Toddler Ballet: Cracking a Tough Nut

I won't lie. When my mother phoned me to ask if I fancied taking my all-things-pink-loving toddler to watch the Scottish Ballet's performance of The Nutcracker I was filled with a mixture of dread and self pity. I dreaded having to cajole, bribe, threaten and eventually manhandle my near 4 year old into what was bound to be an exorbitantly priced seat for the protracted performance. I pitied myself as I had absolutely no desire to go. Having been "actively encouraged" to attend ballet throughout my childhood years (there were hopes that it would improve, what remains to be, terrible posture) it was always painfully evident that I lacked any natural ability. When this was combined with my having been quite a tall and robust teenager who felt awkward and out of place, a love affair with the art form did not ensue. Plus, I could not learn to like the maudlin music.

So there I was, an interminable silence on the phone line, with an expectant and beloved maternal presence on the other end. There was no way to extricate myself with causing offence or, worse, disappointment. So I signed us up.

The funny thing was that my daughter was really excited. Like grab a brown paper bag, breathe deeply, head between the legs excited and you just can't immunise yourself against that sort of enthusiasm. She wanted to know the whole story and be able to hum the music before she took her seat. After the initial disappointment of learning the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy was already cast, she took to dressing up as the candied sprite at every opportunity and that included donning her ballet shoes in the most random of places. We bought a beautifully illustrated version of the story which had buttons to play a few bars of Tchaikovsky's score in the relevant places and both children were up and practicing their plies and pas de basques. I too seemed to recognise, and to my utter incredulity, enjoy the vast majority with the 90s Cadbury's "Everyone's a Fruit and Nut cake" aiding the appreciation.

When the day finally happened upon us I felt myself as giddy as my toddler. I was ready to enter the Land of Sweets and the Mouse King was in danger of receiving a swift thump from my left brogue. My apprehension had now shifted to my toddler's staying power. Would she go the distance? Would we make it through to the Sugar Plum Fairy or even my beloved Dance of the Reed Flutes/Fruit and Nut Cake? I packed my bribes high and started the psychological manipulation by telling her how much she was going to love it and how we knew that, as such a big girl, she would enjoy the WHOLE thing... Well she did. She was captivated for pretty much the duration. In all honesty, she found the Waltz of the Flowers a little drawn out but I will confess that I too may have found my attention waning a little during that particular number. Tchaikovsky take note, nobody can pen hits all the time.

I am not suggesting that we are now culture vultures who will be signing up to all the latest ballet performances and classical music recitals. All I know is that The Nutcracker worked on our level. For my toddler it was a story filled with magic, toys, sweets and dancing, all put to catchy music with no tricky adult conversations to follow. Whilst for me, it was exactly the same.

 The Christmas spirit is upon us....

Sugar Plum Fairy better watch her back

Husband: My Partner in Crime

To mark our six year's wed and your (gulp) 35th birthday, I have decided to surrender to your relentless lobbying and pen (or type) a little something about you. Now, don’t get too excited. I haven’t had a personality transplant overnight so there shall be no declarations of undying love or comparisons to boulder like masses (Steve Wright Sunday Love Song listeners please take heed.)

This is what I know:

1. We are in this together

There has not been a single moment since we stood in front of our friends and family, dressed in our finest threads, vowing to be a team for the ever after, when I have felt lonely or alone. Any decision to be made, battle to mount or achievement to be celebrated has been done together without conscious thought or deliberation. We are a team.

This collaboration extends beyond the landmark moments and seeps into the mundane tasks of daily life. Where nappies and disciplining are borne equally, you definitely pick up the slack in the housekeeping and cooking department whilst I perhaps take on the brunt of the night calls and toddler sick days. We definitely have a rhythm and manage to keep the beat, which is no mean feat when you recall our poor ballroom dance teacher declaring our rhythm keeping to be "terminal"!

2. We are stronger because of what we have been through

It has definitely not been all sunshine and rainbows, especially since we started assembling our little family (much like the Avengers). There were those days that felt like an age where we tried to come to terms with our “inevitable” miscarriage only to have our spirits raised that all would be well. Those hopes were then decimated when the phrases "structural defects",  “chromosomal abnormalities" and "genetic investigations" were bandied about. Our second pregnancy was no kinder to us, with weekly scans to check the blood supply to our treasured infant's brain. All in all our little brood were lucky to survive the gauntlet that is incubation in my womb.

