First day expectations...

It's been two weeks since Little P, Little N and I made our short journey to Little P's new school (well almost new to her, we had been attending Cylch Ti a Fi there already). She's nursery age and so she only does afternoons at this stage. I know the natural thing is to be teary and sad that my little girl is growing up but in all honesty, she and I were both very excited. We waited at the gate, second in the queue (we had, in fact, arrived first having really underestimated how close the school actually is, but waited in the car because I  prefer to see what other people do first!) and a very nice mum asked us if it was Little P's first day. She introduced us to her son who had started the previous term, so was a seasoned expert in a bid to put Little P at ease. She quickly realised there was really no need as Little P and her little boy exchanged a hug and were carried away in conversation in no time.

Shortly afterwards the gates were opened and we were invited into her lovely little classroom. This was the only time I felt a little bit sad. Little P has a habit when she's feeling a bit overwhelmed of introducing people to her sister in an attempt to just say something. ANYTHING. (You know the same way we feel when we are in a lift with a stranger?) Anyway, among all the hustle and bustle she was just desperately trying to find someone to engage with and as you'd expect, most people were caught up in their own emotional turmoil. Then along comes my new hero LSA. I've since asked Little P what her name is and she told me it's Mrs Biscuit but there is no Mrs Biscuit on the staff list so go figure... She got Little P settled in a desk and that was it - she was too busy to even say goodbye.

My expectations of collecting Little P from school that afternoon played out exactly as I had hoped:

• Burst out of the doorway with a massive grin on her face
• Yells 'Mummy!' 
• Runs towards me. 

And then disappointment struck. Disappointment I'd been warned about by so many parents but arrogantly assumed it wouldn't happen to me. Disappointment that went a little something like this:

Me: So, did you have a fantastic time?

Little P: Yeah.

Me: Brilliant! What did you do?

Little P: Played with toys.

Me: Ooh, lovely. Did you make lots of friends?

Little P: Yeah.

Me: What are their names?

Little P: Dunno

Me: You'll have to ask them tomorrow, won't you?

Little P: Yeah.

(For an idea of the conversation that happened over the 9 school days since, please repeat above replacing the end with: Forgot to ask again, I'll ask tomorrow.)

What? That's it? I wanted a full run down of everything she did! I wanted to her to gush with stories of who had a dog/cat, who's dads were bigger, which children, if any, had been naughty (as long as it wasn't her!)

At least she's having a good time, she still looks forward to it every day. Mrs C, her teacher, is really lovely so I'm confident that no news is good news, Unfortunately 'no news' doesn't satisfy the curiosity of a nosy mum! 

Little N and I even got a little confidence boost as we dropped Little P off this afternoon from some of the older girls in the playground (by older I mean, like 6) in the form of:

'Ooh, I like your baby!' and 'Ooh, I like your hair' (it was plaited like Elsa's so...)

I'm taking it. A compliment is a compliment. and who's more honest than children, eh?

PS The novelty of uniform has run way out.  Two polo shirts is not enough for my washing turn around.

Toddler 'Censorship'...

I've a feeling this post isn't going to be as exciting as people may expect... It has nothing to do with Daddy in any way. Feel free to leave if this was not the post you were looking for ;)

A few posts ago I mentioned my crippling fear of spiders. I also made it clear that I really didn't want to pass such a silly thing on to my girls. In a different post I also mentioned Little P's fascination with death. Today's post is a bit of a mixture.

On a sunny day last week, Little P and I were pottering in the kitchen with the back door open when she alerted me to the situation.

 "Mummy, look! There's a buzzy bee stuck on the door" translation - a fly has landed in a spider web on the back door. (note to self: clean door (get Daddy to ask Grampy to clean door)).

Before I had time to think, a spider came out of nowhere (you know they do!!) and started making his way towards the fly, thrice his size. I honestly froze.

There have been only a few times in my life as a parent where I've been in a situation and instinct wasn't pulling me one way or another. Come on! Where the hell were you? Upon reflection, I don't know if I was more worried for me or for Little P (not bothered about the fly, doubt anyone would miss it).

"What's he doing, Mummy?"

I told a lie to buy myself some time "looks like he's popping over to say hello".

Should I explain what was about to happen before our very eyes? (for some crazy reason I could not avert my own eyes). After all, it's nature and actually probably a really interesting thing for a three year old to learn. Or should I usher her out of the room lest her innocence be compromised forever? Save her any trauma? (It was too late for me, I already knew...)

As it happened, Fate noticed Instinct was dragging his feet and stepped in to help. The fly tore himself free from his silvery cage, much to the dismay of his captor. Phew! Until next time.

So what do I do next time?? I need to be prepared on the highly likely off-chance I haven't cleaned my door...

PS I'm now accepting commissions for creepy drawings of eyes made on my iPhone. Would make a great Christmas present.

Save the Rage!!

So, does anybody else partake in this really poor form of parenting?? I know it's really wrong, unfair and not in the least bit productive but I can't help myself.

