I went on a Voyage of Self Discovery and found a Control Freak

No, don’t panic, I haven’t gone on one of those dodgy retreats run by bearded-wonders where you all lie together in incense-infused bamboo shacks chanting positive mantras. Nor have I started visiting a floral-print-wearing ‘alternative therapist’ to discover my inner child. No, I went down a far simpler and far more honest route – I had a baby.

I’ve never been one to self-analyse. As Gloria Gaynor says “I am what I am” and I’ve bumbled along being me for thirty-odd years perfectly happily. But it seems I’ve been living with a massive character flaw that I’d never noticed before. I am a control freak. There, I said it. The scary thing is though, I genuinely didn’t have an inkling of this until I had a child. Suddenly I was barking out orders to Mr Working Mum about when feeding time was, how nappies should be changed, which outfits went together and so forth. Babysitters were (and still are) left with a full A4 side of instructions, timings, contact numbers, alternative contact numbers, and suggestions of what they themselves should have for supper. Two and a half years on and I’m still offering Mr Working Mum ‘advice’ on the bedtime routine which he has probably only done two hundred times. And yet, despite all of this, it took an incident with my own child for me to finally put two and two together and realise what everyone else probably already knew.

Last weekend I decided to do some baking with Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper. She’s watched me make things before and dipped her finger in here and there but I thought it about time that she pulled her own weight and started mucking in. It’s all so lovely in theory – mummy cooking with daughter, bonding over home-made gingerbread -but I swear it nearly caused a break down. Now, I like to weigh out all the ingredients before carefully mixing them together in a certain order. Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper had other ideas. She showed little regard for the scales, used the same spoon to alternate between each of the three spices, the scales and her mouth, and then started casually flinging bits of all the ingredients together. Worse was still to come.

Dough made and chilled, we got ready to roll and cut out our gingerbread men. Having already become a little distressed and tense over the haphazard creation of the dough, I decided to section off a piece and give Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper her own rolling pin so she could get creative. But even that wasn’t enough to stop me interfering. When cut, her gingerbread men looked like extras from Casualty. I told myself that it didn’t matter and that they would all taste the same, but the sight of them was driving me mad. I sent her off to wash her hands whilst I quickly re-rolled and re-cut them. Perfect men now made, the afternoon’s bonding session limped towards the decoration stage. But could I focus on my own men and calmly ignore the chaos next to me? What do you think? Three raisin eyes, not level, and 8 silver ball buttons scattered carelessly over their bodies was enough to tip me over the edge. On complimenting her on her work and letting her into the garden to play, I then had to dig the decorations off the poor squashed bodies and reform each and every one of them. It was around this stage that I realised I may have just a touch of the control freak about me.

Now that I’ve discovered this, I’m staggered that I’ve never spotted it before. Or maybe I never had it before I became a mother. It’s a mystery and something I’m sure I shall learn to live with. But one thing’s for sure, baking is strictly a Daddy and daughter activity from now on.

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Rioting, Absent Parenting and Sensationalist Reporting

What on Earth is going on with all this rioting? Watching the news at the moment is like watching an end-of-civilisation film. Gangs of hooded thugs trashing shops, torching cars, clashing with police and fire-fighters and generally causing chaos. The situation is totally out of hand and the sensationalist press coverage is simply causing it to spread. By all accounts the main perpetrators are children and youths, with one as young as eight seen involved in the looting. So my question is this – where on Earth are the parents and what are they doing about it?

In a radio discussion today, a guest was saying that it is hard for parents to know where their children are because they will lie about their plans and whereabouts.  But surely, if you lived in one of these areas you would simply not let your child out in the evening whilst this anarchy continues. Even if they are innocently meeting up with friends, the chances are that they will get caught up in the chaos anyway.  Now, I have no experience of raising a teenager but I have been a teenager and I was disciplined accordingly. It’s no different now. Yes they have mobile phones and social networking sites etc but I’m a firm believer that ‘no’ should still mean ‘no’ if the parent has done their job correctly.

The way the riots are being reported in the news is not helping either.  Using terminology like ‘war zones’, ‘lawlessness’, and ‘disaffected generation’ simply adds glamour to this mindless criminality. For that is all it is. It’s not politically motivated or a symptom of ‘years of certain communities being ignored’ as some youth leaders would have us believe. It is purely opportunistic thuggery. So report it as such. We don’t need lengthy commentary from ‘experts’ explaining, and in some cases almost defending, this behaviour. We need simple reporting about the stupidity of those involved, and we needs parents to do their share and ensure their children stay out of it.

He’s not a political demonstrator, he’s a very naughty boy.

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Laughing Through Long Haul

Yes, you read correctly I said ‘laughing’ and ‘long haul’ in the same breath and no, before you ask, we did not leave Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper behind. How could you even think that?!  With 20 hours of flying and 1700 miles of driving under our belts from our recent family holiday to America, I am about to share with you Working Mum’s Tried and Tested Travel Tips. Now concentrate and please take notes because this is super-valuable advice:

Challenge 1 - The Airport

Juggling passports, tickets, boarding passes, fridge-sized suitcases and a toddler who wants to explore alone and at speed.

Working Mum’s Top Tip – buy a Trunki ride-on suitcase. Large enough to carry all essential toddler items, small enough to count as hand luggage, and enjoyable enough for toddler to ride on for hours instead of racing around madly.

Challenge 2 – Boarding

“Would all those travelling with children like to board first…..?”