I am not sure when you promised the "in sickness" part that you expected to be called into battle quite so frequently but you have stood tall (above average height) and taken it on as if you were receiving each diagnoses yourself.

3. There is no one else I would rather be in this with

As anyone in a long term relationship knows, the heat and passion that comes with a new relationship is intertwined with the unknown. There is so much to learn about the other person and, at the time, this is exciting. There is so much potential and the mystery just adds to the allure! 

However, mystery and the unknown do not rank very highly on your wish list for a partner in the child raising game. You want to know not only where you stand but that you are standing in the same general area and not having to use a carrier pigeon to get your point across.

Our surprises may be few, our passion more sporadic and our heat mostly flannel pyjama based but with you I know where I stand and I know upon whom I can rely.

Now I know you love a quote, and in the absence of Van Wilder or Ron Swanson having uttered an appropriately eloquent adage, I shall instead turn to the words of an underrated Children’s author, Anna Kemp:

“”You know, “[I said}, as [we] drank [our] tea,
“We’re a great team, you and me”
[Your non-existent] belly shook with laughter.
And [we] both lived happily ever after.”

Happy birthday my love! 

The Classic Family Photo

Mothers: Working on the Guilt

As a mother, guilt pervades all we do to varying degrees but perhaps the most common focus is that of our employment status; the working versus stay-at-home mother conundrum.

Regardless of path chosen and whether it was done so out of choice or necessity, we self flagellate either publicly on social media, or behind closed doors. We fear having ruined our children by proving to be poor feminist role models if we relinquish the monthly pay check but then lambast ourselves if we return to the workplace; cruelly abandoning our beloved progeny to be raised by people who are paid to care about them.

Then there is the coveted middle ground: the much sought after "part time" work. What could be better? You get the best of both worlds. No need to compromise. Can life get any better? Well, yes. The unspoken truth is that part time work is a mine field. You feel stretched so thinly that where you were once a nice comforting naan bread you would now be more suited to wrapping up the Peking duck. The guilt gnaws away at you as you turn your back on their little doe eyed faces; knowing their gaze is following you across the room, beseeching you to stay just a little longer but then you also feel guilty for leaving your kids.

I think that there is a secret that no one has been telling us. I think that there is a simple truth needing to be acknowledged. I think that there is a fact that once considered can never be denied. There is no right answer. No one  has achieved the holy grail and been entirely liberated from their maternal guilt.

Guilt is as integral to parenting as poo, Mr. Tumble, soft play and bribery. Acknowledge it,  accept it and move on. No one is getting it right all of the time. No one has worked out the perfect balance where they attend every pre-school sports day, are their to kiss away every scraped knee but are also managing to dismantle that ceiling one glass pane at a time. It's time we gave ourselves, and everyone else a break. Guilt is just a side effect of loving them.

I have two friends (I actually have more, but for the purposes of this I shall keep it to my two relevant friends) where one is a full time working mum with multiple children, the other stays at home mum with her toddler. Both are taking over the world and bossing the parenting role in their very own way and I openly admit to envying them both for various reasons.

Let us take Mum A, the worker, she is highly regarded in her profession (and rewarded appropriately). When she discusses her work she exudes competence and capability. She is exceptionally smart in both intelligence and appearance and her children are charming and affectionate; clearly both happy and loved. I want to be like her when I grow up.

Next we have Mum B, the stay at home mum. She is insanely competent in all things homemaking. She can reupholster the couch while her homemade lasagne warms in the oven and her toddler works through an engaging messy play activity set up in her Tuff Tray; which will unwittingly teach her how to sort and reason. This mum makes me want to be a better mum.

These mums are getting it right. Both of them. They probably don't feel like it all of the time but they are. They are both nailing being strong role models and loving mothers. Strong female role models are not just the ones who go to work everyday and being a loving mother and being on the payroll are not mutually exclusive. So whichever path you (or circumstances) have chosen, cut yourself some slack. We are all just muddling through.
 

There Will Be No Miracles Here

We're Going to Family for Christmas: A Bear Hunt Parody

We're driving to family for Christmas
It's going to be a great one
What a magical time
We're not scared

Uh uh! Impromptu pee!
Stuck in a traffic jam, pee.
We can't skip over it.
We can't go around it.
Oh no!
We'll have to go through it!

