We can officially defend Great Britain from our lounge

We don't really do weapons in our house.
I'm by no means a 'no child of mine will ever play with guns' kinda mum, but Dan has never really been that into shooting everything that moves.

He's more of a thoughtful child. Takes after his mum, that way.
Likes puzzles and books and playing Top Trumps.

But at a recent playdate at my house, a friend of mine brought her two boys round to play (three schoolage boys racing around my house - what was I thinking!) and she's a bit of a stickler for 'proper' toys.
No plastic in her house, it's all sustainable wood with a Fairtrade pedigree, child-friendly paint and didn't originate from anywhere quite so crass as Toys R Us.

So Dan greets her first son with two foam swords and asks if he'd like to duel (foam swords are OK, right? Soft and squidgy and harmless - unless in the hands of my 3-year-old daughter, of course, then you'll know how hard foam can be).

Anyway, his mummy smiles and lets out a little chuckle but her eyes say something totally different.
Over the next 10 minutes all four children race around my house, rooting through cupboards, raiding the playroom, crawling under beds and finally descend on the kitchen table with their booty.

OH. MY. GOD.

We have enough pistols, axes, hatchets, glow in the dark knifes (from Halloween), shields, rifles and swords to actually call it an arsenal!
And they are all wearing a helmet, a shield and a grimace.

Visitng mummy is also wearing a grimace and all I can think is where the hell did all that stuff come from?

* Originally posted on August 7, 2008.

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It's all about getting your priorites right

Tonight Daniel had a full on melt down in public.
I could tell he was tired when he whined the full 10-minutes of the car journey from his school to Pizza Hut (ah yes, a good healthy meal to end the week on).

I've also been stung by a visit to Pizza Hut with the children before, so you think I would have learned my lesson.
I actually knew going out to eat was a Bad Idea.
I actually knew it and yet I still chose to ignore it.
Hmm. It is never ever ever a good idea to do anything - especially in public - when you have a tired child in tow. And so as we sat there with crayons in our mits and started a game of join the dots or something, Dan let's me know that he's so not happy with my gamesmanship.

I quote: "Waaaaaaaaaaah."

Apparently I cheated. Oh this is so not going to be good.
"You are so cheating and confusing me and it's just not fair for you to do that to me when I'm really young and you know more things that me and how to play them better than me and I'm never going to win anything ever again and . . . . waaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Each and every single word of that joined-up ramble was littered with spittle and bits of food and punctuated with fists banged on the table.
Plus he's wearing the most heartbreaking face I've ever seen.
I don't know whether to tell him off, hug him or run away.
No amount of reasoning or comforting or wiping of tears is working.

"Dan," I say, "I don't understand why you would get so upset by a game, buddy. It's not like you."
Then his face totally crumbles.
"Please don't hate me mummy. I'm so sorry for being horrible to you. Please please don't hate me. I'm so worried you'll hate me now."

Ok now I'm worried and now I'm on the verge of crying myself.
WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON?
And then it comes pouring out of him like an unchecked torrent of emotion. The floodgates are open and there's more snot, tears and bits of crispy potato wedges coming my way.

"Oliver hates me." (I have no idea who Oliver is). "He calls me names and says I'm an idiot and won't let me play with Tom."
Really I have no idea who these children are. Did he move to a new classroom without telling me?
"You should just stay away from children like that Dan," I soothe.
"It doesn't matter what they say or what they think of you, I'm telling you that none of it is true."

He calms down a little. He looks so vulnerable and utterly adorable sat there all dishevelled and tearstained and sniffing. I'm thinking 'who is this little sod making my son's life an utter misery?' I'm having visions of him being bullied of being picked on all through school. I'm thinking how I want to protect my little man without undermining his kudos in the playground.
And I'm thinking who am I'm going to have to shout at on Monday morning to sort this out.

Then in the calmest, sweetest voice to ever come out of his mouth, as if the past 10 minutes were merely a figment of my imagination, he says: "are we still going shopping for my Indiana Jones Lego tomorrow, mummy?"

* Originally posted on June 20, 2008.

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5 products I cannot live without

1. Diet Coke
I've tried. I've really really tried. But I just cannot give it up for good.
Sure I've cut back so that now my blood is only 30% cola chemicals, but still my addiction lingers and it's the one thing I turn to to satisfy my sweet cravings.

2. Dettol Surface Cleanser.
It's not that I'm particularly anal about having every surface in my kitchen cleaned to within an inch of it's life, but when your children lick yoghurt off the table or pick Cheerios off the floor you do need some level of cleanliness.
And, oh alright I admit it, I love the smell too.
I sometimes spray it around just before husband comes home from work so he thinks I've been slaving away in the kitchen.

