Category Archives: parenting

I am Suds-and-Sauvignon Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, wine by

Recently I had a bubble bath.

It wasn’t just an ordinary bubble bath.

It was my first bubble bath since having Princess a few months ago.
It was my first bubble bath with bubbles made by a ridiculously luxurious and smelly bath lotion.
It was my first bubble bath in almost a year where I could sip on a glass of Sauvigon while I soaked.

It was my first bubble bath in quite a while, where I actually fit into the tub and didn’t require the help of Hubby and a forklift to get out!

It was heavenly.

I lit some scented candles, turned off the main light and closed the door knowing that Mini-Me and Princess were safe with Daddy.
I had at least a half hour to switch off.

It was utter bliss.

To get a few minutes, however long or short, where you know the kids are safe in someone else’s care and you can completely relax, is a luxury that I never appreciated until I had children.

I reached out for the fancy, long-stemmed wine glass and sighed.  The golden liquid swishing around the huge glass looked extra pretty and lush in the candlelight.  I found myself stopping to look at the scene in front of me.

Had I had a camera, this would have been a cool photograph.
Candlelight, suds, the gold sauvignon, my recently painted nails.  It was all quite fabulous; classy; romantic even!  The photograph would have been the perfect accompaniment to an article on a Yummy Mummy, or indeed a perfect pamper evening.

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I sipped on the cold wine and enjoyed the flavours.  It had been quite a while since I had had wine in the bath!  Deep breath and relax.  And then smile as I felt a little bit of the “Me B.C” creeping back.
Yes.  This was Heaven.
And then I turned my head slightly to the left…
On the edge of my “photograph of perfection” was a reminder of real life.

Along the side of the bath, was the full collection of Disney princesses…the bath toy versions…which are pretty, but a little creepy when you consider the size of their heads in relation to their bodies!
(And the Rapunzel doll looks like she’s high on something illegal!)
Interspersed with these Princesses, were multicoloured rubber ducks, glaring at me through their pirate eye-patches.

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I looked to the right.
The over flowing laundry basket looked like it was puking clothes.

And so my picture perfect Yummy Mummy moment suddenly became a snapshot of reality.
And I simply laughed.
I focused again on the centre view.  If I just kept looking straight ahead, I could pretend for a few minutes that I had nothing to worry about but the suds and that my servants would sort out the laundry!

And so that is what I did.  I finished sipping the Sauvignon, stared at the candle flame dancing through the suds, and relaxed.

When I was suitably wrinkly and relaxed, (and the water was starting to get too cold to enjoy), I turned my attention back to Cinderella and her band of ducking pirates.

Yes, I was cross at them for ruining my picture perfect moment, but still.
They represent my reality.
I can pretend to be as classy and sophisticated as I like, but the reality is that I am an overgrown child who quite likes the colourful mess of bath toys in the bathroom.
And I don’t have servants so the puking laundry basket would be dealt with, by me…but not until the next morning.

I got out of the bath, (without help!!!  HUGE accomplishment!), wrapped myself up in a fluffy towel and left the candlelit bathroom, completely relaxed and smelling lovely, and looking forward to cuddles with my own little Disney Princesses in the bright light of the next morning.

But for just a little while,
I was Suds-And-Sauvignon Mum.

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I am So Smug Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, toddlers by

So tonight, I am So Smug Mum.

Like, soooooo smug.

Why?
Because tomorrow, Mini-Me turns four and I will no longer be the mother of a Threenager!

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When the sun rises tomorrow, it will mark a new phase in our family’s life. 

Gone will be the irrational, illogical, utterly terrifying (and slightly demonic!) three year old.
Instead, from the bedroom will emerge a calm, sweet and reasonable little four year old.

Mini-Me will be four.  As she told me today, when she’s four, she’ll be able to touch the roof because she’ll be so grown up.

The tantrums will end.
The screaming will cease.  (Mine too!)
Her moods will become more predictable and she’ll become more logical and rational.
I will have the bestest little buddy that a daughter becomes.  Obviously, she’s my best buddy already, but the love and ability to appreciate each other’s company will be mutual from tomorrow…obviously!

Because the Threenager will have left the building!
And I will have survived the “Terrible Twos” AND the “Tantrumesque Threes”.
So therefore, tonight, I raise my glass of red juice and say, quite happily, that I am indeed So Smug Mum!

