Unplugged

I remember my summer holidays in the 1970's. The days were long and sunny. We called for our friends and had adventures in the woods. We found monster caterpillars. We made camps in the garden, we played Mummies and Daddies (there were a few kisses, but it was very innocent).

We rode our bikes around the village. We went to the park. We swung as high as we dared and jumped off onto the dirt. We all clung to the bright orange seesaw, trying to bump everyone else off. Our hands smelled of the metal of the climbing frame. We sat under the trees and collected beech nuts. We played in the grass cuttings.

We went to The Dump, but avoided the old mattresses so we didn't get fleas. We made dens in the hedgerows. We descended on our mums in rotation, and scrounged ice pops and iced Ribena. We came home for lunch and tea. No one wore a watch. No one had a mobile phone.

How I would love my children to experience that kind of summer. To have that much freedom.

The closest my boys get to having adventures is when they find a corner of our secure garden and start digging in the mud. I sometimes let them walk to the post box together. They are out of my sight for twenty long seconds.

Play dates are arranged. The wide school catchment area means that we usually drive to friends' houses. We also arrange to meet in the local park and take a picnic. We walk there and I love letting the boys run across the field to get to the pirate ship. I follow behind, watching them like a hawk.

In these fearful times, where everyone is a potential child snatcher, I just can't let go. I can't give them the freedom they need to learn to play, to look out for one another and be responsible. They are still only six and five. Maybe in a couple of years I will feel more confident and give the the chance to blossom.

Until then I need to give them the best, most fun summer holiday experience I can. This means keeping the laptop closed. I'm switching off for the summer, at least during the day. I don't want my children to remember their summer holidays as mum sitting at the laptop and them glued to electronic devices (as much as they love Mario, Luigi, Yoshi and the gang).

I want us to go out and get hot playing football, cricket, badminton and golf. I want us to walk, run and cycle. I want us to eat picnics, hide in the long grass and find banks to roll down.

If I ignore you on social media, it's not personal. It's not you, it's me. I want to live life unplugged this summer.



.

Unplugged

If You Could Give New Parents One Piece of Advice...

...what would it be?

My words of wisdom:

TEACH YOUR CHILDREN TO TIDY UP AFTER THEMSELVES

Seriously.

I don't care what you feed them, or how you feed them.

I don't care what time they go to bed, or whose bed they sleep in.

I don't care if you work inside the home, outside the home, or not at all.

I pass no judgement on your parenting.

BUT...

If I could offer new parents one piece of advice that will make their lives easier, and more pleasant in the long run, it would be to teach their children to tidy up after themselves.

Nobody told me that I should do this. They had plenty to say about birth, breastfeeding and sleeping, plenty to set me up to feel a failure as a new mother, but nothing that would improve my life.

I have failed at parenting. My house is tip. It is full-to-bursting. We can never find anything. The boys seem unable to play properly. Clothes are taken off and thrown on the floor. If I ask them to tidy, toys are kicked under the sofa. I despair.

So, new parents, save yourselves while there's still time.

Teach them to tidy.

I'M BEGGING YOU.

You'll thank me one day.

You're welcome.


Over to you. If you could give new parents once piece of advice, what would it be?




.

If You Could Give New Parents One Piece of Advice...

The Banana Test

How do you feel when you see a fruit bowl?

Does it make you want to reach for an apple or would you rather have an apple pie?

I'd like to share with you my top tip for healthy eating.

In our house we use The Banana Test to determine how hungry we are. The basic theory behind the test is that if you are genuinely hungry, you'll happily eat a banana. If you're just peckish or you fancy a biscuit, you won't. If it's the latter, you don't need that unhealthy snack.

We use The Banana Test with the children all the time. They're pretty good at eating their 5-a-day at mealtimes, but they are young boys and they love biscuit based snacks. If it's close to a meal, or nearly bedtime and they ask for something to eat we offer them a banana. If they're really hungry, they'll eat the banana.

Andy and I use The Banana Test too. Rather than reaching for crisps or biscuits we head for the fruit bowl, and we're feeling much better for it.

In our house, as you can imagine, we get through a lot of bananas, apples, clementines, grapes....

I wonder whether we can keep this up over the festive season.

Have you tried The Banana Test?

.

The Banana Test

Blame

Child abduction is, thankfully, extremely rare.

Unfortunately when it does happen the first people who seem to be blamed are the parents.

In real life and on-line you hear this:

I wouldn't let my five year old play out at 7pm, she should be in bed.
I wouldn't lose sight of my 3 year old in a shopping centre.
I wouldn't let my children be friends with the school caretaker.
I wouldn't go out for a meal and leave my children in an unlocked room.

Maybe that's the case, but we can all be smug after the event.

Perhaps what we should remember is that the parents of April Jones are suffering because someone took their child. If you want someone to blame, blame the bastard that took her.

What a shame that we can't give our children a little bit of freedom to play out with their friends. When I was young we all went off on our bikes, around the village and to the park, and came home for tea. We went to call for our friends from a very young age.

I don't let my children out of my sight, not even for a second. They are only 5 and 4, but I can't see my fears abating in the next couple of years.

Because of a few bastards, like the person took poor April, I've had to talk to my innocent boys about stranger danger. There are some great links in this post by Just Do It Mummy on this very difficult subject.

