tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46656746164653984802024-03-13T03:38:08.356-07:00Ministry Of MumFollow us on <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ministryofmum">Twitter</a> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ministry-Of-Mum/128374867220097">Facebook</a>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-84186673073578200132016-01-27T06:27:00.000-08:002016-01-27T06:27:09.401-08:00Tips For Travelling With Children<br />
Episode 3 of The Secret Life of the Family aired last night and the kids and I had a starring role as THE CARCRASHIANS. Anyone with children can probably identify with the Days Out theme...but then add into the mix that we had been banged up together for a whole week by then, not really able to go out or have anyone over because we were filming. When we got in the car together, it was basically Big Brother on speed. No scrap that, it was Big Brother on a such a huge cocktail of drugs that I'm surprised we even made it to Manchester without ODing. Oh and to all you Judgey McJudgeypants out there - my driving is just fine (I've never had any points or anything) and yes my kids were total brats but they'd been working so hard for 7 or 8 days that, hey, they had to let off steam at some point. (albeit for the next 7 or 8 years)<br />
<br /><br />
Anyway, here are a few tips for travelling with children:<br />
1. DON'T<br />
There's probably nothing wrong with holidaying in your own home. It might actually be fun, besides the fact that you will all get close to killing each other - better that happening in the comfort of your sitting room than in full public view at the airport when your plane is delayed or at McDonalds on the M25 or indeed on Channel 5.<br />
<br />
2. IF YOU MUST TRAVEL, WAIT UNTIL YOUR KIDS ARE OLDER<br />
There is nothing worse than taking an active toddler on a journey. Oh yes there is - changing a pooey nappy in an aeroplane's teeny tiny toilet. And in all forms of transport, there is NO ESCAPE.<br />
No matter how prepared you are with games, colouring, food IT WILL NEVER EVER BE ENOUGH. In fact all options will be exhausted before you've even set off.<br />
Slightly older children are okay because they can use gadgets. Who cares if the children end up square-eyed, reciting all the words to Toy Story because you might actually get to read a trashy celeb mag or two.<br />
<br />
3. KIDS CLUB IS NOT A GREAT OPTION<br />
Don't get sucked into sending your children to Kids Club, even if it's free and means they're gone for two hours. Do not be fooled into thinking that this means you can lounge around reading and drinking wine because to your husband, well, Kids Club = SPECIAL LOVE TIME.<br />
<br />
4. TRAVEL JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS<br />
So you can use Santa as a threat. Make sure the pilot or driver has a direct line to Lapland. If you're travelling in the summer, take lots and lots of sweets that you can then proceed to threaten to throw out the window. Use every goddamn empty threat you can think of and if you can't, then use an escape plan.<br />
<br />
5. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF FREE DRINK<br />
Especially those mini bottles of wine. And while you're at it, pass a glass or twelve to the people sitting in front and behind you. They'll need it.<br />
<br /><br />
<br /><br />
Thanks for supporting the show - it's going off air now until March when it'll be back at the better time slot of 8pm ... full details to follow.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-34071761629608420792016-01-21T09:50:00.001-08:002016-01-21T09:56:34.346-08:00Jobs Around The HouseI've called this blog Jobs Around The House based on this weeks episode of The Secret Life Of The Family but, in fact, it could also be called MUMMY PORN. It made me laugh watching the dads avoiding jobs around the house because not one of them realise that the way to their partners heart (and probably knickers) is to do a load of DIY.<br />
<br />
<br />
A light went on in my head after watching the episode when I realised that I've asked Ken countless times to change the bulb in the hallway. And has he done it - has he hell...in fact there are currently five bulbs dead in this house. If there was a power cut it would not make any difference. I suppose I could do them but I'd end up smashing glass everywhere and, not only is he taller than me, this is a MAN'S job...just how school uniform etc. is MY JOB.<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh I'm all for girl power but when it comes to certain jobs in the house I do think the man should step in. Us mums do endless jobs and never ever ask for help. For example, there has never been a time when I have asked for help to sort a soggy packed lunch or smelly PE kit. I never need assistance in choosing an outfit for the school run. I cook a healthy casserole for my kids to find disgusting and I do that all on my very own. I cope with rocking in a corner over the sewing on of Beaver badges. When it comes to it, I am more than capable of doing 'my share' of the work.<br />
<br />
<br />
The lack of light bulb changing got me thinking about how many of my mummy friends like Fifty Shades Of Grey. I'm not into it because it's just not how I get my kicks. I guess I'm a simple girl at heart because it doesn't take whips and handcuffs to get me hot under the collar. I'm getting old you know and there are three children in this house - the closest I get to S&M is being buried under the ironing pile. However there ARE endless ways to get me turned on - to fulfil my needs and desires - things that a man around the house could do that would have me heading straight for a cold shower:<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Emptying and putting out the bins.<br />
2. Mowing the lawn and any garden recycling.<br />
3. Fully functioning lighting.<br />
4. All bike and car maintenance.<br />
5. Trips to the tip.<br />
BONDAGE BONUS: fixing the lock on the bathroom door.<br />
<br />
<br />
So guys, honestly, if you want a different kind of "job" with your partner, get your *cough* tool kit out, grab your *errrrr* screwdriver and get fixing. Because if you don't, you'll be DIYing in more ways than one.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-41426142369010855872016-01-16T08:47:00.000-08:002016-01-16T10:44:58.215-08:00The Secret Life Of The Family<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So some of you may have seen that we are part of the new Channel 5 show The Secret Life Of The Family. If you haven't watched it - then catch it On Demand because it really shows that even though we're all different, we're THE SAME - just make sure you skip the bits where I'm looking like a miserable old hag. But hey, I totally rocked the denim shorts even if above the shoulders I look a lot like Bet Lynch.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been getting lots of questions and comments so I thought it'd be fun to write a little bit about the show.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we initially got asked to do it, I turned it down because I didn't want to come over all Katy Hopkins and things around here were a bit boring. But after careful consideration I thought FUCK IT as fun opportunities don't come along every day and, hey, it killed two weeks of the summer holidays, saving me a fortune/illness from soft play areas. Plus four crew members in the house from 7am-7pm meant FREE CHILDCARE whenever I wanted to pop to the shops for gin or pretend I was on an important phone call when in fact I was just chatting with my mate. They also helped me to remember my kids names.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The children were super cool about it and worked really hard. I don't think that I need to add more money to their future therapy fund. In fact in Episode 1 when you see them lazing around on the sofa, they had actually filmed four hours that day and just wanted to watch telly. It was pretty tough on them because they had to stay in the house for almost two weeks...imagine Big Brother but with three young children and you can understand why I was locking myself in the bathroom pretending to have a poo.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It WAS vodka in that coffee mug, which probably explains my epic fail when it came to the chore chart. Especially when you bear in mind that at age fourteen I was a bit of a mathematical genius who took her O Level a year early. I still don't understand what happened there but if I end up paying £62,000 to the kids, you'll be damn sure that I'll nick it back from their piggy banks every time I need to pay the milkman/go to Starbucks/need a new frock. And I know it would have been cheaper to hire a cleaner but really, if I had the choice, I'd spend that money on a nanny. Ken took the blame like a man but I think he was on a promise that night and didn't want to ruin it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We haven't seen any of the show. When the episode aired on Tuesday, it was the first time we'd watched it. We had no idea of the other families but Jill and I have become BFFs which is great as we've never even met.