Motherhood

I've been a mother for nearly 11 years. I still have this worry at the back of my mind that somebody sometime will show up and say that they are terribly sorry, there's been an awful mistake and that there is no way someone as incompetent as me should be in charge of small humans.

Of course, that doesn't stop me considering myself a world expert on all aspects of parenting, Obviously.

Anyways. That's not the point, and yes, I do occasionally have one.

(you know, you are extremely cheeky for someone that doesn't exist)

Motherhood isn't quite how I envisaged it.

Yes, I do go into the bathroom, being the only room with a lock, lock the door and sit and surf the net on my phone.

I have been known to sit and utterly ignore screams of agony and obvious battering of one child by another. In my defence, it is usually very obvious when they are being total drama queens and when there is actually a need for intervention. I have rather surprised my hypochondriac self how un-panicky I am about the children. No, sorry, there are no parts of you falling off, nor do you have a temperature, you are fine to go to school. Do not tell a living soul that you've been sick, or they'll invoke the 48 hour punishment for parents who don't keep their children in full health.

One of my finer moments was telling my daughter in no uncertain terms that she would not be getting fed at all that evening, or indeed the rest of the week, due to her inability to behave in Marks and Spencer, While in Marks and Spencer. In full earshot of her nursery teacher and deputy head of the primary school.

There is no end to what can be made out of a cardboard box and/or paper plates. I've made dishwashers, cookers, fridges, cars, dragons, castles, pizzas, volcanoes, shops, signs, football goals, houses, dolls furniture, rockets, and many other things. Sellotape is a parent's best friend.

I can lie so easily to my children. It helps before they can read, because you can inform them that they are too young for anything you don't want them to do, or similar. When they learn to read, and worse, access Google, then they can verify things and lies become harder.

Sometimes I look at my children and feel utter contentment. The love I have for them washes over me and I just gaze at them, marvelling on the good fortune of having them. Only ever when they are asleep however.. Be it holding a sleeping newborn, or gazing from the doorway upon a snoozing ten year old, there's nothing so appealing as your beautiful babies fast asleep. Having said that, I think that I've had similar thoughts about their father. People are so nice when they are asleep, it's no wonder that I'm a night owl.

It's a well documented fact that going to the supermarket alone is something special when you are a parent. What people fail to mention is that going to the dentist, or a smear test, or anything else you can't take children to, is also a rare treat. Oh, you're running half an hour late? That's just fine. No, really it is. Look at me, sitting quietly, reading a book. Nobody is speaking to me at all. Nobody wants to know what flavour February is, nor does anyone require me to referee a boxing match, It is bliss.

There is no denying that it is wonderful. But it isn't quite how you imagine it.

Entertaining children

There's a lot of kids cropping up on my limited TV watching at the moment. First there's Over The Rainbow, where many of the potential Dorothys (and two of the semifinalists) are teens. Not quite children, but young. They're all terribly nice though.

And then there's Junior Apprentice. Precocious brats before they achieved triple firsts at the age of 22. Marginally younger and less arrogant than in the grown up version, but still vile and vastly overly confident. In the first episode Alan Sugar was jolly nice to them and should be commended for not firing Jordan with the send off "you are a revoltingly annoying brat".

Junior Masterchef has actual children, 11 and 12 year olds. Also precocious, but flatteringly presented to be less so.
What 12 year old states that they are fantastic at anything though? John Torode and Nadia Sawalha treat them all really nicely, none of the criticism the adults get. Very nice TV, although it should be as it's broadcast on CBBC. John Torode is very sweet on it and it's always a joy to watch him cook rather than just taste.

One does wonder what sort of parent produces that sort of child with unwavering self belief. Is that good? Will they go far or fall flat on their face when they first face failure? And the sheer brattishness of some of them is offputting before they do a thing. The height of audaciousness is the snotty brats that appear on Junior Mastermind. Boy do those kids love themselves! Which makes you wonder (shudderingly) what their parents are like.

