It's a Mummy's Life

Two Special Books

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 21:19:00 +0000

There are two little books that give me a great deal of pleasure. They aren't expensive or clever or literary. In fact at least one of them is falling apart and the spine is broken. The other is ring bound and the paper is hanging within it precariously. One has an owl sticker on it and the other has a hedgehog. They are both more valuable than my iPad (emotionally, clearly).

They are the books that go back and forth with my girls to their pre-school. In those pages lie the stories about what they have learnt, what they have done and how well they are getting on in life. Some days amid the chaos of getting the train home, cycling up the hill, being welcomed with happy smiles that sometimes turn to tearful cries, the bedtime routine which is sometimes smooth, sometimes fraught, always special in the end, I forget to look at these books.

Then when I remember I read them greedily, gorging on the stories of Tilly's pride in painting a star, learning to recognise her name, cutting vegetables, singing at circle time. Or Eliza's confidence on the bikes at break time, pouring the drinks at snack time, telling her teachers about Peregrin Falcons ("the fastest animal in the whole world!").

Sometimes I read back to when Eliza started pre-school and I feel my eyes stinging with pride at how she's grown. I see the evidence that Tilly is not far behind her, that my two little girls burn bright with curiosity and fun. The rush of love takes my breath away.

Someone asked me the other day why I felt the need to share these stores about my children with the world (which was an over claim I thought, it's just a blog written by a mum, hardly the BBC news site). But it was asked in a rather cynical tone. I just answered honestly. I write this because one day I want my girls to read it and know how much I loved them.

He replied, "Can't you just write them a letter?"

He has a point I suppose, but one letter would never do it. Sometimes when I'm sad or if I miss bedtime or just if I'm feeling really crap about myself as a mum I read random posts and they remind me that I'm getting better at this and that my girls are developing and growing beautifully.

It's about things I want to remember. Like the painting we did at the weekend.

And how 'horsey' is Tilly's current favourite toy and how he reminds me of my childhood for some reason.

And how at the end of the day, they leave me for a while and disappear into their own world of dreams, and how they can never sleep without an armful of 'friends' to keep them company.

It's the moments in time that a blog can capture that are important to me. Just like those two little books I suppose.

Fickle Tilly

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 21:31:00 +0000

Tilly is delightful. She is chatty, ever so chatty. She rarely stops for breath in fact. She is full of fun and games and loves hide and seek and i-spy (although Tilly's hide & seek involves telling you where she's hiding and her i-spy involves saying "Ispymylileye something 'ginning with yellow!" who knows?). Tilly is also a cat. On the way home from our non-swimming trip today (that I'll get to) we had this conversation in the car.

"Meow meow Mummy."

"Hello Tilly."

"I'm not Tilly, I'm a cat. Meow."

"Oh, of course you are, silly of me. Did you have fun today cat?"

"Meow."

Silence.

"That mean's yes Mummy."

"Oh jolly good. When we get back you can rest for a bit on the sofa if you like." Here's hoping...

"I want to be a cat Mummy."

This means she wants to lie on the sofa with her bottom in the air (it's how she sleeps, cracks me up every time) with a bottle of milk in her mouth. I believe the cat reference is because cats drink milk, well Mabel doesn't but Mabel's weird.

"Ok Tilly, I mean cat, of course you can."

So to go back to the title of this post, children are fickle little so and so's aren't they? The reason for saying this now is because today I had a day off. I was working last week in France (yes yes it's a hard life, we were staying in a chateau) so today was a day to spend with the girls to make up for Friday.

Him indoors had arranged to take Eliza somewhere fun with her best friend (he's a teacher so has half term, lucky bugger) so I had Tilly for the day. Now I'm not the worlds' best mother but I do know a fair bit about what my kids like. I know they like milk, I know they like chocolate, I know Eliza loves Dora and Tilly loves The Night Garden, I know they BOTH love Mr Tumble (Justin Fletcher you are officially a genius) and I know that they both love jigsaws, jumping on mummy and daddy, mixing stuff, helping me tidy up, jumping on my bed, eating crap food, throwing themselves from incredible heights at soft play and asking 55,000 questions per day, every day, and reserving them all for bedtime.

That much I know.

I also know that Tilly LOVES swimming. Ask Tilly on any given day what she would most like to do and the answer will be, unfailingly "Swimming please Mummy!" Always. I would actually bet my house on it. She was born in water, maybe that's why.

Today was no different. A day with Mummy and Tilly declares swimming to be the thing she most wants to do. To put this in context swimming is the thing I most loathe doing. I know it's awful to admit but I just get cold and splashed in the eyes and then she gets cold when it's time to get out, then trying to put clothes on when she's wriggling around, and cold, and damp and I'm not even dressed because I have to get her dressed first, and my hands dry up (since childhood they go horribly dry so I can't actually touch anything without putting a litre of hand lotion on, not just dry but so I can't touch anything, it's the 'running fingernails down a blackboard' type of sensation) and I always forget the bloody hand lotion and my hair is wet and being pulled and Tilly's hair is wet and she won't have it dried. So all in all it's a bit of a mission and not one I relish. But today being Tilly's day I valiantly put that all aside.

We got there. We parked. We queued up got our ticket. Then remembered we hadn't got a swim nappy so had to re-queue. We finally made it in to the changing rooms and it started.

"No Mummy I want my strawberry swimming costume." Oh lord, I didn't have it. I had 5 costumes and not one of them had a sodding strawberry on it.

"But I have this lovely pink one, and this pretty flower one and a lovely spotty one, and a pretty stripy one..." the list went on. I had literally picked up every one I could find fearing the fussiness would happen. But buggered if I could find the strawberry one.

"No. I want strawberry one."

"Darling, there are lots of others. Do you think the swimming pool will be pink or blue?" Desperate distraction techniques are second nature to me.

"Blue." Momentarily distracted, "I want my strawberry one."

"I don't have it." Deal with it. Oh I forgot you're two and unable to do that.

"I want my Daddy." If you could just stick that knife in a little bit deeper and bit more to the left we should be good. Thanks darling.

"Ok. Let's put this one on and go and see all the children having fun." Said in Cebeebies presenter voice.

I persevered and got her to the pool side. She held on to me for dear life crying her little eyes out.

"No Mummy. Don't want to go swimming."

I was coaxing her in for a bit, but she was standing there red-eyed almost shaking with what could only be described as fear and it occurred to me that for the first time in her little life she actually didn't want to go swimming. I was aware of the people looking at me. Bad mother, forcing her poor child to get in the big, cold pool.

We gave up. I picked her up and cuddled her and agreed that frankly swimming is over-rated and sausages, beans and chips in the cafe was probably better fun. We got changed back again, we had our lunch and she played for about an hour with a rather sorry looking toy in the cafe. Easily pleased you might say. You might. Or you might say fickle.

Cooking with Mother

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 21:05:00 +0000

My children are becoming very clever. They often speak to me like I'm a total moron who needs to be told things very slowly and very carefully. They often say things to me in a manner more befitting a teenager. They are 2 and 4 years old. I'm sure this is normal behaviour.

Tilly has lept right off the 'meek-and-mild-second-child' bridge into the sea of 'I-must-assert-myself-at-every-possible-opportunity'. It makes our house rather loud at times.

This afternoon him indoors was trying to light a fire (at home in the fireplace, he is not actually an arsonist) and clearly the 'help' he was getting from the girls was proving challenging. I was duly called to distract them. I was in the middle of cooking supper.

"Eliza & Tilly, come here please I need your help."

Up rocked Tilly. She's very helpful.

"Yes Mummy, what do you want?"

