The Tiger Who Came to Tea: EXPOSED

Sophie's mum was locked in the trance of an Instagram scrolling spiral when she absent mindedly reached for her drink and was both surprised and disturbed by the levity of the bottle in her grasp. Had she really finished the beers that her husband had been saving for his return from that overnight "team building exercise" in the Cotswolds? You know the one: "it's SUCH a chore", he "wouldn't go if [he] could get out of it", he would "MUCH rather be at home" with she and Sophie, she "shouldn't be jealous" as he would have "no fun whatsoever". Sophie's mother was somewhat skeptical.

To be fair it was very unlike her to drink before the all-acceptable 6pm but Sophie had been a particular terror that day. It had started with the pilfering of her mother's favourite lipstick from her coat pocket (as who actually gets to use a handbag?) She then proceeded to use the beloved cosmetic as a drawing implement to depict, what could only be described, as the scene of a massacre on her bedroom wall. All within the time it took for her mother to put a wash on.

Toddler Art

Her creative streak obviously worked up quite the appetite as, whilst her mother was distracted by her artistic endeavours, Sophie stealthily moved to the kitchen and devoured the twelve currant buns which were due to be donated to the nursery bake sale the following afternoon.

Post fuel stop and whilst her mother was preoccupied trying to salvage the walls, Sophie managed to empty all of her mother's finest hair products (overlooking the Aldi goods) into the bath before turning on all of the taps. The resulting deluge was of biblical proportions and the subsequent mopping required every towel in the house to stem the flow.

Water Play

Not yet satisfied with the level of devastation that she had left in her wake, Sophie then went on to kidnap a rather vicious looking Ginger Tom who strayed into their garden whilst her mother was still in the bathroom on bended knee, cursing her husband for having the pleasure of working full-time. Sophie coaxed the fierce feline into the house using the tuna sandwiches that had gone uneaten after her feast of currant buns, before concealing him in the larder.

You shall not pass

 Now, whilst Sophie is clearly a spirited child, she would never be accused of being cruel and, not wanting the cat to go thirsty, had poured out the four pint carton of milk that she had liberated from the fridge. Having largely missed the shallow bowl which she had meticulously placed on the floor of the larder, the dish now appeared like a speck in the ocean.

Milky Goodness

And that is exactly how Sophie's mother felt. As she sat there picking the label off her empty beer bottle, she could hear the grating saccharine voice of Topsy and Tim's mother mocking her from the TV just like those "instamums" and their #blessed images of motherhood that she had perused whilst Sophie was finally on lock down in front of the digital babysitter. All they were meant to achieve that day was a trip to the local supermarket but once the frantic feline was freed from its enforced captivity, it emerged confused and angry taking great leaps from one kitchen surface to another, taking several breakables out on its journey. Seeing the utter shambles that lay before her, Sophie's mother had picked her way through the fragments, opened the fridge and cracked open that beer.

She was broken from her reverie by the sound of a key turning in the door. "Daddy!" shouted the little girl as, pyjama clad, she bounded off the couch and threw herself upon her father. Sophie's mother, having leapt to her feet and not wanting to appear as though this had been the extent of today's activities, hid the incriminating beverage behind her back. 

#instamum

Her husband's eyes scanned the room as he took in the scene of devastation surrounding him. He looked to Sophie's mother "what on earth happened here?!"

She gulped as she saw the ginger Tom passing the window behind him, weighed down by its heavy belly.

"Erm... We had a... Tiger... come to tea? Yes? Yes. That's right. A Tiger."

"Ri-ight" he said hesitantly, spying the empty bottles. "Well I'm hungry and you look like you need fed so get your coats on and I'll take you to the local caff."

#blessed

Toddler Life: Loathing Imaginary Play

Now, you may think me disloyal but I really struggle with spending a day solo parenting in the house. Not to put it too bluntly, I get a little bored. Mind achingly, soul crushingly bored. Obviously I adore my children, I cannot imagine my life without them, the time I spend with them is so precious and they continue to amaze me every day etc. but most of their games seem to revolve around role play and if there is one thing I loathe in life it is role play.

Living the Dream

I detest taking on the persona of Maleficent, Scar, Gaston, The Wicked Stepmother or Ursula and my hatred is not solely limited to Disney villains. I also despise playing the pet, the pet owner, the big sister, the shop customer or the tea party attendant. It’s just not my bag. My husband, on the other hand, will immerse himself in it; happily getting down on all fours, adopting silly voices and inhabiting the character he has been given for not an inconsiderable length of time. He has clearly missed his calling; Royal Shakespeare Company eat your heart out.