Just in case there are people reading this who don't know what I'm talking about (saints!), I'll explain. Saving the Rage is when your child does something that warrants a good telling off but you're in public (library, doctor's surgery, train) and you don't want to draw attention. So they get away with it (or at least receive a reduced scale telling off). Until they are home when you can really 'go to town'.

I inflicted said bad parenting on Little P recently. As I've mentioned in a previous post, I really enjoy the weekly shop with my girls so I was furious when Little P's behaviour ruined it for me. To give a bit of background, a few days earlier she had bitten Little N on the arm. Not to sound like one of those 'my child can do no wrong' mothers but this really was out of character for her. They had been playing nicely and the next thing I knew, Little N was distraught. I asked Little P what had happened and she immediately told me she had bitten her and apologised profusely to both of us. Poor Little N was left with a mark on her arm and I was devastated. It certainly took longer for me to forgive Little P than it took her sister. I really lost it and told her biting was one of the worst things you could do and how sad I thought it was that she wanted to hurt her little sister with whom she had been playing so nicely (I was a bit dramatic). 

After Daddy came home (and I made her tell him what she had done!) she seemed sufficiently remorseful so I tried my best to let it go. Upon reflection, and with a bit of objectivity from Daddy, we decided she had probably been testing her boundaries and was just curious to see what would happen. I thought that after the telling off she received she would never do it again.

Skip forward a week and you'd find us at Tesco doing our shop. I was having a nosey of the yoghurt selection when a shriek emerged from Little N followed by big, fat tears rolling down her face to heartbreaking wails. Once again, I hadn't a clue what had happened. I asked Little P if she'd seen her bump her head on the bar. 'I bit her. Sorry, Mummy'. And sure enough, poor Little N's index finger had been chomped. I grabbed her out of the trolley (that they were sharing) and she was completely inconsolable. 

I muttered a harsh few words to Little P under the deafening screams coming from her sister. Cue every man and his dog coming over to see what was wrong. There was literally a queue of old ladies (all concerned she was fed up with shopping/was hungry/was tired) to whom I had to explain what had actually happened. By this point, Little P had completely lost it and was also howling from her seat in the trolley. I wasn't angry with the spectators, I actually thought it quite nice that they were all so worried(/nosy). I was just getting more cross with Little P. Not only that she had bitten AGAIN, but my previous preaching must have fallen on deaf ears. After an assistant from the cheese counter had been over to see if there was anything she could do, the crowds finally started to clear. 

In all the fuss, Little P had received a fair bit of moral support from the old dears in such comments as 'you didn't mean it, did you?' and 'aw, you won't do that again, will you?'. Feeling like I didn't want more attention and that it would be a hindrance to me to set them off again, I chose to store my rage for later. So I tried to carry on with my shop; although Little N refused to go back in the trolley (would you get back into a cage with an animal that had already bitten you?). It transpired that Little P had taken comfort in the words of her supporters and was feeling better. She even risked asking if she could still have her treat. The nerve! (apparently one of the ladies had told her she was 'sure she could'. 

The car journey home was quiet. The littles were just chilling but I was brewing. Poor Little P must have forgotten the whole thing by the time we got in and was so confused when I suddenly let rip at her. This is not effective parenting, people. They have no clue what's going on by this point, you (the parent) have had too much time to think about it - they are not an adult (Daddy, mostly) whom you are trying to outsmart in an argument. 

I wasn't teaching her anything, I was just being mean. Mean because I felt Little N (who had most likely forgotten the whole thing) needed some justice. It wasn't the first time I'd saved the rage and sadly, I doubt it'll be the last...

In good news, this was over a month ago and she hasn't bitten since!

Baby Birthday Eve

I'm sitting in my living room having a gin after racing around today preparing for Little N's 1st birthday tomorrow. What?? One already?? I know it's such a cliché but this year really has flown by. 
Little P and Little N could not be more different; I presumed, as they were exposed to the exact same upbringing, they would be very similar. Compared to Little P (just turned 3) Little N seems so much smaller and so much more dependent on me. I returned to work (actually started a new job) full time when Little P was 10 months old and she was fantastic. She loves people and it was a treat for her to go to Nanny's house or to our child minder's (both of whom she loves dearly). She and I were both ready for that change, we both love company. Little N, on the other hand, only has time for me and her sister (and sometimes Daddy if he's being good).
I don't know whether I've somehow rubbed off on her because she will probably be my last little baby or whether it's just her personality but I know I'm not sorry. She's so cuddly and affectionate with me and I just want her to be my little baby forever. 
This anniversary has also reminded me of a time before Little N was even here. When it was just Daddy, Little P and me. I have to try really hard to remember a time before Little N, despite there being two whole years of it. Little P is so laid back she embraced her baby sister and has taken the liberty of showing her the ropes of being my baby (eat everything in sight, food or otherwise). My sister (who has three lovely children) told me the biggest change for her was going from a family of 3 to 4. She said you go from being a couple with a baby to full on family mode and I think I agree. My priorities have changed. I no longer crave the career I once did; I'd rather be at home with my girls. 
So, happy first birthday to my beautiful little baby girl. Thank you for being so cuddly and for loving me so much. And thank you, Little P, for being an amazingly flexible little girl who is so proud to be a big sister. (Daddy, I think you're alright too). You are my world!