"Well I need some things mixing please Tilly, can you get Eliza as well?"

"Ok!"

I heard her run back, tell Eliza the exciting news and then I heard two pairs of little feet run back to me in the kitchen.

"We're here Mum!" Tilly said, Eliza behind her not quite sure if mixing something was more or less exciting than helping Daddy build a fire, but thought she'd weigh up her options.

"Great." At this point I still wasn't sure what on earth they were going to mix. Until I spied a half empty (or half full, depending on your outlook on life) tub of meringues - the little ones from Tesco that have absolutely no flavour and are like polystyrene.

"Right well I need you to make pudding. Here, you need to crush up these meringues."

This seemed to beat the fire building so they climbed onto the stools and I gave them both meringues, spoons and bowls and the crushing began. Well Eliza started crushing, naturally Tilly started eating them. Smart girl.

"We're done Mum." Eliza announced about 5 minutes later. Very efficient these sous chefs.

"Ok, now you need to add the, er, the...ermm....oh yes the marscapone cheese." Handily I had half a pot in the fridge. You never know when you'll need it (clearly I am always prepared to whip up a tasty pudding when I'm not ironing, cleaning or some other housewifely duty).

So anyway they stirred that together and chucked in a kiwi for good measure (I know, we're very exotic here, no bananas for us), at which point their Dad came in.

"Oooh that looks nice." Finger poised to taste it.

"We crushing up maracas Daddy and Kiwis!" said Tilly with excitement and a mouthful of 'maracas'. She offered him a half eaten one. He felt obliged.

"And mixing in Pony cheese." said Eliza with concentration as she mixed in the pony cheese (hooves not withstanding).

"Sounds lovely, is it Eton Mess?" said him indoors.

"No Daddy!" Said Tilly with indignation and the tone of talking to complete idiot, "we are NOT making a mess! We're making pudding!"

He was duly put in his place and went back to his fire, which is still burning now and keeping me very warm on a chilly night with snow falling outside.

Just another morning

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 09:12:00 +0000

I was sailing on a wooden boat, well not exactly sailing, more lying down with the sun on my face and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves. Against the boat. It was very peaceful. For a while. But then the bubble burst.

"Mummy is it morning?"

"No darling. It's still nighttime, go back to bed." I said that still semi conscious (at 5am) because if I'd been lucid I would have realised the futility of it. She's never once taken herself back to bed because I asked her to in fact she's never once done anything because I asked her to come to think of it. And no sooner had the words left my mouth than the protest began.

"No. It IS MORNING!"

"No, it's night time." I have actually learnt nothing about being a parent these past 4 years. Clearly.

"NO IT'S MORNING MUMMY!" she's not just shouting the words she's angry too. Angry with me for daring to suggest its night time and angry at me for some other thing I dont really know about.

And so I take her back to her room, and I know that what I should do, what a proper mother who understands children would do, is put her in her bed and walk out again, and do that about 65,000 times until she learns that night time is for sleeping but I don't of course. I don't want her to wake Tilly with her screaming and then have two of them to deal with. So I get in to bed with her. She kicks me and her hair tickles my face and she grinds her teeth and talks to her self and I know that I won't get back to sleep. But I can feel her next to me, her hot little body in my arms and I think, ah well it could be worse.

In fact tilly was up at a normal time today and she had clearly found the right side of the bed to get out of. She was lovely. And as I sat on the sofa with her, playing with her glove puppet unicorn with her she said,

"I love you so much," with a great big beaming smile she then proceeded to launch herself at me in a full frontal cuddle (similar to a rugby tackle as it happens).

"I love you so much too."

"I love you so much three."

"I love you so much four." Not sure where this was going, would we get to 100?

"Quick mummy I need to get on an aeroplane with my heart coat!" said in a very urgent whisper. But that's Tilly for you. Completely nuts but utterly delightful.

Guardian angels

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 22:34:00 +0000

Lovely vintage scrapbook angel http://scrapworkart.blogspot.com

Lately Eliza's been having nightmares, or bad dreams as I guess they are when you're four. Tilly's been up in the night too but I imagine that is anxiety associated with potty training and/or her own realisation that she is a girl not a cat which is causing her some disappointment.

So on Saturday afternoon we sort of accidentally watched a bit of Jurassic Park 3. I'm not sure how this happened. I've never been one for sequels and frankly TV on Saturday afternoons is what sequels were made for. But happen it did. In fact it was the bit where the T Rex is about to rip apart an aeroplane that has crashed. Nice lighthearted, kid friendly sort of stuff. As soon as I engaged my brain I turned it off of course and we all went off and did something homely and rose-tinted like bake a cake (or there was a full scale tantrum over the TV being turned off I forget which).

But that night when I put her to bed I realised the impact Mr T Rex had had. She was getting into bed when I saw that she was trying to be brave and not cry.

"What's up darling?"

"I feel bad Mummy."

"What sort of bad? Is your tummy hurting?"

"Monster bad Mummy."

"Oh darling there are absolutely no monsters so you don't have to feel bad."

"But Mummy are there dinosaurs?" Presumably the mix of Jurrasic Park 3 and the trip him indoors took her on to see the dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum merged into one overwhelming confusion about whether they were actually all dead or merrily ripping apart aeroplanes somewhere.

"No. They all died hundreds of years ago."

"But Mummy you mean a billion years. Are there other monsters?"

"A billion, yes of course, how silly of me. No there are absolutely no monsters and any way you always have me and Daddy to keep you safe. And your guardian angel."

"What's a guardian angel?" You know that point where you just wish you could zip back just a couple of minutes in time and not say something? This was one. It's not that I don't believe in God and angels and all that, I think I do, it's just that it's quite a concept to try and explain, also the idea of someone watching over you has the potential to be a bit weird in my opinion (are they there when you're on the loo?). But I tried as I always do.

"Well. You have an angel that is always with you protecting you and keeping you safe."

"Why can't I see her?"

"Well because everyone has one so it'd be really crowded if we could see them all."

"Do you have one?"

"Yes"

"Does Daddy and Tilly and Grandma and Aunty Lucy and Primrose have one?"

"Yes. Everyone."

"Even people in China and Africa?"

"Er, yes I 'm pretty sure everyone has one."

"Like in Busy Angel?" We have a book called Busy Angel which is possibly the most charming children's book I've ever read. It's about a guardian angel who protects sailors. But the sailors don't listen to him so they go out in a storm and the angel has to rescue them.

"Mummy, why do we sometimes not listen to our guardian angel?" She's learnt this from Busy Angel, she retains information like a computer.

"Well, because sometimes we think we know better so although our angel tries to tell us not to do something we do it anyway. Like the other day when it was raining and my angel told me it wasn't a good idea to cycle to the station, but I did anyway and got soaked. That sort of thing."

She thought about this for some time. Her eyes looking up as she considered the possibility of an angel in her room.

"But Mummy you should listen to your guardian angel next time it's raining."

"Yes I know. We should always try and listen to our guardian angels."

"Mummy. Does Milo have one?"

"Er. Yes probably. Now do you want Topsy and Tim or Mr Pusskins tonight?"

It was an interesting conversation to have with a 4 year old but one I enjoyed. It reminded me to listen to that voice in my head, my angel or my instinct or my gut feel, a bit more. When I don't listen to it I cock things up. Sometimes it's just a bit difficult to hear it amongst all the other voices in my head but I know it when I hear it. I think we all do.