3. Liz Earle Cleanse and Polish
I have tried many many beauty products. MANY MANY.
I've probably even tried products you've never heard off. I've used bargain creams from Aldi, middle of the road staples from the High Street and high end lotions that would make your eyes water if you knew the price.
(No, I'm not rich or mad, I used to test them when I was a features editor. Tough job, but you know someone has to do it).
But every single time I come back to this cleanser. And (whisper it) I've even managed to get hubby using the men's version of it.
I have mild panic attacks that Liz will stop making it and move on to something new fangled, so I buy in bulk and store it like my grandmother used to stock up on sugar because it was the one thing she couldn't live without through the war.

4. Apple iPhone
I didn't actually own a mobile phone until I was 30.
I hate hate HATE to see people tap tap tapping away on text messages while they're walking along totally oblivious to the world around them, I hate people who continue to talk on their phone when they are being served in a store or in the bank and I cannot abide 'text' speak when words get bastardised for expediency and then end up creeping into everyday use.
But when I set up in business, I bought myself an iPhone and felt like I did that Christmas when my parents and both sets of grandparents saved up to buy me a Spectrum ZX computer.
Now I would bite your arm off right up to the elbow if you ever tried to take it off me.
My new favourite app is a dictaphone on my phone - for those moments when you're walking around Sainsbury's and suddenly have a fabulous idea.

5. Eyelash curlers.
What genius invented this contraption? Gents, really really sorry if this is over your heads and ladies, if you haven't indulged then why the heck not?
There are days I cannot be bothered with make up and will happily just use these babies and a slick of mascara and that's it.
Not so sure my daughter is so keen through. She sits there staring at me open-mouthed saying: "MUMMY MUMMY please don't cut your eyelashes off!"

So what are your 'can't live without' items?

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Goodbye

This is a quick goodbye from all of us as we are heading for America (and hopefully some proper sunshine).

I will still be posting while I'm gone, but if you wonder why I'm not stopping by your blogs or commenting it's because I'm on a beach and the internet is the last thing on my mind.

Also this weekend, myself, Laura at Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy, Dulwich Mum and A Modern Mother, and all appeared in an article in the Independent on Sunday.

It was supposed to be about the rise and rise of the mummy blogging phenomenon in the UK, but don't get too excited as they kind of missed the point a bit and took a few quotes out of context (Laura is so not happy!)

All of which disappoints me a little given that I am a former journo.

Hey ho.

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Why I should not be allowed to work from home

• I conduct important business conversations via Skype wearing my pyjamas.


• I eat bowls of Cornflakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner.


• At any given time I have about 32 episodes of something fabulous recorded on my TV which, you know, have to be watched. And they call to me. They actually call to me.


• Being within 5 yards of the biscuit tin is a distraction even I cannot fight.


• Biscuit crumbs in my keyboard = mild meltdown.


• My bed just 24 steps away. Yes, I counted.


• Twitter


• My chair spins 360 degrees. Really fast.


• No one can hear me sing. Which I do. A lot.


• Blogger Dad sending me distracting emails of weird websites he stumbles on because the guy literally never sleeps.
  

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Why did you call your blog that?

Have you ever wondered why your favourite blogs have the names they do?

There is a really interesting story behind Blogger Dad's name for those of you who know him and read him (and if you don't, well why not?)
He is a former journalist and a wanted to start up a blog and thought calling himself Writer Dad would be cool. And, blow me down, the domain name was available.
Only he procrastinated and by the time he went to buy it, someone else had snapped it up.
How could they? Who the hell was it? What a jerk (his word not mine).

Well curiosity got the better of him and Blogger Dad visited the Writer Dad blog and to cut a very long story short, they are now very very good online buddies and actually set up in business together.
How amazing is that?

Melissa at More to Life than Laundry (her blog charting her plans to take part in a round the world Clipper race) asked the blogging community to help her come with a name for her domain, and famously, Dooce was named after it's author Heather Armstrong kept misspelling 'dude' when having Instant Message conversations with co-workers.

I know you see some names and it seems pretty obvious why they are called what they are called but I just wonder what was the thought process behind it - did you want it to be a real reflection of you, did it just pop into your head, did you ask your children to name it?

For the record, mine was a 'popped into your head' variety.
I was writing a parenting blog for the newspaper I worked on and hated the name they had given it so when I branched out on my own I knew I wanted something short and memorable.
And, well, me!