I Burnt the Baby...

Oh my goodness... Nobody could make me feel any worse than I do about this. I am the person whose baby got sunburn.

On Saturday a friend and I took Little P and Little N for a picnic at nearby Cosmeston lakes. It felt like lovely picnic weather. The sun was out but there was a nice breeze (damn that bloody breeze!) and we set up camp on a picnic table. Little N stayed in her pushchair while Little P tore through the bag of birthday presents brought for her by our friend.

I remember commenting that I had forgotten to return my suncream to my nappy bag after Little N had unpacked it the other day (so if we're looking to blame anyone here, she sealed her own fate!) She remained in her pushchair with the hood up while we chatted and ate and she wasn't really in the sun at this point.

Once we'd eaten we moved to the playground so Little P could have a play (and we could have a bit of peace, truth be told). Our friend had brought a picnic blanket so I got Little N out to have a play with us. The air was cool enough that we all kept our cardigans on and that's a rarity for Little P who drops layers at every opportunity. An hour or so must have gone by before we decided to get an ice cream and head home.

It wasn't until a couple of hours later I noticed Little N's cheeks were very rosy and she was quite irritable. I didn't even think it was sunburn to begin with as it hadn't been that warm. It then dawned on me as the temperature of my own face rose... (Then the back of my neck, my chest and a little patch of leg). Somehow Little P managed to escape any damage, probably due to the shade offered by the pirate ship).

I was so upset! I am the last person I expected this to happen to. I'm usually so careful as I have quite pale skin myself and no interest in tanning. They (and I) are usually slathered in factor 50 and I regularly reapply (my health visitor even told me off for overdoing it when Little P was a baby). I made the mistake of seeking the advice of Dr Google only to be met with horrific images and a fresh wave of guilt (advice - do not Google sunburnt baby).

Luckily, by the morning, her skin looked back to its usual colour and her temperament was as it always has been (worried and uneasy, in case you're wondering). I wasn't so lucky and am still looking a bit pink.

I'm now left facing the decision of whether to keep them indoors for the rest of their lives, lest I forget the suncream again or to buy them some kind of all-in-one beekeeper protective outfit. I certainly won't let my guard down again and allow that gentle breeze to lull me into a false sense of coolness while the scorching sun silently attacks me and my babies!

Folly Farm Frolics!

Last week I took the girls to visit my mum (Nana) in Pembrokeshire. She had wanted to take the girls to Folly Farm for ages (for her own benefit really, since they got giraffes) so we opted for the only day of sun, Wednesday. Daddy and I had taken Little P last year when I was about 8 months pregnant and she wasn't quite 2 yet so we didn't last very long that day. I was looking forward to her getting more out of it this time round.

First stop was the barn area. We saw little ponies and an enormous horse, a good variety of goats (variety or range? or neither??) a very fat pig indeed, lambs, rats, rabbits and some exotic chicken-type things... (you wouldn't think I was raised in the deep countryside from my animal knowledge). In the middle of the barn was a coop for the baby chicks, which Little P later claimed were her favourite of the animals we saw (after originally favouring the cows - we saw no cows). Behind the coop was a little shed which housed the eggs which were waiting to hatch. This is where Little P found someone else's dad to engage in serious chick conversation. I chatted to his wife who said he always attracted stray children while I explained Little P always latched onto others' dads. Their meeting was inevitable. After Little P and her 'new dad' (and his own children) had thoroughly examined the eggs I convinced her to come and have a stroke of the goat and shortly afterwards the rabbit (whose name I think was Beau, but I'm sure Little P was calling 'Boat'). Ever the social butterfly (or blutterfly), Little P had an enthusiastic chat with the lady holding the animals. Some of it was about the animals and some about her nails varnish and her dress (she was responsible for putting this ensemble together, by the way)

Beau/Boat the rabbit

Little N chilling in the barn

Next we had a little go on the games and play areas dotted around the barn. Little N all the while was leisurely kicking back in her pushchair, presumably wondering what all the fuss was about.


                                    
As it was nearing midday and, as those of you who check in regularly know, my girls like their food (learn more here), we decided to stop for our picnic lunch. This was arguably Little P's favourite part of the day and not even because of the food. Nana tasked her with shooing away a particularly bold (and he really was) seagull. She spent the best part of an hour tearing round our picnic area, weaving between the tables crying 'shoo! Go on, shoo!' to the cheeky bird much to her own amusement as well as that of our fellow picnic-ers. (It was great that she was enjoying herself but seriously, we have plenty of seagulls in Barry, where I have yet to spot a giraffe!) I should probably say at this point that the seagulls were no reflection on Folly Farm which was beautifully maintained.

