Coventry Telegraph - From Dawn Till Rusk

Awards. And goodbye. And a new project.

2008-11-14T09:25:56Z

Today is my last day at From Dawn Till Rusk.

(And Dave, if you're cheering at the back, so help me I'll hunt you down).

I am leaving the paper for pastures new, but before I go I wanted to thank all the amazing people I've 'met' through writing this blog.

I have read many many many of your blogs. I don't always comment, but I lurk. Regularly.
I have been with you through births, through tragedy, through the election and I have seen the best and the worst of people.

The blogging community is amazing. Really amazing.
I absolutely love the diversity in writing - that to me is the true meaning of blogging. ANYONE can do it. You don't have to be a trained writer, you just have to have heart and have a voice and someone out there will want to listen.

You are ALL contibuting to this massive FREE online library we have at our fingertips.

So as a parting gift today I want to bestow some awards on my favourite bloggers.
In a kind of Oscars stylee.

I ask for nothing in return other than you keep writing.

The following awards go to . . .

FUNNIEST BLOG
Steenky Bee
If you haven't discovered this site then, well what's the matter with you? Do you not read my Blogroll?
Jen is warm, fun and absolutely hilarious. However, be warned, she's a stalker.

BEST COMMENTER
Dave Fowler
Talking of stalkers, he follows me around the blogosphere and hijacks my comments.
He's a total pain in the a** to be truthful, but he's a policeman who gave up his job to bring his four children up and I suppose you've got to respect him for that.
Oh and the fact that he is the wittiest, most engaging commenter out there.
Just beware if he finds his way over on to your blog . . .

BIGGEST HEART
Blogger Dad
He's just the lovliest man. He has the cutest young son, he's a talented cartoonist, a great read and just the nicest person.
How do I know all this? Surely I can't have discovered all of this through a couple of blogs about poo and playing Dungeons & Dragons (I've forgiven him for this, so should you). Well, there is a story to tell. I will reveal all after this award ceremony.

FAVOURITE DAD
Clark Kent's Lunchbox
Ron is a bit of a nerd. Just like me. So he's probably the only person I could say that to and he would take it as a compliment.
I also think he's one awesome dad. He mixes up serious with fun and he's honest, open and a barrel of laughs. And who doesn't want a dad like that?

BEST COMMUNITY BLOG
MomGrind
The comment section on Vered's blog is just amazing and it's something she is rightly very proud of.
Some of the comment sections become almost a post in themselves and readers clealy love being there and taking part. I urge you to join in.

MUM I'D LIKE TO HAVE OVER FOR TEA
Mom/Mum
If she didn't live on the other side of the world I think Mom/Mum and I would be good friends. I think we would be the sort of women other woman look at and get all jealous because they can sit around chatting and doing nothing and still look like they're having the best time.
I got all of that just from reading her blog!

MY LONG LOST SISTER
That Girl @ 39 and Counting
She loves shoes, Grey's Anatomy, Grazia magazine and she's soon to turn 40. I love you That Girl, you're such a girl after my own heart.

PHOTOGRAPHS I'M MOST JEALOUS OF
Momology
Her blogs are mainly photographic based, but she takes the most amazing photographs of her daughter and as her daughter is as spirited and challenging as mine, I've been visiting regularly to see what new creations she comes up with.

HERE COME THE GIRLS
Nappy Valley
A Confused Take That Fan
Potty Diaries
Notes From Inside My Head
Nunhead Mum
This gaggle of British bloggers are so supportive, so welcoming and so much fun that I've been made to feel like one of the girls right from the get go.
They welcomed me in with open arms and I thank each and every one of them for that.
They're like the Sex and the City girls, but without the accents. I'll leave it up to you to guess which one is which!

MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED
Writer Dad
When I said before that you don't have to be a fancy pants writer to blog, here is one that breaks the rules.
Writer Dad is a great writer. His words are warm and uplifting (and he's into films so he can do no wrong in my eyes).
He has a large following now, but he still takes time to 'talk' to everyone who leaves a comment and that is something of a rarity among the bigwigs in some corners of this community.

COOLEST DAD
Heinous@ Irregularly Periodic Ruminations
Great name, great hat and dad to just the sweetest little boy.
Being a film nerd I do tend to judge people on their choice of fav film and he lists Bladerunner, Fight Club and Heathers so upping his Cool Quotient.

BLOG THAT FREAKS ME OUT EVERY TIME I VISIT
Wear Gloves and Protective Eyewear
Malathionman is such a lovey guy who talks honestly about his adopted children that it's hard to believe his profile picture is the sort that can keep you away half the night.
Seriously, go look. It's all kinds of wierd. I bet he's an absolute hunk in real life and he just wants to spare the ladies . . .

FAVOURITE TEACHER
I Need a Martini Mum
If all teachers were as warm and witty and fun as Vodka Mom, no one would ever leave school. In fact, I would go back to school and redo a couple of years.
If you think your children say the funniest things, just wait until you hear what her kindergarten kids come out with.

THE BEST BITCH
Stiletto Mom
If ever I need a boost, a chuckle, a kick in the teeth I go to Texan mum Marie Anne. She pulls no punches, tells it like it is and she is SUCH a child of the 80s. Plus she wrote one of the funniest potty training stories I've ever read.

So there you have it. A big hug and a peck on the cheek to all of you.

