Sticky Fingers

Jumpers for goalposts

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:30:00 +0000

Today I felt the chest aching pride of a mother whose son is a sportsman.

I stood in the freezing cold of a December day watching my boy compete in his very first rugby tournament, on a day I thought his dad would burst with pride.

They laughed, they cried, they bonded, they discovered the joy of team victory.

I bellowed, I cheered, I raced down the sidelines, I whooped with joy at every try. I barely noticed that I was losing the sensation in the ends of my fingers.

At this age they play tag rugby. The players wear strips of material attached to belts with Velcro and there is no tackling, you 'tackle' by pulling off an opponent's tag.

Hubby was one of the coaches pulling them into a huddle on the freezing cold sidelines of the pitch as the 10 boys who have never played a proper match against an opposition before (let alone a tournament) prepared to do battle against 4 other local teams.

Our boys beat the odds to make it to the final.

They were rewarded by being asked to form the 'guard of honour' for the home club's professionals as they sprinted out to play their league game.

Our little men dwarfed by huge professionals.

And at half time, as the beefy players left the field for their oranges or whatever rugby players recharge with, there were our boys, in the full glare of the stadium lights, playing their little hearts out.

They lost the match 4-2, but as they sprinted off that pitch, smeared in mud, wet from the light rain and jogging slightly slower from tired tired legs, I thought to myself 'THIS is why it's so bloody great to be the mother of a cheeky little boy with a love of sport'.

Why does motherhood make me feel so ooooold?

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Today was a bad day.
My little man shuffled off to school looking pale and lethargic and I felt the full weight of mother guilt on my shoulders for getting him up and dressed and taking him there.
He didn't have a temperature and said he didn't feel 'ill' as such, but I knew he wasn't himself.

As he slowly walked through the school gate (he normally runs at full speed), I rushed to the fence which separates the mums and dads from their charges and yelled and yelled for him to come back.
I didn't care who was looking.
"Dan" I said. "Don't go to school. Come back with me. You can curl up on the sofa and just rest."
"No mum" he whispered from under his coat hood (he was really cold this morning. He never feels the cold) "I'd better go. I'll be fine. I'll ask my teacher to look out for me. Don't worry."
And with that he turned his back on me and my grown up seven-year-old disappeared into his classroom.

But I do worry and I don't mind telling you, I had tears in my eyes (I told you I cry at everything these days).
He came home at normal time. He was fine. He was asking to open his chocolate advent calendar. He was just a little bit cheeky. I was relieved.

I put him to bed and we're sat chatting and he says: "Were you nearly crying today mum? When you took me to school?"
I laugh and make a joke and we tickle for a while.
Then he turns serious again and says: "Will we have to go in a care home mum. Me and Mia? (they've been watching the TV show Tracy Beaker about a girl in a care home).
"No. Why would you think that?"
"Well, you know, you're quite old now and when you die what will happen to us?"

Oh good god in heaven. I'm 40 not 400.

"Dan, I've got another 40 years in me my love. How old will you be in another 40 years?"
"47"
"Exactly, and by then you'll have a house of your own."
What? I get a house of my own when I grow up?"
"Yes, of course you do."

He makes a little fist, pumps the air and says: "yessss!"

Wordless Wednesday: Hope

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Believe your eyes: That is a sprout.

And he's smiling.

And I didn't have to force him to eat it or anything.

See more of my Wordless Wednesdays or visit 5 Minutes for Mum.

A personalised message from Santa

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 09:20:00 +0000

A couple of years ago we took Daniel to see Polar Express in 3D the week before Christmas.

We were totally captured by the magic and it became a festive 'event' for us. As part of our family Christmas tradition, we sit together in the dark at home watching this gorgeous movie.

Yesterday I was sent a link from a friend (many thanks Michelle) which looks set to become another.
And it's too good not to share.

In fact, it's so good I wanted to stand at the school gate this morning and tell every single parent who walks through the door.

It's your chance to produce a live video message from Santa to your children. And it's adorable.
You just need to input a few details. You can even upload your child's photo (it appears in Santa's good girls and boys book in the finished video).
Really easy to use and a great (free) early present for the children.

I'm tempted to have one made up for myself because, well you know, I've been a really really good girl this year ...

Visit Portable North Pole to join in the fun ...

How to eat chocolate

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 14:00:00 +0000

Yes yes, I can hear you all rolling your eyes and tutting and demanding 'what can she tell us about eating chocolate? I've got 20 plus years hard experience under my belt - I KNOW how to eat chocolate'.