After lunch we moved on to the zoo area. What fascinated me was Little P's reaction to seeing the lions and the giraffes was no greater than when she saw the goat or the chicks. I guess when you are that young, a fat pig is as awe-inspiring as a lion. She just wouldn't understand what a privilege it was to see! 

Little N finally showing some interest in the animals. Only the wild ones, though.

One of my favourite moments of the day came at the meerkat enclosure. They were so cute and appeared to be really playing up to the cameras. I was happily snapping away when the lady next to me squealed 'ooh!! he's brought the baby out!' I craned my neck to see a tiny meerkat baby being held by, what I can now only imagine was his dad (although may have been its mum, but once that seed was planted by squealing lady there was no going back). Immediately about 5 other meerkats gathered around and huddled to protect the baby and I wasn't quick enough to catch a photo. In my head I imagined the conversation between the meerkat mum and dad, who had clearly got carried away with the excitement of the arrival of the royal baby.
Meerkat Mum: Pete! What the hell are you doing bringing the baby out here??
Meerkat Dad: Oh, he's alright, Ann. Look! Everyone has come out to see him. Go on, give them a wave.
(Meerkat Mum gives Meerkat Dad 'the look')
Meerkat Dad: Er, fellas, come and help me hide the baby, would you?

After seeing the zoo animals Little P had a little play in the softplay area where she made friends with some little boys while Little N took her afternoon nap. Before we knew it the afternoon had nearly gone. We made it in time for the last tractor train ride which was a nice chance to have a relaxing sit down and a look at the animals (well it would have been if Little N hadn't found a second wind after her nap and was bouncing all over the place as I tried to contain her on my lap).

We thought we'd visit the vintage fairground before leaving. Little P had been asking before we even arrived if we could go on the horsey-roundabout, which we deduced was the carousel. She and I went on while Nana and Little N watched from the side. Apparently it wasn't quite dare-devil enough for her and she wanted to seek thrills on one of the bigger rides. She couldn't go on most of them as she's not yet a metre high but we found a waltzer-type ride which only required you to be 90cm - we were in luck! Nana had her reservations and thought Little P would get scared as it was quite fast. In fact she absolutely loved it! After that, and with her eyes barely open she was so tired, we trundled off to the gift shop for them each to choose a treat. Little N got a lovely wooden farm animal puzzle and (after some initial bad choices) Little P chose a pink flamingo puppet. Or as she calls it 'my 'mingo'.

We had a fantastic day and both littles had a good night's sleep afterwards!

Lions and Spiders and Bears - Oh, My!

Does anybody else have any completely irrational fears/phobias? I Feel I should come clean at this point that I don't actually fear lions or bears (which probably would be rational) it just made for a catchy blog post title!

I do however loathe spiders. It's ridiculous and I know it but I can't be helped. I don't mean just not wanting to pick them up, this is full on. I can spot a spider a mile away (sometimes it's a clump of hair from the washing machine) and it instantly makes my knees buckle and I go all hot - a physical reaction hard to hide from children. What's worse is that Daddy is also afraid of them so there is nobody to pick them up and pretend to the girls they are harmless, helpful fly-catchers which are great for the environment (not the scheming, dangerous, evil creatures we actually know them to be).

I suppose I'm grateful that they are pretty much the only thing that bother me (oh and sharks - sometimes I'm too scared to get in the bath in case they come up the plug hole. At least that's rational, though, right? I mean a shark could take your leg off!) as I can fend off a wasp (another of Daddy's Nemeses), bee, ant, frog and I know these are all things people can sometimes be scared of. But the older I get the more stupid and embarrassed I feel when I have a 'reaction'.

The biggest problem for me is not wanting to pass this on to the girls. Daddy doesn't really care and thinks they should know the 'truth' (please see above re: character of spiders). My reasons are these: a) I, obviously, want them to be able to get rid of any unwanted house guests of the arachnid variety and
b) most importantly, I don't want them to feel the way I feel when I see a spider which is terrified (and embarrassed having fallen over and come out in hives).

Recently Little P got upset because a woodlouse (don't worry, guys. I've got this one) walked over her foot. As he approached she was amused and was telling me the big ant was coming but a soon as it climbed onto her she burst into tears. In this instance I was able to pick it up and tell her how lovely it was and I thought it was special he'd decided to come and say hello. She went along with this and was excited to tell Daddy when he got home.

If this had been a spider she'd have been locked out the back until she had been cleared for access again. How bad does that make me??

If anyone has any ideas/tips on how not to rub your own silliness off on littles, I'm all ears!

Too soon to talk about death?

Ok, I think I have made a mistake.

I'm usually a relatively confident parent. I may do things differently to others but I think as long as you have your children's best interests at heart, you are doing a good job, right?

Recently, a conversation with Little P spiralled way out of control and I feel a bit out of my depth. She had started to put string around Little N's neck (her dog) and in a panic the following conversation happened:

Me: No!! You mustn't do that. It's dangerous to put things around people's necks
Little P: Why? (what else?)
Me (still in panic mode): Because they can't breath and they could die! (Agreed, not my finest moment)

This was not how I had planned on explaining death to my children. That said, I hadn't planned on it at all. I certainly hadn't meant to describe it so violently. Yet there I was talking to my two year old about strangulation (How did I get here?!)