And so fare ye well my friends.
If you have enjoyed what you have read up until now, you will be able to find me once again at my new blog Sticky Fingers
If not, then you can find me at Dave Fowler's place . . .

Speaking of which - I know, I know, you're thinking 'and there's more? Sheesh'.

Well I just wanted to tell you about another project I am working on with my really good blogger friends Blogger Dad and Dave Fowler.

We three have a common goal - we want to get fit, shape up and lose the fat.
And we want YOU to join us.

I'm sure there are many many of you out there with similar goals. And, just like anything in life, success tends to come with constant support - and a bunch of people backing you all the way.

So we want to create that community.

Each of us has a different goal and will be sharing our progress.
But crucially, we want you to share yours too.
In return we will offer you support, interesting articles and a lot of heart.

And if you join us and post your Wednesday Weigh In progress on your blog, come on over and leave a message in the comment section and we will link to you on a Friday round up to make sure everyone can come on over and offer their support.

So come on over and visit BlogToFit and join the party.
It officially kicks off on Monday, although there is a welcome page is you fancy popping over for a look.

Wordless Wednesday: School photo. Of me!

2008-11-12T07:31:45Z

Over at Scary Mommy , Jill is having a school photo fest.

She's asking for bloggers to write a post about school photos - be it ones of your children or ones of yourself.
So, this is me around 1978.

And Tim, if you're over here counting how many words are on my WORDLESS Wednesday post, well you're going to be all kinds of disappointed in me!

My son has got to be one of the most photogenic children ever.
In all his nearly six years he has never had a bad photo.
Even when he was one big walking chicken pox he wanted me to take a picture and he looked jovial and well.
When he cracked his little head open on the corner of the hallway wall while trying to beat me to the front door because he liked to greet the postman with a "howdie", even then with a butterfly plaster on his forehead, a giant bruise, hair plastered on his head with sweat and a ghostly palour about him, he still took a great photo.

And yet, for his very first professional photo for his very first year in school, they made him look, well, not like my Dan.
Maybe it was the morgue blue hue of the background, or the fact that the photographer had asked him to say "Simpsons" to the camera. Or maybe it was because the snapper took all of a nano-second to capture my precious boy's first year of school.
Whatever the reason, his very first school photo almost made me want to burst out crying.

Sure we bought one. You have to don't you? But it languishes at the back of a photo album that never sees the light of day.

I'm pretty sure I had a few stinkers through my years of school.
Well, put it this way, there aren't enough in there to match the number of years at school.

But anyway, this one is as I'm drawing to the end of primary school and am just about to launch into the screaming chasm that is senior school.
I would have been about 9 or 10 and the funny thing is, that look of innocent? I never lost it . . .

So, dare you join Scary Mommy's school photo mission?

The business of blogging: Book deals? What a load of rubbish!

2008-11-10T07:31:38Z

Who hasn't gone about the business of writing their blog with dreams of being 'discovered' and securing that golden ticket of a book deal?

It's the big kahuna for many bloggers. The Lottery win. The icing on the cake.

And in the short time I've been blogging, I've stumbled on a few who have had that stardust sprinkled over them - British blogging mum Elsie Button at Flower Fairies and Fairy Cakes for one. And she's only been blogging since May 2007.

So for this week's addition to the Business of Blogging feature I bring you another blogger who has had their life changed by that call from a publishing house.

Karen Cannard lives in Bury St Edmunds, England, with her husband and two young children. She has two blogs 21st Century Mummy and The Rubbish Diet.
Her book The Rubbish Diet: Achieve zero waste in 8 weeks, will be published by Ebury's Vermilion imprint in 2009.

And she's prepared to dish the dirt, so to speak!

From a Rubbish Blog to a Rubbish Book: Achieve zero waste in 8 weeks and a book deal a few months later.

"Ping" went the sound of my computer as a new email dropped into my inbox.

I opened the message, took a deep breath and let out the most excitable squeal. A friend was with me at the time, Rachel, a former radio presenter who was helping me prepare for a forthcoming live interview. She read the email, gave me a huge hug and we both jumped up and down in excitement.

My ordinary life was suddenly becoming very extraordinary.

Firstly it's not every day you find yourself doing media training.
And then it's not every day you get an email from a publisher asking if you'd like to turn your blog into a book.
What an opportunity!

When I set upThe Rubbish Diet blog in January, I was a regular blogger with too much rubbish on my hands.
I'd signed up for the council's Zero Waste Week challenge and they wanted to feature me in a local magazine as their community champion.
The blog was purely my reaction to going public. If local folk would know what I was up to, I needed to do it properly and I needed help.

After 7 weeks of blogging about ways to reduce my rubbish, avoid packaging and recycle more, I was ready for the council's Zero Waste week where for seven days in March I had to attempt to create no rubbish that couldn't be recycled or composted.

Given the amount of rubbish we used to throw away, filling up our wheelie bin every two weeks, it was hard to believe that we could go for one whole week, creating no rubbish at all. But, it was true. At the end of the week, all we threw out was a plaster.

Just one single plaster, from a finger cut on day one!

The story even made it onto national radio that week, with a pre-recorded column on BBC Radio 4's Woman's Hour, broadcasting my dulcet tones each day.

And every stage was blogged about, including the Woman's Hour experience, the radio interviews and the day the BBC arrived in my garden. Then there was the serious TV interview in landfill.
It was April Fools Day and like a bizarre Bridget Jones moment, I half-expected the reporter to shout "April Fool" and send me packing in my bright pink wellies.