Well let me tell you my friends, that's what I thought until last week.

It is my good fortune to be working with Green & Black's chocolate at the moment on their online outreach, and as part of my 'induction' I travelled to London to meet Mr Chocolate. The man who invented the love of my life, the Almond Green & Black's bar.

Anyway, I learned all about the chocolate's journey from bean to bar, the brand's ethics, their dedication to quality, their passion for good chocolate etc etc.

And while it was really interesting and valuable and inspirational, all I was thinking was 'but WHERE is the chocolate? Bring it on'.

So it came to the tasting.

And Mr Chocolate made is so fascinating I brought everything I heard home and shared it with the children.

We had so much fun learning to appreciate chocolate that now I am sharing it with you...

Things you need to know before we start the experiment: The difference between taste and flavour.
Taste: Is experienced on your tongue - sweet, sour, salt, bitter and umami (a savoury taste - and no, I'd never heard of it either).
Flavour: Is detected by your olfactory gland in your nasal canal.

So, now you know this, onto the important bit: How to eat chocolate. Or how to enjoy chocolate I suppose would be a better (if slightly less contentious) title.

1. Obtain a slab of quality chocolate. We used Green & Black's white chocolate but you go for whatever your poison is.
2. Pinch your nose.
3. Pop a square of choc in your mouth and chew or suck as preferred.
4. Ask yourself, what can you taste? It will probably be the sweetness.
5. Let go of your nose and keep chewing/sucking. Breath in. Now what can you sense? For us it was a massive hit of vanilla and creaminess and it was utterly gorgeous. Even the children said 'wow' and, I think, fully appreciated chocolate for the very first time.

(NB. Letting go of your nose just allows your olfactory gland to work properly again and let's it sense the flavours in your chocolate).

So there you go. An excuse, if ever you need it, for eating more chocolate. x
And I should also say to Mr Chocolate (real title Head of Taste and a lovely man called Micah Carr-Hill who is just about to turn 40 AND welcome a second child into the world), I thank you.

Things I have said to my daughter today

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 13:00:00 +0000

This post is inspired by the wonderful Millennium Housewife who always pens these sorts of lists so brilliantly.

It's a bed Mia, not a climbing frame.

Your snow boots aren't slippers honey.

Stop feeding the cat rice crispies.

If you keep touching that something is going to explode. And at this moment it's most likely to be me.

Leave that poor cat alone.

Don't leave rubbish on the floor Mia. No, it's not too far to the bin. Going to school is too far, going to the supermarket is too far. The bin is about 10 steps away.

Put. That. Cat. Down.

Get your hands out of there.

Why is there yoghurt on the TV?

Did you find that biscuit/slice of apple/raisin on the floor?

Stop frightening the cat. She doesn't want to sit in Baby's pushchair.
Don't use hair conditioner for cleaning the floor, Mia.

I love you very very muchly too, baby girl.

No, I know you're not a baby. Yes, I know you are very grown up. No I won't ever call you baby girl in public ever.

Thankyou

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Obviously we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here in the UK.

But this is to say 'hey' to all my American friends and for me to say some thanks of my own:

For my beautiful children, my best friend (hubby), my health, happiness and the amazing friends and family around me - for all of these things I am eternally thankful.

Even if you're not celebrating today, happy Thanksgiving to you all x

Parenting from the trenches: Or how to be a better parent

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 17:10:00 +0000

Right, I mean what do I know eh? I have a daughter who feeds the cat crayons and who calls everyone within earshot an idiot.
I'm perfectly positioned to tell you how to be a better parent, right?

But I have been there in the trenches of motherhood.
I have fought the hard fight. I have sat on the toilet seat weeping because I felt like I had 'failed' my children.
I have looked at others and thought 'why isn't my little girl like that? Why does she insist on being a 'challenge'? Why why why why why?

A little while back I was reading a post from Tattie Weasle on this very subject and I felt like crying for her, reaching out across the ether and grabbing her by the lapels and shouting 'yes, I've been there. I understand'.
Because that is what blogging is all about for me. Sharing, caring, helping.

I don't profess to have all the answers by any means, but I do have some snippets of advice.
I have distilled nearly 7 years of hard experience down into 8 simple tips.
Of course, they won't necessarily work for everyone, but when you're there on the coal face of parenting you will try anything ANYTHING if it will bring you and ounce of sanity.
And if it's worked for one parent, well, it's got to at least be worth a try eh?
Please, if you have any sage words to add, we're all ears.