That was not the end of it. Here we are a few weeks later and, much to the amusement of my friends and Daddy, Little P is casually dropping the words 'die' and 'dead' into conversation left, right and centre. We went to story time at the local library today and I'm not entirely sure how it came about but she was talking to the storyteller about the 'death' of a sunflower. *Hangs head in shame*

I've tried backtracking and explaining how it makes me feel sad and it is not something to be considered lightly but I'm not sure it's going to wash.

We watched Bambi the other day (she asked for the film about the goat, it took me a while...) and I thought I'd do some prep work re: the death of Bambi's mum. Big mistake. From the moment the film started I was subject to questions and comments such as 'is she dead yet?' and 'I think she'll die soon'.

Is there a right time? Should their innocence be protected until, god forbid, such a time they need to know or is it something they should be prepared for?

I recently read a post over at The Accidental Parent Guide about the really sad loss of their pet rabbits and the process they went through to help their daughter grieve. I found it really touching and, not to take away in any way from the tragedy, seemed like a really appropriate introduction to dealing with loss.

For now I think I'll just have to wait it out until Little P's obsession quietens down little. Luckily, Little N is doing a fantastic job of playing a dog without a lead. She follows her sister around when called and eats leftovers off the floor. 

Park Thugs

Ok, the title of this post is probably a tad dramatic for what's about to follow, but aren't we all very protective of our children?

This week was another gloriously sunny week and having spent the previous week locked away with Little N's chickenpox (Little P has now been struck down just as I was warned she would be) we tried to get out as much as possible.

I took the girls to the park one afternoon where Little P ran off to make some friends and I settled Little N on the baby swing. While I spent some time taking a few snaps of Little N and significantly more time wrestling her sunhat back onto her head, Little P was huddled with some girls under the slide (obviously).

Having satisfied her desire to swing, Little N and I approached to see what Little P and the girls were up to and to my horror I learned that the girls, a couple of years older than Little P, were being mean to her. I heard them tell her that she had to get out from under the slide as they were under there. She told them that she didn't want to and that she'd like to play too. They continued to insist that she leave so, with my heart breaking for her, I approached the slide. I suggested, in the most excitable voice I could feign, that Little P come and have a turn on the 'big girl swing' and I would push her very high. After some reluctance, she agreed. And this is what really made my blood boil - the girls, having heard this conversation, shot out from under the slide, ran to and occupied aforementioned big girl swings.

I was absolutely furious! I could have forgiven them not wanting to play with a little girl a bit younger than them but what they did was deliberately spiteful. Why would they want to hurt her feelings?

Some time later (after a stint on the baby swings) I saw that she was talking to one of the girls' mums who I heard tell her, 'maybe you are a big girl, but you're too little to play with them'. I guess the apple didn't fall far from that tree...

As we headed home from the park Little P said to me 'Mummy, those little girls didn't want to play with me'. I felt so sad for her. I replied 'no, they didn't. But they weren't very nice little girls so I'm glad you didn't play with them.'

Upon reflection, perhaps I shouldn't have said that to her. I certainly won't be making a habit of 'slagging off' other children to my own, (actually, I'm not making any promises!) but at the time I felt I really wanted her to know the problem was with them and not her. It makes me sad that a bit of her innocence has been taken away but I suppose I need to get used to it as she grows up.... Waaaaaaaah!

Mummy, Are you Going to Sort your Face Out?

'Mummy, are you going to sort your face out?' were the charming words that tumbled from Little P's mouth a couple of days ago. My initial reaction was to clutch at my face and demand to know what was wrong with it. She seemed confused that I didn't already know...

Ah, right. It was because she was repeating my own words back to me. I had made the mistake of telling her we would go to the park 'in a little while'. It was during that stage of our day where I've had a shower but was dragging my feet getting us all ready. I struggled for twenty-odd years getting myself ready of a morning (sometimes afternoon) and suddenly my workload has increased threefold. It was around the fourth 'can we go now?' that I told her I needed to sort my face out before we could go anywhere.

I don't think I wear very much make-up but what little I wear makes a big difference. Or at least it does to me. I am not, however, someone who really enjoys make-up. Putting it on is definitely a chore rather than a luxurious routine so I trudged (it really was a trudge) upstairs to get on with it. Little P, hot on my tail (probably there to make sure I did what I was supposed to) followed me into the bathroom and asked if she could have some. I told her that she was far too beautiful (and she really is) for make-up.

It did get me thinking though, about how children view their parents. It wouldn't matter a bit to my littles whether or not I wore make-up (or to Daddy for that matter, but I think that's just lack of interest!) and Little P tells me so often how beautiful I am. I must admit, this is usually as a return gesture. 'I am so lucky to have two beautiful girls' I say - because I really can't help myself. 'And I'm so lucky to have a beautiful mummy'. (Maybe she feels obliged...) I remember how my friends and I all thought the world of our own parents as small children. We saw no flaws and were confident that our own mum/dad was smarter/prettier/taller/more clever/faster *and all other very important qualities* than 'yours', without doubt. It's such a privilege to now be in that position of mum and I think I ought to treat my role with a bit more respect. I thought about challenging myself to a week of no 'because I said sos' but I'm not one to set myself up for a fall!