The brief flirtations with local and national media were just a small part of a story which took a humorous look at a very serious subject. Being relatively unaware of the effects of waste before I started, blogging about the challenge helped to raise my knowledge of the effect of landfill on the environment and gave me an understanding of the pressures on government and local councils to reduce the amount of stuff that gets buried in the ground.
I soon realised that my actions at home had a wider impact.

But The Rubbish Diet experience hasn't been just about rubbish and recycling. The blog has also charted a fun lifestyle makeover, involving shopping differently, spending less and cooking more. It really brought home the idea that even in our over-packaged world, households still have a great deal of choice over the amount of rubbish wecreate. And it really is a case of where there's a will there's a way.

When the email came from Ebury, my blog was only 12 weeks old. It's now been going for 10 months. And every time I recall that particular moment in April, I can't help but feel the exhilaration rushing back again and I have to stop and pinch myself.
I also feel very lucky. I've always dreamt about writing a book, but was always too busy or lacking in confidence to send off the necessary chapters to publishers or agents. So I blogged instead.

And who would have guessed where the blog could lead?

As a novice author, I am blessed to be working with a fantastic and experienced editor, who has gently guided me through the process of publishing. At first, it can be a hard pill to swallow when chunks of text are edited or deleted, especially when you're used to independently pressing the publish button on a blog.

But with the hard work comes the wonderful light-bulb moments, which send me dashing home to the computer with heaps of enthusiasm after dropping the kids off at school. And when I get my "stuck" days, I just take the laptop into town and pitch up in a café for a kick-start.

I know I'm one of the lucky ones but my top tips to other bloggers with publishing aspirations are to focus on original material, keep it targeted and ensure you blog regularly.
And don't forget to include your contact details in an obvious place on your blog.

Once you have sufficient content, pull together sample chapters and send to appropriate agents.
In the meantime, contact relevant journalists to raise the profile of your work and hopefully somewhere you'll make it in print. And the number of column inches isn't important. My commissioning editor had seen The Rubbish Diet mentioned in a weekend supplement of The Times, in a very small column, about 40 words in length, next to news about Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.

So, 10 months ago I was a blogger with a couple of anonymous blogs to my name. Now, I spend my days working on my book, which will be published next summer.
I still keep The Rubbish Diet blog up-to-date with my regular musings. It doesn't just support the book, it supports my curiosity, my sanity and my playful nature and also offers a window onto a wonderland of opportunity.

And these days, it now takes a whole month to fill up our kitchen bin and that's to fill a single carrier bag. As for the wheelie bin, we haven't had to put it out for three months. I can see at this rate, it could even last beyond Christmas.

Well I did say my life had become extraordinary, didn't I?
It's just a good job I'm still normal underneath!

The truth, the whole truth, about home birth. And poo.

2008-11-06T12:00:56Z

* EDIT UPDATE: Thanks everyone for being so patient.
The system is out of its sulk now and is letting you comment.
Please please show guest blogger Sparx your support and give her some love - she's been sat patiently for this blog to drag itself out of the dark ages and now it's her turn to shine!

IT seems that even childbirth is something which can be influenced by celebrity.

Apparently stars such as Charlotte Church, Thandie Newton and Davina McCall are leading the charge to make home births 'trendy' and figures for the number of women shunning their local hospital for their own living room has soared.

Gone are the days when the A-listers were considered 'too posh to push'.
Now it seems they are fighting over the birthing pools and lining up to give birth at home.

But what is it really like? And can you ever look at your front room in the same light again?

Today guest blogger Sparx, from Notes From Inside My Head, reveals all.
She gave birth in her living room 2 years ago AND BLOGGED ALL THROUGH HER CONTRACTIONS!
I mean, that's blogging dedication for you.
She was also one of those really annoying women who popped her baby out in a matter of hours (but don't hold that against her) - and then, you guessed it, blogged about it again.

I remember the exact moment the consultant at the hospital asked us if we had considered having a home birth.
It's hard to forget really as it was rather a defining moment.

I'd like to think that I immediately weighed the pros and cons and came out with some considered questions, but given that I was 6 months pregnant at the time I imagine the reality involved some fish-like gulping following by some stammering and perhaps a bit of heartburn.

My experience of talking through the concept of home births with people is that one is either really keen right away or really horrified.
My husband (The Frog) and I, it appears, are in the former campas we pretty much walked out of that room convinced it was a Good Idea while the doctor smiled and nodded and gleefully put another notch in her stethoscope behind our backs.

To be fair, we did go on to do some research. I think.
I suspect it was my other half who beetled away looking at the pros and cons while I ordered a copy of Ina May Gaskin's Spiritual Midwifery and read it agog, not only at the hippy-esque prose, but at the sheer believability that I could actually do this mad thing.
Meanwhile, back in the 21st century The Frog printed out some encouraging figures. Apparently, in general, women who plan to give birth at home have easier labours, fewer interventions, a lower rate of maternal and infant mortality, no exposure to hospital viruses and overall, less 'perceived pain' .

How on earth they measure that last one I have no idea ...
"How much pain are you perceiving right now?"
"BUGGER OFF!"

Going to the ante-natal classes and getting a look at the size of the epidural needle just cemented it for me, so we settled in for the wait.