My heart goes out to April and her family. I am praying that she is returned safe, but I am fearful. Thinking about her is keeping me awake at night and tearful during the day.

Whatever happened to Madeleine McCann, her parents have lost their child. You wouldn't wish that kind of pain on your worst enemy.



.

Blame

The Obligatory Starting School Post

Oh dear. I've just typed the title to this post and the tears have started.

Your child's first day at school is such a massive milestone. For me it will be a double milestone. Both my oldest child AND my youngest child will be starting school next month.

Presley was born in early September 2007 and Cash was born less than a year later, in late August 2008. I will have one child who is the oldest in the year and another who is the youngest in the year. What an interesting social experiment... unless you're a parent - or child - trying to make sense of it all. The dynamics of their relationship are fascinating, but that's not a subject for here right now.

My boys will be directly compared to one another all through their school years. They will be a bit of an oddity. They will be asked if they are twins.

Luckily their Reception class has a double intake so they will be in separate registration groups, although they will be together for free play about 90% of the time. Once they move into Year One they will be mostly split up all day and this will be hard for them, although I believe this will be good for them. They will benefit from time apart to develop friendships of their own.

We also have the advantage that Presley and Cash have spent fifteen hours per week during the last school year in the nursery attached to the primary school. As far as they're concerned they're just moving to a different part of the school and they are looking forward to going. This makes it easier for me waving them off, although the staggered start will be interesting for the first few weeks.

From 1st October both my boys will be full time schoolboys. We'll be in a whirl of book bags and PE kits and lunchboxes and clothes labels (I recommend the sticky clothes labels from Easytoname by the way. They haven't paid me to write about them, I'm just a very satisfied customer).

Obviously I'm looking forward to some time to myself, as well as being able to do some more work. Let's not mention how much sorting out I still have to do around the house, we've still not completely unpacked and we moved into this house over a year ago.

For now I have a couple of spirited pre-schoolers. My babies. My babies who are growing up and into their new school jumpers before my eyes. I'm going to make the most of my last few weeks with them, before I sob at the sight of them in their little uniforms.



.

The Obligatory Starting School Post

Where do babies come from?

Some conversations can be tricky, but not always in the way you may think.

4yo: Where do babies come from?

Me (only pausing for half a beat): Mummy and Daddy have a special cuddle, then a baby grows in Mummy's tummy.

3yo: Is there a baby growing in your tummy, Mummy?

Me: No, darling.

4yo and 3yo (sadly): Oh.

3yo: Can you grow a baby, Mummy?

Me: No, love, Mummy is too old.

4yo: You're not, Mummy. Please can you have a baby girl. I haven't got a sister.

3yo: I'd like a sister, Mummy.

4yo: I'd like a sister, Mummy.

Me: Sorry, boys, and (changing the subject) we need to made Daddy and Grandad some Father's Day cards.

I was fine with the sex education for pre-schoolers aspect to this conversation. I guess I'd already thought about my answer before I gave it. I was honest, but not graphic.

What rattled me was how I feel now. I'm 42 and won't be having any more children.

I had it in my head that 40 is the cut-off for having babies. I made up this life rule years ago, based on 'the risks'. I'm generally risk averse, but having children isn't like saving money for a rainy day or deciding not to do a bungy jump.

Andy and I found having two children within a year was Quite Hard Work. We decided then that we would stick at two children. It's not quite so demanding now. They go to the toilet themselves, they dress themselves, they feed themselves, they play, they sleep. In September they start school.

If I was a few years younger... If I had met Andy a few years earlier... If I wasn't so fat... If I didn't have a slipped disc... In an ideal world I'd be pregnant now. I'd have a baby in September.

I can't tell you how much I wish I lived in an ideal world.

I wonder if the longing for another child ever goes away?


.

Where do babies come from?

Why I'm glad I have sons

When I was pregnant, both times, I secretly wanted a boy. I'd have been thrilled to have daughters too, of course, but I really wanted sons. I've had a tough time being a woman. I've been better at my job than men, worked harder, but been paid less. I've been overlooked, particularly at work, and I've been ridiculed for having (large) breasts. Now, as a fat, frumpy, forty-something mother, I feel invisible.

The grass is always greener, but life seems altogether easier if you have a penis. You can pee anywhere, for a start.

I have two sons, Presley and Cash. They are aged four and three and are becoming aware that there are differences between boys and girls.

I am raising them to be civil children. I chose the word civil carefully. You can not be civil if you despise one half of the population. I am also raising my sons to be feminists, like their parents.

We're not nearly as extreme as some parents in our dislike of gender stereotyping. We currently have no gender confusion. They are boys. They love playing with cars, they love trains and dinosaurs, aliens and pirates. All pretty typical of boys their age. They also push their teddies around in pink pushchairs, wear hair clips and spend a lot of time colouring-in. They fight over who has the pink cup at breakfast time. They are still boys.

Recently they told us that they were playing a game at nursery and they wouldn't let the girls join in. When we asked why not, they couldn't answer. They've never watched Peppa Pig, but Cash told me 'only girls like Peppa Pig'. Again, he couldn't tell me why, he was simply observing or repeating something from nursery.

