I had been on since my breakdown.

My GP wanted me to go back onto it once I'd reached 12 weeks, but I refused. (I still refuse). As a compromise, she suggested I see a counsellor instead.

I had been through the self-referral system with CMHT before; I hadn't really rated it when I had been floundering in the abyss of my mental health. I knew they couldn't help me; they knew I was beyond their help, and referred me to the next level of mental health care (which also didn't really help).

Any way, I agreed to go. The way this works is, you call a number which goes through to the overworked secretary of what seems to be several different departments. The phone often rings through to voicemail several times before you reach a real person, and if you leave a voicemail it is often lost in the ether. When you eventually get hold of said overworked secretary, you're about ready to admit defeat and open a vein. She takes her time locating the relevant diary, and then makes you an appointment in about 4 weeks' time to see someone at your doctor's surgery.

The idea is that you speak to the counsellor for 45 minutes or so, they give you some "homework" or something, you go on your merry way and make an appointment to see them again in two weeks. Except the system doesn't work, because once you leave the appointment, you have to go back through the rigmarole mentioned above, and usually end up waiting at least a month between appointments.

I knew all of this, but I didn't want my GP to make me start taking medication again. So I made the call. The appointment they gave me was with a man, which was less than ideal, but it was the only one available so I took it.

At my first appointment I told the man my situation, which was this: my partner had kicked me out in the middle of the night, but when I found out I was pregnant, we got back together. The "fact" it was entirely my fault we had ever split up in the first place was brought up at least once a week; I was to take full responsibility. Eventually I got sick of this, and broke it off. He then went out and slept with someone else (probably more than one person). We got back together shortly after, but I was having a hard time dealing with the fact he'd slept with someone else and refused to share a bed with him until he'd been tested. It was at this point I had my first appointment with the counsellor.

Bear in mind here, that I was in an abusive relationship. This man had slept with someone else in order to punish me for finishing with him. He was still telling me it had all been my fault; I had caused him to kick me out the first time, I had so callously and heartlessly dumped him the second time we split, I had driven him to sleep with someone else by not taking his calls, and now I was deliberately causing drama and trouble by not just going back to normal.

I told the counsellor this. I told him I wasn't sure of my own mind, and wasn't sure if perhaps it was all me, and I was just painting a particularly bad picture of him to the friends and family who were telling me I should just stay away from him.

The counsellor told me he had previously been a relationship counsellor. He told me it wasn't usually allowed, but did I want to bring my partner with me to my next session, and he would try and help us work through this. I asked my partner, and - surprisingly - he accepted.

A few weeks later, we went to see the counsellor together. We sat in a room with him, and he agreed with everything the ex said. At times I felt they were ganging up on me: if we were going to be together, I needed to accept responsibility for what had happened, suck it up and get back to normal.

I remember leaving the appointment, and walking down the street, reeling. The ex was talking to me, but I wasn't hearing; I was walking along thinking, "oh no, I really am a terrible person; I really have been painting an awful, one-sided picture of this man to all of my friends, and now they hate him and it's all my fault!" I felt so guilty about the whole thing, I bought the ex dinner before we went home.

I really felt that since the counselling session was for me and not my partner, the counsellor should at least have tried to be on my "side" for some of it.

When I went to the next session, the counsellor asked me how things had been after the previous one. I told him I felt like they had ganged up on me, and that really it wasn't what I'd needed. The counsellor told me he had been aware of that at the time, but was also very aware that if he agreed with me too much, it might seem that we were ganging up on the ex, and that might make the situation worse for me once we left the session. I wasn't really sure that was a feasible excuse, to be honest.

I didn't go back after that session; I didn't see any point. By agreeing with everything the ex said, he had re-enforced his actions. He had made his behaviour acceptable in the eyes of "the authorities" and more importantly, he had contributed in a large way to the mind games the ex was playing with me. I really couldn't trust my own mind; a mental health professional had shown that to be the case, after all. More than once over the course of my pregnancy, the events of that day were brought back to me - "you counsellor told you about this... remember what your counsellor said..."