In some way, planning for a home birth is like planning the nursery - it's all very, very abstract.
You shop for lovely things, you buy them, you put them away, you go for antenatal appointments, you get your toenails done...
Having a baby? Me? La la la I can't hear you!
You look for birth pools, you make a mixed CD of relaxing music, you cover yourself in bio-oil and then ... then the midwives bring the Box Under the Stairs.

I'm sure that's not what it's called. It's a supplies box to supplement the luggage they bring with them on the day and they drop it off a couple of weeks before one's due date.

I put mine under the stairs and swore I wouldn't open it. For about five minutes.
Opening that box suddenly made the whole 'I'm having a baby at home' thing go from being some sort of Champagne lie-in to being potentially really me, in my living room (which is right there, by the way), pushing out an actual baby just like in ER but without the doctors.

When I look back on the day of the birth, it's sort of swathed in a rosy glow. I have a few mental snapshots of me rocking on my hands and knees and bellowing like a butchered steer and an image of The Frog like the Sorceror's Apprentice, carting endless buckets of warm water to the birth pool.

For the most part however, all I remember is the bit at the end, the bit where my son was planted on my chest and everything changed.
In general, genetics saw me through - a birth so fast I didn't get to ask for the gas and air I'd been looking forward to for weeks, no complications and, crucially, no poo in the pool.

I think I spent more time worrying about pooing in the pool than I did worrying about actually having a baby. The pool, it has to be said, was amazing.

The Frog was great; getting up at 5am to inflate the pool and spread plastic around the joint, making tea for the midwives, rubbing my back - I only had to call him a bastard the one time. Well, he was reading the paper in bed. The sod.

After all the mucky bits were over, the midwives ran me a bath in my own tub and helped me into it with a cup of tea. I lay there feeling absolutely blissful, drugged up on a cocktail of my own serotonins and smugness at finally, not being pregnant.
Afterwards, they put us to bed, me in my own bed and Charlie in his Moses basket close by and I think that may have been one of the nicest moments of my life.
Or perhaps it was the champagne.

We were really lucky that it all went according to plan - and I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Forget the facts and figures, forget being ahead of the trend, just think about the opportunity to be able to sit on your own sofa with a glass of champagne and a smile a few hours after you've had your baby.
No hospitals, no needles, no lying around hoping someone is going to offer you something to drink or a trip to the loo - just all the comforts of home.

And, the opportunities to watch your guests inhale their biscuits in shock as you tell them that your baby was born just about where their cup of tea is sitting.

Wordless Wednesday: Wow! Look at me.

2008-11-05T07:00:07Z

You know when you find a site and you instantly fall in love and then think 'uh oh, this is not going to do my work/life balance any good?'

Well, I have found such a site.
This is me according to Reasonably Clever.

Discover who you are and let me know!

Visit more Wordless Wednesdays or for for entries from around the blogging world visit 5 Minutes for Mum.

Lost

2008-11-03T08:05:18Z

If you have ever lost sight of your children - even for a split second - you will know what that gnawing sick feeling is like that clutches at your very core and makes your insides instantly drop.
Your heart pounds so hard in your chest you can almost hear it roar and your ears seem to pop like you're making the fastest decent in a careering aeroplane.

It's the sort of feeling no parent ever wants to experience.
And it's the sort of feeling you can never understand unless you are a parent.

I lost both of my children while out shopping in a packed Ikea recently.
One minute they were jumping on the beds and pulling faces in the mirrors, the next they were gone.

I could feel the panic rising inside, taking my very breath away and making my chest tighten.
I actually felt an overwhelming urge to wimper but I tried to remain calm and rational.
Hubby took one look at my face and knew something was horribly horribly wrong.

We found them after 5 very long minutes.
They came trotting back to us holding hands all wide-eyed and breathless with the 'adventure' they had just had.

But it got me thinking about what would happen if I wasn't in the relative safety of a store or what if I hadn't found them?

I was talking to a friend who said her children had been given 'talking homework' and the subject was what you would do if ever you got lost or separated from your parents.
She was horrified to discover her children had no idea.
"Find a policeman" was the stock response. But there are no policemen in Tesco's she almost shreiked at them!

So at what age do they really understand the importance of this subject? 2, 3, 5, 7?

After the Ikea incident, I sat my two down and tried to explain what they should do if ever they lose mummy or daddy.
"Always, always stay together," I said, "and try to find someone in charge or, if you're in a shop, find someone who works there."
"And when you're asked, give them your full name and address.
"And tell them that mummy will self combust if you don't find her RIGHT NOW!"

It's one of those things that you think will never happen to you, but kids will be kids and it's got to be better to be prepared.

I bet there are similar stories to this everywhere. But I'm curious to know how you have handled it?

Why my kids love Halloween

2008-10-31T21:33:45Z

The anticipation
"Is it Halloween today mummy?"
"No."
"Is it tomorrow?"
"Noooo."
"Well how many actual days is it until Halloween? How many sleeps? How will I actually know it's Halloween? Are you actually going to tell me when it gets here?"
This has been going on every day since August 10 when in inadvertantly let slip that Halloween was on the horizon. I won't be making that mistake again.
And yes, I am very aware of my son's overuse of the word 'actual'.

Dressing up
If you tell Dan he's going to be wearing a cape, he's good.
We've had a vampire, Harry Potter and Superman. Today it was Batman's turn.
I am so proud. My son is showing geek tendancies just like his mother.
Mia on the other hand has issues with whatever I dangle in front of her to wear.
Most of the things I ask her to put on she informs me are "boring" at best, and when I've asked her to put a hairband on to keep her locks in check, you would have thought I had asked her to slice slivers of her scalp off with it and rub salt in the wounds.
THAT is how much she hates dressing to her mother's tune.