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ken was always going to be a tough audience member considering that he didn't even know we were doing it until he came home from work to find a film crew, cameras in the house and a wife saying "Errrr I might have accidentally signed us up to do a show". Fortunately, he loved it. I might even be able to get him on that show about dogging next.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of the filming was unscripted, we had scenarios given to us like "Do a chore chart" but I had to think on my feet and come up with ideas that would get the children to partake instead of moaning about not seeing their friends. They did a pretty good job if you think that we were all close to killing each other - I think the promise of the ice cream van got us through most days...and Mr Whippy is now on holiday in the Maldives, courtesy of the Smith family I can tell ya.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People have been saying I'm brave. Not brave, no. Brave is firefighters and doctors and nurses...I allowed the cameras in because it was a show I believed in, the kids wanted to do it and basically two weeks of entertainment during the school holidays was too good an opportunity to turn down. It kept me SANE and the children ALIVE.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll end with this - the opening bit where they introduce our family and we're looking all smiley & happy together outside the house...well the saying about what goes on behind closed doors is apt...because every time we had to go back inside to prepare to walk out again we were arguing, crying and sticking fingers in plug sockets. I guess I've finally turned into one of <i>those</i> Facebook mums with the seemingly oh so perfect family. Don't be fooled by appearances...especially the bits where it shows me cleaning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">THE SECRET LIFE OF THE FAMILY is on Channel 5, 10pm every Tuesday </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-36541584096453487082016-01-12T06:24:00.000-08:002016-01-12T06:24:00.144-08:00I'm BackI took a longer than expected break from blogging and Twitter to make the big mistake HUGE of concentrating on real life.<br />
You can read my old stuff here.<br />
You can also watch The Secret Life Of The Family.<br />
But I suggest you send me biscuits. And gin. And a nanny.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-47601410419014609292013-10-25T04:48:00.000-07:002013-10-25T04:48:04.071-07:00My Guest Post for @scarymommy<a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/blurred-gender-lines/">http://www.scarymommy.com/blurred-gender-lines/</a>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-59227503218341014502013-05-22T13:43:00.003-07:002016-01-21T02:38:46.942-08:00How To Keep Your Daughter A VirginLooking through old photo albums the other day, I was checking out the long, gorgous locks I had as a child. I got to the pictures of me around the age of 12 and something changed. My hair had been completely cut off and the pretty dresses my mother used to dress me in had suddenly been replaced with my sister's hand-me-downs that were still far too big and flappy - denim numbers that made me look twice the size that I actually was.<br />
I studied these photos for a while and then it dawned on me - my mother is a GENIUS. And I'll tell you why. At the very age when I was starting to develop an outgoing personality and an interest in boys, she invented a parenting method that was to keep me on the straight and narrow until I was in my late teens. In a nutshell - SHE KEPT ME A VIRGIN.<br />
<br />
Here is the evidence:<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT A: BOWL HAIR CUT<br />
My mother lobbed off my flowing tresses and replaced them with the most unflattering haircut she could get away with. In fact she probably insisted that it was the "fashion" by getting me to watch Purdey on The Avengers. Or possibly she had the kid with nits round to play on purpose so I caught them and the only way to get rid was to chop off my locks.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT B: IGNORANCE<br />
We never had the 'birds and the bees' talk. I learnt most things from my older sister. When I started my period she threw me a brick-like sanitary towel. She never told me about tampons.<br />
I had an absolute lack of anatomical knowledge.<br />
It was a very long time until I understood that I was normal <em>down there</em>. Crikey, I had no clue how babies were made until ...<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT C: FEAR<br />
I was threatened with death if I ever got pregnant. Her exact words were "If you get pregnant, I'll kill you." So frightened was I of getting pregnant that it took me years to get past first base.<br />
In fact this stayed with me for so long that I was married and pregnant with my first child AT THE AGE OF 34 and I was still scared to tell her.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT D: NEVER LEAVE THE ROOM<br />
I spent hours sat in her kitchen with my first love and she never ever left. I have no idea how she didn't go to the toilet.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT E: CLOTHES<br />
Basically, I looked like a little boy. The worst outfit was yellow dungarees that I wore for a year after I'd outgrown them. Blimey, I could hardly get them off to go for a wee, never mind to flash my froufrou at anyone.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT F: NO SHAVING<br />
At age 15 I overheard her say something about bikini line and I actually thought that this was the part of your stomach inbetween the top and bottom half of where you'd wear a bikini. I was not allowed to shave. When I eventually managed to get hold of a razor, I was so panicked of being caught in the shower with it that I only shaved one leg and stayed that way for WEEKS.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT G: CURFEW<br />
While I was living in her house, my curfew was 10pm. Which meant there wasn't even time for a snog and a quick grope.<br />
<br />
EXHIBIT H: SMALL BOOBS GENE<br />
Okay, so maybe she didn't plan this one but let's just say I was a late developer. And even then I didn't develop <em>that much</em>. I remember getting changed for PE in those dreadful group changing rooms at school and I was the only girl still wearing a vest. The popular girls of course told all the boys. (The popular girls obviously being in cahoots with my mother).<br />
<br />
I'll tell you now - I didn't lose my virginity until the month before I turned 18. I was away with a friend from school, staying with her family in Malta. This friend had a cousin who was 19 and with no mother around let's just say I went a little crazy. And that crazy continued after the summer when I went off to university and slept with practically every boy in Fresher's Week.<br />
<br />
I have a daugher. She's only 10. But once she hits teenage years I reckon the only parenting manual I'll be looking at is my mothers.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-13594131473584580302013-04-11T05:05:00.002-07:002013-04-11T05:05:44.128-07:00Twenty Things My Toddler Has Freaked Out About Today1. He needs a big box<br />
2. His sister won't talk to him<br />
3. His sister is talking to him<br />
4. The toothpaste tastes too spicy<br />
5. Peppa Pig can't come for lunch<br />
6. He wants four walkie-talkies<br />
7. He hates the red cup<br />
8. The carpet is too soft<br />
9. There are bubbles in his socks<br />
10. He doesn't like the tap<br />
11. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">His brother breathed on him</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">12. He's not allowed on the car roof</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">13. I didn't watch him come down the slide</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">14. The label in his vest is itchy</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">15. I touched his hair</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">16. His finger tastes sticky</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">17. His eyes are being googly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">18. The pillow is too heavy</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">19. The phone rang</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">20. I'm typing this blog</span>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-84589307793098725212013-02-10T14:45:00.001-08:002013-02-10T14:45:29.227-08:00Grown UpThe past few Saturdays we've been out. And I mean <em>good</em> out. With great company, lots of laughs and a sense of freedom - even though we've had to be back by midnight for the babysitter. Bloody babysitter. I'm still struggling with the fact that no matter what fun I'm having and I'm a <em>grown-up</em> now, I still have a curfew. A set time that means the end of fun and the beginning of real life. Around 11.30pm I get twitchy because I know the time is coming when we have to hit the road and any minute past 11.45pm sends me into a cold sweat, as if being late will get me <em>told off</em>. Reprimanded for having the fun and not dealing with the responsibilites, like the adult I am supposed to be now. And what makes matters worse is that the babysitter is usually a teenager. The roles are reversed for a few hours and I love it. Take that, Teenager!<br />