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We don't do sentimental in this house

Daniel talking to a friend, Athena, aged 4.

Dan: "So where is your grandad?"
Athena: "He's under the Rainbow Bridge."
D: "The what?"
A: "The Rainbow Bridge. He's sleeping under the Rainbow Bridge."

Dan pauses, studies her face, frowns and with barely concealed disdain says totally matter of factly:
"You mean he's dead?"

The two adults listening in to the conversation in the front of the car had to ram knuckles into their mouths to contain the over riding urge to guffaw.

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How important is art and culture to your children?

My experiences of taking the children to anything remotely cultural have all ended in disaster.

The last museum we visited ended with me chasing two zombies through the corridors of learning and beauty and the last gallery we attempted to visit, well we didn't actually make it through the doors when we realised there were breakable things at Mia height and didn't think we could afford to risk it.

But I think it is important for children to appreciate such things, so we decided they should have another chance. And besides, during these 6 long weeks of school holidays we needed to stop using the TV as our only 'art' outlet (just kidding, we indulge in DVDs too . . .)

And so we found ourselves in Manchester. We had been invited to check out their art galleries, exhibitions and festivals as detailed on The Creative Tourist website.

And all the while I'm nodding my head saying 'oo, lovely' but in my heart thinking 'holy moley, they do know we have a destructive 3 year old in tow don't they? They do know that to my two, a gallery is like a giant art adventure and they cannot fight the urge to create, draw, oh ok ok, scribble?'

Still, parents do this all the time right? It's no big deal. In fact I have a friend who practically lives in art galleries with her two kids and she has lived to tell the tale.

However, it doesn't get off to a good start when Mia insists on taking Baby with us and I have visions of her leaving a trail of destruction behind us. Not unlike a day out with a child and a battering ram.

But wait, here was a cultural weekend with a difference, for youngsters were positively encouraged to get creative.

They drew, they built, they danced, they dress up, they told a man in the Imperial War Museum that they didn't like his gas mask because he looked like a 'rubbish alien'.

Manchester seems to have really hit the button when it comes to bringing the arts to a younger generation.
And did I mention that the majority of it is free?
From an interactive art gallery (build a face out of junk, write your ideal holiday destination on a luggage tag, build a makeshift naughty step out of your coat and a plank of wood - Ok that was just me) to an outdoor showing of The Incredibles.

Daniel struggled with the nudity in the art gallery somewhat.
"But why are all the ladies naked?" he kept imploring with barely disguised disgust as he glanced over again at the floor to ceiling painting of three Sirens in the altogether calling a ship full of (also half naked) men to their doom.
I tried to explain how artists consider the female form to be a thing of great beauty and how they want to recreate it in all its glory.
He looks at the painting again with renewed eyes. He studies it for the longest time then says:
"But WHY are they naked?"

I won't lie to you, I was getting a bit embarrassed with the raised voices and the "oh no mummy, not ANOTHER one!" calls around the echoey halls (funnily enough hubby had managed to disappear at this point).
And then Mia started to take notice and stood in front of one portrait saying (volume control clearly broken) "that lady's got really fat boobies mummy!" and I knew it was time to make a sharp exit.

Sure we suffered a little embarrassment (there was also the incident when Mia kept bashing the man sat next to her with Baby and we didn't realise until she giggled and told us. Very loudly).
But it was also enlightening and enjoyable and the best fun we've had in ages.

Introduce your children to the arts too - just have a good explanation ready when they ask about the nudes.

** This article is a review of a paid-for weekend trip to Manchester organised through The Creative Tourist.

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Trailer for the new Alice in Wonderland movie. Wow. Just wow!

Because I am a movie nerd and because it stars Johnny Depp (who, let's face it, can be brooding and handsome or just plain nuts and I'd still hand over my sheckles to watch him) and because it looks plain amazing, I give you the trailer to Tim Burton's new version of Alice in Wonderland.



Turn the volume up and enjoy!

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How do I explain this to the grandmas?

Have you noticed how children make up the strangest games?
Like when you buy them a vet set and they use it to dig up the garden.
Or when they use a doll's pushchair to wheel a pile of books around the house.
Another favourite is using their duvets to turn them into caterpillars and creep around the house under them.
I've pretty much seen it all.

However, today Daniel and Mia are chasing each other around the house.
Or Mia is chasing/shuffling around the house after Dan: with her pants around her ankles, her skirt lifted up to her shoulders and she's shouting "Siiiiimon! Siiiiimon!" in a monotone, zombie voice.

What the?

