Wordless Wednesday: Like mother like daughter

In these days of rampaging materialism and children demanding mobile phones by the time they've made their first friendship group at the age of 6, it's heartening to see that some parents still 'get' what it means to give a meaningful birthday gift.

My daughter received this handmade plaque on her 4th birthday from her good friends Heather and Lola and it has pride of place in her bedroom.

On the day of her birthday, Mia flat refused a birthday cake and candles and forbade any of us from singing Happy Birthday.

I had to do a 'most serious promise'.

She eventually relented and let us buy a giant cup cake and her brother could blow out the candles.

Because really, all she wanted to do on her big day was bury her face in fondant icing - and what girl doesn't crave that?

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

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Can you make real friends through blogging?

A few years back my husband was offered the opportunity to relocate with his job to another part of the UK.

It was miles away from where we live now, in a part of the country where we knew no one and there were little or no opportunities for me to continue my career as a journalist.

In the end we decided not to make the move because, well I had just had a baby and I wanted/needed my friends and family around.

Back then I didn't blog. I hadn't plugged myself into this amazing group of mums and dads. These online parents who are always there for you with a kind word, a behind the scenes 'hug' and their own brand of cyber support.

As I said in an article I wrote for new website SuperSavvyMe, when I did start blogging, I was amazed at this community of men and women – parents who I wished I had ‘met’ when I was pregnant with my own two children.

So I was pondering this again when the lovely That Girl39 at 40 Not Out bestowed a Circle of Friends Award on me and said she considers me to be in her circle.

And I wondered how many of you out there have made 'friends' here online?

Have you only ever swapped comments, have you emailed each other behind the scenes, have you actually met? Have you 'connected' with someone through blogging? Does it matter that you have never met or does sharing a comment bond mean more than some of the 'real' friendships you have?

I have never met That Girl, although it is something I would love to do in the future. We've exchanged emails and I kind of know that she's my sort of girl. I have no evidence other than her blog and the comments we share. But I just know.

So I'm passing this award on to 3 other online buddies I've made during my time blogging and ask you to think about your online friendships too:

JoBo at Jo Beaufoix who I finally met on a day trip to Drayton Manor Park and who is every bit as lovely as her online persona.

Dave at Selfish Blogger/Teach My Children Well who never seems to be able to make up his mind whether he's sticking around the blogosphere or not and who is a cheeky so and so but who has been a constant sounding board, confidante and friend.

And one cheat: Jane at Muddy No Sugar who I met at nursery school when our children got married. She was a great friend find and actually listened to me when I said 'you should blog'. I refuse to be held responsible for any of the content she posts over there though.

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Youth

Do you recall a time when you were young and carefree and the world was a truly magical place and all you cared about was the wind in your hair and the sun on your face?
Do you remember laughing at everything, jumping in the air because it felt good, singing at the top of your lungs, finding wonder in the smallest of things?

That is what this photo says to me.
It says 'youth' and it fills me with joy.

I've turned comments off as, well, there's nothing more to say really except have a great weekend all. x

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The reason daytime TV is banned in this house

Mia started a new pre-school this week.
It's attached to her brother's 'big' school and she is chuffed to bits.

That isn't to say we didn't have a little wobble on the first day when she clung to my leg like a little koala bear in bright pink Kicker boots (more on these another day) and turned in to this totally alien shy, clingy thing.
It only lasted a day.

To make her feel more at home the teacher introduced her to a little boy in her class.
The teacher was encouraging the cute little cherub to share his likes and dislikes to coax Mia out of her shell, but he was having none of it.

Finally the teacher tried: "What's the TV show you really like Jacob? The one that's a quiz show? You know the one we said we'd try to make a game of here at school? What was the name of it Jacob?"
Jacob, without missing a beat: "The Jeremy Kyle Show." (For American readers, it's probably the equivalent of Jerry Springer).

The teacher looked like she'd just been slapped in the face with a wet flannel and I had to suck in my cheeks to ensure a loud "BWAAHAA HAA" didn't escape.

I'm no expert, but I'm guessing that's not the kind of audience the show's producers were pitching at. I hope.

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Wordless Wednesday: The cost of pure joy? $10 (and change)

Dan has always had a somewhat cautious relationship with water.
He loves swimming. Adores it. But he's just not that confident.
He's always been too much of a thinker to really let go and just jump in. It's only really been in recently years that he has thrown caution to the wind and discovered the joys of diving, swimming underwater and 'doing a dolphin'.

Not like his little sister who is convinced she is a mermaid and that her swim jacket is 'just getting in the way'.