But today, not only did she dress herself in the red witch outfit I bought her, but she actually put the hairband in and wore it all day.
Hubby had to scrape my chin off the floor when she appeared downstairs after locking herself in her room for what seemed like eternity. And she saunters in with that "what? what?" look on her face like she ALWAYS dresses without fuss or incident and really mummy, what are you looking at?

Friends
When I told them that their mates Heather and Lola were coming over for a very impromptu party they pretty much camped out in the hallway awaiting their knock on the door.
When the knock eventually came, they did two laps of the house screaming before answering the door and all the while leaping around like two frogs on hot coals.
And this was before any sweets had passed their lips.

The games
First up there is guess the character. Tonight we've had the Grim Reaper, an adorable little witch, a ghoul and a handful of vampires and zombies.
But one little lad stood on my doorstep looking for all the world like he was Simon Cowell who'd just been savaged by a hound.
After tutting and helping himself to a rather large handful of sweets from our skull bowl, he informed me he was a zombie businessman then skulked to the end of the driveway, turned and shot me a dirty look!
And best of all is the apple bobbing.
Sure it seems far too simple to be engaging and fun, but seriously, today these kids belly laughed their way through it and then ATE THE APPLES THEY'D WON!
I know! I should win awards for this kind of stuff. Ok so they ate copious amounts of chocolate and sugar afterwards, but at least they had some good stuff in there first.

The aftermath
On a high from too much sugar?
Check.
Insisting that you don't turn the light off and sit with them because the monsters are all under their bed?
Check.
Hyped up and talking so fast you can just make out the words 'cool' and 'awesome' every now and again?
Check.
Solution. One bath with lavender bubbles, big towels and a bedtime story about a teddy bear who gets lost but finds his way home again.
Two hugely satisfied children, one partially frazzled mum, a whole stash of 'emergency' chocolate that needs eating . . .

Happy Halloween everyone, I hope you had a fabulous night.

Wordless Wednesday: What's the first single you ever bought?

2008-10-29T07:00:01Z

Ok, ok I'll hold my hands up right now - I am rubbish at Wordless Wednesdays.
Sure I like the idea of putting up a great picture that says everything you need to say, but, well, my mother always said I have far too much to say for myself and, look at that, she was right.

So I was reading the comment section on a blog about, well absolutely nothing to do with music, and the comment when something like this: "The first 45 I ever bought was Highway to Hell. It has the best intro ever." And I almost snorted with derision. What is this man mad, I thought? AC/DC? Tsk.

But then I thought people's choice of music is so fascinating and I want to know more.

So, here is a picture of the band whose single was the very first I ever bought in the flush of my pre teens.

I handed over my hard saved pennies with shaky hands (I was probably wearing that 80s fashion must have, the fingerless gloves too) and carried that plastic record shop bag home like I was transporting the crown jewels to the Queen herself.

It was a 'new' sound, it was edgy and I thought I was way too cool for school.
Funnily enough, the lead singer Suggs now advertises fish fingers on TV adverts. Not so cool.
Which just goes to show that even though you think the likes of Coldplay and Radiohead and Lily Allen are the cool kids now, they too could be advertising frozen veg or Hovis bread in 10 years time.

You don't get that anymore with the age of downloads. Which is really sad because saving up for that first piece of vinyl to call your own was a wonderful part of growing up.

Of course, what I want to know is, what was the first single/album you bought?

Far be it from me to sit in judgement, but if anyone says Lady in Red they'd better have a pretty good explanation . . .

Everything is dead

2008-10-26T08:00:28Z

A few weeks ago my mum had to have one of her dogs put down because he was riddled with cancer.

She was utterly devastated.

The dog was only 5 years old and was her best buddy.
My mum breeds show dogs and is hugely successful in her field. She has had dogs for the past 30 odd years and she is that successful because she adores her dogs. They are her other children and they are her friends.

And so the loss of her companion came as a massive body blow.

Which is something I had to explain to my two children and, as we don't have a dog, it wasn't going to be an easy concept for them to grasp.

But grasp it they did. With both hands. And now they are obsessed with death.

"Mia, where is the beanbag?"
She raises her eyes to the air to think.
"Don't know. I think it's dead."

"Mia, don't lean back on that chair or it could topple backwards and you will crack your head."
"And then I'll die?"

"Don't do that Mia, or you'll die", Dan the voice doom if Mia is fiddling with her seatbelt/touching the oven/attempting to unlock the front door.

Mia: "Shall we stop feeding Lily (our cat) for a few days she she'll die and then she can be with nana's dog and he can chase her?"

Dan (very matter of factly). "Mummy, you're going to die before me aren't you because you're like old and I'm not. But I'll die before Mia. But she'll only be on her own for a few years because then she'll die."

I'm sat there with my fingers in my ears going 'la la la la la' pretending that the fly trying to make a break for the back door is the most interesting thing I've ever witnessed and this child in front of me is talking about Ben 10 or Crazy Bones (now there's a post I must write!)

Children are so open and honest and literal. They don't know that I find conversations like that really upsetting. They don't know that I can't bear to hear them say the words "I'll die".
It's just another part of life to them. They haven't yet been 'tainted' by regret.