I am appalled in shops that there is such a pink/blue divide. Feminism has been around for decades, but the obsession with pink and princesses is escalating. What does that teach girls? Madonna summed it up for me on The Graham Norton Show. She said that even when we're strong, powerful grown-up women, we still have a nagging feeling in the back of our mind that our prince is out there, ready to rescue us. This is Madonna talking. Madonna.

The obsession with 'pinkification' continues as girls get older. As tweens and teenagers they're bombarded with passive female sexual images in magazines and music videos. Andy's friend has a daughter. On her 13th birthday a friend bought her a present in a Victoria's Secret bag. Her father felt nauseous as her friends chanted 'thong, thong, thong'. She's 13. The Playboy bunny is a huge brand, plastered all over pencil cases and other products aimed at young girls. Let's not even mention Primark and their hideous padded bikinis for seven year olds. Urgh.

Of course, it's not just girls this is aimed at. Our sons see this crap too.

I need to figure out how I'm going to counter this superficial nonsense and teach my sons to respect girls, even when girls don't appear to respect themselves.

I get it though, I really do. I know how girls feel. I remember being a teenager and wanting to look sexy, to get a boyfriend. Hey, I remember being single in my late twenties and I still didn't have much self-respect. I chased after 'bad boys'. Sure, they wanted to get into my pants, but they didn't want to be my boyfriend. I confused sex with love. I think Jerry Hall has a lot to answer for with her statement that 'a woman needs to be a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom'. No, Jerry, a woman needs to be loved and respected.

It's even worse now that the porno look seems to be so mainstream. The boob jobs, fake tan, ratty blonde extensions, plumped up lips and bald fannies. Yes, I'm looking at you Katie Price. These girls are in newspapers and magazines, and on television. You can't get away from them. Who is telling women they should look like dolls? My guess is there are a lot of men who hate women and some of them run the media. No matter how far feminism has come we're still being kept in our place by men who want to have sex with passive, pouting, bald-from-the-neck-down dolls. These men are suggesting to my sons that women are only worth shagging if they look - and act - a certain way.

Well, I am going to rage against this. I am going to teach my sons about equality. I'm going to teach my sons to respect men and women. I'm going to teach my sons to be civil. Once they are older we'll have the big awkward conversations about relationships and condoms. For now we're going to lead by example. They have loving, caring, feminist parents. They have strong grandmothers, one a fantastic matriarch. We are all civil.

Why I'm glad I have sons

I Just Want You to be Happy, Mummy

I was a new mother. It was all I had ever wanted. I had a tiny baby in my arms. I was trying to feed him, but he wasn't latching on properly. I was hot and tired and stressed and worried. He looked at me, his dark eyes trying to focus on his mummy. I realised my face showed all too clearly how I felt. I wasn't smiling at my darling baby. As I forced my face into a grin, tears made their way out.

I've now been a mother for fours years and seven months. My children are amazing, they bring me joy and still I forget to smile at them. 

I am tired and stressed and worried. My old back injury has flared up and I am in pain. My movements are limited. I can't pick up my boys. If I get down on the floor to play with them I struggle to get back up. I am worried about my mum's test results. I am worried about my friend who has cancer. I am worried that I have upset another friend. I am worried that whatever I say will make things worse. I just want to make things better. I never seem to have enough time to get done all that I want to do. I am easily distracted by the internet and can lose hours making sure I'm not missing anything. I'm not, but that doesn't ever stop me idly flicking between Twitter, Facebook and all my email accounts and Google Reader. My laptop is on it's last legs so I can't watch video or look at images. Even Pinterest makes my laptop to overheat and switch itself off.

Being a parent far exceeds any expectations I had about having children when I was pregnant for the first time. 

But.

There had to be a but. 

My goodness, it is hard work sometimes... most of the time.  My children are so full of energy I can't keep up. I know they need to run around outside, but just getting them dressed, getting their teeth clean, getting their shoes and coats on sometimes takes hours. They ignore me. They don't listen to me. They fight. They crayon on walls, chairs and computer screens. Okay, they did this once and I don't think they'll do it again, but still...

This gets me down. I shout at them, my dear sweet boys. I feel completely inadequate. I feel like everyone else is a better parent. 

When your four year old says 'I just want you to be happy, Mummy' and you realise you haven't been smiling at that beautiful face, that's when you fix a grin and resolve to be a better mother. Then you turn away and cry.

.

I Just Want You to be Happy, Mummy

Potential

The lovely Sardine Tin is running a mystery blog swap today. You can find out what it's about and check out the list of participants on her blog. Each of us has been paired up with another blogger and we've written guest posts for each other.

I've been paired with... well, that would be telling.

Once all posts have been linked, why not try to guess who has been paired with whom. Who is hosting my post today? Who do you think has written the following wonderful post on potential? I wish I had!

***

(Mystery) guest posting on Baby Baby? Oh my. What to write?

I find myself browsing through Sandy's archives. Archives full of touching posts. Full of emotion.

So what to write?

I thought I'd write about potential.

After all, as parents, isn't potential what we're banking on?

A friend showed me an article in the Sunday Times this weekend about Tiger Mums (I would link, but it's behind the paywall). 

About how (and I'm paraphrasing) evidence shows that, all things being equal and assuming that a generally acceptable parenting standard is applied, the advantages that you try to give to your child make little difference. If any, it's temporary. 