Help, I'm giving up

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:35:00 +0000

I seem to recall potty training Eliza was reasonably simple. It took about a month all in and then a few accidents occurred. But she got it pretty quickly. She was about 2 and 2 months I think, but I can't be sure. The same can not be said of her little sister. Just getting her on the sodding potty was gargantuan effort and then after about a month she finally started to wee on it. I thought we were getting somewhere. But the rate of accidents suggests I was deluding myself.

The thing that comes out in every article I read is consistency. You have to do the same thing and keep trying, so I did that, and I asked the childminder to do the same. Seemed to be working. But Tilly only tells me she needs a wee after she's actually done one. So I can cope with these accidents at home but at other people's houses and in Sainsbury's is a bit annoying. But of course, according to other articles, you have to stay at home for a week and that'll crack it. I'm guessing those articles weren't written by working mothers who can't take a week off at the drop of a hat.

So other articles say you're supposed to try a new strategy if the one you're using isn't working. But the suggestions aren't exactly plentiful and in my constantly tired state (Eliza's back to her 5am mornings) I don't have the imagination to come up with any. Or other articles say you are supposed to be a mind-reader:

The parents who achieve potty training success without frustration and headache are those who can really look inside the mind of their little one and figure out what strategies will work on any given day.
So often, parents get frustrated with their child because he or she appears to be backtracking or was showing progress and then stopped. The fact is that children of this age are so complex and change so rapidly that it is almost unheard for a parent to apply one single principle or strategy to child potty training and enjoy success.

I was feeling like a classic #mummyfail, singularly failing to potty train my 21/2 year old when I got a text from my childminder yesterday saying that she didn't have the time to give my daughter the one to one potty training she needed so she'd prefer it if she was in pull ups. I can see her point, it must be frustrating having to change her when she wets herself and having to anticipate when she'll need a wee when she has other children to look after too. The irony is I was quite happy to leave Tilly in nappies until I felt she was really ready, but I kept being told that she was ready. She clearly wasn't.

So we're giving up on it for a bit, start again when she really is ready I guess. I'm sure it will happen before she starts school.

But my point is this. When you work you are often devolving responsibility for the major developments in your child's life simply because you are not present at these moments. It doesn't mean you don't care, doesn't mean you are a bad person and the fact you work doesn't make you the antichrist of mothers.

So why does it always feel that you are?

Any working mothers managed to potty train their children? If so I would be most grateful for you advice.

Solidarity

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 13:48:00 +0000

I was on the train home from work one day last week, feeling tired as usual (do I ever feel any other way? God I'm boring), I'd had a busy day and one that felt harder work for the desperately impractical shoes I was wearing. They are rather high with rather thin heels and have the affect of making me look like a 'newborn giraffe' according to one colleague (less because I'm so tall and thin- I'm not - more because I was flailing around trying to stay upright). The net effect was tired legs and feet that felt like they were bathing in molten lava.

Autograph M&S Black Suede Shoe Boots

As I sat on the train trying to lose myself in some music and my book, I could hear a child starting to kick off. Adrenaline flooded my body as I looked around as if somehow Eliza had managed to get on the train, which of course she hadn't, but there's some instinct that kicks in isn't there? You hear a child cry and you think it's your own. Anyway there was this little girl, about 3 I reckon and her patient mother doing her best to calm her very upset child on a commuter train on a weekday. Poor thing. Everyone clearly felt the same way, many offers of seats were given (bloody unheard of normally), and I looked around in my bag for something that might help her distract her offspring. I found a fruit bar (one of those Organix things that my kids would laugh at "what? but Mummy it's not chocolate or sweeties, are you kidding?). I gave it to the mum, she thanked me as only a mother with a child in full tantrum can, and gave it to the little girl. It worked. For a bit. But she got off shortly afterwards.

Later that same night I went for a run with the local running group. There I discovered one of the mums from Eliza's nursery, and we had a chat about 'difficult phases' and how frustrating, deflating, upsetting, insanity inducing they are. I felt she knew how I felt. Lately it's been tough with Eliza, it's getting better now, but we were definitely in a 'difficult phase'.

It's funny how when you really need it this sort of solidarity presents itself. Other people in the same sort of situation, struggling with the same sort of things. I guess there's a reason there are so many parenting books, it's bloody tough at times.

Still today, as ever, my kids managed to restore my faith in being a mother. I took them to soft play locally, something I dread like the plague, but they love it and actually it uses up ALOT of energy. I was milling around keeping an eye on them, whilst trying to avoid stepping on any babies (they are at feet level after all). At one point they were in the bit with the sit-in plastic cars. Eliza was pushing Tilly around carefully, even "stopping for petrol" at one stage. She took the imaginary hose out of the pump and put it in the imaginary tank. Tilly thanked her and they moved on. It was amazing to watch. Little sisters getting on, playing nicely, Eliza being the oldest and looking after her little sister.

I spied on them for a while longer filling with maternal pride, until I got noticed and they reverted to being Whingy and Whingier. In a nice way of course.

My little heartbreaker

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 07:57:00 +0000

She's peacefully sleeping in my bed, after a long and broken night, of bad dreams and losing Milo and covers falling off. I'm getting ready for work in the half darkness, just the hall light giving me some idea of where my tights are hiding. She's starting to stir, her teeth grinding, her arms starting to flail in the way they do when she's just about to wake up. Shaking off her dreams. She opens her eyes and searches me out, seeing that I'm dressed she becomes anxious. "Naughty mummy," it's a statement, directed at me for some reason I simply don't understand, getting dressed without her permission? Going to work? Probably. "Morning darling." Her eyes stay open now, just awake, she's seconds away from tears. I just know these things. "Mummy, will you take me to nursery today and pick me up?" I think about this for a minute. I could lie to hold off the tears and kicking and screaming as her only way of expressing her dissapointment. But that would be wrong. The truth is more brutal but it's the reality of our life. "Not today darling, on Friday." Her little face starts to crumple, I go to her and try and cuddle her, picking up her sleep heavy body with it's heavenly scent. But she's cross with me. "No go away horrible Mummy." I try a few more times but it's not going to work this morning. So instead I tell her I love her, and leave her to wake up. For someone who wakes up so eye wateringly early every day she's really not a morning person. I don't even get to see my littlest one, she's lost to the land of dreams and always sleep far later than her big sister. I wonder if she'll still have her wellies on when she wakes up.

Choices

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 20:17:00 +0000

There seems to be a switch that flicks on in children around about 2 and a half (Tilly's age) when they realise that they do not, in fact, have to do everything their big sister tells them. (They realise they most definitely don't have to do anything their mum tells them either, but that's another blog post entitled "How do you negotiate with a toddler without losing your mind?" which has yet to be written).

They realise that they do, in fact, have things called choices. When you combine that with the way we seem to parent these days; seen and gloriously heard, self expression is lauded and creativity comes in many forms - paint on the walls, the furniture, their faces, play-doh (god how I hate the stuff) in their mouths and at the back of the sofa, you have a rather high octane cocktail.

And so it was this weekend. Him indoors was away for the weekend so I took the girls to see a very old (I've known her since I was about 5, she's not in fact very old, just to be clear), very good friend of mine who lives on the coast. We had a lovely time, and the girls were running around playing in the sand dunes. Trying to them get them off the sand dunes was a challenge but who'd want to get in a car after so much fun?

But it was really bloody hard work, not just yesterday but last night and today. I've had the girls on my own many, many times, I'm used to it. But somehow this weekend it just seemed harder. Everything was a struggle and the arguments and shouting between them was really rather extreme at times. In fact once when I thought no one was looking I just lay my head in my arms on the kitchen table and shed a few tears. Until I felt a little hand on my shoulders and a little voice say:

"I love you Mummy." Of course I felt better after that. And it wasn't all bad. They played together really well for much of the weekend, a complex game involving wearing blankets round their heads and being super heroes. Tilly, in particular entered into the spirit of the game by frequently running up to me and telling me of her intentions:

"Mummy I'm a superhero!"