See you on the other side S-Mummies!

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I am So-Smug Mum

I am Seven-ways-to-provoke-my-Threenager Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, tantrums, toddlers by

After a weekend of tantrums and death stares from the Threenager, I decided to write down the things that provoked meltdowns. 
When a friend asked what was up with her, I couldn’t actually pinpoint what had started it.  And so this blog began as an exercise to establish triggers that we could work on avoiding. 
My mission was to try to figure her out. 
My mission was to beat the strop.
My mission, as it turned out, was pretty darn impossible.

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It has however, been informative.  It has made me realise that Mini-Me is quite capable of losing the plot over the most ridiculous things ever. 
Here are just a few that we recorded since yesterday morning…

1.  I called her by her name. 
I kid you not.  Her answer was to scream at me “Don’t call me a THAAAAAAAT!” 
Silly Mammy.

2.  I asked her if she’d like some Brioche... 
Again, “Don’t call it Brioooooooche!”  I have a witness to this one.
Silly Mammy.

3.  I plaited her hair.
She asked for french plaits.  She stood still while I put two perfect plaits on each side of her head.  She even handed me the hair baubles.  Then, she looked in the mirror and screamed “I SAID PONEEEEEEE TAIL!!!” before pulling the pretty plaits out.  I almost cried.
Silly Mammy.

4. I couldn’t find the tiny piece of Blue tac that she insisted on bringing home from school last week.
She decided she “neeeeeeeded” her “best fwend Mr Bluuuutac.”  Cue 20 minutes of crying on the living room floor.
Silly Mammy.

5. There were bubbles in her milk.
Not much to be said here is there?

6.  I referred to her Baby Annabelle as a “Doll” and lifted it by the head…
Silly Mammy?
Seriously woman…

7. I didn’t drive around the roundabout…
Because I was turning left to go home.  But apparently, I should have gone “wound da woundabout!” 
Silly mammy.

You see the pattern?
Of course you don’t,  because THERE IS NO BLOODY PATTERN!!

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So what did I learn?

She is irrational.  She is illogical.  She is slightly crazy. She is completely unpredictable.   She is slightly terrifying.

And there’s no point in trying to figure her out, because if she’s going to throw a strop, it’ll happen regardless of my best intentions to thwart it.

Because she’s three.

And at those times when I want to tear my hair out and I feel like I am absolutely and utterly mental… it’s not me, it’s her!

I am Seven-ways-to-provoke-my-Threenager Mum

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I am Sleep Dance Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, toddlers by

I love to dance.
I’ve been dancing since I could walk.
I’ve danced on stages and I’ve even choreographed a few shows.

My current speciality is the Sleep Dance.  And I’m brilliant at it.

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Sleep is a currency…who knew?

Currently, I’m broke while Hubby is rich, rich, rich…well he’s richer than I am. He’s dancing the Sleep Dance too, but he doesn’t even know most of the time.

In the world of new parents, the parent who tallies up the most Zzzz hours owes the other: Big time.

They say that we forget the difficult things about having a newborn after a while…like the pain, the exhaustion, the stress.  There must be some truth in that as we keep having children, don’t we?

We had Princess almost four years after Mini-Me whirlwinded into our lives.  That gap was just enough to have allowed us to have completely forgotten EVERYTHING about having a new baby in the house.  How do we bath her?  How many ounces do we give her? How does this damned sterilizer work again?

My first hour at home after Princess’s birth was terrifying.  We moved house last year, so I didn’t have the luxury of memory to assist me. Our previous home was smaller, so even if Mini-Me was in the bedroom, I could hear her in the kithen.  The new house is lovely and spacious, but so new and unfamiliar to us.
Where would I keep the nappies? Which cupboard should I put the baby’s stuff in?  Where should I put her while she’s sleeping?  The arrangements and habits that we had created for our first baby, were redundant.  We had to start again.  Ok, so this is not a huge issue and may sound ridiculous, but to a new Mammy, 3 days post-section and drugged to the eyeballs, it was MASSIVE.

For the first week, we caught ourselves looking at the other for help or reminders on more than one occasion.  Do we mix the formula when it’s hot or luke warm?  Do we go to bed now or just wait until after her next feed? How do we ensure that Mini-Me is still getting her usual attention? The list goes on and the struggles were real, but after a few days, we were the proverbial quacking ducks and the water was no longer quite so choppy.  Everything became normal again…except for the sleep.