The best way for you to influence your child's future? With your genes.

This obviously doesn't mean you should let them run feral. But all that all hothousing? The extra classes, the tutoring? It won't affect their long term success, any more than giving them a general ethos that education is important.

But what is my child's potential? How far should I, can I, try to influence it?

I take after my dad on this front. We're both smart. Good at school. Great potential. The opportunity to do great things.

And yet we both struggle to apply that potential. To do anything but to coast. 

That coasting? Partly because the things that material success bring are not all that important to us. The coasting gets us enough to be where we want to be, do what we want to do.

Partly because our families mean so much to us that we don't want to take too much time away from that.

And partly because that drive just doesn't seem to be there.

I have great ideas. I'm good at what I do. I could do much more. But why? 

I feel something missing. But I'm not sure what.

And if I struggle with this, with the gift of my genes, will my child too?

Will I have passed on potential, but without drive to do something with it?

Can I inspire action? Can I turn my coasting around, and show that great things can be done?

Can I achieve my potential to show the next generation of my family how best to achieve theirs?

I don't know. But I can try.




.

Potential

Worry

I've worried my whole life.

Becoming a parent took worrying to a whole, previously unimaginable, new level.

I worried whether I would ever have children. I worried about genetics. I worried about how long it would take to conceive.

I worried all the way through each pregnancy. I worried whether I was healthy enough, whether my baby was healthy enough. I worried about what I ate, drank, touched, did. I worried about labour, about how much it would hurt, whether I would have the stamina to get through it.

I worried about caring for a newborn baby - such a responsibility. Was I holding him right? Was he feeding? Was he sleeping? Was he too hot or too cold? Should he be crying more or less? Was he okay?

I worry whether my boys are developing 'normally', I also worry that I am wishing their lives away waiting to hit the next developmental milestone.

I worry about feeding them. I worry that they are eating enough fruit and vegetables. I worry that they are too fussy, that they eat too much bread. I worry that I am too strict, but I worry more that they don't listen to me.

I worry that I don't stimulate them enough and I worry that they are over-stimulated. How much baking and crafting is enough? Should I be taking them to clubs yet? I know I should take them for swimming lessons, but I worry about how I look in a swimsuit. I worry that this is selfish.

I worry that I'll be the fattest mum at the school gates. I worry that their friends will laugh at them. I worry that they won't make friends. I worry that they are too shy and lack confidence.

I know I'll worry about them for the rest of our lives.

The biggest worry of all is when they are ill. They are so small and mine don't really say what is wrong. They just get quiet, clingy and teary. My imagination runs riot and I get hypochondria-by-proxy. I worry myself sick.

Last Wednesday Cash had to go to hospital with suspected swine flu, but he was treated and bounced back remarkably quickly. Thank you all for your get well wishes, they worked - he is full of beans again. I am relieved, but still on edge.

Three year old Presley has had a temperature, cold and nasty cough since Christmas Eve, although his symptoms haven't been as dramatic or acute as his brother's, they are enough for me to worry. I listen to him coughing in his sleep and know there is little I can do to help him. Each morning he is tired. He has spent the past couple of days laying on our laps. I'm going to take him back to the GP tomorrow. Last Wednesday the GP said it was just a virus. I'm hoping this time the GP can treat him or at least tell me that there is nothing to worry about.

I will still worry.




.

Worry

Delusions of Adequacy

As a perfectionist it is difficult to have delusions of adequacy. I aspire to have delusions of adequacy.

There is a running theme in my writing and that is whether I'm a good enough mother. I know that by caring enough about my children to question my parenting clearly demonstrates that I'm not a terrible mother.

But.

I can't shake this nagging feeling that everyone else is better at it than me.

I want to relax and let go of my control freak tendencies, but they've been with me for years. They helped me in my accounting career, but they're no use to me now I'm a stay at home mum. Young children are unpredictable. In fact the only thing that you can be sure of is that they are their own people. They aren't compliant robots. Their personalities are bursting to get out and develop along side speech and motor skills. 

My job is to provide a safe and loving environment where they can bloom. Am I doing this when I'm rolling my eyes and screaming with exasperation when Cash tips over his drink deliberately again? Does it matter if I have to change his clothes again? I know it doesn't, but at the time it's infuriating.

I try to chose my battles. There are some issues where I will not compromise and my word is law. If we're in the front garden and they step one milimetre beyond the missing gate we immediately go back inside. If they throw a toy it gets taken away. Mostly I try to let them do their own thing. They are 'good' children. They are polite, caring and so so sweet, but of course, they have their moments.

This week I gave them some chalks for their blackboard. Presley, 3, accidentally broke a few. Cash, 2, systematically broke each one he picked up. I told him that if he continued I would stop him. He continued. My normally easy-going little boy was being naughty. I wasn't sure what to do. I picked him up and sat him on my lap and explained that what he had done was wrong, we had to look after our things. He cried and said he wanted to play with the chalks. I cobbled together some brand new discipline technique (partly inspired by Supernanny) and told him he had to sit on my knee for two minutes, say sorry and then he could carry on playing.

