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!)