I did used to marvel that any parent could push their children into modelling or acting at a very young age. However a reason for it came to me this week: childcare. If your precious is in a studio being filmed regularly, then that takes up a lot of time. Definite bonus.

So I am currently shaping up my own children. Twin one is going to go on Junior Masterchef and make an orange. And Twin two is mastering slapstick. Untold riches and free childcare await!

Wedding day

Today I attended a wedding. More of a "wedding" to be exact. This was the nursery wedding, for 3 and 4 year olds. Yes, you did read that correctly. One of the bizarrest things ever, but rather handy for boys who have a real wedding next month.

Some of the children were selected, and dressed up, to be the bride, groom, bridesmaids and best man. Very cute, but verrrrrry weird. And off they trooped, including a very small number of parents, to church. The minister explained all the elements of a wedding, without actually doing any of it, or referring to the God chap who is remaining a mystery for now.

And the photographer showed up and spent twice as long as the "ceremony" took taking photos for the local paper. Just like a real wedding!

For those of you who can, see this week's Fife Free Press for photos.

Films, mostly starting with A

An idea is forming (arising from drooling over Frankie and Benny's quite astonishingly tempting menu, ok, I'm only human) for taking les enfants terrible for a bonza half term/valentines-for-the-babysittingly-challenged premature grand day out. Consisting of film and food, if he-what-pays agrees.

So, food not too much trauma based on the "look, bacon followed by apple crumble" argument, but there is a definite issue of film choice. A consultation with Flixster - which has got surprisingly useful all of a sudden, wikipedia stylee - tells me, trailers and all, of the following films that could possibly be suitable for chiddlers.

Avatar. Looks quite shiny, 3D is intriguing (ish), quite interested to see. Kids may well enjoy...
2 hours 40 long???? Yikes! Why why why? There is undoubtedly a whole hour's worth of padding, can't you get a "Fidgeter's Cut" with all the waffle/scenic nothingness cut out? Suitable for children and people that have issues with too long films?

So Avatar's out. I would quite possibly like it but might be prone to a snooze in the middle so will wait for DVD.

The Princess and the Frog. Disney's latest, cute, lots of singing and... erm, I'm the only girl. So 3 out of 4 members of the party wouldn't like it, and I'm not sure I've even got the stomach for Randy Newman, x chromosome or not.

Alvin and the Chipmunks: the Squeakuel. Yikes. Singing chipmunks? Which we have free child tickets for due to some shockingly evil, bad, contemptible person taking My Children to McDonalds. (It may quite possibly have been their mother. Um). The boys might well like this and I could float onto a plane of tolerance and cute liking and "ooh look, it's Earl!!!"ness. But the remaining member of the party, purchaser of tickets and required adult to accompany free second child, is unlikely to agree. Ever. May bribe with DS if he promises not to show the other children.

Astroboy seems ideal. Not too cute for grumpy old men or princess hating boys, doesn't appear to have songs and does have Nicolas Cage as a character's voice. But gets terrible reviews and doesn't have free tickets.

These are the projected outcomes for family outing tomorrow:

Option 1: there isn't any outing. Mother type gets mocked for ridiculous (or dericulous depending if the speaker is 4 or not) ideas.

Option 2: Astroboy is watched. May be good (looks good and Up got fabulous reviews so *they* clearly don't have a clue). No food on account of crippling costs of cinema tickets.

Hmmmm.

Excuse me, I need to plant ideas in the children's minds while they sleep...

Perfect programming

Smug parenting. Oh yes. How I despise those who drive their kids to school and give the reason not as:

It's too far
or
We're too lazy

but for the following self satisfied reason:

Because they "love their children too much" and they can't bear the thought of anything bad happening to them so they have to take them right to the school gates.

Uh huh. And that can't be done on foot because...?

Smug. I told you.