1. Learn to be 6 again.
Remember how booooring you found adults were when you 6/7/8? Remember how OLD you thought they were because everything had to be sensible or safe.
It is really tough, but try to think like your children think (not how you think they should think). It will rarely be the same.
Think about how BORING the things you are asking of them are. Sure you know best, you only have their safety and well being at heart. You're their parent after all, and they should realise that you only want the best for them. But they don't, in fact they couldn't care less about 'best' they just want to eat Cornflakes for dinner.

2. Pick your battles.
Does it really matter that they won't put their coat on when it's chilly out? They'll soon want it when their neck turns blue.
My husband has had a half an hour fall out with our son because he insisted on eating his dinner with chopsiticks (we were eating a roast dinner). But do you know what? So what? He soon stopped when the gravy kept splashing all up his favourite football top.

3. Never say do this/do that.
Make it a challenge or fun or a race. Tell stories instead of giving instruction (calmly and with a jokey angle): 'I once heard about little girl who wouldn't keep her mouth closed when she was eating and she swallowed so much fresh air blah blah blah'
Supermarkets are always a battle ground so think of a distraction or a game to play. Not spot the hairiest woman as my son once suggested.

3. Explain things.
Treat your children with respect. Talk to them, even when they're really little. I know most of it doesn't go in or mean a lot but 'you shouldn't do this because' works better than just 'don't do that'. I hate being told not to do something unless I know why I shouldn't. I get all stubborn and dig my heels in and make a fuss. I guess children are the same. Or I'm a big baby, one of the two.
Also don't be so confrontational. If you do you're just asking for a row.
And if you attempt any of these when they're tired, well, then you're just asking for trouble.

4. Do not bribe.
It just doesn't work. It also means they have 'won'. Tidying up? Not unless you give me a bag of crisps. And the next time I'll want crisps and a mega giant bar of chocolate. Give incentives instead, like 'at the end of the week you'll get X for doing X every day'.

6. Give them your time.
I know this is a toughie, but when I started taking my daughter out, just me and her she changed so much. I never made a big deal of it or announced it we just did it and she clearly loved the one on one attention.
And believe you me, I know how easy it is to sit tapping away at a computer while they play around the house together. Don't do it. They hate it and see it as you think the computer is far more important than they are.
I work from home, so this is a real toughie for me, but when they are around and I don't absolutely have to be tapping away, I don't.

7. It's all a phase.
When your gorgeous baby is throwing food up the walls, or your little girl is refusing to eat anything but sauce or your school age son is obsessed with the contents of his trousers, remember it's not going to last forever.
This phase will then be replaced with another phase and you'll be worrying about a whole different set of things in a few months time.
Stop worrying. Children do annoying/worrying/ridiculous things. If you worry about this one, you'll be worrying for the rest of your life.
Let it go, deal with it, break bad habits, chill out.
For me, knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel was all I needed!

8. Let them know that you love them at all times.
Well of course they know I love them, you're probably saying. But do they? They're children. They don't know that you brush their teeth every night for their benefit. They don't know that you stop them from running down the pavement alongside a busy road because you want to protect them.
You're just annoying mum or dad who's stopping them from having fun and getting in the way of them scaling the stairs in their SpiderMan outfit.
My son totally gets it now. I rarely have to tell him off. I give him the look that says 'I really love you son, but I do not like your behaviour right now. I'm not angry with you just a bit disappointed'.
And it works. Every time.

I'm not saying these are the answers and believe you me it's been tough, but we're getting there. And I'm pretty sure you guys out there have some others to add . . .

At what age did you discover there was no such thing as Santa?

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 08:00:00 +0000

What? No such thing as Santa?

Yeah yeah, before any of you come over here with that lame old joke, well, don't.

And by any of you I'm talking about Single Parent Dad and Dad Who Writes and probably Tim.

Anyway, today my 4 year old's pre school teacher announced the class are visiting a local farm/craft centre to see Santa.

Every child to a man is bright eyed and excited and planning their extensive wish list for the big man.

Not my daughter.

When it's announced, my daughter looks bored, rolls her eyes and declares: "I'm not going" (emphasis on the 'I'm') like she's been told she's got to go to the dentist or being forced to walk around Tesco again.