We don't have a naughty step, we haven't needed one (although when we had a playpen it was called 'the pen' at times). I thought the two minutes would be up and that would be that. Oh no. Cash totally surprised me by stubbornly refusing to say sorry. FOR 75 MINUTES. 

You know when you start something and it seems like a good idea, then you realise it was a hopeless idea, but can't back down? That's where I was this week. Presley was apologising on his brother's behalf, bless him. I ended the stand-off, or should I say sit-off, by putting Cash in his booster seat to eat the tea I hadn't yet made. The boys had a hastily thrown together cold salad instead of the planned hot meal.

So you see, I feel like a failure, a ridiculous failure. Nowhere near adequate.

Who knew that looking after children was so difficult sometimes? I didn't, but of course I wouldn't change them for the world. Especially not when they play at going shopping wearing hats and Mummy's shoes.

.

Delusions of Adequacy

I Want My Mummy

"I WANT MY MUMMY. I WANT MY MUMMY", screamed the little boy.

His outstretched arms desperately trying to reach his mother.  His mother was walking away, pushing her younger son in a buggy. The other woman, in the blue apron, gripped the frantic little boy tightly to her hip. His face red and wet, he tried again.

"I WANT MY MUMMY".

The mother swallowed hard and walked out of the door.  Once outside, out of sight of both of her children, she sobbed silently. The mother felt her heart ripping into pieces. She knew she had made the right decision, for the right reasons, but this was almost unbearable.

Eventually the screaming stopped. The mother wiped her eyes with her fingers and took her youngest son home.

***

If you hadn't guessed, this was me this week leaving three year old Presley at nursery for the first time. And the second time.

He had a great time, once he had stopped crying. As I collected him each day he told me what he had played with, what he had for his snack, that he saw a dog. He knows that on Wednesdays and Thursdays now he goes to nursery. He is happy to go - in theory - he just hates it when I have to leave.

I knew it would be distressing for both of us to make the move towards his independence. He had previously only been left with his grandparents for short periods. Nursery is a big step. 

The other woman was one of the nursery teachers, she also runs the toddler group that we go to. Presley knows and likes her. She is kind, patient and wonderful with children. If she hadn't been there at nursery I wouldn't have left my boy with them if he didn't want to be there. I certainly wouldn't have handed him over as I did. She rang me both days to tell me how quickly he had settled and that he was playing happily.

It's still one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I hope he settles quickly next week.

Oh and little two year old Cash, well, he had the house and the toys to himself for two mornings this week. He didn't know what to do with himself. We both idly played with Presely's toys, waiting until midday when we could go and collect him.

.

I Want My Mummy

Carrots and Stickers

How do you get toddlers to behave well?

In my working life I asked/told people what I wanted them to do. I expected that they would do it and they usually did. I wasn't a nasty boss, far from it. I wanted people to enjoy coming to work.

I have tried to apply this 'management style' to my parenting with varying degrees of success.

Andy and I use positive, encouraging language with the boys and give plenty of warning about what we would like to happen. We explain what we are doing that day and the sequence of events so there are no surprises. This works pretty well most of the time.

If we are playing in the garden or the park we tell the boys when there are five minutes to go, sometimes we count down the remaining minutes. When  without a fuss.

There are other times where life doesn't run as smoothly. Some days I struggle to get the boys washed, dressed and out of the door by 9.15 to get to Toddler Group, even though they really enjoy going. Other days they give me the runaround so that it’s too late to go anywhere worthwhile so we end up nipping to the garage for bread and milk (and Jaffa Cakes). They dawdle, hide their shoes or just plain refuse to come near me. This is infuriating, but not really ‘naughty behaviour’.

Sometimes there is hitting, kicking or toy snatching or throwing. Sometimes they swing on the curtains when they know they are not allowed to touch them. Sometimes food is chewed up and spat out. Sometimes water is poured on the carpet.

All of these things are ‘naughty behaviour’. They are ‘unacceptable’. I am emphasising these words and phrases as they are ones used by television Supernanny Jo Frost. There’s no denying she gets results, but her methods seem so punitive and negative.

Following her lead we give a warning to the boys that what they are doing is naughty behaviour and if they do it again there will be consequences. We try to relate the consequences to the behaviour. We are consistent and we carry out our threats. If they spit out their food then that is the end of the meal. If they throw a toy it is taken away. These punishments are pretty effective.

If the boys hurt one another or touch my flippin’ curtains, however, they go in the playpen. This is our version of the 'naughty step'. We just call it the 'playpen'.

In true Supernanny style we place them in the pen, get down to their level, explain what they have done wrong and tell them that they will stay in the playpen until beep beep beep (beep beep beep is the sound of the alarm on our mobile phone countdown timers).

When we hear the beep beep beep, usually after two minutes, we get them out, remind them why they were put in there and ask for an apology. Then they get a ‘Mummy/Daddy loves you’ and a cuddle.

I feel as uncomfortable doing this as I am about typing it.

It works as in it distracts them from what they were doing, but it doesn’t stop them doing it again the next day. It feels wrong to manipulate them by withdrawing affection while they are in the pen.

I had an idea to create a sticker chart for them. My goodness, they love stickers. I’d like to reward good behaviour. Surely that’s a more positve way to parent. I’m stuck though (arf) as to how this would work.