And smug it is when parents sniffily state that their children's precious eyes are never tainted by viewing - shock - television, whilst muttering about other, lesser, parents using the television as a "babysitter".

Smugly, I conclude that the reports indicating any damage caused to children is referring to garish, loud, unsuitable tv. Or tv being prioritised above things that children just do, like run around. Not saintly CBeebies, for the amount of time before some guff like Mama Mirabelle comes on.

CBeebies can be quite wonderful, and I can credit it with my (genius) children learning the following:

Shapes
Colours
Numbers

Which is no bad thing. Ok, so I reinforce it forcibly, but how marvellous to have initial ideas placed in their minds in a colourful and cheerful manner. I have waxed lyrical before about the greatness of CBeebies. But there's news!!

Conveniently, for we are at the perpetual questioning stage of "what does *** start with mummy?" while nursery intros their names and what they start with, CBeebies has a new programme entitled Alphablocks.

Oh my.

There are - spookily - 26 characters, each a letter of the alphabet. They hold hands to form sounds and words and are animated charmingly. Each speaks in a manner to most emphasise their letter sound; they have stories whereby they try and solve a problem by linking up to each other to form words until they find the word that solves the problem.

They make more sense than that and form a quite wonderful introduction to letters and words, where I had failed to get across any more than the names of the letters.

There is much cuteness. Q is portrayed as a mad woman constantly pursuing U. T is a doddery old man who loves tea. X is an "exciting" superhero who writes an x in the air with a "cks cks" sound. O is overexcitable and says "oh!" a lot. C is annoyed by K for stealing her sound. And so on.

I love this. It's brilliant. Click the pic, excuse the twee titles, and see for yourself:





As to the "babysitting" element? You have to watch with the kids - which is why this house no longer shows In the Night Garden - or they'll know more than you. When demanded to make something, you had better remember how Mister Maker did it...

Mario part 876

More Mario... I am a geekette.

For Christmas this year I (definitely me) received Mario and Luigi: Bowser's Inside story for DS and New Super Mario Bros Wii.

Both excellent. Both gratefully received.

Both forking IMPOSSIBLE!!!

I have been playing Mario since he was only on the NES. 1992 is when we were first acquainted. I cannot do either of these games. I am stuck as a stuck thing not very far into the DS game. And as for the Wii game. Well! The only reason I am not still trying to defeat Roy Koopa (is he new? Looks a lot like Bowser, has purple specs and throws purple flames) is that my 4 year old defeated him for me.

Grrrr.

Yes, I have downloaded walkthroughs, they expect a level of skill that eludes me. So for the Wii version, I'll just have to wait till the wee guy gets past Roy at the end of World 2... For the DS I am going to have to CHEAT (or hand it over to my other 4 year old and weep into my Horlicks.

Reviews: I think the DS game looks nice. My progress is so woeful you could get as much info from the box as from me.








Wii game: I LIKE the old school platform style, I find this infinitely more playable than Mario Galaxy. Mario Galaxy is now delightfully possible and I am enjoying it and ogling Mario Galaxy 2.

Back to New Super Mario Bros Wii, multiplayer co-op is nice (if frustrating when playing with someone who doesn't get co-op). Not that new: I distinctly remember playing multiplayer (probably turn by turn) on one of the SNES versions. It is good though, if there are two of you Game Over only happens if you both lose your last life at the same time, as long as one of you has one life or more, you continue and stay where you are.





Pretty, int it? Most favourite picture in our house that is.

Main gripe: lack of save options. There are mysterious stars that may do something save-ish. I shall ask the walkthrough.

I think I'm going to build some Lego. If I can fathom out what the instructions mean.

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman

On the way home last night, I tripped over the stumpish remains of a murdered plant rendered invisible by the darkness.

By that I mean nighttime darkness, the band played no part.


I had helium balloon strings twisted round my hands to stop them escaping and so I landed with an undignified whomp onto the ground, hurting most parts of me all at once and vastly overreacting.