Splash splosh!
Splash splosh!
Splash splosh!

We're driving to family for Christmas
It's going to be a great one
What a magical time

We're not scared

Uh uh! Vomit!
Projectile fruit pack vomit.
We can't skip over it.
We can't go around it.
Oh no!
We'll have to go through it!

Squelch squerch!
Squelch squerch!
Squelch squerch!

We're driving to family for Christmas
It's going to be a great one
What a magical time

We're not scared

Uh uh! Tantrum!
Unwelcome, unwarranted tantrum.
We can't skip over it.
We can't go around it.
Oh no!
We'll have to go through it!

Hoooo woooo!
Hoooo woooo!
Hoooo woooo!

We're driving to family for Christmas
It's going to be a great one
What a magical time

We're not scared

Uh uh! Need to be Santa!
Magical, nocturnal Santa.
We can't skip over it.
We can't go around it.
Oh no!
We'll have to go through it!

Stumble trip!
Stumble trip!
Stumble trip!

We're driving to family for Christmas
It's going to be a great one
What a magical time

We're not scared

Uh uh! Politics!
Ingrained family politics.
We can't skip over it.
We can't go around it.
Oh no!
We'll have to go through it!

Tiptoe!
Tiptoe!
Tiptoe!

What's that?

One paralyzing hangover!
Two over-hyped sugar- filled toddlers!
Two shrieking instruments of torture!
IT'S A FAMILY CHRISTMAS!!!!

Quick! Back through the family politics! Tiptoe! Tiptoe! Tiptoe!

Back through the Santa gifts! Stumble trip! Stumble trip! Stumble trip!

Back through the tantrums! Hoooo wooooo! Hoooo wooooo!

Back through the travel sickness! Squelch squerch! Squelch squerch!

Back through the roadside pees! Splash splosh! Splash splosh! Splash splosh!

Get to our front door.
Open the door.
Up the stairs.

Oh no!
We forgot to shut the door.
Back downstairs.

Shut the door. 

Back upstairs.
Into the bedroom.
Into bed.
Under the covers.

We're not going for a family Christmas again!

Toddler Christmas

#ablogginggoodtime

Terrific Toddler Books

I used to be a reader. I would even go as far as to say that I was a voracious reader. I would devour novel after novel, never limiting myself to a single genre. I would delight in the historical courting dilemmas of Austen and the Brontë sisters, immerse myself in the dark, crime-filled streets of Rankin's Edinburgh and delve into the sobering real life accounts of Oliver Sacks.

Then I had children.

Having spent the first two weeks of maternity leave, unencumbered by the usual desire of pregnant ladies to nest, I consumed tome after tome. Upon the arrival of my newborn, the books were cast aside. In the fug of sleep deprivation, I lacked the focus and energy, turning, instead to vacuous television programs readily available. The books were left to collect dust and act as coasters for empty glasses, guzzled down in the peak of overnight feeds.

Whilst the absence of novels went on for some time I started to revel in the writing and morals in some of the children's books that I was now narrating to my daughter: a lover of a story.

These are my current top 3:

1. The Worst Princess by Anna Kemp
Despite the fact that my daughter is a self taught devotee of all things pink, girly, glittery and Disney, the tale of The Worst Princess turns the usual princess-waiting-to-be-rescued tale on its head. It's a feminist's dream, beautifully illustrated and hilarious to boot! (I find reading the heroine with a strong Scottish accent adds a little something extra -my husband wholeheartedly disagrees!)

The Worst Princess - by Anna Kemp & Sara Ogilvie

2. The Odd Dog Out by Rob Biddulph
This is a classic tale of being your own person, beautifully summarised by the final line of "Blaze a trail, be who you are"... Need I say more? I love Rob Biddulph and his "Grrrr" story about how winning isn't everything very nearly made my top 3. Fred and Boris the bears are frequently referenced in our house when the inevitable toddler meltdown ensues following any form of activity which could loosely be interpreted as competitive.

Odd Dog Out by Rob Biddulph

3. The Shrew That Flew by Julia Copus
This tale is one of three stories featuring Harry the Hog and his best friend Candy Striped Lil 
and whilst my 3 year old daughter would definitely favour "The Hog, the Shrew and the Hullabaloo" where Harry fears a noise in the dark only to discover that it is his nocturnal friends going about their day, I love the Shrew That Flew. It is all about trying, failing, picking yourself up and trying again. The repetitive uttering of "Never say never!" serves as a mantra for all!