My grandfather died when my son was just 2 and Dan still talks about it now.
I have told him that he sat on his greatgrandpop's hospital bed and the pair of them sang The Grand Old Duke of York together and Pop bounced Dan on his knee, even though it was probably an incredible effort for him to do so.
And I have told Dan that if he were alive today Pop would be so very very proud of him.

My grandfather was a grumpy old sod from the valleys of Wales, but his aged eyes lit up with a youthful glow whenever he talked to his greatgrandson.
And that is a memory I hold very dear.

I have also talked to Dan about my Nan, who died just a couple of years before either of my children were born. I have told him than my one great regret in life is that she never got to meet him or Mia and that she too would have found clouds under her feet and a spring in her step if she had been around to enjoy their company.

I have told both of them that Pop and Nan are watching over them and can see the wonderful things they do and the things they achieve and they will know what fabulous individuals their greatgrand children are.

Which has kind of backfired on me a little as last night Mia woke in the night and wouldn't go back to sleep in her own room because "Nana's dog is watching me."

I suppose there is not 'right' answer to the question of how you deal with death and every individual is different, so you need to tailor it to their personality.
And I'm sure this isn't just a 'children' issue as some people don't have first hand experience of dealing with death until they are much older.

"Mummy, is nana's dog watching me?"

The business of blogging: Dave's story

2008-10-23T11:00:34Z

I thought long and hard about what title to give this guest post and in the end I went for simplicity.

For my guest blogger today is stay-at-home dad Dave Fowler who is, to be fair, quite simple.
No no, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. He's not, he's really not
(well he is just a little bit).

In all seriousness, Dave Fowler is a gem.
He has wafted through many a blog like a breath of fresh air and I know many of you out there have instantly become fans.

His comments are legendary. He courts interaction and that, I think, is something that is seriously lacking in many blog comment boxes.
He recently left a comment at MomGrind's place in a post about commenting on blogs:
"The blogs I really really like and return to four or five times a day are the ones where the participants interact with one another and it makes me believe there is a community there rather than just a list of bloggers."
And I say amen to that.

He is honest and open and fun and funny and if I wax on any more about him I will have to start charging him PR fees and he'll hang around even more than usual and then I'll NEVER get rid of him.

So today I didn't just ask Dave along to get up on stage and entertain you like some mad little circus monkey (although he so would, if you asked him).
No today he is part of my series on The Business of Blogging - a selection of people for whom blogging and work are entwined.

So Dave used to be a policeman (I know. Still trying to get my head around that one too! Why was it never Dave I met when I was being physically thrown out of a nightclub back in 198. ... , anyway I digress).
He gave up a good career to stay at home and bring up his, count them, four children. All under the age of 7. I mean come on people, that deserves a round of applause.

So without further ado, Dave from Teach My Children Well:
(and if he says anything derogatory in the follow up comments he's a liar liar . . .)

It was an unexpected return to night shifts that brought about my decision to shelve my 18-year career with the police.

I'm shortly to turn 40 and quite honestly I just couldn't face doing the shift work anymore - not with four young children to raise (two boys 7 & 5, two girls 3 & 21 months).
I was missing my children grow up and I was too tired and stressed to enjoy their company. Life became impossible and it was having a bad effect on my state of mind.

Just over six months ago my wife returned to work full-time and I stepped away from my career as a Police Sergeant to be a Househusband/Stay-at-home-dad/Homemaker. Pick whichever title you prefer.

You see, it doesn't matter what title you give me, or whether you want to tease me for doing 'women's work' or being a 'Manny' (a combination of man and nanny). I couldn't give a fig. Why?
Because I'm happy.

Genuinely happy! The sort of happy where you'll find me laughing and smiling.

But just because I'm happy doesn't mean that I'm not struggling or that it's all plain sailing.
Far from it.
It's tough and the learning curve is so steep I've frequently slid back along it.

It's tough because the work is demanding, both physically and emotionally - and I wasn't prepared for this last one what with being a big strong man and all.
Actually, it turns out that it doesn't matter what gender you are. If you're in this role long enough you're gonna feel it, because young children are bundles of raw emotion and they have a way of turning you into a bundle of raw emotion too.

It's also tough because we've lost a wage and the sheer effort of living within our means is a job all in itself. I can't honestly claim I've managed it just yet and that adds a little bit of pressure for me to go back to work.

There have been times when I've felt so scared and uncertain that I've wanted to run back into the arms of my employer, beg forgiveness and go back to my familiar rut. I sometimes even pretend that it would be different this time round. But it won't, it never can be because I've had a taste of something better.

I'm actually living now. I feel like I have a life and that I'm putting it to good use.

I'm doing something that I believe in - something rewarding and of long lasting value.

I get to see my children everyday. I play with them, talk to them and read to them.

I get to bake cakes for them and help them with their homework.

I sing to them while they're in the bath, whether they want me to or not. Usually not.

I tickle the boys until they laugh so hard they're just about to vomit - hey, they ask me to do it. Who am I to deny them?

During the day when the boys are at school I put the radio on and dance with my girls in the kitchen until we get giddy and fall over.
They wear their pretty dresses and I wear my pretty pinny.

I really want to hang on to this lifestyle for as long as I can. It just feels right. I feels like it was meant to be, at least for now anyway.

To ensure that I can continue along this road I'm busy trying to turn our financial situation around. I'm also working on my own deficiencies as a 'Professional Homemaker', husband, father and not least as a person.