"Are you? Jolly good."

"I got to rescue my dollies. They need my help." Said with great urgency in a loud whisper.

"Righto, off you go then."

She then runs off to the dolls house, says "Don't worry, I'm here," then runs off again.

There was a time, not long ago, where I could ask Eliza to ask Tilly to do something (put her coat on, go on the potty, eat her lunch etc) and it would be done, but now Tilly won't blindly do what she says. So my life is all about giving choices. Red tights or blue ones? Cucumber or carrots? Potty or loo? Sane mother or visiting rights to the asylum at weekends only? Take your pick.

As if this wasn't enough to prove to me finally that Tilly has 'arrived' I overheard this conversation on the way back from the coast:

"Tilly stop throwing your hula hoops around."

"No, I don't want to stop throwing hula hoops round 'Liza."

"Well then you are very very naughty."

"No I'm not naughty, you are naughty." (here we go - time to turn up the music and sink into blissful ignorance.)

"No I'm not. I'm perfect." She is of course.

"No, you're naughty. Mummy Tilly says she's perfect and she's not."

"Yes I am."

And so it goes on...

But in fact my girls aren't all that different from one another. I wrote a blog post when I first started this blog called She Went To Sleep in Wellies. And as it happens Tilly has gone to sleep tonight in the exact same pair of wells. Only Tilly calls them "Wellington Boots!" with great purpose.

Priceless.

Dumbo, my parenting manual

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 21:40:00 +0000

So the thing about kids is this. They are brutally honest and terrifyingly insightful. To adults who have spent most of their lives trying to be tactful and generally missing all the important subtleties of meaning our friends, family and partners have tried to convey this is very unnerving. They tell it like it is.

I've had a lovely break with my family. My girls have been gorgeous. Yes they've had tantrums, thrown the remote controls at me, put glitter in parts of the house I didn't know we had and asked me 55,000 times what noise a kangaroo/spider/giraffe/ant makes, but they have been delightful. And they've been delightful because they are my kids and to me they are quite simply, wonderful.

So against this backdrop of motherly love and full time parenting I had the 'back to work' conversation with Eliza yesterday. Actually I didn't start the conversation, I thought I'd just throw in a casual mention of going back to the childminder's but she had just watched Dumbo so it's obvious why the conversation arose isn't it?

No?

Ok let me enlighten you. For those who have not seen Dumbo (do you exist? I mean come on one of the Disney classics along with Fantasia surely), here's the bite size version. The baby elephant's (Dumbo, with the big ears) mummy gets locked up in a wagon in chains because she's lashed out at the circus staff who've been taunting her baby (Dumbo). Dumbo goes to visit her and cries great big elephant tears because he can't see her or cuddle her. A mouse makes friends with Dumbo, they discover Dumbo can use his big ears to his advantage, something big happens (I always get bored at this point and nip off to make a cup of tea/write a blog post/ do some housework/mainline chocolate) and Dumbo and Mummy Elephant are reunited and everyone's happy.

So Eliza says to me:

"Mummy I don't like Dumbo any more."

"Oh why?" Damn, so fickle.

"Because it's sad when his Mummy leaves him." Chin wobbling a bit now.

"Oh darling, but his Mummy comes back doesn't she? And it's all happy in the end?"

"Yes but Mummy, Dumbo's mummy shouldn't leave him."

"Well no, but she doesn't have much choice and she doesn't want to leave him. And anyway it's only a story and you know I'll never leave you."

"But you did leave me."

Stunned. "What? When?"

"When you went to America you didn't take me with you." Chin wobbling and about to break into tears.

"Darling I couldn't take you because it would have been very boring for you and you were having so much fun at nursery." It was a work trip, not sure a 4 year old escort would have been appreciated.

"No I wasn't I wanted to come with you. I love you Mummy." Heart well and truly broken.

"I love you too." (Feel free to leave and vomit, I'll be here when you get back.) "Sometimes I have to go away for a short trip but you know I always come back, just like Dumbo's mummy." That's it. I have finally lost it. I am now comparing myself to an elephant. When did Disney become my parenting manual?

"Ok Mummy. "

We then went on to discuss how I was going back to work and wouldn't it be fun to go back to nursery and the childminder's. She agreed reluctantly that there were some things she liked about those things. Her childminder's bolognese is superior to mine apparently and she recited a great long list of friends from nursery.

All good then. Except that I have to get the train to work and can't jump on Dumbo's back and fly there. Shame.

2011: a few things I'd like to remember

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 21:45:00 +0000

Last year was one of real change, discovery and personal growth for me. Quite aside from the fact that that makes me sound like a wannabe X Factor entrant ("I've grown so much, learnt so much, please vote for me" yeah whatever) it is cliched because it's true. I went through some fairly hideous times at work, some fairly challenging times with my children and a whole host of other stuff that never felt appropriate to write about here. But I also had some amazing moments with my children, a hugely liberating experience at work when I was made redundant and some wonderful times with my friends. My husband began his new career as a teacher and after a restorative break I began a new job.

So the year ended very well for my family and I though and I wanted to use this blog to remember some of the highlights.

I've had some interesting parenting challenges and dilemmas and, being a storyteller at heart, I've navigated most of them by making stuff up. Reference the Dummy Fairy. Both Eliza & Tilly had dummies as we entered 2011, neither do now. It didn't take a year (in case you were wondering) but it was certainly a journey. I have to give credit to him indoors for standing firm on this one, I'd have given in after the 3rd night.

We had some issues with sleep, in particular the lack of it I was getting because of the children's erratic sleeping habits. Enter Priscilla the story fairy and her mate Belinda (the sleep fairy). A cracking success the pair of them, they still turn up every now and then although by and large night times are more settled now. Now I've said that it'll start up again now. However if it does I'll just re read this post to give me the perspective to see that it won't last forever.

I realised early on in the year that the work life balance was a fool's quest, or at least not one that I was going to achieve. I learned about acceptance and became rather self indulgent with it all. But as ever, the comments I received here (which sadly you can't see as I took out the Disqus comment system a few months ago) bolstered me and made me see that although it was tough, it was by no means a challenge peculiar to me.

Things changed not long after that when I was made redundant and I felt a new kind freedom I had never experienced before. It was an odd time. A mix of emotions, but the overriding one being relief. I absolutely needed time out. Time out to spend with my children, my husband and pursuing other opportunities. I've been working since I was about 18 so to have this break was really rather incredible.

Whilst Eliza's interest in the world and inquisitive nature has grown and grown and provided many fantastic conversations, Tilly's also started to develop into in a little person with personality and dare I say attitude. She won't take any crap from her big sis, neither will she do anything she doesn't want to do. She's a good singer too as it happens.

One of the best things about last year has been watching the girls starting to play together. It's been a gradual thing but it's happening more and more, and with that comes the conversations they have with each other. Normally Eliza's telling Tilly something about something or other of great importance (10 is a bigger number than 9 Tilly), but after Father Christmas brought them a dolls house for Christmas they've been playing together with that. I could stand and spy on them doing that for ages, it breaks my heart. My two little girls are becoming friends. Most of the time.

I started a new job in October and life changed again, it's not easy being a working mother but I don't suppose it ever will be and I'm in very good company. We've managed our childcare so that there's a bit less pressure on me at either end of the day, nevertheless I do my best not to miss their bedtime. It really is the time that we talk and as Tilly is now even more of a chatterbox than her sister that's important.