My two sons were at my side immediately, not least to check the fate of the balloons. But then concern kicked in.

Son 1 was most interested to know the exact circumstances of the incident. His prime concern was for the extra strong mint that had been thrown from my pocket. This is, I would say, typical of my minutely elder son, being as he is, a Bloke. A Blokish Bloke.

I can conclude that he will grow to display the following behaviours as a man:

He will never see the point of communicating unless there is something specific to communicate. He won't phone for the sake of it.

He will be generous when it comes to gifts but almost entirely without imagination. Wishlists will be his salvation. Wrapping will be beyond him and where possible he will get someone else to tie his gifts up, only having to throw paper round their gift.

He will be puzzled as to why any woman would be upset at their keenness to play bedroom sports and won't understand why they don't see it as a massive compliment.

He will always have a solution. He will think anyone who tells him a problem and doesn't take his solution on board is a moron. He will figure if you don't want an answer, don't pose the problem.

Son 2 on the other hand will grow up to be the sort of man that indignantly states that all the above is sexist and that "not all men are like that". His response was to comfort me, check I was ok and to scold the offending stump. He also enquired as to my wellbeing the following day. He somehow has extraordinary levels of empathy, he is a joy to have around. Not that his brother isn't a joy, he just doesn't do touchy feely. He's a bloke (a smashing one) and he's gonna have a hairy chest.

Their (hairy chested) father, incidentally, appeared a good bit after to enquire why I was taking so long. I am Mrs Bloke and I wouldn't have it any other way. That doesn't mean I don't complain...

Blessings

Happiness today came in the form of:

(1) Snow. (as previously mentioned. It lingers. It falls some more).

It's pretty. It requires the wearing of hats, boots, scarves, big coats and gloves. It's an excuse to not do anything. And it's pretty, not much beats looking out upon a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.

(2) Children.
Mine, that is. Four year olds are amazing and mine are quite definitely more amazing than any others. I say that with no bias whatsoever.

There is a little girl, who doesn't belong to me, who is just as amazing as my boys, but she is a very special little girl indeed.

I worked out today what it is that I do with my time when I'm not specifically doing anything else. I puzzled for a long time as to why I didn't seem to do anything that I used to do. What I do is this: watch, and interact with, but mostly watch my children. They are quite the most entertaining pastime ever. Every new thing they do is astounding and it is quite astonishing that this is still true after 4 years. I expect I'll watch them in amazement all their lives. "Yes, that man there, walking along the road all by himself. That's my son you know."

(3) My car, my phone, nifty gadgets.

Materialistic? Why yes.
Recently I was very close to exchanging my car for a VW. Until I drove the VW for a week and then returned to my own car. It is very, very good to drive. The gearbox is not something I've ever noted before but it turns out to be excellent. We are friends once more, we travel through the snow together and we enjoy it, both.

At some point in every day I stop to think about the brilliance of my phone. It's an iPhone you know. You knew? Goodness! It is quite wonderful, it is a part of me now. I don't care what owning it makes me, I love it. Truly. And yes, I want an iMac because then iTunes will work properly, yes, I know and I know, but I would love that truly too. And I would be all the things that would make me. And I wouldn't care in the slightest.

My car and my phone are now united by means of an itrip. Simple little gadget means the music on my beloved plays through the radio in my quite-loved. This brings me a level of joy that is quite ridiculous.

And that will suffice for a trio of blessings. Snow, children, possessions. Happiness.






- Posted without any claim to factual correctness or interest to any living person. Brought to you by the combined wonder of BlogPress and iPhone.

Birthday

3rd January 2006. Two perfect little boys are born, making their mother the happiest mother ever.

3rd January 2010. Two perfect little boys, still in the afterglow of Christmas, celebrate their fourth birthday. Two perfect little boys get more presents and are overwhelmed by about 10am.

It's a shame. It's all Christmas rolled into one long stretch of excitement. They don't care particularly what day it is: no Santa?? Bah. If I could give my babies one thing*, it would be a summer birthday.