As we were leaving to go to the park (already outside the house, with neighbours in earshot) Little P looked at me and asked 'what's that on your chin? I think you've got a spot'.

My Bottomless Pits!

Hi there! Me again with another slightly controversial statement. My children eat too much.

Having spoken to many of my mummy friends it is clear that my girls eat more than your average two t' three year old and 10 month old children. Considering Little N refused food until 8 months old she can sure as hell pack it away now, only 2 months later. Now don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that my boobs can finally take a break, but sustaining their mammoth diets is really tricky. It is fantastic that neither of them are fussy; Little P in particular will eat ANYTHING. Daddy and I often share a snigger as we offer up an olive or some spicy curry only to find ourselves laughing on the other sides of our faces. (Is that a thing or just something my mum used to say??)

Just before anyone thinks I'm here to brag (as I know a lot of parents struggle to get their tots to eat) I genuinely am running out of ideas. Just like every other parent, I want my children to have a healthy, balanced diet but I'm on the edge of a supply and demand crisis! I often make batches of meals for Little N but I only have a small freezer (tiny house) so I either have a freezer full of cottage pie portions or I make less so I can fit in a variety which means I'm making fresh meals most days anyway. All of this takes lots of time which in turn, very sadly, takes it's toll on the amount of time I can commit to housework...(ahem).

Yesterday was a typical day for Little N and went something like this (remember, she's only 10 months old and she's fairly small too):

• Baby breakfast cereal (double the recommended amount for her age)
• 1 slice of Daddy's toast, stolen (Daddy's then needs to be replenished) 
• As still not satisfied, her own toast with peanut butter
• Some strawberries (about 6)

Break for brief nap of 20 minutes

• Cucumber while waiting (impatiently) for me to defrost lunch
• Lunch of 'batch' roast chicken dinner (size large baby food storage pot)
• Yogurt
• Half a banana (shared with Little P)
• Some baby crisps, usually reserved for when we are out and about (would have been a box of raisins, only I discovered we had run out - an absolute disaster to the parents of most children)

Break for brief nap of 20 minutes

•   Dinner of broccoli, pasta and cheese sauce
• 'Nother yogurt

I mean just her breakfast is more than most adults would have! Little P eats pretty much the same as us (+all the little snacks that Little N has). Neither of them ever seems full and I don't know where they put it. Little N is generally quite small and Little P is tall but very slim (she has abs!) Would love to know what people do to satisfy their hungry little monsters.... My cupboards are practically bare. Just call me Mrs Hubbard!

Odd Socks and Chickenpox...

Odd socks and chickenpox. These are the things that have muddied the last couple of days for us.

We are very, very lucky in our household that we are rarely unwell. (Or perhaps I'm not a very precautious mummy). So to be struck down with chickenpox is a bit of a disaster.

I had arranged to meet with friends on Friday (initially at the museum but due a misunderstanding [mine - and this sort of thing happens a lot!] we were going for a picnic in the park) and I was really excited. Worse than that, I'd got Little P really excited. We were seeing a few of my mummy friends, and of course their children, some of whom we hadn't seen for a while (I'm sure the children will forgive Little P for being more excited to see the mummies).

I had noticed the night before that Little N had a tiny little blister on her tummy but my initial diagnosis - and this is a cracker - was that due to the sun being so hot the previous day one of the buttons of her sleep suit had got really hot and burnt her. IDIOT! (In my defence it was because the little metal buttons on my dress had got really hot and burnt me so there was kind of a logic...)

Anyway, in the morning I got us all ready to go, packed our picnic and then noticed another little blister on the back of her head. I mentioned it to Daddy and asked if he thought it was anything to worry about. He told me that if it were him, he would take her to the doctor (I would like to say at this point that he absolutely would not have taken her to the doctor. In the 5 years we have been together he has neither visited the doctor himself or taken either of the girls) and as he was going to work and we were going on a lovely picnic he was in the perfect position to make this comment. Thank goodness he did.

I sent a text message to my friends to tell them I was just 'nipping' in with her and we'd be sure to meet them afterwards. (I really hate missing out on anything, I've been the same way since I was a child. Probably why I'm never unwell!) Sadly it wasn't to be. Poor Little N was diagnosed with a pox virus and we had to cancel (dammit!). The doctor told us she couldn't be sure it was chickenpox as she seemed fine in herself. Well that didn't last. Cue a morning of screaming and planking (what word can we use for baby-planking? They go beyond a plank and bend right back on themselves!). I felt awful that she had this virus and I hadn't known and I felt awful that I'd got Little P's hopes up and then dashed them. She was devastated. I could have coped with a tantrum at this point but the weeping (weeping!!) was too much. Luckily, her auntie said she could go round to play with her so at least her day was saved!