<br />
These nights out are a gift because it's the one time I can truly let my hair down and be ME. I can flirt and be hilarious without a small child interrupting or clinging to my leg. I can dance like my kids aren't watching and have the Holy Grail of Parenthood - an uninterrupted conversation. Although there's the shitty morning after, a good night out can recharge batteries and make you remember the person that you actually are. Remind you that life isn't just about the school run, the homework and the day-to-day looking after children.<br />
<br />
Last night I didn't go out. There wasn't much going down in da hood as our friends had family commitments and if I'm going to spend time alone with my husband, I might as well do it in front of the telly. But I'm suffering today far more than after a night tripping the light fantastic. I've got a hangover from hell - not from too much drink, but from too much adulthood. I've had far too many shots of housework and I never should have inhaled that last bed change. My shakes are due to immaturity withdrawal.<br />
<br />
And I'll tell you why else I've got this hangover. Because instead of my batteries being recharged they've completely run flat. I feel old, boring, a slave to the three birthday parties I've taken my daughter to and eaten alive by the washing/ironing pile. In fact I feel like a proper Grown Up - and it's shit.<br />
<br />
Remember when you were 12 and you wanted to be 13? Then 16? Then 21? 30 was great because it felt like the cusp between being young and being mature, like life suddenly takes you seriously. Hell, 40 was even okay because it was such a massive <em>joke</em>. But now, 43 is freaking me out because there's this crazy pressure to be responsible and it's not how I feel.<br />
<br />
You'd think at age 43 I would be pretty used to being an adult, but I'm not. I can't get my head round the fact that I remember my mother when she was 43 and I don't think for a minute that she felt the way I do. She certainly didn't act it. Because I'm not 43 in my head. Heck, I'm not 43 in my personality. It's just MATHS, surely? Because it's not ME. Yeah I've got a husband, three kids, a dog and a house. But deep down, I still feel like a kid.<br />
<br />
The other day I was wearing a pink hoody, woolly tights with tiny Uggs and my friend commented that it was like being with a 17 year old. I was surprised because, at first, I thought BUT I AM SEVENTEEN. But clearly I'm not, even though I seem to be suffering from a bizarre body dysmorphia every time I look in the mirror because I don't see a woman, I see A GIRL. I'm not sure how a woman would dress but, looking at the 'women' in the playground, I'm pretty sure it involves maxi skirts and high heel boots, sensible jackets and certainly not my collection of hats. If I wore clothes like that, not only would I look ridiculous but I'd spend the whole day feeling like I was attending some bizarre fancy dress party. "Come dressed as a grown-up" the invitation would read - and I'd damn well make sure I was washing my hair that night. Or putting it in pigtails.<br />
<br />
I don't think I'm mutton dressed as lamb. I'm just a very lamby person. I feel bouncy and spritely when I'm out. At home, not so much, because I have children and, well, somebody has to be the grown-up around here. Being 43 and a parent, I have to take that responsibility on the chin, which I do, but not only do I not <em>feel</em> it, I'm actually not very good at it. I often find myself day-dreaming about what-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up. I check out what my friend's teenagers are wearing and make a mental note to buy the exact same outfit. I often realise with shock that if we are ever going to have clean clothes around here, I am going to have to, gasp, <em>wash them</em>.<br />
<br />
Whereas my parents decorate their house on a rotating basis starting from the kitchen and going round each room until they're back at the kitchen again, I haven't decorated in five years. When my mum decides it's time for a new sofa, she'll go out and buy the exact same sofa from the exact same shop where she got the previous one. I can't even decide where to put the cushions on ours. Our dishwasher was broken for two years before we bought a new one and even then we bought it on interest free credit because we'd spent our 'dishwasher' money on that night out in London. All in all, I belong in the Common Room rather than my own home.<br />
<br />
And yet there are mums my age who aren't afraid to look and act like responsible adults. They have set days to do specific jobs around the house. And they don't even spend most of that time dancing to One Direction and fannying around on Twitter. But I suppose by the weekend, they're all done with the housey jobs so it frees them up completely for fun family stuff, and I expect that's where I'm going wrong. I'm stressing and procrastinating so much about the grown-up stuff that I'm stretching it out for far longer than it needs to be.<br />
<br />
Being grown-up does have its plus side though. If you want to eat Kit-Kat for breakfast, you can. Nobody forces you to wear a hat, coat and gloves. You can have dessert, even though you didn't finish your dinner. You can buy alcohol without fake ID. You can decide who is in your life and who is not. And, above all, you can boss little people around.<br />
<br />
When I hear my son say that he feels like he's ready to be a grown-up, I laugh to myself. Why? For What? Stick with school, mucking about with mates, rocking to The Wanted, the Wii and your carefree days - you'll be a grown up soon enough, I want to tell him. Having choices and control ain't all that. Because, often, adulthood sucks. And you <em>never</em> get to crawl down a ladder to get out of bed.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-76010199387022830292012-11-15T13:25:00.000-08:002012-11-15T13:25:00.340-08:00Everyone's Okay by Carly Kimmel (Guest Blog)This weekend after a particularly harrowing morning that included, amongst other disasters, my two-year-old "playfully" biting me so that I was compelled to drop him, which then led to him rolling into a table and cutting his eye, I decided I needed a self-imposed time-out.<br />
<br />
"I'm going to get a coffee." I told my husband.<br />
<br />
I didn’t have to say anything else. The coffee shop is nothing if not a sacred space where I go to check emails and stare blankly at white walls while sipping copious amounts of caffeine and trying to forget the horrors of my current day to day. My husband knows I only go when I desperately need to (at least once a day).<br />
<br />
On the walk there, I dialed up my mother, returning a call that I had been putting off all morning. As the phone rang, I promised myself I would not report how chaotic things had been, but instead, channel an inner calm that is, at most times, all too foreign to me, and try to manifest that calmness into reality. <em>Everything is great</em> I would tell her. <em>We're just enjoying a quiet weekend at home.</em><br />
<br />
“Wesley split his eye open.”<br />
<br />
The words were out of my mouth before she’d finished saying hello.<br />
<br />
I heard her sigh on the other end of the line. “Again?” she asked.<br />
<br />
I nodded, knowing she couldn’t see me, and gnawed on one of my fingernails.<br />
<br />
“How’s Bea?” she asked.<br />
<br />
My eight-month-old daughter is getting over pneumonia and requires breathing treatments 3x a day.<br />
<br />
“Just fine,” I said. “Recovering, I think.”<br />
<br />
I didn’t mention the explosive diarrhea that is an unfortunate side effect of the antibiotics she is taking or the hours of crying that I assume is a result of the double ear infection. <em>Just fine.</em> <em>Everything is fine. Quiet weekend.</em><br />
<br />
“Where are you?” she asked. “On your way to the coffee shop?”<br />
<br />
And just like that, I was called out—right in the middle of my escape attempt.<br />
<br />
“I just needed a quick break,” I said.<br />
<br />
“You better get home,” she continued, “or something terrible is going to happen.”<br />
<br />
Let me stop for a minute and fill you in on the fact that my mother is a notorious alarmist, and because she is the one that raised me, I tend to be a bit of the same. A couple of weeks ago a news story came out about a nanny in New York who had some sort of mental collapse and killed the children she was taking care of. It was one of those horrific nightmare stories that make you physically ill and then stays with you long after the media has moved on. I’d read something about it on facebook and promptly turned my computer off. I have enough anxiety as it is. My mother, however, called to tell me all about it as soon as she had heard.<br />
<br />
“DO NOT leave the house while your sitter is there,” she said. “You can’t trust anyone else to watch your children!”<br />
<br />