They would probably request Haribo. They're 4.

*they are already healthy, and brilliantly clever and gifted, and loved.




- Posted without any claim to factual correctness or interest to any living person. Brought to you by the combined wonder of BlogPress and iPhone.

More joys

Mothers what have sore backs need to lie down.
Mothers what have small children should not just rest their eyes for a moment when lying down...

Hello? Something's not quite right here...where are the children that were playing right there in their boxes?
presence of majorly bizarro thoughts indicates sleep has just been had
child number 2 has mastered the special shove sequence to get into the bathroom and is yelling about washing his hands
child number 1 is nowhere to be seen
children have been doing something that makes them dirty
children probably in my room
children have been at some of my stuff
what have they got?
can I get off the sofa?
can I deal with it later?
dammit I need to go and turn that tap off

Execute inelegant manouever required to alight from sofa, hobble through to bathroom (back really not working very well) to turn tap off and eject tap obsessed child. Enter bedroom to see which of the lotions/potions/pens/general stuff they've got hold of...

Oh.
Shit.

The bed has been painted beautifully with a combination of Clinique mascara and Yves St Laurent bronzer. The Per Una highlighter adds a shimmer to proceedings, added to the 17 eyeshadow that's been crumbled over the top. Detail has been drawn in using Clinique lipstick and Elizabeth Arden brow pencil. All added to the not so violated other things in a big pile of messy, gooey, powdery mess. One gloss wand all mascarad, and no sign of the gloss itself. Missing, presumed ruined. One child cunningly washed the evidence off, the other seems to have been made up. All over make up.

Don't cry. It's only make up.

(it's the good stuff!)

you never wear make up

(I like it though! I'm wearing it at the weekend! I wore mascara the other day!)

Calmly rescuing what was rescuable, muttering about hatred and swapping children for lipsticks, the discovery was made that new stuff was needed to be purchased. (any excuse)

Explained what we were going out for, semi echo doesn't quite repeat that we were going to get some new bake up because Mummy had lost her dipstick. And when new dipstick was purchased, further explanation was needed to explain that we weren't buying boots, we were just in Boots.

It's a rite of passage, all mothers at some point have to have their make up ruined. And I have just been bitten. Do you get boarding nurseries?

Love thy condom

Wednesday morning 9am:

Honest child: Mummy! Mummy! I've got a sore head
Sleepy Mother: Why are you all wet?
HC: I banged my head in the bathroom
SM: Shit! Shit! No! Not shit! I didn't say that! Jesus! What's that noise?
HC: Shit shit shit shit shit
SM: No don't say that
Turn the taps off
Shit
There's water all over the floor
HC: shit shit shit
Oblivious child: Ha ha ha ha shit shit

Less sleepy mother turns off taps, uses every towel , clean or dirty, in the house to mop up floor, prays floor is sealed properly and woman downstairs doesn't come knocking. 4 loads of washing follow as the machine can't cope with that many wet towels.

Wednesday later on sometime:

Foolish mother writes blog entry.
Realisation that children are suspiciously quiet.
Discovery that an entire large tub of aqueous cream and vicks vaporub have been used to decorate the bedroom walls, both children, both beds and the book case. Handy wet towels to mop everything down considered momentary blessing. Another load of washing of encreamed clothing and bedding.

Wednesday, even later:

Two children doing laps up and down the hall, screeching in that precise tone that makes your eardrums pack their bags and start venting about their unwillingness to continue in their position. Up and down. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee no don't do that wobbieeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
And down EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEollllieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee that's miiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnneeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
and up again
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEMummmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
fuckeeeng fuckeeeng jeeeeeeeezezEEEEEEEE

for about an hour.

I have a very sore head and am currently ignoring them take all the washing out of my washing basket. Well, it aint going to get washed today. They're in the washing basket, it's perfect, it has two sections, one for whites, one for coloureds. Or one for one brother, one for the other. I might put them in the machine. They're stuck in the washing basket...

