Parenting Blog Envy

Strange topic, I know, but I wonder if anyone can relate. The more I blog and discover other blogs (addictive isn't it?) I find myself feeling a rather familiar but unpleasant sensation. Envy.

At university I was always envious of those super chic girls who managed to look fabulous AND win every law school medal all at the same time. While I fumbled with a bulky bag and sneakers and hovered on a credit average. Seriously how did they manage perfect blow dries and heels for 9am lectures? Did they all have cars and parking spots while I schlepped in on the train?

In high school I was envious of the girls who always had the cool clothes and the boyfriends... It wasn't until year 12 that I snagged a boyfriend and even then he was definitely a freak. What was I thinking? Yes I realise that in retrospect a Timberland sweatshirt and bootleg jeans really were hideous but that didn't stop my turning green wishing I owned my very own set.

Now here I am almost thirty, a mother and I'm meant to be all mature. My outlook should be laid back and wise, my feelings tempered and virtuous yet I find myself green with envy again. So what sends me into an emerald hue these days? Well you know those blogs written by other mummies, the really perfect ones? The thin and pretty ones who manage to post these amazingly styled photos of their many children while juggling crafting and cooking and whatever else these supermums manage to fit into their days? And here I am with only one child and I can't manage a tenth of that. Maybe I take the easy route with my daily activities? I don't like chaos. I'm a big fan or order, I like everything to be just so...

Seriously on a practical lever I want to know HOW they do it? While they are gluing pipe cleaners onto egg shells and baking bread from scratch where are their kids? Who is wiping noses, changing nappies and playing pretend with the good cutlery? Who is folding the washing, walking the dogs, making the beds, reading Bumbletum and replying to emails? Who? I just don't get how they do it all?

Does everyone else have armies of staff they just don't mention on their blogs? Or is it just me? Am I just a hopelessly inefficient, chubby, sloth of a housewife? What's going on? I only get 24 hours in my day does everyone else get more? And while I'm there, am I the only blogger who has no web design capabilities? All I see these days are fancypants blogs, stunning bloggers with oodles of time to craft and sew and I can't seem to get my act together to handle more than one play date a week let alone find my sewing machine or get my husband's shirts washed on time. I feel like there might be a conspiracy and nobody is filling me in.

Let's Talk Bad Weekends

Last week was a nightmare, we were all looking forward to the weekend. It got off to a rocky start when my best friend was told that she didn't win the competition I told you all about here. The consolation prize was haircare products. Nice touch when you are fighting cancer and you have lost all your hair. Don't start me.

Sunday was meant to be spent on a morning picnic before I toddled off to one of Retromummy's sewing classes. Instead it was spent with my heart in my mouth as our baby girl was rushed to hospital in an ambulance after going grey, then blue and losing consciousness for about 7 minutes even though it felt like 70. At the hospital all manner of tests were conducted and they found no apparent cause. We have to take her back for an EEG.

This blurry photo taken on my husband's crackberry shows our brave little Tinker listening as the kind nurse sang all of her favourite songs. She was so lovely and quite the jukebox.

Tinker was impressed, she is never that still when I sing. It isn't humanly possible to be still when I sing, I'm so bad that even my dogs get agitated when I belt out a few rounds of Miss Polly.

Who is that hottie on the left cutting a striking pose in the navy and white trench complete with hands on hips? Why that is me of course. What you can't see is that under my trench I wore animal print flannelette pj pants, bed socks and tan loafers. My hair was clipped back with one of Tinker's polka dot ribbon clips and I had no bra, nor had I brushed my teeth.

Oh yes I totally rocked hobo sloth chic this morning. Even I didn't dare ask the ambulance to wait a minute while I changed out of my PJs. What kind of shamefully vain mother even stops and considers such a request? Ok so maybe I did think about it but only for a super quick split second... or two.