A few times since S was born, when I've been having a hard time with things, the GP has suggested I go back to counselling. She's handed me leaflets, and  I've smiled and put them in my handbag knowing I will never call that stupid number. I can't rely on that service to do anything to help me, and I feel that that man's actions were actually detrimental to my mental health and wellbeing. I have no idea if he still works there, and I don't want to find out.

More Rantings About Single Parents

I posted last week about how I get irritated with people's responses to some of my posts.

I found for a couple of days after that post, my brain was doing that classic and another thing... thing it is wont to do... so here are some more points I'd like to raise:

• I dislike people who resent me for living in a council flat while they are still on a waiting list, or can't even get onto a list. As if this is my preferred location, as if I would much rather be able to afford to rent privately or even buy, somewhere with a garden, a bit of space. And not a stair well full of piss and neighbours from whom S is sure to learn a questionable vocabulary even if all windows are kept shut.

• People seem to hate the fact I'm entitled to benefits, as if the £71 Income Support or £60 Child Tax Credit was the reason I had a child. You may not get financial help from the state for your child, but you have a husband/partner who, even if he is the most shit other-half in the world, can still be left in the house with the child while you run out for milk, or can still hold the baby or make sure he doesn't fall off something while you nip to the toilet. At the very least, he can answer the door to the postman while you're elbow-deep in poonami. 

• I can't stand it when people think it's ok to question where something I own came from - or even to imply I have stolen it, as in the comments to this post. It is as if my entitlement to benefits somehow removes my right to spend my money as I see fit, or the right to privacy of my financial affairs. The media looks at people who claim benefits, and seems to expect that all claimants should be clothed in rags and living off rice. The fact is that many of us have had reasonably well-paid jobs at one time or another, and in a previous existence were able to afford such niceties as a TV or dvd player.

• It's reasonably well reported that actually, the largest burden on the benefits system is people drawing the old age pension; but nobody comments that an OAP has bought their bingo card "with my taxes!" Do please explain to me how a pensioner is more entitled to assistance than I am. Yes, they may have paid into "the system" for a number of years, but so have I - and I will continue to do so, once my childcare costs do not outweigh my income.

• One of the worst things is when people stand in front of me and complain about feckless benefits scum who defraud the system and get help from "my taxes"... and then look at me and say, "oh, but not you!" As if, because of the circumstances surrounding my becoming a single mother, or perhaps because I work in an office and not an off license, or because I don't smoke, or because of something else I've not considered, I'm a "deserving" single mother. It's ok for the state to help and support me because... I try hard? Because I blog about it? Because I have a reasonable enough grasp of the English language as to be occasionally eloquent in my arguments? Because I use cloth nappies? Why am I deserving of help, and not a blight on society, but many of my contemporaries are scum? At least people who hate all single mothers have the decency to not discriminate between us based on some random, arbitrary standard they are secretly - perhaps unconsciously - holding us all to.

Prepare Yourselves for a Rant

Let me just preface this post by saying: this post is not directed at anyone in particular. I am just in a ranty mood.

Here, have a photo of me.
 Couldn't think of what else I could use a photo of in this post.

I have posted a fair bit lately about being a single parent. I even made a post on my blog for the local paper about single parents. And I was interviewed (briefly) on LBC last week about the stigma of being a single parent.

Guess what, I'm a single parent. The clue is in the name, people. I write about being a single parent. And sometimes, when it's in the news, and the government are making legislation that is seemingly designed to kill us off, I get ranty and cross and I pull out my soap box and blog about it.

Generally when I do this, I get:

• Supportive comments from my friends, other single mothers, or people in general who have read my blog and respect what I am doing
• Silence from people who don't give a shit either way - I respect that silence more than you realise, oh quiet ones
• Non-single parents complaining that I shouldn't make out that they have it so easy. Or that having a partner doesn't mean white picket fences and happily ever after. Or whatever else that loosely translated means: shut up, I have a hard time too and I don't want to hear about your hard time because it detracts from my pity party.

Guess which one I'll be ranting about today.