Little N and I shared our day between cuddling and tackling the washing mound. (We have a mound, two baskets and a stream that runs roughly from the bathroom to our bedroom floor where it opens into the mound.) I found no solace here as I laid out sock after single sock in the hope that I might find a pair to put in the machine together, with an even greater hope that a pair would come out. Sadly all were to be committed, once washed, to the odd-sock bag. Where do they escape to??

3 days on and Little N has had no new spots for a while so hopefully she's on the mend. We are just waiting in anticipation of Little P catching it. She asked today if she had chickenpox. "Not at the moment. Would you like them?" I joked. "I think I would a little bit..." (I think she's a bit like me when it comes to missing out).

Lovely Vale Life

Today was an absolutely beautiful day in Barry. Days like today remind me how lucky we are to live where we do. We literally have everything you (well certainly I) could ask for: countryside, seaside and a great city just a stone's throw away.

I knew I wanted to take the girls out for a picnic, I just wasn't sure where yet. With it still being the Easter holidays I knew most places were likely to be busy. In anticipation of Little P's usual antics, I wanted to go somewhere quiet and peaceful. I thought it would be easier to get her to leave when it was time to (easier, not easy).

I settled on Porthkerry park, just down the road. Rather than drive right into the main park I pulled up at the first car park and set up our picnic blanket on a bank just above a little bridge where there was nobody else to be seen. I popped the littles down on the blanket next to each other as I began to unpack the picnic. Little P has always been an enthusiastic eater, (she'll eat anything and is always 'hungry') so I warned her to wait until we were ready. Little N on the other hand didn't really get on board with food until she was about 8 months old; she was quite happy on a breastmilk only diet. You can imagine my surprise therefore to turn around and find she had taken all of the sandwiches (triangles of course - it was a picnic) out of the box and taken a bite out of most! I salvaged what I could and we all had a good munch. We ate, we played and Little P collected us some buttercups which were in abundance on our little picnic patch.

            When Little P started getting restless and Little N's pretty dress (a Little P hand-me-down favourite of mine) was suitably stained with strawberries we set off down to the little bridge for a good round of pooh sticks. I have to give Little P credit for her patience. She really believed in her stick and despite the bridge being only a meter wide, she waited for ages. She waited after I told her it had probably got stuck. She waited after I'd thrown in another stick and had seen it emerge safely on the other side. She eventually moved on and collected another stick and one for Little N to have a go with ( which went straight in her mouth! Seriously? 8 Months!).

Little N was getting tired and so I convinced Little P it was time to leave on the condition that we would go somewhere else for a walk. What I didn't count on was Little P falling asleep in the car too so I took them both home. When Little P awoke she was in utter despair; she felt wronged, she was in denial. "But I didn't fall asleep, Mummy. I didn't!"

There was only one thing for it! Blowing bubbles in the garden. So we blew and blew to Little N's delight until... well, until Little P found an ant to play with. (Is she sociable or needy??)

Little N and I went back indoors to make a start on dinner. I went to check on Little P a while later. She was crouched down in the garden (still playing with her ant, I presume) and I heard "are you hungry? Do you think you might be hungry? I've got some food for you in my palace..."

Trolley Trauma

Now, what I'm about to say may be considered controversial...

I actually enjoy doing the food shop. Even with the littles. In fact, especially with the littles. I don't put it in the same category as having to bundle everyone out to nip to get some bread (I really don't enjoy that - I'd rather eat a brown banana and some stale crackers for lunch than bother with that nonsense). The food shop is more of an event. A day out... Like in the newborn days and it's 'health visitor/weighing day'. (Times have really changed in my life...)

Recently however, and I really didn't see this coming, I've experienced some trolley issues. Just when I thought Tesco had all bases covered I've discovered there is no trolley designed to carry two trolley-aged, non-tiny-baby children. Or if there is, it's hidden away from me. Either way, it's been ruining my days out!! The options are: a trolley with a baby seat and a normal seat or a trolley with one normal seat. I have to opt for the former as I need to have leverage with Little P, who has recently been taking the trip on foot. There's a vicious cycle that goes something like this:

Little N sits in the trolley seat while Little P walks > Little P keeps picking things off the shelf > after third warning Little P is moved into the trolley seat and Little N into the baby seat > Little N, feeling disgruntled at her demotion and able to do little else, sets about removing clumps of Little P's hair  > Little N moves back to the trolley seat while Little P goes back on foot... (and so on, you get the picture) Any ideas??

In honesty, it's Mummy Pride that keeps me going back so eagerly. I like all the old ladies stopping to have a chat with the girls and comment on their hand-knitted cardigans (thanks Nanny). As mentioned in my last post, Little P is a bit of a toddler going on old lady and like the other old ladies, likes to stop for a chat with...well everyone, actually.