When I told her I didn’t want to hear the gory details, she cut me off with a lengthy description of the neighbor’s report that the mother’s screams could be heard throughout the building.<br />
<br />
“Your children are only safe when your eyes are on them.”<br />
<br />
And the thing is, she’s right (in my case, they are <em>safer</em> when my eyes are on them, whether they are ever really <em>safe</em> is up for debate, but I don’t want to get hung up on semantics). It’s just a matter of what level of risk I’m willing to take for a much needed breather. How terrible is terrible? What’s the worst that could happen while my husband is watching them and I’m staring at walls for an hour?<br />
<br />
“I don’t care how hard it is,” my mother was saying, “they are at an age where you simply cannot check out.”<br />
<br />
By this point, I had arrived at the coffee shop, ordered my latte to go, and was mournfully making my way back home. When I heard the screaming, I was still a couple of houses away. The voice was loud and easily identifiable.<br />
<br />
“What did you do?” My husband was shrieking. “How much did you drink?”<br />
<br />
Even before I made it into our kitchen, I knew what was happening. My son, the afore mentioned two-year-old who had earlier cut his eye on the coffee table, was standing there in his diaper, hysterically crying. My husband was shaking an almost empty bottle of Children’s Advil at him. Bea was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, watching, wide-eyed.<br />
<br />
“It was for my booboo,” Wesley screamed. “Medicine for my eye!”<br />
<br />
He pointed to his cut and grimaced, illustrating his point.<br />
<br />
“We need to take him to the hospital,” I said, trying to stay calm.<br />
<br />
“No!” Wesley screamed. “No hospital!”<br />
<br />
We called Poison Control, and a very lovely lady there informed me that he could have finished the entire bottle and the worst that might happen would likely be a tummy ache. I guess the concentration is low for just this reason.<br />
<br />
“He’s going to be okay,” she said, “at least for today.”<br />
<br />
I laughed. <em>For today.</em> The truth is, I was too upset to cry.<br />
<br />
Wes had used his potty stool to climb up on the counter and into the box of meds I had left out earlier in the day. He popped the cap off the bottle because I hadn’t screwed it on tightly enough the last time I’d given him some. So yes, essentially, this whole disaster was my fault.<br />
<br />
And yet again, my alarmist mother was right. You don’t get breaks when you’re a mom, because, let’s face it, no matter how hard you try to do everything right, something terrible is always about to happen—whether it’s your fault or someone else’s, being a parent is living from one crisis to the next and every day you get to go to bed with all family members intact—or at least mostly intact—well it’s both a miracle and a victory.<br />
<br />
Recently, I read an article that admonished parents to let their children fail. The author maintained that while watching said failures might be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, it will also be the most valuable lesson you can give them—learning how to fail with grace. And even though I’m thirty-five years old, and already a parent myself, failing with grace is something I’m still trying to master. Thankfully, these days, I get plenty of practice, and so far—or at least for today—everyone’s okay.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>CARLY KIMMEL is the managing editor at <a href="http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/">http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/</a> </strong><br />
<strong>She holds an MFA in creative writing from UC Riverside and a BA in English from UC Santa Cruz. She lives in Los Angeles, California with her much funnier husband, Jonathan and their two small children, Wesley and Beatrix. You can find her on Twitter @carlykimmel </strong><br />
<br />
Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-92041756384723096752012-10-31T13:27:00.000-07:002012-10-31T13:27:05.003-07:00I'm Still Here!<br />
<a href="http://www.thecomet.net/comet-life/columnists/if_you_sleep_like_a_baby_you_don_t_have_one_1_1671203">http://www.thecomet.net/comet-life/columnists/if_you_sleep_like_a_baby_you_don_t_have_one_1_1671203</a><br />
<br />
I am here, but have been busy watching TV and writing a weekly column for the local paper innit. You can see it via the link above and can probably go to the past few weeks as well.<br />
I still love you. I'll be back as soon as I can get off this sofa.<br />
XClairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-20581072859783410302012-09-09T11:24:00.000-07:002012-09-09T11:24:21.847-07:00Top Ten Names For Girl's And Boy's Bits 2012The other day we were at the park and our dog was rolling on her back having her tummy tickled by a load of kids. A few of the girls started pointing and asking "What's that?" at her lady-bits. My mate and I were like "Oh it's just her frou-frou" and carried on eating the kids crisps.<br />
On the way home my 9 year old son told me that he'd been embarrassed about me calling it a Frou-Frou because didn't I know that it's called a Minnie and nobody else in the entire world has ever or will ever call it a Frou-Frou.<br />
Which got me thinking.<br />
No parenting manual I've ever seen has a chapter on what to call Boy's and Girl's bits to your children. It's one of those things that you don't really think about until your baby is born and then there's a moment and then you just decide. Or maybe you don't even think about it. Or maybe you have a huge discussion about it. The thing is, it's one of those parenting things that you just have to decide yourselves and I guess there is no right or wrong. Some families like to use the proper, 'grown-up', anatomically correct words and others like to use 'baby' words. Some families feel relaxed about it while others have a right dilemma. It's personal to each family.<br />
<br />
You know there are baby name books and each year a published list of the Top Ten Names For Girls and Boys? Well I'm going to help you out even further and give you a list of names for Penis and Vagina, because, you know, it's as important as the name as the child themselves - it's used probably just as often in the early years innit. I've done, errrr, extensive research on Twitter to get these lists:<br />
<br />
<u><strong>TOP TEN NAMES FOR GIRL'S BITS 2012</strong></u><br />
1. Minnie<br />
2. Tuppence<br />
3. Twinkle<br />
4. Foof<br />
5. Front bottom<br />
6. Button<br />
7. Vagina<br />
8. B'jingo<br />
9. Punani<br />
10. Flower<br />
<br />
<strong><u>TOP TEN NAMES FOR BOY'S BITS 2012</u></strong><br />
1. Willy<br />
2. Pee-Pee<br />
3. Tinkle<br />
4. Winky<br />
5. Bits<br />
6. Daddy button<br />
7. Tweaky<br />
8. Penis<br />
9. Diddler<br />
10. Junk<br />
<br />
The least popular were "Black Forest" for girls and "Snake" for boys.<br />
<br />
You're welcome.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-22820465852381538512012-08-30T13:56:00.001-07:002012-09-15T13:25:16.946-07:00How Much Fun Does A Kid Possibly Need?I was flicking through my diary earlier today and realised that for the past six weeks we've been pretty busy. My kids, in fact, have had an awesome time and, even though I'll never admit it, it's not been too bad for me either. But in my children's minds what they think we've done compared to the reality of what we've actually done is completely different. I'll give you an example:<br />
<br />
HERE ARE SOME THINGS WE'VE DONE:<br />
1. Been to the Olympics, in the actual Olympic stadium and even seen Team GB compete.<br />
2. Holidayed in Norfolk. Twice. And spent a weekend in London.<br />
3. Walked in woods, paddled in streams, had picnics, played with friends.<br />
4. Lollies x 1000.<br />
<br />
THIS IS WHAT MY KIDS THINK WE'VE DONE:<br />
1. Not been out.<br />
2. Nothing.<br />
3. Feck all.<br />
4. Not enough lollies.<br />
<br />
In fact at one point after spending the day at Kew Gardens having fantastic fun they deemed it "the worst summer holiday ever" because I wouldn't go on a boat. Today after going to the cinema and stuffing ourselves silly on popcorn my daughter complained that "We've only been out once today." Last week they said they were "bored" - it was 7.53am.<br />
<br />
I was discussing this with a friend earlier who has a similar experience and it dawned on me that it's entirely my fault. My children's expectations are HUGE and INSATIABLE basically because I have set the bar too high. And it's a bar that doesn't even serve gin for me.<br />
<br />
The thing is, we don't own an X-box, Playstation, Wii and we have a dog that needs walking. So we have to go out every day. Which is a great excuse because if we stay home the kids invariably start to kill each other and there's only so many times I can lock myself in the downstairs loo pretending to be doing a poo. We, as a family, suffer badly from Cabin Fever so between the hours of 7am and 7pm we have to go out. A lot. And this going out is made even easier by doing stuff that I know the kids will enjoy and even better if I have a mate with kids to talk to.<br />