For anyone who follows me on Twitter, you'd know I have been on a cooking strike much to my husband's dismay. It came about after a string of failed projects. I thought I might break the strike with some corned beef in the slow cooker. Ok that worked. And a batch of cupcakes. The neverfail variety. You know Nigella's recipe for the food processor? I added 3 punnets of strawberries and some pricey but yummy vanilla beans.

Failed again. The first 12 didn't rise and remained gooey, the last 12 were like rock cakes. So I think I'm going back over the picket line. The strike has resumed people, the strike has resumed.

So tell me, how bad was your weekend? I'm not up for cheesy smiley stories. Give me some ratty grumpy ones so I'm not the only whinger here. Come on, you know you want to...

A gift... Not quite!

toonpool.com

A few weeks ago I was reading this article about the little British girl who at age 2 has joined MENSA. It got me thinking about giftedness and parenting.

When I was at primary school there was a girl called Despina who had no friends at all. She was arrogant and pushy in the playground and very annoying in class. One day I got chatting to her, I must have been about 9. She told me she was a genius and in a few months her parents were sending her overseas to a special school for extremely gifted children. She knew her IQ and went on to tell me all about the yearly testing she had been having since she was 3. I remember feeling rather perplexed and quite sorry for her when told me that she had no friends because "other children will always be intimidated by my intellect, that's why my mum and dad are my friends instead."

I have never had my IQ tested, unless you count those wacky quizzes on Facebook that end up costing you money and sending you weird text messages. I don't think my score would be very high. In fact I think I'm pretty ordinary when it comes to most things. Except folding towels. I'm quite talented with that. Oh and I'm definitely a whizz when it comes to saying the wrong thing. I've got that down to a fine art. In fact if you looked up "foot in mouth disease" you'd see my pretty picture staring back at you.

My daughter, however, is very bright. She is 18 months old and knows most colours, counts to 10, knows most shapes, shares nicely, shows empathy and learns very quickly. She is very funny, she has a cute sense of humour. She is very articulate and asks the funniest and surprising questions. People sometimes tell me she is gifted. I'm not sure I agree with that. According to my family, I was the same at Tinker's age and I'm no bloody genius. I don't think doing things months before other kids makes you a genius. In fact I don't think being extraordinarily bright is a gift at all.

From what I've read, most true genii become academics, many are lonely, most find school very difficult socially and many suffer from depression. Doesn't sound like much fun to me. I wonder what became of Despina, she was so bright and so very lonely. She was awkward and dark beyond her years. I wonder if her parents are happy with the approach they took to raising her. Ruth Lawrence the hot-housed British girl who went to Oxford at age 12 had a tough time and is now completely estranged from her parents.

Kate Hilpern wrote an interesting piece for the Guardian last year. You can read it here. One of the key points I took away from her piece was simply asking the question why? What is the point of accelerating our children so fast that they enter university in their early teens? How does that help them as individuals? In the end when the 19 year olds have their doctorates aren't they then on par with the 40 year olds? What kind of advantage does it give these kids entering the race early when we all end up at the same finish line eventually?

Parenting magazines are full of adverts for companies offering to test your child for giftedness, early entry to school, they offer various approaches to IQ testing. I don't know, I think I'd be very wary of going down that path with my precious girl. What do you think? Of course I'm not saying we should go all Pol Pot like and cripple the clever, but I wonder if things are going a bit too far?

Now I'm the first person to admit that I want Tinker to have the best education we can afford, I want her to be exposed to as many fun new things as she likes. Knowledge is definitely power. I don't want Tinker to be bored at preschool and I set about to find a really special toddler class for her to attend. She starts Mandarin next month and, and yes I do enjoy teaching her new things all day. I think the sky is the limit as far as play based learning is concerned. This is why I am not a lawyer anymore. This is why I choose to be at home with my little bunny. I love teaching her things and watching her grow and learn. It is fun. Hot-housing isn't fun, making your children do things they don't love isn't fun. I guess that's the issue.

Tell me your thoughts on this issue!

Snapshot

I took this picture yesterday. That's my Tinker on the left and her BFF on the right with Nanny. The girls had the most wonderful time at the Playschool concert. They sat on the table together, hugged, kissed, danced and sung together. It was adorable.