So tonight I say to her: "Why don't you want to go Mia? Don't you want to see Santa? There will be animals there too (she has an animal obsession. Grandma is buying her a 'lifelike' dog that I'm already stressing about, but that's a whole other rant).

She says: "I'll talk to the animals, but not him". She almost hisses the 'him'.

"But how will Santa know what you want for Christmas?", I coax wondering why on earth I'm going to part with nearly £12 so she can ignore the guy in the big red suit and just pet the guinea pigs.

Then her older wiser brother pulls me to one side. Clearly at the age of (nearly) 7, he is wise to the whole visiting Santa thing.

So he stage whispers to me: "Mummy, it's all right because it won't be the real Santa. It's a man dressed up in a suit. He looks really good so he can fool everyone, but I know that it's not really him because the real Santa will only be in the company of children when they are asleep or he won't bring them presents if he can see them. So don't worry, she won't miss out. But shh, don't tell her. We don't want to spoilt it for her."

Right there. I could munch him right up.

So at what age do they stop believing? At what age did YOU stop believing?

Wordless Wednesday: Bye bye Baby

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Remember Baby?

The Baby my daughter would not go anywhere without?
The Baby she rocked so lovingly in her arms?
The Baby so loved she really does stink?
The Baby I nearly killed by putting her in a washing machine?

Well, look at her now.

That's a lion chewing on her ear . . .

Picture Perfect Meme: A rogues' gallery

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 08:00:00 +0000

At any given time there is probably a whole host of memes floating around the ether - but do you ever wonder what happens to them once you've passed them on?

I started another meme earlier this year called the Blame Tara Meme (well, that's not what I called it but there's a whole other story there, just ask Blogger Dad).
Anyway, I tracked it around the internet and it's reach was far and wide and it led me some really interesting blogs and places I probably would never have ordinarily visited.

Then I started another meme last month after my daughter drew a picture of me.
I asked other parents to do the same - and the results were just brilliant.
So I wanted to recognise everyone's efforts and to show them what had happened to their meme.
And I should also thank Littlemummy Erica who patiently put all of this together for me - I think she's done a great job.
So to all of those who took part, I thank you, and here is the Picture Perfect Meme gallery in all it's glory.

Oh, and before I go any further Maternal Tales I am so SO sorry, but you're on the slideshow as Maternity Tales - ack, I know.
Your pictures proved an absolute nightmare to upload for some reason but Erica stuck with it and managed to get them on there but got your name wrong. Changing it would have been a whole other kind of nightmare.
So I just wanted to appologise and say . . . It's Erica's fault.

Thank you to:
Babyrambles
How I Like My Coffee
Brits in Bosnia
Jayne Howarth
Rosie Scribble
Littlemummy
Really Rachel
The MadHouse
Potty Diaries
Jo Beaufoix
Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy?
Dad Who Writes
Insomniac Mummy
Butterflies in My Hand
You’ve Got Your Hands Full
Bringing Up Charlie
Weston Super Mum
Rainy Day
Maternal Tales
Hot Cross Mum

I love. I hate

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 16:20:00 +0000

I hate:

People who are unfriendly
Rain that manages to creep under your coat
Cold feet
People who don't indicate when they're driving
Poorly made cups of tea
When men I don't know call me 'love'
Reality TV
When my 4 year old calls strangers 'oiy'.
Arguments
Seeing my children upset

I love:

Cuddling up on the sofa with the children to watch the scary Sarah Jane Adventures
Music
Being out in the fresh air
Bathtime with the children
Fajitas
Sunshine
Eddie Izzard and Hugh Laurie
A piping hot cup of tea and a giant slab of chocolate
Movies
Friends
When all four of us are piled onto our bed first thing on a Saturday morning.

The best things about being 4

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:00:00 +0000

You get to discover new words like: actually, literally and idiot.

You can wear your pyjamas with snow boots and nobody cares.

You can be cheeky and get away with it as long as you utilise The Grin

You have daddy totally wrapped around your little finger. I suspect this remains the same until the age of 35.

No one bats an eyelid when you show your knickers in public All The Time.

When you count to ten you get a round of applause. When you write your name you get a treat.

Dora Dora Dora Dora Dora Dora. Diego.

You're still small enough to fit under the bed when playing hide and seek.

You can fit in your bed even with every cuddly toy and doll you own on there too.

You're still small enough to be rocked in mummy's arms at bedtime.

For Madeleine McCann

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Little Madeleine was nearly 4 years old when she was abducted from the holiday apartment she was staying at with her parents in Portugal in 2007.