<br />
Even more, I like to give the kids experiences. I want them to go to different places and enjoy doing various things. It's the one parenting thing I'm good at and damn it I'm going to exploit that because everything else I do is pretty shit. But there in lies the problem. THEY GET TOO MUCH.<br />
<br />
I'll admit it - THEY ARE SPOILT. Not in a get-everything-they-want way. The only electronic stuff they have is a shared iPad and we don't actually have many toys. They are spoilt with FUN. Which would be fine if they appreciated it, but they don't and yet I keep on giving. I can't help it. I want these years to be enriched and I worry about being The Grinch Who Stole Childhood. I can't even count the amount of times I've threatened to give them a day of nothing but I won't carry it through because a day of nothing would mean me moving gin o'clock to 8am.<br />
<br />
I've spent years of child benefit in these six weeks. I'll have to hide the credit card statement. But at least it's money spent on them for once - there are no new clothes hiding in my wardrobe. The entire school holiday has been done in last summer's frocks. So surely I should be the one complaining?<br />
<br />
Let me have your thoughts. Don't bother commenting to tell me they're spoilt feckers because I know that. Also don't comment on my last season's clothes. Actually don't send comments. Send money please. And gin. And new appreciative, grateful children.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-35331091990205231692012-08-14T14:50:00.000-07:002012-08-14T14:50:34.378-07:00Dear Judgey McJudgeypantsOkay. I want to set a few things straight. I adore my children. Except the thing is, I don't always adore motherhood. There I've said it. I've got a mind that goes crazy and a need to do stuff other than take care of my kids 24/7. Some people don't like this. In fact they dislike it so much that they feel the need to tell me. They are so compelled to say it that it comes out as things like "People like you shouldn't have children." Which is okay because they're allowed to have an opinion but what I don't get is why they voice it - clearly when they know nothing about me or my life or how happy my family unit is or how sometimes I want to bang my head against this table. <br />
<br />
These mothers are usually not my type. They're not my cup of tea but that's fine - each to their own innit. What works for them probably wouldn't work for me and vice versa but I don't criticise them, I don't tell them and I certainly don't feel the need to judge them without knowing anything about their lives. If their way of parenting works for them and the kids are healthy, safe and happy then that's brilliant. I'm certainly not going to tell them that I don't agree. In fact it's not that I don't even disagree, it just goes in one ear and out the other. Aren't we all in this together?<br />
<br />
Somebody showed concerned that my children would one day read my tweets and blog. I've given this some thought and, you know what, I hope they do. I hope that I can disclose it all to them one day and we can have a right old laugh. Even more, I hope that they turn into adults who understand sarcasm, a sense of humour and tongue in cheek. In fact the best thing ever would be if it prepares them for having a family, gives them support and a few laughs during parenthood. Crikey, if me a few years ago could have read tweets and a blog like mine I would have found so much comfort in them. It took me ages to find friends who felt like I did and finding them was like finding the Holy Fecking Grail because it was such relief that I was, in fact, doing okay.<br />
<br />
My stuff has also been called "Anti-Kids". Which, yeah, maybe to some it can come across as that. But I would love those people to spend a day in the company of me and my family. I find having children wonderful, challenging, frustrating, fun, infuriating, hilarious - and the rest. I can't stop being me just because I've got children. If I didn't have all these feelings then I wouldn't be me and my worst fear is to turn into 'just a mummy' because, really, I'm craving my own identity too.<br />
<br />
I have never understood why parents judge each other. I'm not guilt free, of course I've judged but these days I'm really trying not to. Nine years as a mother has taught me that everybody has their own stuff going on and we're just mainly trying to do our best. My best is to love my children while still being myself. And I really hope my children do this when they become parents.<br />
<br />
Yes some days I find difficult. I can't control my children's behaviour sometimes. They are so spirited which is the best way to be, but also the worst way to be - especially if you're their mother. They can be so funny, inspiring and gorgeous to be around, but they can also be revolting. Sometimes I don't know what the feck I'm doing or how to deal with a situation but does anybody, really? But I'm trying. I'm really fecking trying. Often the trying works, occasionally it fails.<br />
<br />
After all ... I'm just a mum, standing in front of her kids, asking that we love each other.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-89799966971366661382012-08-07T13:16:00.000-07:002012-08-07T13:16:21.839-07:00Choose Your Battles WiselyParenting is a constant head fuck of what to do, what not to do, why should I do that and why did I get myself into this position in the first place. It is also a massive learning curve. One of the main lessons for me over the years is that, as a mum, I have to choose my battles wisely. Constantly fighting with three strong-willed kids would make everybody miserable and, hey, I've got to let them think they're getting their own way sometimes. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer innit.<br />
<br />
Earlier today my toddler was in the car with his friend who decided to play with a little union jack flag that was left on the seat. Bearing in mind that I strapped both kids in and spotted the flag, it was totally my fault because it crossed my mind that it would cause trouble but I was too busy trying to get them into the car in less than 24 hours. Of course the minute my toddler clocked his mate with the flag, he went <em>mental</em>. Which didn't help as I was driving up the A1. (Directions to the play area - up the motorway until you feel like slitting your wrists). I should have battled this out with my toddler, because it's sharing MEH, but I didn't - I got his mate to give him a turn and left it at that until we reached our Final Destination. I didn't battle it because I was driving, and also because I just couldn't be arsed. Like I said - choose your battles wisely.<br />
<br />
Battling is most definitely a non-consistent thing for me. It totally depends on what mood I'm in as to what arguments I can be bothered with. Yesterday, because I was knackered and wanted to watch the Olympics, I let my kids have their dinner in the front room and trash a toilet roll. I also let my toddler have Jelly Tots for dinner. But had I been in the mood for it, I would have fought until I won, regardless of blood shed.<br />
<br />
So here's a little list of Battles With Kids and whether I think you should fight or not fight:<br />
1. Wellies on a summer day - DON'T FIGHT. You'll end up even more hot & bothered.<br />
2. Cleaning teeth - FIGHT. Although I would liked to have seen Napoleon win this one.<br />
3. Eating sweets two seconds before dinner - FIGHT. But DON'T FIGHT if you're slaving over a hot oven and it's all likely to go tits up if you stray.<br />
4. Killing each other in public - FIGHT. Especially if there are Mrs Judgey McJudgeson Mums around. This one is a pain especially if you're at a park and you just want to talk to your mate.<br />
5. Anything for their safety - FIGHT. Like seatbelts, buggy straps, riding bikes on the road. This is shite because you have to do it but it's a really hard battle. Telling kids that something is for their own safety is like telling a vegetarian to eat meat.<br />
<br />
What I have found to help is full battle armour, especially for the tough fights. Protection pads and helmets will also do. But failing that, just give the hell in and let Daddy deal. Which I'm a Sergeant Major at, innit.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-57818130684341032102012-07-26T14:21:00.000-07:002012-07-26T14:24:27.519-07:00Whatever Works ParentingRecently the cover of Time Magazine featured a mother breastfeeding her almost-four-year-old son. The headline screamed “Are You Mom Enough?” and was the introduction to an article about Attachment Parenting. Yeah okay, the cover was controversial, but what annoys me most are all these new parenting methods which put extra pressure on mothers who don’t have a damn clue what they're doing (that’ll be ME). Do I go for Assertive-Democratic Parenting, Helicopter Parenting, Permissive Parenting or Authoritarian Parenting? It’s hard enough just keeping my kids alive, never mind sticking to a certain parenting style. But I’m not one to judge. If breastfeeding a three year old works for that mum then that’s fine by me.<br />
<br />