Husband: Always game for a spot of role play (not like that)

I should also point out that I am immensely proud of my children’s ability to flex their imaginations and play make –believe, it eases my concerns that the digital babysitter features too much in their day to day lives and their brains are therefore fighting the transition to mush. I delight in my daughter’s long lasting friendship with her imaginary friend “Beega” (although that Beega needs a good dose of the naughty step with the way she constantly tries to lead my cherubic child astray) but I just don’t want to participate in it. Can I not just be a spectator? Is an audience not essential to any budding thespian?  

Daughter (left) with the lesser spotted Beega (right)

That is not to say that I hate being with my offspring, not at all, I just hate playing with my offspring. I enjoy many other aspects of spending time with them including (but not limited to) arts & crafts, outdoor pursuits, reading (with heartfelt voices), ball games, jigsaws, anything involving bubbles and building. But with my abhorrence of all things play-acting weighing heavily on my mind, I routinely seek out organised activities to fill our time, thus avoiding any lull which may require me to pretend, put on a voice or manipulate my body into the form of another creature. I remember in Nick Hornby’s About a Boy the protagonist, being happily unemployed, divides the day stretching out in front of him into manageable blocks. Whilst I found it entirely depressing in my ignorant liberated youth, since entering the world of toddler parenting it is a strategy to which I can entirely relate. An hour of dance class here, a trip to Book Bug at the library there, even a trip to the supermarket can be thrown in for good measure and once you factor in half an hour there and back, I can easily while away the day enjoyably. I should also point out that chatting with my four year old whilst we journey (the near two year old is no raconteur) is one of my all-time favourite past times and I consider her to be some of the finest company I have all week.

The Toddler conversation varies from the sublime to the ridiculous

However, should I wake in the morning with a day free of scheduling or pre-planned activities stretching out in front of me, like a pirates gang plank sure to plunge me into certain misery, I feel a cold sweat coming on. What if they want to pretend?

Utter dread

I know if I put my mind to it, I could easily feel guilty about this admission but truth be told I don’t remember ever enjoying make believe even as a child and I am almost certain that my imagination has always been somewhat encumbered by a depressingly realistic outlook. So I think I shall console myself with the fact that I put my heart and soul into narrating their numerous stories voices and all, and I must acknowledge the fact that parenting is not always the most enjoyable of jobs (see scooping excrement out the bath, night feeds, pelvic floor weakness and the mum/dad bod, plus the salary is downright deplorable). There will be times when I shall just have to steel myself, wave my limbs about like a demented fish, flick my hair back, issue a guttural laugh and decree my children to be “poor unfortunate souls!”.  

The Blog Rules

Having made it this far you can consider yourself to be part of an elite club, the cool crowd, a trend setter if you will. For you see my blog is, as of yet, undiscovered by the masses. I like to think that this is in part due to my complete ineptitude at all things IT based and in part due to a reluctance to expose myself (not like that) to criticism or ridicule. With this in mind I have looked to other, more knowledgeable, sources for advice on how to increase traffic or pique interest amongst those who have thus far not ventured to the undiscovered wilderness of the Mother (Almost Never) Knows Best website. Whilst their advice is reassuringly consistent it entirely goes against my nature... Let me explain:

1. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE!

The vast majority of successful blogger types advise the use of personal accounts on all social media platforms to pester friends, relatives and casual acquaintances to boost your traffic. After all, who would be more interested in knowing your inner most thoughts, feelings, worries and veritable failings than those closest to you? With increased traffic you draw attention to yourself from the cool kids like Google who will then direct even more traffic in your direction by ranking you higher in the pecking order, like school girls. Whilst a very sensible suggestion, I have several problems with the use of those I know. My first issue is that some of those people may feature in my parental musings in some way or will do in the future and the possibility of offending them fills me with dread. What if they feel I have misrepresented them or their poop throwing soft play enthusiast of a child? Secondly, I couldn't stand a response to be issued in person. And I do mean a response of any kind. Positive and I would have to shuffle my feet awkwardly, mumble incoherently and then run away as quickly as I could; negative and I would instantaneously erupt like a fire hydrant, mumble incoherently and run away as quickly as I could. Thirdly and finally, whilst I can almost get my head around the blood relatives and close friends reading my words it's the loose acquaintances reading it that I fear. The ones who know little of the real you but have fixed notions of who you are and your approach to life and parenting. I might be aloof, conceited or indifferent in their eyes currently but once they know, they know the real me and I can't take pretend to be anything else. It's not unlike the turning-up-naked-to-high-school dream but I have an unsightly body rash, every one has 20-20 vision and the school bell never rings. Apparently I have high school issues....