My own little girl has just turned 4 so this is uncomfortably close to home for me.

A new appeal is asking social networkers worldwide to post this video which shows what Maddy would look like now, age six.
If you are a blogger, help spread this message and let's use our powerful voices for good and help a UK family in need.

Police have released new age-enhanced pictures of Madeleine as part of the fresh appeal for information to show what she could look like now.
Someone out there knows what happened to Maddy, let's reach out there as far and wide as we can to find them and bring her home.

3 reasons why being a mum has not made me a better person

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:00:00 +0000

In a recent post I talked about the reasons I think motherhood has made me a better person. Or why I love being a mum.
I’d like to think that I’m pretty much the same person I used to be before children came along, but I do know that parenthood changed me.
I changed mainly for the better, but there is, of course, a flip side to that coin. Becoming a mum is not always a bed of roses.

1. I am way too emotional.

I cry at everything. It's really rather embarrassing because I used to be such a tough nut.

I was all 'for goodness sake, why do mums weep when their children go to school? It's not like they're handing them over to bad people or anything'.
I even cried at the end of The Little Mermaid and had to pretend there was something vitally urgent going on in the kitchen so I could leave the living room and not let my little girl see I was turning into a blubbering mess because Ariel's dad was letting her go to marry the man she loved.

I can no longer read details about child abuse in the press or on TV. If I hear a snipped, I have to put my fingers in my ears and 'la la la la'.
I am not joking.

2. I neglect myself
My children have the coolest wardrobes by a long long mile.
I do not.

Sure I go out shopping with every intention of buying myself something fashionable, colourful, new. But I end up with a pair of boots for my daughter that she doesn't need and a selection of tops for my son.
I convince myself that I need to put my children first, and there is plenty of time for me.

But that is just an excuse, I think. It's easier to concentrate on them, much tougher to look inwardly at myself and have to deal with my appearance, my inner health, my peace of mind.
I look at photos of myself just before having children and I hardly recognise myself.

3. I put the children first before anything and everything else

This is my biggest fault.
I adore my children. I waited until my 30s to have them and becoming a mum, when I didn't think I had it in me, was like a lightbulb moment.
And now, my life pretty much revolves around them. I feel the need to do my utmost to give them the upbringing they deserve.
Does this get in the way of time with my husband? Yes it does. Does this get in the way of spending time away from them? Yes it does.
I'm not so bad now they are older. But still, I have forged a path where they come before everything and everyone and I don't think that's particularly healthy.

Would I change any of this? Yes, I think in an ideal world I probably would.

I took on the challenge of raising two children with open arms. I will do anything to make sure they have a safe, happy home and are given all the support they want or need as they grow up.
Becoming a mother transformed me. Children have a way of doing that; of making you feel like the first person to have a child ever; of making you feel like they are the centre of your universe; making you feel that heart wrenching tug of love when they smile or hug you or call your name.

But does this mean I can't spend a Saturday afternoon in Zara buying myself a new outfit, or in a salon being pampered?

No, of course it doesn't.

Does it mean hubby and I can't be a 'couple' again and spend time without the children hanging off our legs?

No. And this is something I need to work on.

We're having that willy conversation again . . .

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 16:00:00 +0000

Hubby was lying on Daniel's bed last night reading a story and chatting about their respective days.
Dan is listening but clearly his mind is elsewhere.

"Dad? That bone is in my willy again."
"Is it?" Hubby continues reading the story.

"I'm a bit worried about it. Look at it, it's sticking right up. Is it supposed to do that?"
"I wouldn't worry about it son. It's totally natural. It happens to all boys."

"Does it happen to yours dad? When does it happen to yours? Will you show me the next time it happens?"

Real horror

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 14:00:00 +0000

One of my favourite films ever is The Nightmare Before Christmas.
It's a stop-animation tale of Jack Skeleton the Pumpkin King who presides over Halloween Town but dreams of something different and exciting and so plots to hijack Christmas and present it in his own horrifyingly spectacular style.
It's dark, slightly scary but with a fabulously childish sense of adventure. And 15 years after its original release, it's still one of the best films out there.

And that's the sort of Halloween I love. Not too saccharine sweet, scary but not so I can't sleep at night and a great event to enjoy with the children.
Tonight my two little monsters will be dressing up as a Little Devil and a Skeleton, they'll be apple bobbing, feeling through the entrails (cold spaghetti) to find the hidden treats and eating black and orange (homemade) spider web cupcakes.