I've been lucky enough to escape for the odd weekend with friends, to recharge and gain perspective. It's a fundamental right of any parent to do this I think. Particularly after an extended period of sleep deprivation.

And finally Christmas. We spent it here at our house with my dad, stepmother and my eldest sister and her two children. Eliza & Tilly had the most brilliant day and so did the grown ups. Him indoors did a sterling job on lunch, I did a sterling job on eating it and the girls did a sterling job of opening presents, playing nicely and getting glitter everywhere. It was what Christmas should be.

So here's to 2012. I'm hoping for a year with fewer surprises. A year in which we all just get on with it, settle back into our routine after a year of change and mostly I'm hoping for a year in which some of our dreams might just come true.

Happy new year.

The thing about glitter

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 09:08:00 +0000

Before I had children I imagined happy days making things from old cereal boxes, creating perfect potato cut outs for my well-behaved and well-coordinated children to print perfect pictures on rainy afternoons. We'd sit happily with the paint, glue and glitter and create priceless works of art that would be become life long memories. Of course if it wasn't raining we'd be outside planting things or searching for acorns or other treasures in the garden.

Don't get me wrong we do do this. A lot as it happens. I just never accounted for the mess. Or the fact that glitter gets everywhere and never seems to go up the hoover like all the other dust. Why not? Is it because it is, in fact, fairy dust and therefore surrounds my perfect children like a cloak? I have hoovered about 10 times since Christmas day (and I'm not obsessively clean honestly, I just CAN'T STAND glitter) and still I see the sofa glittering at me or the ancient rug on the living room floor brought to life by a stray speck of the stuff.

Tinkerbell - Tilly's favourite

When I was about 21 I bought a body lotion that claimed to have 'light reflecting particles' in it, these, it claimed, would make your legs look thinner. Even back then I was a sucker for marketing so I bought it. I found out to my horror that light reflecting particles are basically glitter and far from making my legs look thinner I looked like an escapee from the set of Boogie Nights, and back then let me tell you the 80's were not cool, we'd only just come out of the god forsaken decade, no one needed reminding of it.

So this morning when the girls were playing with their new doll's house (Eliza plays with the upstairs, Tilly downstairs and if you believe in that kind of sibling harmony then you have a lot to learn), I looked in on them, between cooking the ham we didn't cook over Christmas and contemplating some new curtains for the dining room, and far from being warmed with the sight of my two girls playing happily together I could feel the familiar anxiety reaching in and leading me to the hoover.

For there on the floor between Tilly and the little wooden oven was a lone piece of glitter. Such is my obsession I removed both children, put all the toys back in the dolls house and hoovered. Again.

The weird thing is I bought them some glitter based craft gifts for Christmas. It's fun doing it with them and truth be told I quite enjoy making and decorating stuff with them. Even Tilly's got the hang of it. Although most things with Tilly are likened to an animal of some sort, so we have many glittering Tigers or Toucans (her current favourite).

And so while it's fun for the girls and it creates that magical image I had before I had them then I guess I'll just have to keep on dealing with my inner glitter demon and putting the hoover to good use.

11 things about Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 13:13:00 +0000

The girls were playing a Christmas game last night. It involved Eliza being Father Christmas and Tilly being a reindeer. She was, in fact, Daisy the Black Nosed Reindeer. Of course she was. They were both cantering about on an empty wrapping paper roll singing jingle bells. I think it's fair to say they have entered into the spirit of Christmas.

Father Christmas has been talked up a lot in our house, mainly due to his ingenious 'naughty or nice list' which is a piece of parenting gold that I'd challenge any expert to improve upon ("Please don't hit your little sister or you'll be on the naughty list, lazy but effective it must be said.)

But I realised yesterday evening as I was wrapping up presents that maintaining their belief in a mysterious old bloke with a beard and a red suit is rather a responsibility.
I was wrapping all the presents in the same paper. Until it occurred to me that the ones from me and him indoors would look the same as the ones from the big man. Would they figure that out? Is their reasoning ability developed enough? Am I destroying their belief before they are even 5? So I thought about unwrapping all the ones from FC and using different paper. At which point I thought I had finally gone mad. I had loads more wrapping to do and frankly I was going to miss Have I Got News for You if I rewrapped a load more. They're children, they barely notice the paper before it's ripped off.

Earlier that night when I was putting Eliza to bed, she said she didn't want stories.

"I want to talk about Christmas please Mummy. 11 things about Christmas. I'll go first."

"Ok, but after 11 things you must brush your teeth and then it's bed okay?" (I don't miss a beat on laying down my expectations, Eliza is a child of routine.)

"Ok Mummy. Father Christmas comes and leaves lots of presents for children and their little sisters and then the children play with them all day." Said with the biggest smile possible.

"Ok, that's one. My turn. Christmas is a time when we must remember how lucky we are to have all the people we love with us." Sanctimonious moi?

"Yes. And in the night when Father Christmas comes, there's normally a big bang on the roof and that's his sleigh."

"Yep", or the chimney we haven't yet had repaired has finally fallen off, but let's keep positive, "and Christmas is very special because it's when the baby Jesus was born in a manger in Bethlehem."

"I didn't know that Mummy, but I do know a song about it, shall I sing it?"

"Yes".

And so started her beautiful rendition of Away in a Manger. I nearly cried, it was perfect. She is perfect.

The list continued. I valiantly continued to try and explain what Christmas was all about, some of it went in no doubt and will be played back to me at some random time.

All I want for Christmas is an uninterrupted night's sleep. Could be a bit optimistic. I'd settle for two happy children and the Downton Abbey Christmas special with a glass of port and some nice cheese.

Happy Christmas.

xx

All Babies Count

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 20:06:00 +0000

I was contacted this week by the NSPCC about the "All Babies Count" campaign and whilst the facts of it might be uncomfortable for us to read, particularly at a time of year that is so family-oriented I felt it was an important campaign to write about here. All babies deserve a chance in life don't you think? But about 23 are killed from neglect, substance misuse or abuse each year.

The campaign is raising awareness of the plight of vulnerable babies. NSPCC research shows that babies are more likely to suffer neglect and abuse and are eight times more likely to be killed than children of any other age. Almost half of all serious cases of abuse and neglect involve children under one, who are particularly susceptible to long-term harm. I know no one wants to read this before Christmas, or at any time really, but it's happening and we can't be blind to it.

The NSPCC is working on a number of innovative programmes to try and prevent the neglect and abuse of babies. But it needs our help to encourage the Government to make more of the vital services available for parents who need support in caring for their child.

The most important element of the campaign is the pledge. The more people who sign this pledge, the better case the NSPCC has to show the UK Government that more needs to be done to help vulnerable babies.

You can see the pledge here on the All babies count website: http://allbabiescount.nspcc.org.uk.

Go and visit and sign the pledge. Please.

And if that doesn't convince you, watch this short video which explains why babies are at risk and what can be done to help them.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 21:00:00 +0000

During my journey as a mother (I'm not sure I'll ever actually arrive to be honest, but does anyone?), I have heard myself say things that I had sort of hoped I wouldn't. The old favourite "you should know better" (to a 2 and 4 year old is a bit ridiculous) and the stalwart "I'm not going to tell you again.." which is the most pointless phrase in the history of pointless phrases, since a smart child (such as Eliza) will just say "ok then" and continue doing whatever she was doing with no threat of being told not to. Pointless.

This morning however, whilst they were eating porridge Eliza declared she didn't like porridge with milk on it, "silly Mummy". And before I'd even thought about what I was saying the age old words came out of my mouth.