I've turned to blogging as a way to help me make the necessary improvements in my life. I'm also hoping I can help others in a similar position by being open and honest about what I'm learning.

Blogging is a riot. A real hoot. I've been lucky to find so much support so quickly and I've made some great friends already.

The internet is exciting, it's filled with possibilities and eventually I hope to harness its potential to supplement our income.
It's early days yet and I have no fixed ideas about how to do it, but what I do know is that I won't be able to do it just by being an observer. You have to be in it to win it - and I'm well and truly in it.

In the meantime I have the total privilege of being a full-time carer for my children.

Simply put, my job is to love them and help them to grow.

What a great job. I'm so fortunate.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

Wordless Wednesday: Wellies

2008-10-22T06:01:46Z

It's nearing half term here in England and with most people tightening their belts at the moment, here is what we found is easily the best way to entertain the children for free.
And the bonus is they absolutely don't mind if it rains either!

See more of my Wordless Wednesdays or visit 5 Minutes for Mum for entries from all around the world.

We used to have a sense of humour in this house

2008-10-20T09:03:06Z

My 5-year-old has discovered jokes.

And as you would expect from one so young they are SO not funny.
I mean, I can laugh at most things. I love a good laugh. I love a good joke.
But when he does stumble on one that is likely to raise a mild titter I have to break it down to it's bare bones and explain it in great detail.
I am fast losing my sense of humour!

So I am asking you all for help.
I need some jokes (and if Dave or Blogger Dad leave anything rude, I'm coming round there to slap your legs).

Daniel has two favourite jokes at the moment.

The doyouthinkhesawus dinosaur one (which he gets wrong because he says "a stinkysawus") and this one:

Two fish in a tank.
One turns to the other and says 'do you know how to drive this thing?'

I thought that one was brilliant! I said, 'son that is a really good one, That's a keeper!' And he's all 'yeah, suppose so. I don't really get it but daddy explained it and said it was really funny and I didn't like to say I didn't understand'.

Oh.

So I need more to feed his appetite for funnies.

Can you help? Please!

Things that make me go WOW! #1

2008-10-17T13:03:31Z

Having a 'down' day? Can't get that coffee down your neck fast enough? Need a little cheering up?

Meet Matt. He dances. With lots of people. He will brighten your day.

I found this at The Creative Junkie and it just made me go 'wow'!
It's probably been in every in box from here to Melbourne and back, but it's new to me and I think it's just great.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

The business of blogging: Happy ever after?

2008-10-16T09:00:43Z

Today is the second guest post in a series I am running on The Business of Blogging.

I wanted to look at a cross section of people for whom blogging and work are entwined - and for whom
it has had a major impact on their lives.

We have already met a mum whose job is running a parenting website. In the future we will meet a mum whose blog has brought her a book deal and a dad who gave up his job to look after his children.
All really interesting stories, all bloggers you probably know and love, and all right here for you to enjoy.

Today the guest post is from Mom/Mum, who describes her blog as 'Tales from the front-line of a British mummy living in the American land of mommies...'

She lives in Michigan with her two boys and her husband and became a stay-at-home-mum when she moved to the States, leaving behind her career in journalism.
She started her blog in August this year and has already gathered quite a fanbase.

She has a great story to tell . . .

THREE years ago, practically to the day, I found myself standing in the departures hall of London Heathrow, my nine month old son in my arms and my new husband of one-month holding my hand. We were fighting back the tears as we waved goodbye to my parents, his parents and my sister-in-law.

The wedding album hadn't even been printed yet.

We were really doing it. Leaving England. Disappearing from everything we knew. My job. His job. Our first home together. The security of friendships built through years of working and studying in the country we called home. The network of support we counted on to keep our heads above the murky waters of new parenthood. All about to become, The Life We Once Knew.

We were crazy. Surely?

I'd held it together pretty well over the previous six months as it became apparent that my husband taking the fancy new job in Detroit USA was not an option we could afford to turn down. I was a sleep deprived new mummy, but happily planning a wedding and a christening and to be honest, the prospect of returning to work when Cheeky was 6 months old, was what made the tears flow.

You see, the baby took us by surprise. We were madly in love and wanting to get married and have children, but not just yet. I was so busy freelancing and looking for a new permanent editorial position that I barely noticed the missed period. Then, the day I accepted a new job as a Senior Editor, the little blue line appeared on the white stick.

Uh-Oh.

Minimal maternity leave and no maternity pay. Not the best financial situation to be in.
Oh, did I mention our commute? We lived in a beautiful little Oxfordshire town. But the price we paid for our piece of the Chiltern Hills was a two hours door-to-door commute into London for me (yeah, British Rail and the Tube heavily pregnant was the hell you imagine.)
Him Downstairs (HD) commuted 60 miles the other way up to LandRover in Warwickshire. He left the house at 7am and got back at 6. I was on the train by 8 but not home until 8.
You do the maths, except at the weekend - when exactlywas I ever going to see my baby awake?

My employers and I negotiated a 4 day week, but when HD and I sat down and really crunched the numbers, we discovered I'd be returning to work to pay for my travel expenses, childcare and one luxury latte a week, with no change.
This wasn't good. We had to find a new answer to raising our family, paying the bills and living 'happily ever after.'