All of which is a world away from the roller coaster ride I found myself on during a recent trip to PortAventura in Spain where I was invited, along with a bunch of other bloggers, to see and experience the family friendly resort.

We were there for Halloween, and believe you me, once evening falls this was no cutesy celebration - their end of day parade features the undead. Beetlejuice rubs shoulders with the Devil, Death rides at the head of the procession on horseback and all manner of witches, creatures and contraptions file past by the light of the moon and various flaming torches.

The colour is black, the soundtrack is various horror film tracks.

Kind of surreal, but just brilliant.

The following day we decided to 'brave' one of the larger rides. It's marked down as 3 pumpkins (a measure of how scary various attractions are) but it's daylight. I mean what can happen to scare you in the day?

We also choose to ignore the lovely PR man Oriol who said it was "12 pumpkins". Silly man we were thinking.

So the ride. The ride called El Diablo, a name we just brushed off as theme park fun.

I've been on many many theme park rides in my time. I even went on Terror Tower in Florida when it first opened and I foolishly didn't realise what it was.

This one is a runaway train type of roller coaster, a rickety old silver mine that has been closed down since a group of miners disappeared in it.

Lame right?

I'm at the front of the queue with Laura and Erica and we have been divided off from the main group so there is about 15 of us.

A devilish creature comes screaming out from nowhere (the make up is phenomenal). He has flaming red pupils and a horn sticking out one side of his head. It looks convincing, but we all know it's some man dressed up.
He is talking quite aggressively in Spanish and my companions and I are utterly relieved we can't understand a word he's saying.

He leads us around a corner and there are giant crates with a mahoosive dead rat thing sprawled across the top of them with bits of it's insides cascading down the bloodied wood of the crates.

The girls and I just look at each other. We're nervously laughing but our eyes are saying "what the?"

We are led into an antechamber. It's small, dark and gloomy and as we crowd in I notice it's strung with old netting and cobwebs. To be honest, I'm so busy burying my face in Laura's top I don't notice much else.

The devilish creature is back. He is shouting now. SHOUTING. In Spanish. I have no idea what the hell he's saying but I know it's not good. Everyone around me is giggling but they look very slightly worried.

A ghoul pulls back a rag of a curtain and leads us on. He doesn't crack his face, his white eyes stare at us; no emotion, no flicker of the man behind there. Just the staring.

What follows was a line of 15 terrified people, shuffling single file through various cramped, pitch dark passageways where creatures whisper in your ears, blow in your face, jump out, shout, moan, cackle.

I felt like I'd stumbled into one of those horror films I've spent my whole adult life avoiding.

At one point I think one of the unimaginable things is tearing into my arm but realise it's Erica holding onto me for dear life. Behind her a 20something Spanish lad is clutching onto her rucksack in terror.

Dear reader, I know you are probably reading this and chuckling away. Yes, we all knew it wasn't real and the actors were very very good and the 'set' was swathed in dry ice and plants hanging from shelves to unnerve us at every turn. We knew this was just a theme park ride with a scary addition tacked on for Halloween.

We all knew it.

But let me tell you, my heart was racing, my face drained of blood and I had been terrified.

Worse than that though, as we walked (actually we were tripping over ourselves) out and exited the ride, we passed those queueing up to get on board - oblivious as to what was awaiting them.

And there were CHILDREN in that queue. The minimum age was 5.

Obviously, Spanish youngsters are made of sterner stuff than me.

Do you fight in front of your children?

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 14:30:00 +0000

Ooo, it's a hot potato this one isn't it?

Last night hubby and I had a spat. Over who should phone up and cancel the insurance on the dishwasher or something equally inane.
He said he was too busy, I said so was I, he said well you're at home anyway, I said well he's got a phone at the office what difference does that make?

Then we squabbled about who does what jobs around the house and had he forgotten that I ironed all his work shirts for him while he went out for a boys day out at some rugby match last month.
Yeah, it was that petty.

But all of this was conducted within earshot of our two children.
The minute hubby stalked off to pretend he had something really really important to do, I saw their little faces and my heart sank.
Bad Mummy.

I'd really like to tell you that this was a one off but that would be a Big Fat Lie.
We shout in this house. Not at the children, just at each other. Not all the time - in fact, quite rarely - but the truth of the matter is that voices get raised.
It's not something I'm particularly proud of.

