How to Move House with Small Children

We’ve moved home, to a smaller house. We’re still playing the sliding block game with Pickfords boxes.

I will fit everything in. I WILL!

The main thing is the boys are settling in well. Moving house can be daunting at any age, but some pre-schoolers simply don’t like change. In all the upheaval of de-cluttering and packing, the routines you’ve spent months putting in place can be messed around with or forgotten.

Here is the Baby Baby guide to moving house with small children. This is what worked for us.

Preparation

Tell your children what is going to happen. Start gently a few weeks before the move and keep mentioning details of the move when you can. Reassure them that they will be taking all of their belongings with them. Answer their questions and be honest. They can take it. No, this isn’t the last time you’ll see grandma and grandad, but we won’t see them for a while. 

Let them say their goodbyes

They need some closure. An end before a new beginning. Give them time to say their farewells to the house, to the garden, to playgroup, to the local shop if they want to.

Let them pack a bag

Children like to copy you, so let them do their own bit of packing. Make sure they have their favourite teddies and toys in a small bag that travels with you in the car. When you move in they can unpack and will have something to play with straight away while you concentrate on getting that heavy sideboard in the right place while there are burly men around!

Get someone to have them on moving day(s)

Make it a holiday for them. Yes, you want them to be safely out of the way, but you don’t want them to feel pushed out. Presley and Cash’s grandparents took them to our (old) local wetland centre one day and let them dig in the dirt the next. I understand there may have been large quantities of chocolate consumed, but I’m turning a blind eye this time.

Take photographs

We were able to show Presley and Cash all of our worldly goods being loaded into an enormous removal van. They could see what was happening step by step, even though they weren’t there. This reassured them that all was going to plan.

Let them explore the new place

Stop what you’re doing and go round the house and garden with them. So, you unpack the casserole dishses tomorrow instead of today - so what? Ask what do they like about the new house? What don’t they like? What can you help them with? Try to make it as fun for them as you can – even if you feel in utter turmoil and the kettle has gone walkabout.

Familiarity

Do what you can to set up a few familiar areas in the new house as quickly as possible. Obviously their bedrooms are important, but also where you eat, where they wash, nappy changing and CBeebies will help them to settle in quickly.

Listen to them

Children may not always articulate their feelings, but we could see that three year old Presley wasn’t himself for a while. He became a little withdrawn and teary before the move. We did our best to comfort and reassure him, but it turned out that he was distraut that he wouldn’t see the flowers in our old garden again. On our first day a the new house we quickly found a pot and asked him what he would like to plant in there. He said potatoes, well, actually he said ‘patotoes’, but that’s neither here nor there. We changed his focus from the past to the future. Now he can’t wait to go to the garden centre.

Moving house is stressful, but it is also one of the most exciting things you can do. Moving house with children is an experience, but with a bit of forethought it needn't be a disastrous one.

Oh and if all else fails, offer chocolate buttons!





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How to Move House with Small Children

Snowed in

This time last year we were snowed in. We live down a lane, down a hill. It's almost impossible to get the car out to the main road. After almost a month I was going stir crazy.

On Friday it snowed again.

A lot.

I hate that we get snowed in. I hate even more when we can get the car out and the roads are icy. Even though I pretty much hate the effects of the snow, I still watch it fall with child-like wide-eyed wonder. I'm excited by it. It's beautiful. If I wake up in the middle of the night I peek out of the curtains to see how much we've had.

The boys love it!

There's only so much time you can spend outside in the snow before you get too cold, although we've done our best.

Our snow is weird this year, it's a fine powder and not great for building snowmen.

It's deep enough to go over the top of little wellies.

And to coat woollen mittens.

So we came indoors to paint. I made the mistake of answering my phone and moving into the kitchen to chat in peace. This is what I came back to.

Andy took pity on me and bought back a packet cake mix from the local shops to entertain us.

This is what the cakes are supposed to like like.

There are Presley's.

There are Cash's.

I think they're wonderful AND they were edible.

I'll have to find some more activities for tomorrow or maybe we'll just snuggle up in front of the television.

It is nearly Christmas after all.


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Snowed in

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.

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Delusions of Adequacy

Potty Training... HELP!

A year ago, as Presley was approaching his second birthday, I started my preparations for potty training.