2. FIND YOUR VOICE AND STICK TO IT!

I totally understand where this advice is coming from. When certain posts are consistently proving to be more popular than others you need to give the people what they want. Know your market. Stick to what you are good at. Lots of people have made successful blogs based on this concept (all of whom I love by the by and am by no means suggesting anyone is a 'one trick' pony): Fran at "Whinge, Whinge Wine" will reliably be there to make us feel better about the times that we love our children but would also gladly shoot them out of a cannon, the Rhyming Mum and Rhyming with Wine will consistently help us laugh about our parental woes to a metronomic beat, and the Honest Mum will routinely soothe us through any life quandary with her sage advice and positive outlook.

Readers want to know what they are getting before they click through. They need to know that you are dependable and will give them what they want. Much like a stable marriage, reliability is essential for an enduring blog relationship. This I get. The only issue I have is that I am not reliably anything. Like many others, I didn't start my blog with a view to earn money by reviewing products, nor do I expect it to be serialised in a magazine or to be the launch pad for my glittering book writing career (although one can dream); I started writing to improve my mental health, deal with some difficult experiences, exercise a few of my hormone addled brain cells and provide some light relief to the somewhat relentless nature of parenthood. If I were to limit myself to having to be consistently witty, heart warming or novel I fear the blog would become something of a chore and would last as long as my brief foray into the world of knitting (3 rows of one scarf with 7 dropped stiches.)

3. SEO

I beg your pardon?

I think I just have to accept that until I am willing to out myself on social media platforms, remain consistently consistent and learn to cope with a touch of coding that my traffic will be less Spaghetti Junction and more bridal path.

On the upside though, until then I can convince myself that its lack of popularity is solely due to meagre exposure and I can tell the story about the poop throwing soft play enthusiast!

Full disclosure, I had no idea what picture to attach but who doesn't like a pretty bubble?

Do you have any handy hints for the novice blogger? All suggestions welcomed!

New Year, New Me, New Them

With the promising blank canvas of a New Year fast approaching I thought I would compile a list of things I am going to achieve through subtle changes in my parenting style in 2018. New Year, new me therefore new them. How can I possibly falter? These are my entirely realistic aims for 2018:

My 2 year old will lose the phrase “mine!” As his language develops I shall be able to reason with him about the importance of sharing and how much fun there is to be had merely by including others in your ball games. I am no fool and I realise that this will not happen overnight but I anticipate by his second birthday in March, he will be eagerly inviting his sister to discover the joys of his toys as if they belonged to the family as a whole and not as though he were the sole proprietor.

Sharing shall become second nature

My 4 year old will learn to pick up after herself
Gone will be the nights where our routine assessment of her continued survival, is rewarded by our failing miserably to pick a safe path through the utter carnage of our daughter’s bedroom, stifling expletives as poorly made plastic figurines become embedded in the soles of our feet. She will learn to respect and treasure her belongings, silently acknowledging that these have been gifted to her and that she is incredibly lucky child. When asked where her most treasured possessions are, she will respond immediately with their exact status and coordinates.

Carnage of the pre schooler

My 2 year old shall be potty trained Following on from his maturity in the world of sharing, my youngest will be keen to spare us from the arduous and often repugnant task of a toddler nappy change. Fetid excrement will no longer need to be extricated from the multitude of creases and crevasses of the boy toddler. He will treat the pot as his throne and undertake his responsibility as monarch in a dutiful fashion. He shall become accomplished in the world of toileting over a single weekend and our life will seamlessly change beyond recognition. Gone will be the days of heavy bags laden with a multitude of nappies, wipes and changes. We shall be light of foot and skip our way out into the world.

The joys of toilet training

My 4 year old will eat vegetables
After an initial period of bedding in, where I will expect a little reluctance on her part and a touch of gentle persuasion/bartering/threatening being administered on mine, she will be spontaneously requesting an assortment of plant based food adorn her plate. A positive rainbow of foodstuffs will be doled out of an evening and I shall feel satisfied in the knowledge that I am providing sustenance to optimise her health, energy levels and mental focus. Come Christmas 2018, she will be passing on the beige coloured potatoes and turkey so as not to waste any space on her plate for the plethora of sprouts, carrots and red cabbage.