Mostly I find it cute (ok, really heart-warming) and sometimes I'm just embarrassed. Today I experienced both ends of the scale. Seeing a little girl walk by with a butterfly transfer on her arm, Little P's eyes lit up. "Mummy, look! She has a beautiful butterfly on her arm" she said, loudly enough for the girl to hear. This girl knows what she's doing. She was deliberately reaching out to this girl hoping to snare a friend. It paid off as the girl looked up with a big smile. That's one 6 year old in the bag for Little P.

Next aisle was a different story. We were alone with a sour-faced 'middle aged/old' couple who apparently liked each other as little as they seemed to like us. Cue Little P's friend making tactics. "I'm having soup for dinner, I chose my own roll!" Now, while I agree that that the couple should at least have acknowledged she was talking to them (they were the only ones there and she's only 2 for goodness sake!!) I don't agree with the way Little P handled her rejection. With the same gusto and volume as her previous friend-making missions she asked "Mummy, (although we all know she was directing it to the couple) they're not talking to me! Why won't they talk to me?". I tried to hush her and explain they were probably busy. Not good enough for Little P. "Well that's not very nice, is it?". AWKS.

Little N gets her supermarket kicks a very different way. She is a tough crowd at the best of times and I think she secretly enjoys the desperation in the voices and on the faces of every customer and staff member as they ask "can I get a smile?" I dread it every time. I know she can smile but she doesn't like it to be public knowledge. She just returns a dead-pan stare. Unless they are prepared to really work for it, she's giving nothing away. The usual happened today, while we were at the check-out but luckily the lady cut her losses and jumped to commenting on the cardi (thanks Nanny).

Just as we were leaving, the girl with the butterfly arm stole past in her own trolley and Little P leaned in and said to me "I think she was nearly going to talk to me that time!"

The Flagship blog post - "I just can't do this, Mummy"

So, this is my first go at writing a blog - something I've been meaning to do for a while (just like losing a few pounds...)

I thought I would start with a brief introduction: I'm a 'Stay at Home Mum' and whilst I don't love that title, my other options were: 'Unemployed' (don't like that either) or 'Housewife'. I'm neither married nor do I do very much housework; which, although doesn't feature in the title, feels somewhat implied. So a SAHM, I am. I live in Barry with my partner, who in a traditional manner shall henceforth be known as 'Daddy' and my two little girls, Little P (May 2012) and Little N (June 2014).

Little P is eligible for a part-time nursery place in September of this year and so I have applied to the nursery of our catchment Welsh primary school. Not being from the area, I don't know that many local mums and so thought it would be a good idea to take her along to the Cylch Ti a Fi (a Welsh parent and toddler initiative) at the school in order that she and I could meet some new people. 

Now, Little P is quite a clever little girl (don't we all think that of our own?), she has particularly good speech for her age and is very sociable indeed. Sociable with adults. It's not that she doesn't like children, not at all - but she interacts with them like an adult might ("oh, isn't she cute, Mummy?"). So this is where we hit our first hurdle. She enters the room, without hesitation and chooses her first target: one of only two men in attendance who is playing very nicely with his own little girl. "Would you like to draw with me?" I try the usual tactics: explaining that he has his own little girl to play with, asking if she'd like to play with me instead and then, (like they always do) he says "oh, she's fine". That was it, he'd committed himself for the entire session. I don't know if it's just me or whether others find this one a bit awkward but I feel there's a limit on how many times you can say "come on now, leave the man alone" without a) sounding as though it is you who doesn't want your child playing with them or b) sounding insincere as it's the thirtieth time you've asked and Little P is showing no sign of budging. (I'm sorry if you have ever been affected by "b)" in the past...)

Eventually, and undoubtedly not a moment too soon for Little P's new BFF, it was time for the singing. The singing and hurdle number two. Now, I went to a Welsh school and I'm keen that the girls do too but I haven't really spent any time speaking Welsh to either of them as I feel a bit foolish and out of practice (See hurdle three below) so this really was Little P's first experience and she couldn't have looked more put-out if she'd tried. As I say, her language and vocabulary are really good (in English!!!!) so she was mortified that she wasn't able to sing the songs that the other children seemed to know so well. Rather than graciously listening or giving it a go she was shouting to me (over the voices of the other children). "I just can't do this, Mummy" of course met with my sweet toned "just give it a try!" She did not give it a try. Instead she took herself out of the circle and came to sit next to me. "I just won't do this bit, Mummy".

Lastly (hurdle three), a close friend of the leader was sitting near to me and must have heard me singing along to some of the songs and began a conversation with me in Welsh. ARGH!! I actually didn't notice at first but now I'm terrified of being revealed as a fraud! I introduced myself in English to the leader and now her friend knows I can speak(?) Welsh. Given this group is set up to introduce/encourage the use of Welsh language it was weak of me to shy away in the first place but that ship had sailed. Other mums must feel like this too? Or more likely other over-thinkers...

My fear of being caught out doesn't compare to the lovely atmosphere, though and I can't wait to get back after Easter! I've got Little P well rehearsed in Pen, Ysgwyddau, Coesau, Traed (Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes - or rather Head, Shoulders, Legs and Feet!)