"There are children in other parts of the world who don't have very much to eat at all and would be very grateful for your porridge, with or without milk, so eat it up please."

"But Mummy, they might like milk on their porridge but I don't."

"Please just eat it Eliza."

"But I don't LIKE IT!" I looked at her and she was struggling not to cry, her chin was wobbling in the way it does lately when she's trying to be brave. I had no idea this exchange would have upset her so much. But then I thought that when you're 4 all you know is what you have, so I sat down next to her and had a bit of a chat about the fact that not everyone has a nice breakfast made for them by their mother (clearly 'nice' is subjective depending on your views on porridge). In a gentle, nice way. She then ate her porridge without complaint, which was frankly amazing.

Anyway, this afternoon we have been roasting chestnuts on the fire. During the course of lighting the fire Eliza and him indoors were having a chat about changing one's mind (she's keen on this concept lately).

"Daddy I think I've changed my mind about chestnuts."

"Really? You don't want to roast them anymore?" (slightly crestfallen since he'd lit the fire especially.)

"No. I've changed my mind, I want to roast squirrels."

Fortunately he didn't then go into the garden and wrestle one to the ground and throw it on the fire, he explained that perhaps chestnuts would be a better idea. She seemed to agree.

Shepherd's Ate Pie

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 21:20:00 +0000

One of the very best things about being my girls' mother is the conversations we have. The ones in the car are good, or over a meal (I say over quite literally since I am normally dodging something being slung in my direction), but the best are normally when they are in the bath and I'm sat on the loo seat with my feet up on the sink, taking the weight off for ten minutes or so. Lately the bath has been a 'cafe' and Eliza has been the owner and Tilly the designated 'helper'. I'm the customer. Clearly.

So what's on the menu I hear you ask? Well I'm glad you did.

"Mummy tonight you can have eggs, milk and butter. But you don't cook it."

"Sounds lovely. Are you sure you don't cook it?"

"No. And it's got fish in it."

"Mmm..(gag) what's it called?"

"Shepherd's Ate Pie." I can't even think what this might be in real life. Shepherd's Ale Pie? Surely not, I've never knowingly shoved a can of Old Scroat in a shepherds pie for the girls.

Regardless of where it came from she went about the process of 'making' the pie. This involves getting Tilly to fill up an old plastic bottle with bathwater, pouring it into a plastic cup then putting it on the side of the bath, precariously. This bit doesn't always work hence we have a brown stain on the ceiling in the playroom which is below the bath. I was about to suggest moving the 'pie' when Eliza told me this:

"I'm actually a Mummy called Daisy and I'm 82 and she (Tilly) is my daughter called Missy and she's 8."

Tilly had other ideas:

"I'm a barn owl."

"No, you're my daughter." Eliza said, laying down the law.

"Ok." She knows her place.

"You are our brother called Harry and you are 6." Of course I am.

I think my children are very entertaining. If, when I am 82, I have a daughter who is 8 I might be slightly concerned but their innocence and imagination has me in awe. It never fails to bring me into the here and now, who cares about a tough week at work, Christmas shopping, Little Mix singing a Damion Rice classic and the lack of an oven to cook Christmas dinner when you have little people like these?

Sleep deprivation #552

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 08:02:00 +0000

Not much goes on in the world at 5am. Most normal people are asleep, Mabel's nowhere to be seen (of course), even the birds seem to be asleep. It's dark, like proper night time dark and it's cold too without the superficial warmth of the central heating. One might say it was not a very nice time to be awake, in fact if you didn't have to be why would you? But for one little girl (one of many I imagine) it's the very best time to be awake. And why keep this fun all to yourself when you have a mummy who's just dying to join in?

Eliza was ill yesterday, so she didn't go to nursery and no doubt slept much of the day, but she bounced back last night with the speed only a 4 year old can. Right as rain she was, ticketyboo. She had about a million stories, the casualty of bedtime duties falling between mum and dad. I was late home from work so him indoors had made a start on bedtime. Needless to say she wasn't actually asleep until about 8.30. So you would think that this would make her tired wouldn't you? In fact every other night this week she's woken up in the night, woken me up but then slept until I've left the house at 7am. This morning I'm at home because I'm going to visit a school and I naively thought this late night might result in another later morning. Maybe I'd get an extra hour to file down my frazzled edges.

But it didn't. Of course.

At 4.30am it started. She'd dropped Milo out of her bed. Then at 4.45 am she needed a wee. Then at 5am she'd given up on sleep declaring she wasn't tired.

"But it's 5 in the morning. It's still sleep time, go back to sleep. Please."

"But Mummy you said it's morning."

"I meant it's too early to get up, now go back to sleep."

"But I can't."

And all I could see above the duvet was my little girl, with her cute fringe framing her beautiful face and I thought to myself that I just don't see enough of that little face and so I caved in, as all good mothers do. We went downstairs and watched telly, I slept a bit on the sofa and was woken every second minute to answer a question about the rain, or the garden, or the trees, or why squirrels can't fly, just the usual stuff.

At about 7.30am I did what all good sleep deprived mothers do. I started crashing around the house loudly to wake up any lucky people who were still asleep.

Why should Eliza be the only one to enjoy doing that?

Mabel

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 21:03:00 +0000

Mabel is our cat. She's not much of a family cat, she's certainly not a lap cat, in fact she goes for long periods when she'll disappear all together. I don't worry. She's a survivor. She was a rescue cat, I got her from Battersea when I was living alone in a flat in South London. My upstairs neighbours said we had mice so I volunteered to get a cat.

Mabel

She grew to like me, in her own way. She never sat on my lap but she did sit next to me and purr loudly. My aunt came to visit and commented that Mabel must have thought she'd died and gone to heaven. She slept on my bed all day and slept on my pillow all night. I had to wear ear plugs the purring was so loud.

Mabel and I muddled along together. I would worry about going away at weekends, about being out late at night in case she missed me. I was very attached to my cat.

Then him indoors came along, she was unsure at first but eventually she gave in and grew to like him too. Actually she occasionally sat on his lap which made me happy but also jealous. Then we moved house and I thought that I'd lost her for an hour or so. I ran around the street calling her, feeling not a bit stupid shouting 'Mabel' in a high pitched voice while the local hoodies all laughed at me. I called him indoors who was away in Philadelphia seeing the Kings of Leon (the weekend we moved, nice). He sounded concerned but vaguely confused "I'm the other side of the Atlantic, not a lot I can do, but I'm sure she's okay."

She was fine of course, she'd hidden behind the bed in the spare room. She was terrified of the change. But we all settled in our new home. Mabel made some friends with the neighbourhood cats. She hung out in the hood. Life was good.

Then along came Eliza.

Mabel was disconcerted by this small person who cried, then laughed, then crawled, then toddled but always took all my attention. We still saw Mabel in the evenings when the living room was a safe zone, child-free. She got used to it.

Then along came Tilly.

The temerity of me. To have not one but two children, two babies who needed all my attention. They say the man feels de-prioritised when babies come along, but what about the cat? How must they feel? Mabel was frankly, lucky to be fed.

As the girls have got bigger they have become more interested in Mabel. They even see her every now and then. Not often though because Mabel likes to keep herself to herself. She rarely comes and sits with us in the evenings, occasionally if it's snowing she might, but mostly she's out on the tiles. But I love her, she's my cat. She's knocking on a bit now, got to be about 20 by now.

Eliza and Tilly regularly go outside to look for her. I hear them shouting "Maaaaybeeeelll" at the tops of their little voices. Then they see her and run to her wanting to stroke and cuddle and she turns on her paws and does a runner.