I bought potties, toddler toilet seats, toddler steps, a potette travel potty (with liners) and loads of pants. I got that Gina Ford book out of the library and completed her checklist of 'is your child ready?' questions. No was the answer, mostly.

The potties have sat in the lounge all that time, gathering dust. Every now and then the boys have sat on the potties, without nappies, more as a game than anything. The potties are as yet unchristened, but have been filled with all manner of toys.

It was the last toddler group today, so we've had in mind that now would be a good time to start the dreaded potty training. The idea being that we could live outside for a couple of weeks and any accidents would happen in the garden, where we have a hose. Sadly the hosepipe ban coincided with the Heavens opening and it has poured with rain everyday for what seems like forever.

We've been talking to Presley, now nearly three, about going without nappies and using the potty, or the toilet - like Mummy and Daddy. His response has always been 'not today'.

Apart from today.

*inset dramatic sound effect here*

Today Presley asked for his nappy to come off. He asked to do a wee on the toilet.

Holy moly.

We turned Andy's office upside down looking for the toddler toilet seat and the toddler step. We dusted then off and placed them in the downstairs loo. We all watched, wide-eyed, as Presley perched on his throne.

We waited, we encouraged. I nearly cried with disbelief and pride. My boy is growing up. Cash said he wanted a go next.  What? No! I can't cope with both of you needing the loo at the same time!

I think poor Presley got stage fright. There was no wee, although he did flush the loo twice and giggle hysterically as he got a wet bum. He clambered off and said 'no nappy now'.

I am so not ready for potty training. The pants are still in their packets, so I chickened out and told Presley that pull-ups were pants. He looked nervous so I told him it didn't matter if he did a wee because they were a bit like a nappy. I know, not my finest mummy moment.

He's now having a nap, in his 'pants'.

Someone help me! PLEASE!

My mind isn't functioning, I'm not well, I'm confused. I can't work what to do.

Seriously, what do I do at night? Do I put him in a nappy? Do I put him in pull-ups and leave a potty by his bed? Do I tell him to come and wake me up if he needs the loo in the night? I really don't know.

Argh, I suppose we should take the sides off his cot bed. Do we put a gate on his room or do we let him roam?

PANIC!

All advice gratefully received. What worked for you? HELP!





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Potty Training... HELP!

Imaginary Friends

Do any of your children have imaginary friends?

I think Presley does, although it is not entirely clear. He's recently started talking about an Uncle Dinky.

I read, in 'The Philosophical Baby' by Alison Gopnik, that pre-school children with imaginary friends are normal. She says it's nothing to worry about. So why do I feel uneasy about Uncle Dinky?

For a start he has a silly name. I mean, it sounds like the kind of name a man would give to his penis, as in 'Uncle Dinky's coming out to play'. Sorry, I made myself shudder typing that.

Anyway, back to the real Uncle Dinky, or should I say the imaginary Uncle Dinky.

This is what we know about him/it:

Uncle Dinky has ten eyes, three arms and four legs.

Uncle Dinky wears a black t-shirt with a monkey on it.

Uncle Dinky eats sandwiches, sometimes jam and sometimes marmite.

Uncle Dinky lives in the garage or the door.

Presley giggles coyly whenever Uncle Dinky is mentioned but refuses to draw him. The drawing above is Presley's first attempt at drawing a person and definitely not Uncle Dinky. I love the way the so-called smiley mouth is a straight line.

Perhaps the reason I am worried is Presley's answer to the question 'What does Uncle Dinky say?'.

His answer was 'Bongo bongo bongo bongo bongo bongo bong'.

Right.

Good.

Okay.

I haven't set an extra place at the table yet, although I imagine it is only a matter of time.

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Imaginary Friends

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. 

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Where did my babies go?

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?

Firsts

You experience many firsts as a parent. Some are more exciting and special than others.

The first smile is amazing.

The first steps are a triumph of determination over gravity.

We found waiting for the first words rather frustrating because we were never quite sure whether the boys had actually said a proper word. We waited for a word to be repeated in context before it counted as an official word. Perhaps we had too many rules on that one.

(For the record, Presley’s first word was ‘Home’ and Cash‘s was ‘Ta’).

Today I discovered that Cash can count up to two. It was while he was in the bathroom with me this morning. As I was getting dressed he picked up two new toilet rolls and put them on his arms like whopping white bangles. He sat there holding up alternate arms saying ‘one two one two’. Then he cuddled them and said ‘baby’.