When I say that I, or people like me, have a hard time I am not saying that other people have it easy. I am not saying that my situation is any worse than anyone else's. I can't comment on your life; I have never lived it. And as Jeanette Winterson so aptly put it: we are all convinced our own situation is the worst, and I am no exception (I'm paraphrasing; I read it a long time ago, but you get my meaning).

I can't write a blog post about how hard it is to be part of a two-parent family. I can't blog about how difficult it is when your husband just doesn't appreciate everything you do around the home. I can't blog about how unfair it is that you don't get help with your nursery bill. I have no idea about that side of life. i have been a single parent since my daughter was 3 weeks old. 

I can only write what I know, and that is that being a single parent is difficult, and we get a lot of stick from both government and media, who seem to assume we are all feckless ne'erdowells who have deliberately gotten ourselves pregnant so as to gain housing/benefits/get out of work/whatever else. This is what makes me angry; this is what I am passionate about; this is what I write about.

If you feel that two-parent families are not well represented in the media, do what I'm doing - set up a blog, and write your point of view on the matter.

My sister has just had a baby. The other day she looked at me and said, very matter-of-factly, with no hint of being patronising or talking down to me, "I have no idea how you do this on your own." 

I have to say, I have no idea either. When you write it down on paper, it's a bit horrific. Especially if you know anything about my past, or the story of how I came to be a single parent in the first place. But I don't want admiration or gasping applause. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes want a little recognition for how hard things can be from time to time, but I am also aware that for every negative to my situation, there is a glaring positive. The most notable has to be that I am no longer obliged to tolerate the horrendous relationship whose only good point was my daughter.

I am free, and I will take a million nights of being alone with a screaming, teething toddler and Baby Jake, over a single second in that position again.  Although that could be interpreted as seeing a silver lining around a rather large cloud, I see it as a massive positive in my life. There are the smaller things as well: I don't have to take anyone else's opinion or ideas into account. I am free to have my daughter share my bed, breastfeed as long as we both want, wear my choice of clothes, learn my choice of values and ideas. I answer to nobody. When she cries, I don't sit on the sofa arguing with someone as to whether it would constitute spoiling her to go and pick her up; I just go and do it. I know several people who do not have these particular luxuries, and I am grateful for them. I also know people who are struggling to care for children whilst coping with an abusive relationship, and I know for damn sure I am more lucky than those people. I count my blessings every single day.

BUT it does make me angry when I write these posts, and at least one parent in a relationship pipes up that they struggle financially also, or their life is not all roses, they can't afford this or that, or single parents get more help from extended family (I can assure you, I don't). 

When I was debating whether to go back to work or stay home to care for S until she was 5, I knew I was lucky to have that option: I am entitled to claim benefits until that point, if I so wish. I found it insulting though, to find couples telling me that I "should" go back to work because they had to work, because they couldn't afford for one of them to stay home and look after their child. It was fairly clear to me that what they actually meant was "if we wish to maintain our current standard of living, we both need to work. We don't want to get rid of our second car/give up our annual 2 week holiday/stop buying our clothes from Next, so we both have to work." What if, whether you worked or not, you couldn't afford even one car, you had no chance of a holiday, you couldn't afford to even peek your head around the door of Next? It's a matter of perspective, and priorities.

In a way, it's nice that not everyone has to deal with problems on such a basic level as "I think I'm going to have to call a food bank because there is nothing in the cupboard." I'm glad not everyone has this.

I'm glad not everyone lives in a block of flats whose stairs are regularly awash with piss that may or may not be human, dog shit, beer cans and other "paraphernalia."

I'm glad not everyone has had to spend an entire calendar year trying to get a roof that leaked directly into their child's bedroom repaired.

I'm glad that not everyone knows the meaning of the phrase "it's not consent if she's afraid to say no" in the way that I do.

There are some of my personal experiences that I would not wish on my worst enemy; I am glad you have no idea how this feels. I am glad your biggest problem is that your husband wasn't home in time for bed time stories this evening.

But please, for goodness' sake, when you're up there on your high horse, show some compassion and understanding for those people who would love to have your problems in exchange for their own.