So it's not surprising that tonight Eliza and I had this conversation:

"Mummy, one day can we please get a proper cat?"

"What's wrong with Mabel?" Clearly I know what's wrong but I have a certain loyalty towards her.

"She's not a proper cat is she Mummy? She's a scare-dy cat. Me and Tilly want a cat we can cuddle."

I can't argue with that really, it's what children want. Maybe one day.

Feeding time at the zoo!

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 19:39:00 +0000

Phrases like that have always jarred with me slightly. It's in the same vein as 'you don't have to be mad to work here but it helps!'. There's just something so not very funny but trying to be that I find vaguely depressing. But as for the feeding time analogy I've also found it slightly disrespectful, our children are our pride and joy right? We love them with all we have and yet we liken them to animals when they eat. How can we?

But today I can see why that phrase was coined. I really really can. I am sorry to anyone to whom I have given a look of disdain when that expression has been used. Quite frankly they are right. It's always been so in our house, but I've always just thought it goes with the territory. If you will have children 18 months apart then what do you expect? The kitchen will never be a beautiful vision of Cath Kidston meets Nigella Lawson, it will always resemble little more than a student digs, with old food on the floor and burnt on detritus on the hob.

But I mean really. There's only so much regurgitated salami I can pick up off the floor, only so much ketchup I can wash from Tilly's hair and only so much Weetabix I can chip away at on the table (it's like bloody cement that stuff). When the pasta sauce hits the walls and the yoghurt lands on my top as it's thrown from Tilly's spoon I realise that it is exactly like feeding time at the zoo, only animals are probably better behaved. They are after all grown ups. You don't see the seal chucking his longed-for fish into the audience with disdain because it's not 'cut up in the right way'. The lions don't turn their noses up at the meat because it's got 'brown bits on it'.

I even looked up 'feeding behaviour issues' in Dr Spock today (the peace, love and childcare chap not the pointy eared one - what would he know?). But the best my trusty expert could do was tell me that 9 month old children like to experiment with throwing their food about. My children are 2 and 4. They are not babies. They should know better. Oh yes this is the real me, the real Mummy. Frankly at their ages they should be getting their food themselves and opening a bottle of wine for me too. When I was a girl I'd eat my charcoal sausages and be grateful. Blimey kids today eh?

So I am resigned to my kids wearing their food for the near future. And you know what? You don't have to be mad to live here but it helps.

Parenting 101: no surprises

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:13:00 +0000

I have learnt a few things about children, not many I admit, but a few, well a couple. One of them is that children like to know what's coming, they don't like surprises (well unless they involve presents or cake). So I am very careful to warn my two about any changes to their routine. In particular their bedtime routine. So this morning I had this conversation with Eliza (because she is more sensitive to it).

"I'm going to read you your stories a bit earlier tonight darling because I'm going to go running tonight."

"Well ok, but why are you going running?"

"Well because I like it and it's my running club night."

"Can I come to running club? I like running Mummy."

"Not really darling because it will be past your bedtime and anyway it's cold and dark." And you're 4 years old and this is a ridiculous conversation.

"But I can see in the dark Mummy look." She opened her eyes really really wide to demonstrate this skill to me.

"I'm sure you can, but you'll be in bed all warm and asleep."

"No, I want to come to running club!" She really did too. And you know what? For about 2 seconds the thought crossed my mind. Until I realised the absurdity of the idea which would surely involve me carrying her for 6 miles.

I did what I normally do in that situation. I relented. Said I'd think about it but that right now I was off to work so to be a good girl and I'd see her later.

The problem with that approach was that when she saw me tonight she said this.

"Mummy I've thought about it and I'm not tired and I'd like to come to running club with you." She had clearly been thinking about this all day.

"Oh. But look how dark it is? It's cold too. Come on show me what you made today." Distraction still works occasionally so I held out some hope.

"Ok, but I do want to go to running club with you."

I realised my mistake. I'd used the word 'club'. At pre-school she has nature club on Tuesday's and cookery club on Wednesdays. Clubs feature quite big in her little life.

"I'll tell you what, we'll have our own special running club on Saturday, okay?"

She thought about it, weighing up the pros and cons.

"Well okay Mummy but I can run faster than you."

Not quite sure when she became so competitive but we agreed that she probably was. Thankfully I got her to bed in time and managed to do my run. Which felt fantastically good.

I then ate a Crunchie and a packet of Skips in quick succession and undid all the good. But it's all credit and debit this exercise thing right?

Perspective

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 20:25:00 +0000

I do love being a mum. Really I do. Even when my patience is being tested to the n'th degree, I have play-doh in my hair, two little people directly in front of me every time I move, even when one or other child says the words I dread the most "can we do painting mummy?" I still love it, because they are my girls, my world and that's just the way it goes.

But sometimes I do love to get away. It feels good to spend time with my closest girlfriends and chat, laugh, reminisce and just recharge. Particularly now that I'm working again, I need that time out. It's a good feeling isn't it? It's also good for him indoors to get to spend quality time with the girls (yep I'll just keep telling myself I'm doing it for them really).

And so it was this weekend. Three of us spent the weekend in Somerset (where one of my oldest friends lives) and we just hung out, drank a lot of tea, a lot of wine, ate a lot of cake, chocolate and a lot of our friend's excellent food, we did some shopping (well of course we did, we may have been in the country but we are three girls), and on Sunday we visited a beautiful garden (Hestercombe) where my friend just happens to be head gardener.

Hestercombe Gardens

The best bit was of course getting the best hugs in the world from the two little people when I got home. I think they may have exhausted themselves over the weekend because they were utterly delightful when I got back, we played for a bit before bath and bedtime. And as I read Eliza a Thomas the Tank Engine story at bedtime (it's my way of balancing the Princess obsession in this house), she listened quietly. Except at one point when I was reading about how happy Thomas' trucks were to be covered in coal dust and she said,

"Mummy how can trucks be happy about things?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well they are trucks Mummy, they can't be happy or sad can they?"

"Probably not darling no." No fooling this 4 year old. I think we can maybe ditch the Thomas stories now.

And then she gave me another big cuddle and told Milo to be good and not keep her awake (clearly it's his fault when she wakes in the night) before rolling over and closing her eyes.

Getting a bit of a break every now and then is a very Good Thing. I have realised, since becoming a mother, that I do really need time to myself to gain perspective on my life. When you start to lose perspective it seems to become easier to step into the many pitfalls of parenting, getting stuck in the pointless battles, unable to choose them wisely. The joy tends to be less and the anxiety more and that seeps into the children. Add in the stress created by things that my children know nothing about and the tension just rises and rises. An hour over a coffee with a friend is good, just reading a paper in peace is reviving, but if you're lucky enough to get a short break with your best friends that's really incredible. You come back revitalised, able to focus on the children again and see the sheer joy in having them in your life. I am very grateful to the people in my life who make it possible for me to do this.

The Path of Least Resistance

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 13:26:00 +0000

You know some days you just want to take the path of least resistance? Days that follow sleepless nights, of fevers, and tears and 'I'm lonely Mummy I want to sleep in your bed' and mornings filled with arguments about housework and other pointless things.

Today is one of those days.

Tilly surprised me by saying she wanted to do a 'Teddy bear wee Mummy' (I have no idea either) and promptly took herself off to the loo. I was stunned and in my demented sleep deprived state thought that it might be an idea to put her in proper knickers. Who knew maybe we were turning a corner on the 'child who won't be potty trained'.

But no. She announced an hour later that she had done a wee on the floor in the playroom. Of course she had. She was very proud of herself.