So I’ve been thinking about what does work for me and I’ve come up with a new philosophy. It’s called Whatever Works Parenting and, believe me, it gets me through the day a damn sight easier than hovering around a child who is allowed to do what they want just because the technique dictates that. I binned those parenting manuals years ago; they bring nothing but pain.<br />
<br />
After I had my third child, my Aunt said to me “Don’t feel bad if they watch TV for hours, because if it gets you through the day then so be it” and, boy, was that the best advice ever. When you’ve got a toddler to entertain, a crying baby and a moody tweenager, I tell ya, no parenting guru is knocking on the door willing to lend a hand. There is no such thing as a text book child no matter what the experts say and, believe me, I’ve tried following them and it’s pure torture.<br />
<br />
Here is the outline for Whatever Works Parenting:<br />
<br />
1. Your sleep is important.<br />
When you’re a parent, tiredness becomes the new legless. Sleep is a class A drug. Do whatever you have to do to get some and make sure you score well. It’s likely that you’ll wake up in a different bed to the one you went to sleep in or you’ll end up all in the same bed but so what. If it means you get that precious eight hours then so be it.<br />
<br />
2. Go Ostrich.<br />
Do like the Ostrich and bury your head in the sand, especially if your kids are running riot. If they’re not annoying anyone, there’s no bloodbath or eminent trips to A&E then let them get on with it.<br />
<br />
3. Sod the potty training.<br />
There is always the mother who declares her child is potty trained at 18 months. Before you ditch the nappies and spend your days clearing up ‘little accidents’, remember that nobody was still in nappies at 18 years because their mother didn’t do it early enough.<br />
<br />
4. Don’t give constant attention.<br />
Because your child will expect this forever. Your baby does not need to be sung to 24/7 and there’s nothing more annoying than a mother’s voice singing nursery rhymes.<br />
<br />
5. Relax the rules.<br />
Every child and every day is different. Just because the naughty step worked for one, it probably won’t work on another. Consistency isn’t always key because things (and children) change. Although saying that, empty threats such as Santa Claus on speed-dial always get results.<br />
<br />
The key to Whatever Works Parenting not only is sod everyone else and do whatever works for you, but also SURVIVAL. Lying in bed with toddler then creeping out once he’s asleep, not sticking to a routine, giving biscuits for breakfast and ignoring the “shoulds” never harmed anyone. None of these new-fangled techniques used to exist and, well, we've all turned out okay ish errrr haven't we???<br />
<br />Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-4599894509083316642012-07-24T13:42:00.000-07:002012-07-24T13:42:00.751-07:00The Church Of Ministry Of MumSince reading so much in the press recently about Scientology, I'm thinking about getting in on a piece of the action myself. My summer wardrobe is looking a bit sparse and is <em>so last season</em> that what better way to fund my shopping than setting up a cult. Yes, I chose to have children but I never chose to have them <em>unfashionably</em>. So I'm wondering about turning Ministry Of Mum into a cult because I need to make some money.<br />
<br />
I was having a little moan about my husband last week to a friend and he said "Mmm you're okay living off him though, aren't you?" and I was shocked. Shocked because it's true and shocked because I realised that not having my own money is CRAP. Occasionally my husband will ask me where the money has gone and I rarely have any answers even though I know this question is due. He thinks I spend it on clothes and accessories although I insist that a) I've had this frock for ages and b) It was in the sale, only a fiver, would ya believe it.<br />
<br />
I am <em>desperate</em> for some cash of my own although I don't particularly want a job. So I've been thinking that by expanding my blog into a cult - The Church Of Ministry Of Mum - I can get me some dosh. I am happy to be the authoritarian, charismatic leader as long as you guys, as faithful followers, pay me. It's worked for L. Ron Hubbard so why can't it work for me too.<br />
<br />
<strong>So here is the outline for The Church Of Ministry Of Mum:</strong><br />
Meetings round my house, no kids allowed.<br />
Gin & Tonics provided, with nibbles.<br />
Moaning encouraged.<br />
Be honest about your parenting.<br />
Never judge, especially when someone makes a parenting confession.<br />
Respect each other and understand that we once had a life.<br />
Share excuses on how to get out of The Special Love.<br />
Promise we won't harm anyone, husbands being the exception of course.<br />
Never ever have a Silent Birth and actually never be silent.<br />
Make sure we snog the face off any celebrity dads who join (preferably Tom Cruise).<br />
A small subscription fee will be charged, as long as it funds my frocks.<br />
<br />
Are you brainwashed yet? Hope so. I've got my eye on a nice green maxi dress.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-59132263381799399642012-07-16T13:28:00.002-07:002012-07-16T13:28:54.556-07:00The Kind Of Parents We AreI'm really lucky that lots of people identify with this blog. But I'm even luckier that they admit to it. Often I get comments from relieved parents who are usually being very hard on themselves, think they're rubbish and, well, feel a bit alone. Especially when there are Supermummys everywhere who make us feel crap. <strong><em>Yeah here's looking at you, Gwynnie</em></strong>.<br />
So I've done a little survey and I'm hoping that these admissions strike a chord - especially with the mummies out there who are having a bad day. And hopefully make you feel a bit better because YOU ARE NOT ALONE!<br />
<br />
These are the answers I got to my question: "What kind of a parent are you?":<br />
<br />
1. Drunk, impatient and I also spoil them.<br />
2. Make it up as I go along.<br />
3. Exhausted and short-tempered.<br />
4. Tired, frustrated, proud and hope to hell I can pay for their therapy to correct what I get wrong.<br />
5. Learning as I go along, making lots of mistakes, but sometimes strike lucky and get it right.<br />
6. Not just here all week but here for the rest of my miserable downtrodden days.<br />
7. The kind of parent for whom choosing which to save in a fall between the iPad and the child is like Sophie's choice.<br />
8. An exhausted one who uses Cbeebies to fill the last hour of the day.<br />
9. Easily irritated and prone to bribery.<br />
10. I'm the kind of parent who dettol wipes a highchair in a cafe but brushes mouldy food off the one at home.<br />
11. An exhausted one who feels guilty over working full time and not always being able to leave it at the door when I get home.<br />
12. Always there. But not always there.<br />
13. A guilty one.<br />
14. I throw out their stuff then lie about where it is.<br />
15. Disorganised and impatient.<br />
16. Shite, most days, well that's how I feel.<br />
17. The kind who ends a temper tantrum by stuffing child with Cheerios.<br />
18. One that hangs in there, dragged along on the coattails of growth spurts, tantrums and giggles.<br />
19. An okay, let's hope this works type of parent.<br />
20. A busy one with a mixture of fairness, grumpiness, kindness and fun.<br />
21. A mostly horizontal one.<br />
22. A lazy, skint motivator.<br />
23. An anything for a quiet life one.<br />
24. I'm an irresponsible one with a pinch of clueless.<br />
25. Still in training after 27 years.<br />
26. I'm the parent who eats chocolate cake with her kid for breakfast, hates the playground and dances the stress away at night.<br />
27. Rubbish first time round.<br />
28. Tired, drunk, fed-up, proud, happy or working.<br />
29. A haphazard, stresshead, lazy, inconsistent and tired one.<br />
30. Right now, I'm the type of parent who's supervising her kids bathtime with a glass of wine in her hand.<br />
<br />
Please feel free to add to this list! x<br />
Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-64734317761274937092012-07-11T05:13:00.000-07:002012-07-11T05:35:17.326-07:00Getting My Own BackLast night I cooked spaghetti bolognaise for dinner. The kids always eat it up and therefore I feel like I've at least fed them something apart from McDonalds. I cooked the same spaghetti with the same sauce and the same ingredients that I've been doing for the past hundred years. This was their reaction:<br />
<em>"It's dis-ggggusting!</em>"<br />
"<em>What is this???</em>"<br />
"<em>YUK!</em>"<br />
IT WAS EXACTLY THE SAME SPAGHETTI BOLOGNAISE AS EVERY GODDAMN TIME BEFORE.<br />
I despair.<br />
<br />
So it got me thinking. The only way I'm ever going to get my own back on these kids is when I'm old and the opportunities will hopefully present themselves. There is definitely a list of things that I wouldn't do now but am looking forward to participating in when I'm about 80. Ever since I became a mother, I've become so ridiculously responsible in my actions that I'll be gagging for an occasional release in the other direction. This behaviour, when I'm a golden girl, is my promise to myself to catch up on all the stupid, socially gross and self-destructive things that I'm not doing now and, well, it keeps me going. Especially when my kids are pissing me off.<br />