That answer appeared 4,000 miles away. "I don't want to live anywhere else in England," I announced to HD when the suggestion of giving up my job and moving to the Midlands came up. If I was going to pack up again, a mere year after the paint had dried on our new walls, it was going to have to be somewhere worth giving up my career for. Somewhere completely new. A different country. A different continent should do it.
"Err, I'm not coming back to work after all, " I sheepishly told my employer. "We're off to America!" They were incredibly supportive and even threw me a little goodbye party. Hilarious really, as I'd been on maternity leave for most of my employment.

Our families took it harder. As you would expect.

On the September 29, 2005 we stepped off that plane and took our first tentative steps on Michigan soil. I burst into tears. It didn't look like New York City. It definitely was no Boston, nor was it like LA. What kind of new hell on earth had I landed on?
Detroit apparently.

I felt horrendous. More than jet-lagged and more tired than my normal mummy-mode.
We got to the hotel that was to be our home for the first week and a sweaty realization dawned on me.

I looked in the mirror. Spotty chin? Yep. Black circles under my eyes? Yep. Crampy stomach? Yep. Glossy hair? Yep. Swollen breasts? Yep. No period? Yep. I was pregnant.
Apparently having baby number two wasn't going to take the six months we thought it was.

The honeymoon was over.

I cried. Again. (Think I was making up for the previous mostly dry-eyed six months.)
You can imagine the thoughts swirling round my brain, "Where the heck am I?" "Where the heck do I find a doctor?" "How the heck am I going to cope?" Where the heck will we live?" And, "Why the heck did I give up my job and life and come here?!"

I wanted my mum. I wanted my best friends. I needed their warm embrace. But they were 8 hours away across the Atlantic.

What had we done?

HD took control. He had little choice. I was a weeping mess. Hormonal, emotional and jet-lagged; not a great combination.
He got us all the meetings with all the relocation specialists his new company could provide. Within a week we had a US bank account, credit card, a rental house, a doctor, a driving license and gym membership (I stopped moaning for a minute to be impressed by how quick Americans get things done. Something I continue to admire.)
Four weeks into our American adventure I was still in mourning. It wasn't just my friends, family and Tesco I craved. It was my career. Sitting with my baby in my new super-sized house, I felt smaller than a Barbie doll. And just as useless.

I had no structure anymore. I had a wardrobe full of trendy London clothes I couldn't fit into. I had a portfolio stuffed full of articles I'd sweated over. And now my keyboard was silent. And my phone didn't ring.

The baby needed me. I knew my job description with him. HD needed me. I had to learn to brave driving on the 'wrong' side of the road to wander confused down unfamiliar supermarket aisles to put dinner on the table. The house needed cleaning (another scary trip to buy a vacuum.)

Yes, all these things had to be attended to, but I hadn't really thought through that homemaker and stay-at-home mum was the new career I'd signed up for.
When faced with my new job, the tears began to flow again.

I used to have responsibilities outside the home. I used to make my own money. I used to hold meetings. I used to attend meetings. I used to brainstorm. I used to write. I used to edit. I used to leave the house to go to work...

I was fast becoming the "I used to..." Queen.

The months wore on and slowly I realised I had to kick myself into shape and stop crying all day. The bump grew and with it the excitement a new baby brings. Day by day I thought a little less of the career I'd kissed goodbye to. I forced myself to join some local mom groups and by the time I was six months pregnant, I had a few women around me who I could call friends.

America was still a strange place, and no way could I call it home, but I'd stopped checking BA's flight website every day. I'd finally put away my suitcases out of immediate reach and God forbid, I'd even begun to laugh again.

Three years on and we own a house here. We've put down the roots a psychic once told me I needed to do, if I was ever to be happy in America. And I have a second son: an American one.

My place in the Moms group grew and I served as my local chapter's Co-Leader for a year. I ran a few meetings. I organized a few events. I even began to write again for their monthly newsletter. We went away for a moms/mums only spa weekend, where I lost my ski lift virginity.
I cajoled somegirlfriends into meeting bi-monthly for Sunday brunch and some of my 'new' friends have blossomed into close friends. I've become happier and more at peace with my not-so-new now job.

It's taken three years, but we got our life together again and now my boys have plenty of fun in our American Dream. Hey, they know no different. They think everyone has a house with a big old basement to play in. They think all kids in the world go to school on a yellow bus and they think water should be pronounced, 'war-der'. They think it's perfectly typical to have 5 feet of snow from December through to April followed by months of blazing humid sunshine. And doesn't everybody have to get on an airplane to see granny and grandpa?

My kids think it's normal to have Mmummy at home with them all week and to wave goodbye to daddy as he goes out to work every morning. After all, that's the life we chose for them. What we wanted.
The job mummy didn't have to pass an interview for.

Doesn't ever stop me questioning our decision to uproot our little family though. Wondering if I'll ever have a career outside the home again. And of course, I'll always miss Tescos, naturally...

Wordless Wednesday: The tomboy gets girlie

2008-10-15T07:00:01Z

Mia has now inherited her big brother's blue bike as he is finally able to cycle without the aid of daddy jogging alongside clutching on to his hood.

She wanted it 'more girlie'. She wanted 'pink stuff'.
Gasp (this is me running around the room, whooping and high fiving hubby).
Our little tomboy wants something girlified . . . although you'll notice the tattoo's in place just so no one mistakes her for, you know, a proper girl.

Check out more of my Wordless Wednesdays or for entries from all around the blogospher visit 5 Minutes for Mum.