I have a feeling I should get a bit more Gina Ford about this whole potty training debacle, but I don't have a week to spend at home with her, besides we'd both climb the walls with boredom (Tilly quite literally, give her a step and she'll climb on anything). She continues to sit on the loo with her childminder, the ladies at nursery and even once or twice with me, but it's not consistent. I guess I'll have to just wait.

So for now I'll take the path of least resistance. Today is certainly not the day for battles. Eliza has been watching TV on and off since 7am for which I know I will be struck down for by the Good Parents out there but she's ill and we're all tired. I worked it out. I think I got 1 hour uninterrupted sleep last night. Besides she's not the sort of child to sit in front of the TV endlessly, she gets bored and wants to do stuff so I figure she must be poorly, little lamb. Tilly's busy running around pretending to be a horse and him indoors is out for the day.

I suppose working parents feel more guilty if they 'waste' a day with their kids than perhaps parents who are with them more often. Maybe that's why we feel the need to be on form every waking moment. Truth is we all need a 'duvet' day every now and then. Even the littlies.

The girls did handprints yesterday (see I can do arts and crafts, not just TV). The pictures are stuck up in the kitchen opposite where I now type. They look sweet but also a bit Blair Witch. They are actually starting to look a bit spooky. That's what a sleep deprived mind can do. Cute kids handprints become scary.

Is it time for X Factor yet?

Shoulder to Shoulder

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 21:59:00 +0000

Every morning my train journey is pretty much the same; I read write some emails, read the paper, listen to some music and put make up on (yes I am that woman who's pulling faces trying to put mascara on whilst looking in a dirty mirror with the sun in my eyes). The train rolls into the station and I just walk off it, through the barriers, being pushed along with all the other commuters. It's mindless really, as in I don't need to think I just get carried along with the momentum of the other people. I'm locked in my own little world, thinking about my own things, listening to my music. I look ahead, trying not to bump into people but I don't really see anyone or anything.

But this morning I did. I saw two soldiers selling poppies. They were young men and they looked full of purpose. Sometimes you see things or hear things that out of nowhere seem to cause a lump to rise in your throat. I don't know why these two men had this effect on me. Maybe it was because I realised how relevant Remembrance Sunday continues to be today; young men and women continue to be killed in wars and we must continue to salute their bravery and remember what they do for us. Or maybe it was that these young men had followed their beliefs and joined the Army which, whatever your views on the wars it is deployed in, is an incredibly valuable and important institution. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a smart uniform and chestful of medals. But there was something both humble and proud about them and just seeing the people buying their poppies from them was life affirming in some way.

The work the men and women in the Army do today is amazing. And regardless of your personal views on our Army's involvement in conflicts around the world, what they do is remarkable. The fact that some won't come home is a horrible reality. The least we can do is buy a poppy.

Coincidentally I was sent an email today from the Royal British Legion about its Shoulder to Shoulder campaign. The idea is that you upload a picture of yourself and/or your family, write a message of support to our soldiers and your image is posted on a virtual wall alongside many others, standing shoulder to shoulder with those who serve. If you get a chance stop by and take a look.

But even if you don't, make sure you wear your poppy with pride. I know I will.

What did you do with your extra hour?

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 11:27:00 +0000

Lie in bed a bit longer? Sleep off the remains of the hangover? Manage to actually read the papers not just the supplements? Or are you one of the many parents for whom the 'extra' hour is like an extreme form of torture? We may know it's there but our kids sure as hell don't.

I'll tell you what I did. I was woken at 4.45am by Eliza (5.45 in old money), after several futile attempts to get her to go back to sleep I gave up and brought her downstairs to watch the box (thank you John Logie Baird you are my hero) while I tried to drift off on the sofa. Problem is Eliza's a social child, never been a big fan of her own company.

"Mummy wake up!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm lonely"

"Well I'm tired, it's the middle of the night."

"Please Mummy, I'm cold can I come and sit with you?" (she wasn't cold by the way, she had a blanket and a dressing gown, she's not Oliver Twist).

Now this sounds cute doesn't it? The image of a mummy daughter moment of closeness snuggled up on the sofa watching god knows what crap Nick Jr churns out before 6am (clearly children of the BBC don't wake up before 6am so neither does Cbeebies) is a comforting one. But it's not like that. She's quite big and we have small sofas. I end up with a foot in my stomach, an elbow digging into my chest and her fluffy, tickly hair up my nose. It's not cute so much as deeply uncomfortable. Any anyway shortly after this Tilly woke up too and then starts the 'who-can-sit-closer-to-mummy competition' which ALWAYS ends in tears.

So I gave up. As I always do in these situations. Now I know why my mother was such an early riser. Years of practice clearly. She had the right idea though. Don't bother trying to sleep as it will just make you cross and frustrated. Just get over it, get up and start doing the housework. My mother was always doing the housework. My memories of her are of hoovering, ironing, cleaning, drinking coffee, reading the paper - in that order. In the summer she was a ferocious gardener and a beautiful sun-bather but she was never far from the hoover.

So by the time most normal people were opening their eyes to the new day, I'd washed my husband's shirts (he's away), sorted out the girls old clothes, handed Eliza's small ones down to Tilly, handed Tilly's small ones to charity and organised their drawers and wardrobes (the worrying thing is this made me happy). I did this with their 'help' which involved much trying on of old clothes.

I then made pancakes for breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, unblocked the shower and did some drawing with the girls. When I looked at my watch it was 8.30am. Holy shit.

We pottered about for a bit more, hanging up the washing to dry, putting more in (I'm like pavlov's dog, give me clothes in a basket and I will wash them and hang them) until it was a respectable time to go out. We drove to a nearby heath for a walk but it had started to drizzle and naturally I've lost the rain cover for the pushchair and anyway the girls were looking very non-plussed about my intrepid idea for a walk. So we turned back with the intention of going to soft play. At least there's coffee there.

But no sooner had I pulled out than both girls fell asleep. I'd join them but, you know, I can almost hear that basket of washing calling me and I am but a slave to my master.

Ice Queen

noreply@blogger.com (It's a Mummys Life) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 18:45:00 +0000

Illustration by Christian Birmingham

This morning I took the girls to Sainsburys, I know, the excitement never ends in this house. They love it though. They go in the 'double trouble' trolley and help me find all the things we need and many of things we don't (chocolate biscuits, Peppa Pig yoghurts - is there ANYTHING that pig doesn't have a trotter in? Cinderella bubble bath..). They are rather good at shouting directions to me. I'm often delighted that the whole of Sainsbury's in our part of the world knows that we 'need' mummy's juice (aka wine).

Anyway this morning as we were parking in the one remaining mother and child spot there was a large, pensive looking crow on the roof of the car opposite us.

"Oh look at that crow Eliza, he looks like the one in the Ice Queen." Eliza craned her neck around the headrest of the front seat to take a look.

"Where's an ice-cream Mummy?"

"No. Ice Queen. The crow from the Ice Queen, look he's there on that car."

"What crow ice cream Mummy? Where?"

"No, you know the story with Gerda and Kay? The Ice Queen. The little boy gets taken by the Ice Queen."

"You mean the Snow Queen Mummy."

Of course, how silly of me.

Tilly meanwhile had cottoned on.

"Can I have some ice-cream please Mummy?"

"No darling, it's not ice cream it's the Ice..oh never mind. Right come on girls we're here let's go and find a double trouble trolley."

"No Mummy. I want ice-cream!" Tilly was starting to whine.

"Ok, we'll get ice-cream in Sainsbury's, now come on let's get out."

And so I add another thing I neither need nor want to my shopping list.