What do you reward with a sticker and when? I can’t see much point in waiting until the end of the day to award a sticker for not hitting your brother over the head with ‘Hippos Go Beserk’. Should I remove a sticker each time they go near the bloomin’ curtains?

Why should they get a sticker for completing everyday actions such as teeth cleaning or letting me give them a wash? This doesn’t seem right either.

I have one sure-fire, never-fail carrot parenting technique up my sleeve that works on any behaviour, it got Presley through a haircut last week and a teary tantrum yesterday and it’s what I call the ‘Jelly Baby Technique’.

Yes, I know. That is unacceptable behaviour on my part, but it is 100% effective.

Please share your wisdom. What works for you? Do you use carrots, sticks or stickers?

Carrots and Stickers

Where did my babies go?

I call them my babies, they'll always be my babies, but they're growing up. 

Presley is nearly three. He is a tall slim boy and has never really had a baby face, he has always had the face of a boy.

Cash is nearly two. He has always been a little fuller in the face, but acts so much older than his 21 months. I expect that is because he is the younger sibling and copies his brother. You wouldn't really call him a toddler any more.

I have two boys.

Each day they become more independent. They can clean their teeth on their own. They use knives and forks and cups without lids. They can undress and dress themselves - after a fashion!

Presley and Cash play together a lot more. They have invented games called 'going to Aunty Helen's house' and 'hopdyhoptic'. No, I haven't a clue what that means either, but it appears to involve opening and closing the kitchen door over and over again.

They run around the garden and clear up leaves and sticks, placing them the garden bin. They 'help' around the house and repeatedly try to put their toy cereal boxes in the recycling box.

They are wonderful little lads.

They still need their Mummy though. Mummy rubs it better and Mummy kisses it better each time they hurt themselves. They can be howling inconsolably over a bumped arm, but as soon as Mummy has rubbed or kissed it they stop the tears and declare 'that's better now'. 

This was Presley's first scabby knee of the Summer. Short trousers are no protection against running too fast over stoney tarmac.

Cash still has a bottle of cow's milk three times a day. I expect the health visitor will comment on this when he has his two year development check. I'll miss this closeness when he moves over to a cup to drink his milk (or a cereal bowl once the Coco Pops have been eaten, like his brother).

Right now I still get to cradle him like a baby and have him relax in my arms.

Right now I still get to cuddle them both on my lap, whenever I want, and cover them with kisses.

I know this won't last forever and I am clinging on to it as I cling on to them, stroking their soft skin and hair.

One day they won't want a kiss from their Mummy.

One day they won't let their Mummy cuddle them.

One day they won't need me to rub it better or kiss it better.

One day I won't be needed and this makes me feel sad right now, although I expect that by the time I have two amazing teenage sons I'll be heart-burstingly proud of them - all from a respectful distance of course. 

.

Where did my babies go?

Good Enough

Is good enough, well, good enough?

In another life I was a perfectionist. In my career I set myself high standards. I met deadlines. I had a clean house and a tidy garden. I was in control.

Then I had children.

When you have children you can't be a perfectionist. They are actually quite selfish and demanding - who knew?! You are no longer in control of when you eat or sleep. Every time you think you've got a routine they change on you. The old switcheroo.

My house gets cleaned when I notice that it needs doing instead of every day or week. Is this good enough?

My husband is no longer the total focus of my life. Sometimes he isn't even second in my affections, especially in the evenings when I'm on my laptop. This isn't good enough.

I'm rubbish at keeping in touch with my friends, it can take me months to reply to emails. Again, not good enough.

Now to the big question. Am I a good enough mother?

I love my children more than life. I would do anything for them. Am I a natural mother? Am I maternal? I'd like to think so, but I constantly feel that I could do better.

Take food for example. Presley and Cash eat pretty well, but I often hide vegetables in sauces. Even so they don't always have their five-a-day. Sometimes I forget to offer them a drink. Presley won't drink milk from a cup so I give him Coco Pops and he swigs chocolate milk from the cereal bowl. Is this good enough? I think I could do better.

They watch some television. Not much, but more than I would like. I use CBeebies as a babysitter so I can cook their dinner while I drink a hot cup of tea in peace.

I do some cooking and craft activities with the boys, but nowhere near as much as I could. I'm not good with mess and am glad there is a craft table at playgroup. I do spend quite a bit of time just watching them play with their toys. I think it is important that they can amuse themselves and they are playing together more and more, but should I be doing more with them?

I don't take both of them to the park on my own as they both run in different directions, usually towards swinging swings. I feel like I'm letting them down because they were born so close together. I use the age gap as an excuse to stay at home sometimes.

Is this good enough? Am I a good enough mother? Andy thinks so. As far as we can tell, Presley and Cash think so. They are lovely little boys. They are happy, clean and healthy.

Why then am I so hard on myself?

I never think I am good enough, but every day I try to do better. Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps tomorrow I will think I'm good enough.

***

This post was written for the BMB carnival that is being held on Tuesday at A Place of My Own. All entries must have a song title as the post title. My title is 'Good Enough' by Dodgy.

Good Enough

Is this the end of the world as we know it?

I've seen the future...

...and its trousers are on upside down.

The world is revolving and I'm having trouble hanging on.

This is why:

PRESLEY HAS STOPPED HAVING AN AFTERNOON NAP!