But when my mum gave Dan $10 to spend on his holiday to America he knew exactly what he wanted to buy after our first day on the beach.
I have never seen a child so free and so happy as my 6-year-old was riding the waves just off a beach in Sarasota on his boogie board (or bogie board as he insists on calling it).
The boy is a natural.

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

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So what the hell happens at 5?

Mia's answer to everything these days is: "but I am 4." Emphasis on the am.

She says it like a statement, like it's something that should be at the forefront of our minds at all times.
She wears it like a badge. To her it is as though the day she marked her fourth year on this earth some unwritten milestone was achieved that allows you into previously forbidden gateways.

We are at the supermarket and I say: "Mia, would you like to sit in the trolley?"
She looks at me with a half smile, some would call it wry but, you know, she's only 4, and she cocks her little head on one side and says all exasperated: "Mummy, I am 4 you know."
She says it like she's showing me infinite tolerance.

I try to strap her seat belt on for her in the car.
She slaps my hand down as if I've done something really naughty and declares: "Mummy! I'm 4!"

I say: "Mia, you are being such a lovely and grown up girl."
She says: "I am 4 mummy." I add no exclamation to the end of that sentence as she says it without raising her voice, without irony (I would not put it past her) and like she's explaining the most basic of facts to me.

She has said it so many times since her birthday now it's become funny and adorable and endearing.
She has said it so many times she has even started to shorten it to simply 'I'm 4' whenever the mood takes her.

So this morning, we are sat having breakfast and I say: "Mia, why on earth are you wearing your new boots with your pyjamas?"
She rolls her eyes like I'm totally missing the point and declares in a little sing songy note (while shaking her head): "4".
And for all the world it sounds to me like a teenage: "Durr".

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Coming of age

My beautiful, difficult, spirited little girl celebrated her 4th birthday while we were on holiday in America.

I don't mind telling you, it has been a challenge parenting her through these years. A Challenge.

But this morning, the first after our long plane journey home, she said to me: "Mummy, sometimes I struggle."

"What do you mean?"

"I just struggle."

"What with?"

"Just stuff, mum. Stuff."

Yes it's been hard and yes I've had to leave the room to pound on the pillow every now and again and yes, sometimes I question just what I've done to deserve such a strong-willed child, but boy is she worth it.

Happy birthday gorgeous, love your mum. x

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I will never be like THAT parent

Do you remember way back before you had children - let's call it BC - when you made yourself certain promises about the type of person you would be in motherhood?
Do you remember being out for a nice meal with your other half while a couple of harrassed looking parents tried to 'manage' their screaming toddler is was yelling till his face turns violet that HE WANTS AN ICE CREAM and he wants it RIGHT NOW?
Did you tsk at them too?

It's OK, I've been there.
And now I feel a great need to apologize out loud to all the mothers I ever gave dirty looks to for having screaming, unmanagable kids.
You see, BC you swear to yourself that you will never ever let your child become a walking advert for Barney/Dora/Pokemon or spit on a hanky while in public to wipe the chocolate from around their chops (them having eaten said chocolate just an hour before dinner time too).

And it sounds so great in your head.
You'll be this tolerant, calm, earth mother whose yogic breathing practices will help her through the difficult waters and make sure she rises above the scraggy looking women with baby puke on their shoulder and a fistful of food in the back of her hair who are screaming at their tots with spittle flying out of their mouths.

I will NEVER be that woman you promise yourself.

Then reality hits you right between the eyes in the form of a child and you've got more chance of meeting George Clooney in the supermarket than having any time for yogic breathing - or any breathing for that matter - and you will do anything ANYTHING for a moment's peace or to stop your cheek-burning embarassment in the middle of a packed supermarket.

And it got me thinking, what did I swear I would never do in motherhood?

1. Bribe my children with treats.
Their little bodies are a temple right? Well not when I'm half way round Tesco with a full trolley and Mia decides that she kinda fancies throwing the shopping out of the trolley as fast as I'm putting in is the way to ease the boredom and shouting "oi lady" to other shoppers is way more fun than helping mummy with the shopping list.

2. Talk about my children ALL THE TIME.
Parents do that, have you noticed? Every little event in their child's development is replayed in graphic detail and if you sit next to a parent at work you know so much about their potty training/bed wetting/tantrums that you actually want to throw a tantrum of your own.
And heaven forbid you ever get two mums sitting together at work - it's like the waiting room for the local midwife.
Now I'm a mum I have to gag myself. "It was so funny this morning . . ." I start, then think actually, unless you were there it's actually not that funny at all.

3. Take your child to work.
A big no no. People say 'bring him in as soon as you can' but they don't actually mean it. They mean bring a photo in.
Just as it was toxic to touch a child for the creatures in Monsters Inc, so it is for the childless at work.
I actually used to rush to the loos to avoid babies brought in to the office. And mums always always picked me to thrust their cherished newborn at.