Paltry portions of vegetables will be a thing of the past

My 2 year old will go to bed without debate
By the end of the first week in January, bedtime will be bedtime. Gone will be the evenings spent attempting to placate an irate, shrieking tot who was clearly cruelly abandoned in a former life. Nights will be reclaimed, lengthy discussions had and convoluted TV plots followed. We will no longer have to eat our dinner in relay form and rely on snatched, snippets of conversation to impart essential information. We shall have time as a couple, to chat, laugh and not discuss our offspring.

Bed sharing will be long gone

 Don’t think I can’t see you over there raising your eyebrows; doubt written all over your face. I hear the dubious tone in your voice; the “sure you will”, “aye right”’s being muttered under your breath. I sense your disbelief emanating through the internet. I am on to you.

 Little do you know, this is going to be the best year yet. It will be the year that I nail this parenting malarkey. People will be seeking me out from across the globe to advise them on how to mould their own children into perfect members of society. I will become the most sought after advisor on all things maternal, with my blog title requiring a swift change to a more positive outlook and page views going stratospheric as a consequence.

Or I might just teach a rhinoceros how to pirouette.


Do you have any (entirely realistic) New Year's resolutions? Please let me know in the comments!

Coming to Terms with the "Last"

It would appear that the stork (who seems to have been on some sort of sabbatical recently) has penciled in a visit to our extended family in the not too distant future. This has me utterly beholden to excitement, potentially more than it should, but I am a slave to those crinkly moles and I am living vicariously through the prospective parents.

Now here is the thing, I am horribly jealous, in fact I am intermittently consumed with it. I won't deny it. Just when I think I have come to terms with the fact that my family is complete at one fewer than we had originally planned, I foresee another "last" on the horizon; last positive pregnancy test, last birth, last breastfeed, last nap, last carry. So, being that I cannot stop the rest of the world from procreating I decided to investigate the real cause of my envy and this is what I have discovered:

1. I miss the sheer unknown of that first pregnancy

Even though my first child put us through the ringer during the incubation period, I definitely still remember periods of uninhibited joy which are so few and far between once you reach "adult" status. Your first child will change your life. They do this in ways you cannot even imagine as you sit, magical pee stick in hand, marvelling at those two blue lines that you had spent your misguided youth trying to avoid. Whilst we, as card carrying progenitors, find it easier to portray the more negative aspects of parenthood, the truth is a child will incomprehensibly alter you for the better. It's just not as funny to write about.

2. I miss the limitless possibility of the newborn

There is a whole person waiting to meet you. All those twinges, pops and bubbles emanating from your stomach are coming from a real human being; an individual who is actually part you and part him. Sure, they may come out a tad shrivelled, a little mole like and not too dissimilar to your great uncle Neville, but you will see them and feel your heart hurt with love. Utter, uncomplicated devotion. Their personality will start to take shape with each passing hour and you will be in awe. How did you, with all of your faults, make such a wonderful, magical, perfect little person?

3. Lastly, I long to...

I ache.

There is definitely a part of me that feels incomplete but who is to say that one more child would be the answer? I have two beautiful children who fought tooth and nail to be here today (my womb being as hospitable as a medieval torture chamber) so it would be unfair for me to put them, my husband or a prospective child through another pregnancy. I can live without another baby but I wouldn't want my babies to have to live without a mother. This I know. I just wish my head would tell my heart.

Shrivelled Mole meets Big Sister

Christmas: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

It's the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids running riot
And everyone warning you "be of good cheer"
It's the most wonderful time of the year

It's the hap-happiest season of all
With the long whiney trudges and family grudges
When you come to call

It's the hap-happiest season of all

There'll be present construction
Then toddler destruction
And wine on the go
There'll be Joseph and Mary
The Sugar Plum Fairy
And tantrums on show

It's the most wonderful time of the year
There'll be lengthy list making
And questionable baking
Downed with liquid cheer
It's the most wonderful time of the year

There's competitive wrapping
Post gluttony napping
And heartburn for all
There's wet kisses from aunties
Being wiped off with hankies
Kids climbing the walls

It's the most wonderful time of the year

The rain will be pouring
Claims everything's "boring"
When Boxing Day's near

It's the most wonderful time
Yes the most wonderful time
Oh the most wonderful time
Of the year

PS In the purposes of full disclosure, I actually love Christmas and do, in fact, believe it to be the most wonderful time of the year...

Clearly The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

 

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