I suppose I should count myself lucky that he has had an afternoon nap almost every day for two years and seven months.

But no more.

Can you tell, I'm almost in tears here?

I need to make some adjustments, not just in my daily routine, but also in my head.

I have to kiss goodbye to my me time. My ninety minutes of peace each afternoon. Bye bye blogging, ta ta Twitter, farewell Facebook and see you later secret chocolate scoffing.

No naps for Mummy either - not that I've ever had an afternoon nap, but now that option has been taken away I really want one. Ditto doing any housework in those ninety minutes!

I'm trying to look on the bright side. I can now have one-on-one time with Presley. We can do all of the things that are a bit advanced for Cash, such as painting, glueing, baking and counting coins - yes, Presley loves to play with money. He'll sit at the spare desk in Andy's office, move the mouse and tap away at the keyboard. He thinks he's working and asks for money so that he can buy bread and milk.

I knew the two boys having their afternoon naps together, at the same time, every day wouldn't last forever, but I hadn't realised how much I needed that daily break until it was gone.

My inbox is filling up with emails and my Google Reader is piling up with posts. I feel out of touch and out of the loop already. I'll still sneak online occasionally throughout the day and try to catch up in the evening.

It's not really the end of the world, but it's the end of a phase in Presley's life. My little boy is growing up.

Is this the end of the world as we know it?

This Too Shall Pass

The mummy mantra: this too shall pass.

I've said this a lot this week. Both boys have been ill and then I was ill. It's been a tough week.

On Tuesday night, at midnight, Andy and I were just about to go to bed. We heard shuffling coming from Presley's monitor, followed by a strange noise and then screaming. He had been sick. We cleaned him up and changed the bed and loaded the washing machine. We took Presley downstairs and arranged towels around him.

The poor thing was sick several times. Now he's two and a half he's much more aware of what is happening to him. He knew he was going to be sick. He put his hand over his mouth and screamed 'no'. My poor baby. It's heartbreaking to see your children in such discomfort.

We heard moaning coming from Cash's monitor. We decided to bring him downstairs, to save his bedding and teddies from the washing machine. We did the right thing. Shortly afterwards Cash was sick. It was a slightly different experience for him as I don't think he is aware of the build up and seems to forget soon afterwards. He still screamed during, of course. 

Thoughts of dehydration and hospitals and drips ran through my mind. At what point to you worry, I mean really worry? Thankfully the boys' temperatures were normal and they had no other symptoms.

Once Presley had been puke-free for an hour Andy took him to bed while I stayed up with Cash. I finally got to bed at 4am. They were both up at 7am full of beans. This didn't last though and they were both sick again in the afternoon. It was hard to explain to Cash why he wasn't having his bedtime milk. Luckily they slept all night.

On Thursday morning I gave Cash his morning milk. An hour and a half later he projectile vomited all over me. We both sat, dripping with regurgitated milk, neither of us knew quite what to do.

We spent the day in our pyjamas drinking water and eating bland food (dry toast,  rice cakes,cereal bars, breadsticks and bananas). The boys were listless. They had no energy. We sat and cuddled in front of CBeebies. It was miserable. I wanted my happy boys back. I wanted to take them outside.

Thursday night I was sick. All night.

Luckily Andy was able to take Friday off work so I could try to get some sleep in the morning. The boys were still under the weather, but thankfully had stopped being sick. It was another day of water, bland food and sitting around in pyjamas. Neither of us had the energy to give the boys a bath - again. 

So here we are. It's Saturday. Everyone feels better. We got through it. It passed.

My heart goes out to all parents with seriously ill children, How do they cope with the fear and worry? How do they carry on? How do they keep life 'normal' for the siblings that aren't ill? Is the mummy mantra enough? What else do they have?

UPDATE

It's now Saturday night and I spoke too soon. Presley has been sick again this afternoon, several times, but not for the past ninety minutes. He has kept some water down so Andy is now taking him to bed.

This too shall pass.

Photo Credit

This Too Shall Pass

My Ten Most Surreal Mummy Moments

If anyone had told me, before I got pregnant for the first time, that any of the following would happen to me I would not have believed them.

What you are about to read is true.  Some of it is not for the faint-hearted.

1) When I was heavily pregnant with Presley I kept forgetting I was pregnant. I was proud of my parking ability. One day I squeezed the car into the last space in the car park at work. You can guess what happened next. I couldn't get out of the car! Red faced with shame I drove off and found somewhere else to abandon park the car.

2) When I was in my third trimester of pregnancy with Cash, he liked to dance. I'm pretty sure he did the fandango every night whilst shaking maracas. He must have been somersaulting in my belly, so much so that Andy could feel the bed moving.

3) Just before Cash was born, as the exasperated midwife was trying to encourage me to push, I beckoned her over to make a confession. I told her that I couldn't push because I needed a poo. The midwife laughed, called me a comedian, told me the poo was my baby and took the gas and air off me. Cash was born a few minutes later. Not a poo.

4) I was sat in the hospital bathroom, four days after Presley was born. I heard dripping and assumed it was the shower. It was only when I looked down that I realised my milk had come in and was pouring onto the floor.