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Before a Baby arrives, how much we sleep goes unnoticed.  Pre-parents should really listen when told to enjoy their sleep now.  Ok, so you can’t stock up on it, and how much you get before the arrival of your little bundle is not going to help when you’re knackered at 4am, but you can ENJOY it.
Enjoy the luxurious feeling of turning over in the bed without worrying about disturbing Baby.  Enjoy being able to go to bed when YOU feel like it.  Enjoy not giving a continental hoot how much sleep your partner gets, because once Baby arrives, you’ll moniter their sleep as carefully as you moniter the money in your bank account, or lack thereof.

Every second of snoring that is greater than the seconds you spend snoring, is noted.
Every time he or she turns in the bed, oblivious to the demanding grunts from the cot, (and oblivious to your glares!), is stored in your memory.
Every time you have to haul your ass out of the bed to replace the dummy in your little Munchkin’s mouth, you jot it down in your mind.
Every innocent snore is transformed into the sound of coins being dropped in the piggy-bank of your mind.
Your mind becomes a ledger… how much do I have?  How much did he/she get?
Every second your partner sleeps while you are awake between the hours of 11pm and 6am, becomes currency.
In other words… YOU OWE MEEEEEE!

And if he/she gets one hour more than you, you will want to make them pay.
As well as taking mental notes of how much more sleep your partner got, you’ll be taking notes of how little you got.
Yes, while Baby Brain might cause you to forget your own name, (or in my case, the Baby’s name…twice.), it strangely adds to your mathematical brilliance and your late night memory.
Example:

6 x out of bed to replace dummy
2 x thinking she was choking
3 x unnecessarily
2 x across the hall to Mini-me to scare off bad dreams
1 x across the hall to Mini-me to beg her to go back to sleep
1 x to the kitchen to heat Princess’s bottle
1 x to the kitchen to dump said bottle as said Princess was snoring again by the time I returned
1 x to get another bottle an hour later
1 x sitting on the edge of the bed for 20 minutes after feeding as she screams everytime I move, knowing that the snuggly Mammy is going to try to deposit her in the cold cot.
1 x your snoring
…and don’t even start me on the ten minutes between your alarm going off and the snooze button!
Do the math.
Or don’t.  Just know that YOU OWE ME!

 

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And of course the rational mind reminds me that Himself is working full-time.
And that of course he needs sleep with 5am-8pm working hours.
And that I am off work at the minute.
And that this only lasts for such a short time.

I know all of that, but sometimes, I’m not very rational.  Because I’m shattered!

And of course, there are the nights when Daddy’s on Baby-duty and I can sleep, but I don’t usually.  Not because I need to be awake, but because I’m programmed to be on my feet and functioning before my mind knows I’m awake.
That’s reality.
I am learning however.  I’m now forcing myself to accept the lie in, even if it is only until 8am.  I am getting better at going back to sleep when I know that Daddy’s got her. (even if sometimes I’ve had to kick him three times to tell him to get up!)

So yes, be prepared for the Sleep dance.
Be prepared to know exactly how much sleep your partner got and be prepared to know just how much you didn’t.
Be prepared that no matter how honest you usually are, you WILL lie about how many times you were out of bed, just to make sure that partner understands how much he/she OWES YOU!
Be prepared to feel utter resentment for the person you love in real life…because 4am isn’t real life really, is it?

And be prepared to get on with it and to get over it, because it’s worth every single second.

No matter how exhausted your body is, when you look into the cot at stupid o’ clock and see two big, beautiful eyes looking at you; when your finger is gripped by tiny hands, holding on to you for dear life; when you listen to the coos and noises as she drinks; tiredness disappears and is replaced by love.

But yes.  He (or she) still owes you.  How you make them pay, is completely up to you!

I am Sleep Dance Mum 🙂

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I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum

Posted in children, parenting, terror by

So today, I did it!

Even the thought of it has been freaking me out for the past 7 weeks.  I’ve actually had nightmares about it.  I hardly slept last night, knowing that it was ahead of me this morning…but I did it.

I did the playschool run.
ALL BY MYSELF!
With the toddler AND a newborn.
And I survived.

Sound silly? 
Maybe, but I’m guessing that the majority of parents reading this can empathise.