<br />
I have no bucket list of mystical places or extreme sports. My list is of stupid and perhaps illegal things that I'd never get away with as a parent of young children without social services getting involved.<br />
<div>
FOR EXAMPLE:</div>
<div>
<b>Doing drugs is high on the list</b>. It's been over decade since I did any kind of illegal substances. Except after my C section when I realised what prescription painkillers can do if you're taking too many when you don't actually need them. And when I'm in my 80s I will want to feel like that <em>all the time</em>.<br />
Realistically I'll have to practice in moderation in case of grandchildren but hopefully I'll be able to indulge when they go home and I'm left alone in my retirement apartment. Even if it's just snorting vodka.</div>
<div>
<b>Wearing pyjamas everywhere is another must</b>. At the moment I try and make an effort on my trips to & from the schoolyard and Asda. But since getting a dog I've been letting myself go a little and I plan to go the full way when I'm older. And I'm definitely wearing a visor with wraparound sunglasses.</div>
<div>
<b>Refuse to get in/out of my wheelchair.</b> So these bloody kids will pay for all the time wasted trying to force them into the buggy and carseat.</div>
<div>
<b>Soil my incontinence pants at inopportune moments. </b>That'll teach my toddler for always wanting to poo just as we're leaving for school.</div>
<div>
<b>And finally, be very very fussy about food even if I'm being liquid fed. And projectile vomit anything green.</b><br />
<br />
I can't wait. I'll be fun again. And my kids will realise the many pains they've put me through. Only another thirty odd years to go...</div>
<div>
</div>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-85314326534602084462012-07-08T13:29:00.002-07:002012-07-08T14:31:49.940-07:00Why I'm Not An Olympic TorchbearerSo we went to see the Olympic Torch in Stevenage today and it was great. The kids behaved, there were no embarrassing moments and the people stood next to us seemed to be having a great time too which is usually unheard of. I even had enough money left over from my child benefit to buy them all a flag, which they miraculously didn't whack each other with.<br />
<br />
When we got back, I googled the torchbearers especially as I'd talked to one of their mums and said "You must be very proud" without a hint of sarcasm (also unheard of). But instead of inspiring me, it made me feel a bit depressed because, well, the four that I read about were these <em>incredible</em> people who had accomplished things against all the odds, been pillars of the community and were doing these amazing acts. While I sit and watch TV. It depressed me because I realised that, compared to them, I actually do feck all. I haven't beaten illness to then win a gold medal, I haven't encouraged deprived children to follow their dreams and I certainly haven't given up all my spare time to work at a centre for the homeless. But, you know what, we're all different innit. So I've been thinking about what my accomplishments are and although I'm not worthy of being an Olympic Torchbearer, well, it's made me not be so hard on myself.<br />
<br />
1. I get three children ready, in the car and to three different schools without never ever being late. Even though, against the odds, I have spent 20 minutes on Twitter and I'm running dangerously low in petrol.<br />
<br />
2. I have survived numerous school holidays without <strike>hardly</strike> even drinking during the day. And, in this spare time, I have encouraged my children to watch TV.<br />
<br />
3. I try to be a nice person and will always help a friend out if it means looking after their dog, buying them ciggies or making them a G&T. And I rarely leave a text or tweet unanswered.<br />
<br />
4. Quite often I cook my husband dinner to ensure he is fed and watered after a hard day in the office. Okay, so this is usually leftovers from the kid's dinner but, hey, you can't knock a bit of good food when you're starving.<br />
<br />
5. On occasion I have been known to wear a nice outfit. Which totally inspires those mothers around me to think about getting out of their joggers.<br />
<br />
And for anybody reading this who was a Torchbearer, well, I took three children and their mate to see the torch, in the pissing rain, got them to behave and didn't even lose one not even for a second. Which in itself is a super duper accomplishment which I'd like to see you try, especially with my kids.<br />
<br />
Excuse me whilst I carry this lighter around my living room.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-75379990799131633222012-06-30T13:41:00.000-07:002012-06-30T13:41:11.154-07:00Parental Guilt SyndromeThis week I have been a bit poorly. I have had what can only be described as a heavy weight hanging over me. Google had no answers, neither did NHS Direct. I have had to self-diagnose. What I have been suffering from is Parental Guilt Syndrome. Here is my explanation:<br />
<br />
<em>Parental Guilt Syndrome comes from a fear of not doing enough for one's children. Or when you fuck up. Mothers who are especially lazy are most likely to suffer from this. Somehow,though, these mothers still find the energy to feel guilty.</em><br />
<br />
Three things happened this week:<br />
<br />
1. I DIDN'T GO TO SPORTS DAY<br />
Okay, in my defence sports day was rescheduled. I had planned our holiday around sports day so we'd definitely miss it. However, due to that one nice day in April being our summer, it pissed it down and was moved to this week. So I actually didn't find out until the day. It came down to a decision between Starbucks with my mate or Sport's Day...and, well, I didn't want to disappoint my friend, or my cappuccino.<br />
My son didn't really mind - EXCEPT there was an incident (see below).<br />
<br />
2. I THOUGHT MY SON WAS FAKING BEING ILL<br />
My eldest can be a bit of a hypochondriac. Quite often I have to use the lines "If I don't see vomit, then you're not really sick" and "If there's no blood then you don't need a bandage." Really, I should have shares in Bandaid with the amount of plasters my children use.<br />
The other night he was coughing and waking me up to the point where I was convinced that he was forcing the cough just so I'd sleep in his room. He was still managing to do somersaults on the trampoline at 9pm and eat 573 Oreos. But at Sports Day, he practically passed out with having trouble breathing and was a very sorry sight sat in the shade whilst everyone was doing the Three Legged Race. Or so I'm told - because I wasn't there.<br />
I decided to take him to the doctors and, would ya believe it, he totally wasn't faking. He's developed asthma and had to go on the nebulizer plus be prescribed steroids.<br />
<br />
3. I REFUSED TO DO CRAFTS<br />
My toddler is obsessed with painting. The extent of craft materials I allow in the house is one 27p paint palette from Asda. It's all he wants to do at the moment but he is so rubbish at actually getting the paint on the paper plus he always knocks over the water. Yesterday I told him that the paints had run out of batteries.<br />
<br />
I've messed up a bit, you see? I'm hoping that my kids survive being parented better than I survive doing the parenting. Maybe I'm doing my best with what I have to work with. But Parental Guilt Syndrome is a fecker. It's been weighing heavy on me. <br />
<br />
Thank god it can be cured with a swift dose of gin.<br />
<br />Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-45590461440684823822012-06-20T14:09:00.004-07:002012-06-20T14:09:58.615-07:00Mum LiesI am not a very good liar. Not one little bit. In fact whenever I lie it's so damn obvious because I fabricate the most blown-up unbelievable stories ever. Like when I have spent £500 in one month on nothing - except there are a few new frocks in my wardrobe and my hair is lookin' good and my husband asks where all my money goes and I make up some crazy ass story about the kids needing expensive shoes and aren't school dinners very costly these days. Needless to say, I have a 100% record for being busted.<br />
Although, saying that, my ability to lie to my children is AMAZEBALLS which is great because one of the major skills you need to be a parent is LYING. Thankfully when my brain cells diminished since having kids, my ability to lie increased.<br />
Here's a list of my Top Five Mum Lies:<br />
<br />
1. IN A MINUTE<br />
I defy any mother to say that she's never used this. It's practically parenting law to use this lie every goddamn day. "In a minute" is the answer to many, many things like "Can we have sweets?", "When's dinner ready?" and "Can we do that?".<br />
<br />
2. IT'S BROKEN<br />
This is mostly applied to those ride-ons outside supermarkets. I don't think my children have ever encountered one that works.<br />