5) The first night at home with Presley was long and difficult. He was feeding constantly. Andy was being supportive. We were exhausted. For some unknown reason we laid Presley on a pillow between us in bed so we could lay down. When he finally slept we carried him and laid him in his carrycot - still on the pillow. What were we thinking? Do not try this at home!

6) I asked a complete stranger whether she would like to take a look at my nethers. She agreed. I laid down on the sofa. She had a good look. Luckily she was a midwife and she checked that my stitches were healing. No one was embarrassed.

7) I've flashed at my father in law, more than once. I didn't mind him being in the room when I was breastfeeding, after all I never wanted to shut myself away and miss anything. Now though it's a different story. I don't want him to see my boobs. Unfortunately Cash has other ideas and regularly pulls down my top. Just for a laugh. The herbert!

8) I can clean up snot, pee, poo and puke and no longer bat an eyelid. I can hold a sandwich in one had and wipe a nose with another. I'm immune to bodily fluids.

9) The Postman has watched through the kitchen window as I have performed the Makka Pakka dance for the boys, including the bum waggle. I no longer have any shame.

10) We all sit at the dining table for our Sunday dinner. Andy and I use our Rubik's Cube pepper mill. Presley and Cash hold a small (real) Rubik's Cube over their dinner and twist it. No, we don't think this is odd!






Photo credit - Firebox.com

My Ten Most Surreal Mummy Moments

Shall We Have Another Baby?

I'm broody.

I saw a tiny baby at the library this morning, I just wanted to scoop him up, cradle him in my arms and gently rock him. I wanted to nuzzle his soft head and inhale his baby aroma. I wanted to take him home!

Before I had children I didn't pay much attention to them. If a colleague came into the office on maternity leave I would coo politely, but make my excuses when I was offered a hold. Until I had Presley I'd never really held a baby (well, only if a parent placed their offspring into my arms and then took it away again when it cried)!

Now I only have to look at my Anne Geddes calendar and I sigh with longing. Not a day goes by when I don't think about being pregnant again. The delightful fluttering of the first kicks, the awe you feel when you realise there's a little person in your belly, the sheer effort of giving birth, the miracle of life.

I know, pregnancy is not all flouncing around in meadows in floaty maternity dresses, making daisy chains and reading name books... but the wind, spots, stretchmarks, indigestion, cramp, nausea, gestational diabetes, worry, sleeplessness and tiredness of pregnancy are a small price to pay for the end result, a gorgeous new child.

We always said we would have three children, if we were able. That's why we had our first two so close together, so we could squeeze another in before I get too old.

I'll be *whispers* forty in February. The risks of pregnancy increase with age. We have two beautiful healthy boys, perhaps we should quit while we're ahead.

If we do stop at two children I wonder if I will always feel this longing? The desire to have another baby is so strong, it's almost a physical yearning.

In practical terms the move from two to three children would mean changing our car and losing our spare bedroom. It would also be pretty tiring. I'll admit I'm exhausted running around after Presley and Cash. Pregnancy and a new baby would make this even harder. I've only got two hands and two knees. If I became pregnant now I would have three under three, for a little while at least. How would I cope?

I know I have infinite love to give a new baby, but my time is limited. I feel like I'm already struggling to give Presley and Cash enough individual attention, so how will us having another baby affect them?

Perhaps I should just concentrate on the children I have and enjoy them.

Perhaps I should fold up all the tiny baby clothes and take them to the charity shop.

No, not just yet.

Shall We Have Another Baby?

Child Development is NOT a Competition

Overheard in the Co-op:

Granny 1 "Our Hannah does all the animal noises, she's only just one."

Granny 2 "She's not walking yet though is she? Our Sophie has been running around since she was 9 months."

Granny 1 "She's nearly there. Our Sharon won't toilet train our Harry. He's two now."

Granny 2 "I know. They don't bother these days. They're so lazy."

I didn't need to hear the rest of the conversation but I knew it would include the words 'in our day'. I pushed my boys to the tills and left them to their gossiping.

I appreciate it is only natural to compare your children to their peers. As a parent you like to know if your child is in the right ball pond. You want them to develop within the normal range. Incidentally, I dislike the word 'normal', but couldn't think of a better choice of word!

What isn't helpful is when other people compare your children, especially within ear shot. My boys are constantly compared with their cousins. Part of it is bragging and pride. I'm delighted when my boys reach a milestone or achieve a first, but I know it's only really of interest to us. I wouldn't, for example, tell the parents of a child that doesn't yet speak that my child had a vocabulary of 1000 words at eighteen months. I wouldn't ask them if they spoke to the child or read books to them. If they asked me for my advice I would gently reassure them that there was nothing to worry about.

Children develop at different rates. There are some exceptions, but generally they all walk and they all talk before they go to school. Some clatter about from an early age, others are cautious. Some are outgoing and some need reassurance. They all have their own little developing personalities. Leave them to it, I say.

I dread to think what it will be like when they go to school, a whole new ball game I expect.

I do apologise, this is turning into a rant!

Please don't get me started on parents that think their way is the only way. If I hear one more time, from a certain person, how easy they found X I'll scream!!!

Can you tell I didn't get enough sleep last night? ;-)

This post was written as part of the Sleep is for the Weak writing workshop. This week I chose prompt number 1: Write about an over-heard conversation.

Child Development is NOT a Competition