I’m fond of my Nouvelle toilet tissue, but have never felt the need to nurse it!

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There was a massive first for Presley too today.

For the first time ever he asked ‘Why?’.

I wonder how long it will be before he hears his first ‘Because I said so’ from me?!

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Oh and don't ask me why he chose to wear oven gloves today, or why his hair has started to stick up. I have no idea!

Firsts

The Misery of Being 15 Months Old and Poorly

My poor miserable baby.

Cash isn't well. He's got a cough, a cold, a very sore throat and chapped lips. He's also teething - molars.

Any one of these things is enough to start him crying, but all of them together is utter misery.

It seems like every time he swallows it hurts. He cries. Crying hurts. He cries some more. You wipe his nose and accidentally brush his sore lips and he cries, this makes his throat hurt. He cries again, only louder. You get the picture.

His cry is hoarse. When he talks it's like he's phoning in sick and putting on his ill voice. You know the one I mean? It's the voice you use when you're a bit ill and fancy the day off sick, so you phone your boss and put on your ill voice. After managing malingerers for many years I can spot an ill voice from a mile off. You're not fooling anyone by the way.

We're using Dentinox, Calpol, Karvol and Vaseline to help Cash, but he's still miserable. The slightest thing sets him off. My head is ringing from the crying.

I feel so sorry for him. I've been up the last two nights with him as he's struggling to sleep. He's tired, but just as he's dropping off he swallows and we get another cycle of crying. My arms ache from rocking him. Fortunately his temperature is normal, so we can hopefully avoid the GP's surgery.

Presley just has a cough and a cold. He seems to be coping fine with it. Every five minutes he comes over and asks for a tissue.

Andy has a cold too, he's suffering with it. I'll say no more on the subject of man flu as he reads my blog.

I suppose I'll be next.

At least we'll get it out of the way before Christmas!

Photo credit

The Misery of Being 15 Months Old and Poorly

A bit of hush

My husband wonders why I don't listen to more music on my laptop. I've had a little play with Spotify and it's brilliant. I've worked out how to listen to the radio via the web. But so far I haven't taken advantage of this world of free entertainment. He works from home and listens to music all day every day. Lucky him.

I love music. Music has always been a huge part of my life. My husband and I write and record songs. Before we had the babies I loved going to gigs. So why don't I use my new laptop to listen to music? Well this morning I tried and this is what happened...

I was keeping an eye on Twitter when I saw a tweet from @HellenBach announcing a new Janet & John story on Wake Up To Wogan. I used to listen to Terry on my way to work so I decided to fire up the IPlayer. Well, I tried to listen, but I couldn't concentrate on it. I could hear Terry chuckling away, but I wasn't sure why.

Competing with Radio 2 were the following:

The baby was in the Chico Walker. He was bashing away at the buttons playing tunes and finding random beeping, woofing and telephone noises.

The toddler had put the baby bouncer on vibrate and had the 'waves crashing on the shore' at full volume.

The toddler had left the baby bouncer and was playing with V-Tech bus, again at full volume. Life was quieter when he hadn't worked out how to turn it on. Sometimes we used to turn it off and say it was broken. Why do people buy them electronic toys? 

The washing machine was on spin.

The microwave was on heating up some milk for the baby's porridge.

The toaster was on.

The kettle was on.

The cat was snoring.

Despite all this I decided to persevere with the radio. I put the babies in their highchairs ready for breakfast. While I was getting it all together, and in addition to the aforementioned cacophany, the boys were complaining too. We call it beeping, but it could also be described as whinging, whining or screaming.

Eventually I sat down to feed them and was able to listen to the radio. They were bemused by my singing along to the likes of Blondie, Neil Sedaka and Norah Jones as they ate their breakfast. But this moment of calm was short-lived as their Grandma soon arrived with their cousin. Their cousin likes to bang toys against the fireguard.

I shut down the IPlayer. Terry couldn't compete with my noisy world. This is why I don't listen to music much during the day!

One of my Twitter friends told me that one day I'd be praying for a quiet house (his children have all flown the nest), I want that now. But of course as soon as I have it I'll want the noise back, I'll want the commotion that comes from having children around. Perhaps I'll fill the void with music, or perhaps I'll enjoy a bit of hush. 

A bit of hush