I remember reading somewhere that American psychologist and TV personality Dr Phil said that fighting in front of your kids is nothing short of child abuse.
Really?
Should children grow up thinking that life is all smooth sailing and everyone is lovely to each other and no one will ever argue over whose turn it is to bath the dog?
Isn't that a rather distorted view of life and marriage?
Should we all go and have our rows in the garage so the children never hear it?
I guess it depends on what you are arguing about.
As I think more about it, as long as your children get to see that the argument is resolved and everyone is friends afterwards, well, isn't that a good life lesson?

I'm not talking about violent behaviour or extreme bad language. But if children don't get to see how rows start and how they are resolved, how will they deal with it when they are older?

What do you think? Is arguing in front of your children a big no-no?

(NOTE: I have a really great photo of hubby shouting with his hands thrown in the air after he dropped something really really heavy on his foot ages ago. He wouldn't let me use it on this post. Sorry.)

When mummy bloggers meet

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 17:00:00 +0000

I made 4 new really good friends this weekend in the bizarrest of circumstances.

A small group of British mummy bloggers were shipped off to the Spanish resort of PortAventura to 'experience' their Halloween festivities.

As we danced along with Beetlejuice, cringed in fear at the Devil and ran screaming from Frankenstein's monster himself, I found myself laughing until I was wiping tears from the corners of my eyes with a group of women I hardly knew.

We laughed, we cried, we screamed, we opened our hearts.

And it has only confirmed to me why being part of this blogging community is such an amazing thing.

I do often wonder why we're all here writing about our families, our heartaches, our funny moments, our dreams.

Is it for fame and fortune? Is it to feel part of something? Is it for friendship, or understanding, or a platform to shout from?

I didn't start writing mine to make new friends, but after meeting Laura (Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy?), Erica (Little Mummy), Alice (Dulwich Divorcee) and Jo (Jo Beaufoix) that's exactly what I found.

All amazing women with amazing stories and whose personalities shine through their blogs.

And now I've got all the niceties out of the way I may soon tell you all about:

The time Jo put her hand on a strange man's thigh and then elbowed a small child out of the way so she could have her photo taken with Bert and Ernie.
Erica set off a full-scale alert at Brussells airport.
Alice's talk about 'big Charlie's Angels boobs'.
The time Laura upset the barman at our hotel. And the cleaner. And the waitress at the tapas bar where she ordered "dos bread, please". I kid you not.
And if you're really really good, I'll tell you about the time 5 grown women hid behind a farmer's wooden cart outside a hotel at 1am, giggling like schoolgirls.

NOTE: In the photo is (from left) Jo, Erica, Alice, me, Laura. We were all supposed to be grimacing and looking mean - Alice just isn't capable and Laura looks like she has a dirty little secret. And Erica? Her expression became known as The Look. One of the most frightening things I saw that Halloween weekend ...

All of which was a rather long-winded way of me asking you, what do you get out of blogging?

This girl has the makings of a politician

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

Mia: "Can I have a yoghurt?"
Me: "No, you haven't eaten all your dinner."

All shocked and indignant: "Yes I have"
"Err, no you haven't"
"I have."
The pitch is getting higher and higher.

"Mia, you have not eaten all of your dinner."
"YES. I. HAVE."
We are having this conversation at the kitchen table where half of her dinner is there, right in front of us, almost shouting up at us 'hello, here I am, uneaten dinner. Helloooo.'

The thing is, she says it with such utter conviction and with such a look of 'what's wrong with you woman? The food is no longer there. Are you mad or something?' that I actually almost, almost believe her.

British Mummy Bloggers hit Spain

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 23:00:00 +0000

If you, dear internet, could hear the chatter going on behind the scenes of my impending Very Important Business Trip to Spain, I fear you would blush.

Even Single Parent Dad who's heard it all before, and suffered the indignity of being called a 'token man' in a sea of gorgeous, expert women during a recent blogger event to announce the launch of new women's website Super Savvy Me.
But I digress.

I have been invited, along with an 'influential' bunch of mummy bloggers to experience the delights of Port Aventura, an 'experience' resort in northern Spain.
I fear the Spanish are in for rather a shock.
Joining me are: Laura from Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy , Jo of Jo Beaufoix fame, Dulwich Divorcee and Little Mummy Erica.

I logged into my email in box this afternoon to see if anyone was getting excited about the trip and let me tell you I was shocked. Shocked.
So I want to share a few snippets with you (and I can assure you every one of those ladies is now staring open mouthed at the screen thinking 'she wouldn't?' Well, she would).
Bear in mind that some of these bloggers have been away together before.
I will not name names, to spare their blushes.