4. Use the TV as a babysitter.
Picture the scene. You've just got in from work after picking the children up from school/nursery/grandma's. You need to make them something to eat, make yourself a medicinal cup of tea and juggle making their packed lunch for tomorrow while also thinking what to make yourself and hubby for tea.
While you're trying to do all this you have one child hanging off your leg demanding to be picked up, the other begging you to play Frustration with them (ah yes, very apt name for a game) and it's pouring with rain outside so if they do go out and play you have at least an hours clearing up to do after.
Who you gonna call?
Sportacus of course - 25 minutes of Lazytown is just enough time to race around the house like someone pressed the fast forward button and get all of those jobs done.

5. Promise yourselves that your child will never be THAT kid that kicks, bites, pull hair.
Yeah right, until that is you get the call from nursery saying your cute little girl has been bullying the boys.
I remember the times the nursery staff had to pull me to one side to tell me some child had bitten Daniel or committed some other equally heinous crime. Boy did I tut and curse their parents.
And don't even get me started on the day he came home having learned to say f*** - and he had heard it from a four-year-old girl.
What's wrong with these people, I would rage at hubby, do they not have any control over their children?
Then I had a daughter and she seems to be slowly making her way through the Naughty Girl manual.

There are so many many more:
We will always sit down together and eat as a family
I will never feed my children chocolate before the age of 10
I will never let my children dictate our lifestyle
I will never scream like a banshee . . .

So what are the promises yo made yourself before becoming a parent?

* Originally posted on July 14, 2008.

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Doctor doctor

I sometimes absolutely dread going out with my children for fear of what they will say in pleasant company.
I try to limit the damage by only taking one out at a time, but sometimes a double dose is unavoidable.

A trip to the supermarket is bad enough ("oi lady" is Mia's greeting of choice to fellow shoppers while Dan is asking me (loudly) why that man's top doesn't fit all the way over his belly.

Getting their feet measured is another kind of hell I'd rather avoid.
It gets to the stage where I'd rather cut the toes out of their existing shoes to make them last just that little bit longer.
But a trip to the doctor's surgery is just asking for trouble isn't it?
Two inquisitive children in a doctor's waiting room? It's like the start of a very bad joke, only the joke is always on me.

I'd rather suffer the symptoms and stay well away quite frankly.
"Why is that lady ignoring her baby?" (Mia asking after a mum whose baby is demonstrating what a healthy pair of lungs it has).
"Is that man here because of his weird leg?" (a disabled, older gent who walked in on two crutches and one leg is visibly shorter than the other).
"What's wrong with her, mummy" All of this is, of course, set at maximum volume..

However, sometimes a trip to the surgery with both of them is unavoidable. And it is never ever ever without incident.
Daniel suffers with hayfever during the summer (not that we've had much of one) and I can't bear to see my little man struggling with symptoms that look like I've left him out in the rain all night.
So I have to take him to see the doctor to get him something to help him cope.
And, unable to fob Mia off on anyone, she comes too.

Good news when we arrive - we are in the upstairs waiting room. Yay.
Away from people.Yay.
We are the only ones there. Yay.
But then they get bored of 'reading' the pamplets about managing arthritis and how to give up smoking and they start to fidget. Oh no.

They sit really really quietly swinging their legs backwards and forwards, the swing getting higher and higher.
This is a BAD sign.
They are not just bored, they are BORED.
Then someone walks up the stairs."What's wrong with her mummy?" Mia points and doesn't stop pointing until the new patient sits down opposite us.
The patient gives me a weak smile that's all 'can't she control her children?'
"I don't know Mia." I try to whisper so as not to make a big deal of it. But Mia sits there on my lap and stares. STARES.

Someone else comes up the stairs but thankfully Mia remains quiet. Just the staring.
"Where is the doctor?"
"In one of these rooms. We will be called when it's our turn to go in."
No sooner have I said that than one of the doctors opens a door and calls someone in. It's not us. Damn.

"That's not a doctor! That's a lady".
This is said very loudly. I pray she didn't hear, knowing full well she did. And knowing full well that's the doctor we are due to see.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Another woman has walked up the stairs. The poor thing almost jumps out of her skin at the sight of a small child shooting an accusatory finger at her.
"Why is her eye like that? Is that why she's here, because of her jammy eye?" (she heard someone say 'manky' once and thought it was 'jammy'. I don't even think manky is a word and if it is I have no idea if that is how you spell it so I appologise now).

"Can I tell the doctor about my sore twinkle?"
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL THE DOCTOR PLEASE CALL US IN NOW . . .

* Originally posted on August 22, 2008.

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