The Shrew that Flew by Julia Copus and Eunyoung Seo

If you are looking for books for your toddlers this Christmas look no further! Husband, if you read this I think we have learned that I need an adult book....

Terrific Toddler Books

Return of the Threenager

So today I just had one of those days. Having delighted in the impeccable behaviour of my two cherubic children whilst on holiday, I was perplexed and not just a little crushed to find that when the wheels of that Boeing 7(insert number here)7 hit the grey tarmac of Scotland those cherubs changed to demons as quickly as Gremlins in a tidal wave. I barely recognise them. The past 48hours has left me repeatedly questioning, often aloud in the direction of others (some related, some not, some I just chance upon in the street) “is it me?”

 

I feel myself quick to temper and I can hear the repetitive “No!” sound being emitted from my lips with every breath. I am boring myself and yet it would appear that my children have been rendered deaf from the flight. They swing between amorous expressions of sibling affection to attempts on one another’s lives that would not be out of place in a Shakespearean tragedy.

 

My youngest has perfected an ear splitting scream akin to a medieval warrior having his organs laid out before him. Initially I rushed to sweep him up in my arms, smother him with affection and quietly assess which limb had been amputated when I did eventually manage to decipher his anguished cries it would appear to translate loosely as “may I have some peanut butter please?”

 

My eldest, normally the light of my life and the shining example of my parenting prowess; a girl who exudes empathy and who possesses such a natural affinity for doing the right thing that I have previously found myself questioning whether she will find herself peacekeeping in the middle east, preaching to the Dalai Lama or taking herself off to a nunnery, she has turned. Once again the threenager is knocking at my door (or more accurately speaking, demanding that I knock on hers). I have seen into my future and I am terrified.

 

I have started grappling for reasons that might have caused such a transformation to occur: is it the assault of all things Christmas on our return to old Blighty leading to excessive and poorly managed toddler excitement? Are they feeling unsettled following our trip abroad and subsequent journey home? Are we particularly jaded following ten solid days of parenting (don’t judge me) and they are picking up on it like dogs on weakness?

 

I can honestly say that I have no answers. Best I can do is hunker down and wait for the storm to pass.

 

(But if you see them, don’t tell them I am hiding in the bathroom.)

 

The Terrifying Toddler aka Threenager Returns

A Message in a Bottle: Why Blog?

I have started thinking about why I have started to blog. During these ruminations I have concluded that there may be a small part in all of us (some more than others) which craves external validation and positive attention,  however, I would like to believe that my motivation is not solely limited to this self serving ideal (which is just as well as my comments section is somewhat sparsely populated!) And whilst I doubt there are many of us who would turn down the success that the Unmumsy Mum has enjoyed since documenting her thoughts regarding parenting on the internet, I fear us mere mortals cannot expect to enjoy such accolades nor income from our postulations on potty training!

No, putting these aspirations to one side, I have realised that I blog for three reasons:

1. Me- I use it as a teenager in the 80s would have used a floral diary and a scented pen but unfortunately mine is less "He is so dreamy! How long before he notices me?" and more "His nappy is so smelly! How long before everyone notices the stench?" It allows me to document how I feel as I feel it and reflect on the good, the bad and the farcical.

2. Them - There are parts of my blog which aren't as happy or funny as others. We had two rather tricky pregnancies and our daughter will be living with the consequences of that for the rest of her life. I want them to see how hard they were fought for and how proud I am of them, even from before the time they knew they had to please me in order to go to the "cool" party at the weekend... I want to be able to show them that in their darkest hours of pregnancy and parenthood, I too found it hard, I understand. So please, feel what you feel and don't beat yourself up about it.

3. You - Not as in "you are bloody blessed to be exposed to my witty ponderings and don't you forget it!" But more, if you are out there and feeling a little lost: maybe you too are not enjoying the dream pregnancy that you expected; maybe you too have a child (or the prospect of one) with physical differences who you fear may suffer emotionally as a consequence or maybe you too worry that you are not a good enough mother or role model to equip them with the confidence they need to be happy. Perhaps reading an account of someone like you will help you feel less alone and give you some hope that you can and will find your way through the gauntlet that is parenting.

The Lesser Spotted Blogger