>short interlude<


It is 4 months and 1 week till they start nursery.

Practical Parenting

Hmm, having just had a conversation with a first time mother-to-be about parenting (through which I was hugely know it all, I can't seem to help assuming the world authority position on birth and early parenting because, like, I've done it, you know), I've been thinking about the whole being-a-parent thing.

It doesn't change your life unduly. It does away with:

lie ins
spontaneous activities
social life

But, other than the first of those, the things that change aren't much of a loss if you are over 25, and hey, you can go to bed early (ha ha ha).

What does change is your perspective. For one, the planet suddenly seems to matter a lot more, and the whole question of religion is entirely different when you have people to explain such things as Christmas to. I don't feel comfortable with saying "well, there's this story about a guy called Jesus, much like Aslan, or as you're not old enough to have read that yet, we'll go with Poppy Cat, and if he did exist he wasn't actually born in December at all and probably what we're celebrating is the ancient celebration for the sun..." but I'm not sure how I feel about saying "well, there's this thing called God and he had a son that was born on this day". Because I don't believe that. Or maybe I believe in Jesus but not that he was the son of God. I don't know. What do I tell them?

Ahem. Got carried away there. You think about things differently. Shoes for example, really really don't matter. In my case I've taken this a LEETLE too far and often appear in public looking like a bag lady. I need to remind myself that, yes, hairwashing is necessary often, and that I should probably brush it too.

But the biggest change is in your perspective of parenting. All those smug thoughts that you had, about what sort of parent you would be, disappear as soon as they learn a bit of wilfulness. Yet, you still look upon other parents with disdain, except you have the added smugness of "my children would NEVER do that", that was purely imagined before. You do learn that the greatest thing you can have as a parent (other than a full time nanny; by my side, not in my place) is not utmost respect for and from your offspring, it is the patience to wait till they've finished their paddy and for the signal that there is an opening for interruption and diversion. Despite what you thought before, there is NOTHING you can do to stop it prior to this, aside from picking the child up and running away as fast as possible. Or staying in all the time. There's obvious exceptions with parents that really should have been sterilised a long time before conceiving, but now when I see the situations that used to make me think "God, I would NEVER have children behaving like that", I either feel empathy, or fear that this exact scenario may happen to me too some day.

I have little monsters. The problem: there are two of them and one of me, and they are two and a half. They both want my attention. All the time. They are adorable, very clever, and a lot of the time in public they make me swell with pride. Like when they say "thank you very much" or count things correctly, or point out interesting things. But there are times when I am standing with one child (occasionally two, but usually the "brother having a tantrum" show is compelling) lying down next to me, kicking and screaming and me saying things along the lines of "if you get up now I will give you some Smarties". I know how that looks, and I know what I would have thought BC (before children). It's not the same as I'd think now.

Freak out

Arrrrggghhh. Today the children spent the whole afternoon flitting from one impending disaster to another. I did discover that both the dishwasher and washing machine can cope with being reprogrammed and turned off, they both valiantly continue on their intended cycles. I did however have an embarrassing phonecall from Fife Police to ask why there had been a 999 call from my house. They did figure it was children, so were very nice and just checking it out. Yikes.

So far, no job, I am an oaf. Nothing from the Council job I thought had gone well, eventually got an email to confirm that I had been unsuccessful on this occasion (a stupid trite phrase). Sky tormented me for a couple of hours before telling me I wasn't up to standard to answer their phones so feeling really shit hot now. Next week I have interview number three, again with the Council, this time as a receptionist. Hours aren't great, would need childcare for about 6 hours a fortnight, and I have no idea where I will find the energy to work after a day with the terrible twosome. And as to the Masters I am beginning any day - a ha ha ha ha ha ha. Methinks that is potentially a mistake.

I need longer days or a nanny.