"Who is Simon?" I ask both of them and am greeted with a blank stare like, you know, I'm the mad one.
I watch her start the cycle again, shuffling after him, giggling and shouting "Siiiimon! Siiiimon!".
Really, I have no clue as to what this newly invented game is. I'm not sure I want to know.

"What are you playing guys?" My mind is boggling
"We're playing Doctor Who."
Hmmm, is that supposed to be an explanation?
"Doctor Who?"
Tuts from both of them.
"Mia is a Cyberman and I'm The Doctor and she's trying to capture me. But it's quite funny mummy, because she can't really say Cyberman properly so she's saying 'Simon'."

Sure the wrong word is funny, but errr hello? Which version of the TV show have you been watching Mia? I'm pretty sure no killer robotic Cyberman has pursued their prey with a bare bottom on show!

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If I had left her any longer, I would have been in real fear of the cat's life

Tonight my daughter packed her bags.

With the confidence and speed of a season professional, she loaded up her case, zipped it up and sat next to it with her arms folded, giving a satisfied sigh.

We are heading for America on a fabulous 3-week holiday and the children are beyond excited.

Every night I have to list where we are going, where we are staying, how much money it will cost, who will be flying the plane, how long will it take to get there, is the pool really really just for us and no one else gets to use it and we don't have to pay or get changed in changing rooms etc etc.

They sit there every night with their little bedsit lamps trained at my face, interrogating me.

But their excitement has moved on a notch now. They have started packing.

The holiday is still weeks away and yet Mia feels the need to start now (she's been hanging around her grandma way too much), you know, 'just in case'.

In case of what I haven't the foggiest idea, but her pink suitcase is out and ready and you'd better not question her logic.

"What do I need to take mummy?"

"Well you need, shoes, and swimming costumes and lots of summer clothes and some underwear and hats. And then you can pack whatever else you would like to take with you."

So tonight she has had a rehearsal pack. It's taken her ages; putting things in, changing her mind, taking them out, chuntering away to herself, telling different teddies why they simply cannot come and why they will have to stay at home.

Then she zipped up the contents, parked the case outside her bedroom door and she is ready for the off.

I thought it wise to check what she considers her 'essentials' for the trip.

They are:

• 3 pairs of pants
• 1 dress
• 1 pair of Crocs (bleurgh)
• 1 baseball cap - good start so far.
• 3 books
• 4 dolls (bearing in mind she hardly ever plays with the things)
• 1 wind up cuddly penguin (because he will want to see his friends at Sea World she says)
• 1 Kid Tough camera (I'd be better off sketching the scene with a crayon and a scrap of paper than relying on this to take a decent photo)
• 1 hot pink Cinderella handbag
• 1 wooden Dora domino set
• 4 Crazy Bones
• 1 ornamental egg (with stand)
• A pack of Match Attax (cast offs her brother gave her).

I'm thinking, if customs stop us and do a spot search, I'll be the one walking in the opposite direction pretending I came alone.

I say: "But Mia, there are hardly any clothes in here. What are you going to wear every day?"
"You said it was really hot there mummy," (she's looking at me like I've told her the moon is square or I've said the maddest thing she's every heard) "You said the less we wear the better, so clothes are the last thing I need to be thinking about."

Which also reminds me of an incident in a shopping mall today (why do these things always happen when we're shopping?)

Mia at the top of her voice: "Mummy, mummy look at that boy. He's NAKED!"
(He was a teenager wearing a pair of joggers and no top and a very very red face)!

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2 minutes after this photo was taken they were tearing chunks out of each other . . .

This is how I find my two most mornings when they are lounging about on our bed.

It fair makes my heart swell.

Mia utterly adores her older brother. Dan looks on his little sister as his own little charge.

They love each other, they hate each other, they can never be separated for too long.

They lie like this when they're watching TV together and every now and again she will glance up at him to check he's OK and maybe hug him just a little tighter.

He will acknowledge her little sign of love by raising his hand ever so slightly and patting her on the back.

As a parent, it really is the most adorable moment and I stand on the edge of this little scene, a smile on my face and a glow in my heart.

Of course, seconds later they are wrestling and using clothes, skin, hair to grab on to, to go in for the kill.

One of them will end up crying, the other will blame everyone and everything and someone will stomp off and sulk in their room.

The peace is shattered and tensions are high.

But I've seen how they really feel about each other and it fills me with hope that this is the life they are carving out for their future.
A future which, like every parent (and especially Jo Bo who also wrote about this with her two girls), I hope means they will always be there for each other.

And it makes me smile. x

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