"It's broken" is also great to use whenever there is a threat of crafts. Today my toddler wasn't able to paint because, hey, the paints were "broken".<br />
<br />
3. IT'S CLOSED<br />
Mostly applied to the ice-cream van and the park. Used frequently in the summer months.<br />
<br />
4. THE TOOTH FAIRY IS VERY BUSY<br />
I can remember exactly when my child benefit arrives in my account but damn it, I can never remember to put money under a pillow. It does, however, mysteriously appear in the morning when the child has popped out of bed. That tooth fairy needs a personal assitant, I tell ya.<br />
<br />
5. IT'S THE LAW<br />
Which is a rubbish lie that never ever works. Except when asked if they can skip school but then it's not really a lie but a useful fact when you've planned a day in front of the telly. "Go to bed, it's the law" will rarely be believed and "Eat your carrots, it's the law" will just get laughed at.<br />
<br />
Ahhhhh also Mums lie to each other, although I don't think I've done this much. I'm the first to admit how rubbish my kids are. Yet when that new mum is bragging about her kid walking at 6 months and that other one is boasting about her kid reading at 2 years...they're lying, right? Here are my top 3 Mum to Mum lies:<br />
<br />
1. MY CHILD SLEEPS THROUGH THE NIGHT<br />
Especially that fecker who reckons their newborn slept through at 3 weeks old. I appreciate some babies do sleep through early but not as early as NEWBORN, surely? Or maybe they do - because I'd have no idea since my toddler is coming up 4 and is still a rubbish sleeper.<br />
<br />
2. MY CHILD DOESN'T WATCH TV<br />
That's not always a lie but for the majority of mums is a laughably blatant one.<br />
<br />
3. HE'S TIRED, HE NEVER BEHAVES LIKE THIS<br />
Actually, I use this all the time when my toddler is being badass because, you know, he's the Golden Child who can <em>do no wrong</em>. And mostly, my friends are gracious enough to believe me.<br />
<br />
So please let me know about your MUM LIES - especially if they're as good as "If you eat your bogies, you'll get worms".<br />Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-63360542439034318492012-06-14T14:36:00.001-07:002012-06-14T14:36:20.534-07:00The Revolting SwitchThis was the conversation I had with my husband last week:<br />
<br />
HIM: "The kids have been pretty good today, haven't they?"<br />
ME: "Yeah, apart from when you went into the shop and they were threatening to cut off each other's body parts."<br />
<br />
Oh how we laughed. We laughed and laughed. Until something dawned on me - The kids have got this switch that is only flicked whenever their Dad is not around. It's a switch of revolting behaviour. A Revolting Switch. They are actually quite nice ... until Daddy exits and that's when it all turns, well, their <em>heads</em> turn - freaking 360 degrees, totally channelling Linda Blair's famous headspin in <em>The Exorcist</em>.<br />
<br />
Of course DADDY never sees it. So of course he thinks it's me. And the kids always deny such behaviour. The greatest trick my children ever pulled was convincing Daddy that the behaviour didn't exist.<br />
<br />
So I'm on a mission. I am determined next weekend for my husband to witness The Revolting Switch. Because - yippee! - I'm off to Britmums and he's got a full 24 hours of his children without me. I figure that the kids might well be clever but they're not <em>that</em> clever to survive 24 hours without threatening to kill each other in a slow and painful way.<br />
And I won't believe him. Even if they've vomited devil puke all over him.Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-33729009525926308652012-05-21T05:10:00.001-07:002012-05-21T05:10:23.269-07:00Voices - a Vlog<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TaUbuOcMiU&list=FL_Vk2rtmdHOlfr1yvpjrLHA&feature=plcp">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TaUbuOcMiU&list=FL_Vk2rtmdHOlfr1yvpjrLHA&feature=plcp</a>Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-77992800968588614042012-05-18T09:00:00.001-07:002012-05-18T09:00:33.640-07:00Family ChatI've always said that one of the important things I want my kids to have is social skills. And by 'social skills' I don't just mean being able to down a pint of beer in 5 seconds or nicely share a joint. I want them to be able to chat to different types of people and in various situations. I think my social skills are pretty good - I do like a chat, especially if it's over coffee & cake. My husband also has good social skills too - as long as he doesn't talk about his work. It's one of those life things that we want to pass onto our children. We think it's more important than fricking fractions.<br />
<br />
They are okay at it so far. They will say "Hello" and ask questions and, if you're unlucky, go through every photo on my phone telling you the story behind it. The girl child, if she was a superhero, would be Non Breathing Girl because she can talk at you for six hours straight. My son has learnt the art of sarcasm but his most favourite phrases are "What's for dinner?" and "Where's the computer?"<br />
<br />
In order to develop their social skills, I've introduced games at the dinner table. Which works if I can get them to stop fidgeting and pushing carrots around the plate. These games include such delights as <em>Good News/Bad News</em> (example: the good news is we have no homework, the bad news is Mummy will make us read) and <em>Three Things That Happened Today</em>, which is simply when you have to talk about your day.<br />
<br />
This was last night's offering:<br />
<br />
ME: "<em>I walked the dog. I had a nice coffee. My friend phoned. I bought a hat.</em>"<br />
<br />
THE GIRL: "<em>But that's FOUR THINGS.</em>"<br />
<br />
HUSBAND: "<em>Was if the coffee I made you?"</em><br />
<br />
ME: "<em>No. It was from Starbucks."</em><br />
<br />
THE BOY: "<em>School was boring. Where's the computer?</em>"<br />
<br />
THE GIRL: "<em>Mummy, can you stop talking now please.</em>"<br />
<br />
TODDLER: "<em>Watch telly.</em>"<br />
<br />
HUSBAND: "<em>I don't know why you make them do this.</em>"<br />
<br />
ME: "<em>You have the social skills of a pig.</em>"<br />
<br />
SILENCEClairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4665674616465398480.post-45110956928133234172012-05-15T12:59:00.000-07:002012-05-15T12:59:02.618-07:00My Top Five Child MilestonesThis evening my toddler said "Bloody Hell". I'm thinking of marking it down in his Child Personal Health Record (red book) that comes free with every kid, under the title "Listens, retains information and uses in the correct context."<br />
<br />
It got me thinking. The Chief of Health Visitors needs to meet with me because I reckon I could rewrite the red book in a more appropriate manner. Of course it's wonderful when your child rolls over, grows first tooth, sits up, crawls etc but I am much more thrilled by the following:<br />
<br />
<strong>1. BEING ABLE TO USE THE REMOTE CONTROL</strong><br />
On a weekend, I used to get about five minutes lie-in before a child shouted "Mummyyyy the show has finished!". I now get about an extra forty minutes before they demand breakfast simply because they have <em>finally</em> worked out how to use the remote. I'm sure those anti-tv mums curse this milestone, but it's one of my favourites.<br />
<br />
<strong>2. CLIPPING AND UNCLIPPING IN THE CAR</strong><br />
Sometimes it takes me 24 hours to get my kids in and out of the car. Getting a toddler into a car seat can be hell so <em>thank the lord</em> when other children become self-sufficient. I can put all my energy into the toddler whilst hearing the happy clip-clip from the other two seatbelts. And unloading is easier too - unless they climb through the front and exit roadside which has happened on more than one occasion. Errands aren't so bad now because I can get a pint of milk without feeling that I've caught the cow and milked it myself before even getting to the shop.<br />
<br />
<strong>3. GETTING OWN JUICE/SNACK</strong><br />
I <em>hate</em> that shovel-food-into-mouth stage, especially because very little of it gets where it's supposed to go. My toddler can now feed himself and I don't care that he walks around with his bowl while the dog has the occasional lick.<br />
<br />
<strong>4. BEING ABLE TO GET DRESSED AND PUT SHOES ON</strong><br />
There is much screaming in our house directed at the kids to get dressed for school. The fact that I have to dress myself and the toddler is so much better than dressing two other kids as well. And even though the most common phrase in this house is "Get your shoes on" at least I don't have to try and bend over to reach their feet because, hey, I'm not getting any younger.<br />
<br />
<strong>5. LEARNING TO WIPE OWN'S BUM</strong><br />
This takes time. My eldest can remember exactly what time his favourite shows are on but he often forgets to wipe his bum. The girl usually forgets to wash her hands so she often has smelly hands as well as a smelly bum.<br />
<br />
I doubt these will be in many parents scrapbook but I'd put them in mine (if I wasn't so anti-craft). What milestones would you record?Clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07519575630036673663noreply@blogger.com21