. . . Am sniggering at my desk about J's (roller) coaster companion.
Bless him and his long, fat .... I think you should share that picture with us again sometime soon ... for old times sake and so I can quite literally wet myself.

. . . J was weeping with fear inches away from his tongue. Think I'll leave it at that! As I say, them lot are such a bad influence on me.

. . . You get the picture. Oh and if you lot don't have a drunken 'who can say 'insert very rude word' the fastest' competition, I will feel very let down.

. . . I was the innocent little mummy before all of you warped me.

. . . the first thing I thought when I saw my inbox was - 'that's a whole lot of bo****ks!'
(that will be because every one of the 20 or so wall of emails that greeted me had that word, capped up, as the title).

Dear reader, it's a good job there is one grown up on this trip.

It's all party party party over here

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 13:30:00 +0000

Anyone who follows me on Twitter will know that this weekend I am away on an Important Business Trip.
And by business trip I mean a weekend with a bunch of influential writers who have been asked to review a European family holiday destination.
And by that I mean, me and a bunch of bloggers are going on a girlie weekend where gross over indulgence will probably take place.

I have no idea why they invited me, but I figure if I keep my head down no one will question it.

So, as I've obviously been so busy packing and organising the children and ironing my passport, I will leave you with a post that I originally wrote back in May 2008 because a. it's really cute and b. nobody commented on it. Harrumph.
On Saturday I'll post one from my equally quotable daughter.

*******************************************************

Hubby and I are invited to a proper grown-up party.
No. Children. Allowed.

Dan: "What sort of party bags will you have?"
Me: "There won't be party bags. Party bags are for children" (why is that exactly? Really, why can't we have a bag stuffed with cupcakes, smellies and chocolate? Or vodka miniatures).
Dan (wrinkling up his nose like he's just been forced to eat a lemon): "That is so boring!"
Pause.
"But how will you carry the cake home?"
"I don't think there will be a cake either."

Dan stares at me long and hard and horrified like I've just told him the world's run out of chocolate or the Tooth Fairy's purse is empty.

"I don't EVER want a party like that mummy. Promise me you will never let me have a party like that."

The winner takes it all

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Well actually, the winner takes a pair of Kickers, but that didn't really scan in a headline.

The winner was chosen via a complex mathematical sum: Mia picked a number of of a hat (or a Next carrier bag) between 1 and 28, Dan did the same and then we subtracted one from the other and voila.

See? Learning as well as assisting mummy on her blog.

(I won't tell you about the two-day squabble we had over who would pick the first number and who had actually decided who the winner was. Also the fact that when I told them who their winner was they both said "What kind of a name is that?" And yet they think being called Sticky Fingers is OK! Go figure.)

Anyway, many congratulations to ThatGirl39 from 40 Not Out. A pair of funky Kickers - I said K I C K E R S (and how many times did I have to explain that on Twitter?) - are winging their way to you and young fashionista.

I do admit to feeling a slight pang of guilt as the woman is obsessed with shoes enough as it is, without me helping her daughter down that path.

I hope you both enjoy them. x

Wordless Wednesday: Halloween here we come . . .

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

My Little Devil and Gruesome Skeleton.

Grrrrr. Scary aren't they?

I should point out both little monsters requested vests because 'this costume is a little scratchy mummy'.

Tut. Lightweights!

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

Damn you Santa

taralara@washy1.force9.co.uk (Tara Cain) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

My 6 year old son is desperate for a PlayStation for Christmas.
Hubby and I have talked about it and, as he's only 6 and we bought a Wii last year and mummy wants to have some money left over to, you know, eat, we decided to buy a PlayStation 2 second hand.

But then I got talking to a friend whose son has a PlayStation 3 and she said not to bother as you'll end up buying the PlayStation 3 anyway and then you'll want to upgrade all the games and it will end up costing you more in the long run etc etc etc blah blah blah.

And so, because I'm easily led and a bit of a coward, I figure I should let Dan make the decision.

Me: "If you prefer Dan, daddy and I could buy you a PlayStation 3 for Christmas but it would have to be your birthday AND your Christmas present together because it's rather expensive."

He looks at me thoroughly confused then says:
"What are you talking about? Santa makes all the Christmas presents, so it's not going to cost you anything."

Bugger.