So how does something as trivial as doing a school run become such an issue?
Because although it’s a Silly worry, it’s still a worry.
It’s my worry and it grows as much as I let it. 

It’s a little seed that was planted in my brain one morning pre-Princess, and over the past 9 weeks, it has blossomed into quite the little weed.

I was dropping Mini-me off as usual.   The staircase to her classroom is narrow and an unspoken one-way system exists among the parents who navigate it each day.
I waited (impatiently) for her to manouvre her skinny bum up the steps; painfully aware of the not-very-well disguised frustration of the other Mummy who was forced to wait at the top for Mini-me (and her 64 month pregnant mother) to get out of her way. 

We finally reached the summit and Other Mother responded to my apologies with an overly-zealous and high-pitched “Don’t be silly!! It’s not easy, is it?”

“No it isn’t!” I laughed, thinking to myself how I couldn’t wait to not have to carry this bump up the steps every morning.

And then it hit me.

In place of the bump, will be a baby…in a car seat.
And that was the actual second that the silly-serious worries began.

How the hell am I going to do this with a new baby?
How will I get Mini-me to school, on time, 5 mornings a week…with a new baby?
How will we get out the door if Baby needs a feed…or poops…or is crying…or is sick?
What if I can’t get parked near the door?
What if it’s raining?
I can’t leave the Baby in the car can I?  Of course not!
How will I manage to get up and down those stairs with a car seat and a futtering toddler? 
What if I fall?
What if Mini-me falls and I can’t lift her?
What if someone sneeezes on the baby?
What if…

I could go on.

I’m usually quite in control of my worries.  I don’t tend to overthink things or waste energy on worrying about the hypothetical.  My Dad always told me “99% of the things you worry about, never happen.”
It took me approximately 25 years to realise this.
Life instantly became easier.

I’m quite a confident person.  I stand in front of hundreds of teenagers each day and teach them Shakespeare for crying out loud!  So how is it that getting my toddler to pre-school could become such a bloody issue?

Because I’m still hormonal after recent birth?
Because I’m losing my mind?
Because I’m having a confidence crisis?

No.
It’s because I’m a parent.

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What no one tells you before you enter this wonderful time in your life, is that all of your rational reasoning and good sense go on holiday when Baby arrives… and I’m not sure they ever return.

Every parent has ridiculous, irrational fears.  Over the past few days, with both kiddies being sick, I’ve realised that these fears are EXTRA vivid at 4am.

The headcold is pneumonia.
The heat rash is something tropical.
The sound outside is obviously a burglar.
The first trip to playschool tomorrow morning is going to be a disaster.

And then, it’s not.

We got up.  We got dressed.  I fed both of them.  (I even fed the dog!) I drank a cup of coffee.  I got Newborn into the carseat.  I strapped Mini-me into hers.  I remembered to lock the house.  I remembered how to drive the car.  (Six weeks sans Steering wheel is not fun!)  I remembered how to get to the school.  I got parked at the door of the school.  It wasn’t raining!

I got to the foot of the dreaded staircase.

And do you know what I did then?
I put one foot in front of the other, and I climbed it.  (Granted I still had to encourage Skinny-bum to hurry along, but climb it we did.)
And when I got to the top, I deposited said Skinny-bum into the arms of her lovely teacher; I turned around and I returned to my car.
I survived.

And then I went shopping! (because having only one kid with me didn’t feature as a problem.  It’s only the situations where I have to do things with two for the first time that are causing me these Silly-Serious worries.  See how logical I am?!!)

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This morning was the silliest thing in the world to be worried about, but to me, it was a serious worry. 
And that’s the key.
If it was worrying me, it was valid.  Silly or not, it was a worry. 

And the reason that parents worry about such seemingly silly things, is to allow us to be prepared.  Worrying and over-thinking things allows us to envisage all eventualities…and then, because we’ve already dealt with the outcomes, (even the worst possible ones!), we can handle whatever is thrown at us.

Every silly worry is serious.
Every worry is a staircase.
The longer we stand looking at the stairs, the more challenging they become.
But if you take each step as it comes, the top isn’t as far away as you thought.

Next, I have to figure out how to do the grocery shopping with both of the them with me.
I’m just going to look at that particulay staircase a little while longer.
I’m not quite there yet!

I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum.

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