Working Mum’s Top Tip – NO! No we would not like to sit on the plane for an extra half hour whilst waiting for everyone else to board and countless final calls are issued for the fools who have gone to the wrong gate. No, we would rather enjoy our last precious minutes of freedom thanks. (Unless, of course, your seats are not pre-allocated in which case run like a gazelle, push to the front and bag those extra leg-room seats.)

Challenge 3 – Take-Off and Landing

Take off and landing are stressful enough without the added tension of a toddler with popping ears and a good set of lungs.

Working Mum’s Top Tip – introduce the Take-off Treat and Landing Lollipop. Throw away all rules about sugary treats, rotting teeth etc and purchase 4 small lollipops. The novelty of having such a forbidden fruit is enough to keep toddler happy (and quiet) for 20 minutes whilst the sucking action soothes their ears. Why 4 lollipops I hear you ask?  Isn’t that a bit excessive? Let me explain: 1 for take-off, 1 for landing, 1 to replace the lolly that gets dropped on the loo floor and 1 to replace the lolly that was left half-sucked on the tray table and was cleared away by the air stewardess who mistakenly assumed it was finished with. Trust me, please take 4.

Challenge 4 – 10.5 hours of flying

10 and a half hours. Oh my, whose idea was this?

 Working Mum’s Top Tip – follow my hand luggage checklist:

1)      Change of clothes for toddler AND you (with travel sickness and the inevitable food/drink spillage, you’re both bound to need a change of outfit)

2)      Bag of Cheerios or other favourite cereal (various uses – snacks / bribes / meal replacements / mini-missiles to be launched discreetly at disapproving, child-free couple who keep tutting)

3)      Emergency Presents (a few small, new toys such as finger puppets, plastic money and stickers wrapped up individually and to be issued when tantrums threaten)

4)      Drinking cup with top (flimsy plastic cups in a confined space are hopeless so buy one of those sports-cap bottles or similar and decant all drinks into it)

5)      I-pod with child-friendly earphones (download favourite music and stories onto this – keeps them entertained, provides something familiar and blocks out plane noise if you want them to sleep. Alternatively take portable dvd player/laptop with favourite tv or films)

6)      Tiddle pad (for the newly potty trained take a tiddle pad or similar plastic-backed cushion so in the event of an accident the seat isn’t soaked)

7)      Normal bed-time items (if you have a night flight follow the usual routine to encourage sleep so take pyjamas, toothbrush, teddy bear, usual bedtime book etc)

And that’s it. Easy really.  Just follow my tips and you should cruise through your journey this summer season. But if all else fails, tip your seat back, order a large Bloody Mary, pop those foam earplugs in and remember that most of your fellow passengers are just glad it’s not their child.

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Puppy Training vs Potty Training

Posh-Friend-Polly phoned up in a flap yesterday. She is trying to house-train their black Labrador puppy, Montague. (Ridiculous name for a dog I agree). Anyway, whilst Montague seemed to grasp the concept of holding on until he could feel the fresh air on his face it transpired that there was one thing my friend had overlooked – the cat flap. Yesterday Polly came down to breakfast and was horrified to see Montague, head happily poked out of the cat flap, weeing all over the kitchen floor! Having laughed heartedly at her misfortune, I then had to confess that we’d recently had a similar thing happen with Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper. Working Mum had a rare day off so we’d braved the rush-hour train and headed into town for a bit of shopping and lunch with friends. No sooner had we arrived at the super-trendy-biodynamic-beansprout type restaurant when:

‘MUMMY I NEED A WEE!’ the battle cry went up (shouted at a volume level reserved specially for public places).

We head to the loos and the toddler independent streak kicks in so I am ordered to wait outside the gate (cubicle door) as my assistance is not required. Fine by me. 3 seconds of daydreaming and then:

‘MUMMY IT’S GONE FUNNY!!’.

Gone funny? What’s on Earth is that supposed to mean? I open the door expecting the worst but when I get in all seems perfectly normal. All apart from the anguished expression on Toddler-Not-So-Tiny-Temper’s face. I look and look, struggling to see a problem and then it clicks. Some over paid ‘design guru’ has insisted that what this restaurant really needs to complete the minimalist look are clear plastic loo seats…...AND LIDS! Clear loo lids, as in practically invisible lids, as in comedy loo ‘ha-ha we got another one’ lids. Genius. Happy clientele wowed by the chicness (is that a word?) of the restaurant. Or on the other hand, one fuming Working Mum and a soggy and utterly bewildered toddler.

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Pushing Water Up a Hill

Baby swimming. Babies actually learning how to swim. Sounds great doesn’t it? Forget baby music, baby yoga and baby sign language, this is a crucial life skill taught lovingly and enjoyably to grateful mini-mermaids by caring and dedicated parents. Then comes the underwater photograph à la Nirvana album cover 1991, swiftly followed by numerous material badges sewn proudly onto the swimming towel. Happy mummies, happy little water babies.

Or, as I have discovered, weekly water torture. Squeezing into an increasingly unforgiving swimming costume, explaining that you are not ‘expecting number 2’ it was just bad posture, spending 20 minutes in tepid water trying to unclamp limpet-like child from neck, quashing murderous thoughts as ‘Talula-With-Gym-Body-Mother’ performs perfect half dives, then shivering for half an hour in damp costume attempting to dry and re-clothe cold and wriggling 2 year old using illegal biscuits as bribes in the ‘no food please’ changing room.  

Hmmm. Baby yoga’s looking good.

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