This is such a sweet little age for the best friends, they have had playdates since birth and they have always enjoyed being friends but now they are older it is so sweet to see them loving each other. They do swimming together on Saturdays and poor Tinker has been a bit sad because her BFF has been sick for the past two weeks. It is so sweet they way she misses her and asks all weekend about her.

I have been reading a lot of blogs lately that mention the 365 day photo challenge where you take a photo each day for your blog. I'm not sure I can do it every day but it might be nice to post one each Tuesday. Is that boring? Let me know.

We are heading out early this morning so I'll take the camera and see what I can come up with for you. I see that so many bloggers are really talented photographers. I'm not one of them so you'll have to bear with me.

Have a great morning, I'll be back this afternoon.

So what do you DO?

Along with the outrageous hours he works and the family un-friendly travel he has, my husband also has to drag me along to a number of a functions. It is basically the same night out, different dress, slightly different menu, same conversation, same people time after time after time.

I smile, I nod I say things like "oh so wonderful to see you again" "How is little Max liking Cranbrook?" "I heard you sold the Palm Beach house, how fabulous!" and occasionally I accept a glass of champagne instead of orange juice and occasionally I forget my corporate-wife hat and accidentally say something negative. I'm not chipper and I'm not cheesy so while I can hold a fake smile for an impressive length of time I'm not so good with the fake chipper talk.

Last year when the GFC hysteria had really taken hold we were at a rather glittery corporate function. Tinker had been tricky that day and I'd forgotten to have lunch so by the time I arrived I was starving. Of course canapes were tiny and champagne was flowing. After maybe two glasses of champagne Mr Elderly I'm Worth About A Gazillion Dollars strolls up to our little group. He launches into this impromptu pep talk about putting clients first in this state of flux and no matter what happens you need to get yourselves out there and make sacrifices for the firm.

For a split second I was back at work. I was the young female solicitor in the room full of old male barristers and I'd forgotten my corporate -wife hat again. I was back to being the loud opinionated one and before I knew it I had interrupted Mr Moneybags with "well that's all fine and good if you haven't been fired isn't it?"

My husband gulped, the other wives froze and Mr Money blinked twice, clenched his jaw slightly and being the polished banker that he is, continued his speech as though I wasn't there and I hadn't spoken. Once he'd finished talking the others dissipated so it was just me, my empty glass and my husband standing there. "Oh was that bad darling? I just thought in light of half the team being sacked right before Christmas and with many of us unable to keep our houses I might just say something..." I can't remember what his reply was, but I was on my best behaviour after that.

For the rest of the night I did a fair bit of smiling and nodding and for a change whenever anyone asked me "so what do you do?" I just gave them the answer that would stop further conversation. I'd answer: "Oh I'm at home, we have a little baby girl". Normally I'm quick to follow up with "but I was a lawyer..."

Why? Why am I so quick to defend a role I was always so looking forward to having? A role I actually really really love? A role I genuinely prefer to my "proper" professional job... It is strange isn't it? What do you say when people ask you what you do? Are you proud, embarrassed or a bit of both?

The type of job my husband has makes it hard for both of us to work. If we did, unless I had the type of job where my hours were fixed, then I'm not sure we'd ever actually see each other. We would probably end up being weekend parents and while it works beautifully for a lot of families, it just isn't the answer for our little family. I have always wanted to be a full time mum and wife and despite what people assume, I did love my professional job as well. I just love this more. Really. Most people raise their eyebrows when I say that. They assume my job was awful or maybe I'm not truthful. I have absolutely no reason to lie at all. I loved it, but I love this more. I really really do. I don't even miss my job. I think of it fondly but I have never wanted to swap back.

Often people remark that I wasted my education, all that time and money on law school and all the training I had to do on the job. I don't agree. My studies, my work experience and my outlook make me the person I am today. The wife I am and the mother that I am. So to those people, I say thanks but no thanks. I've wasted nothing and gained more than I could have ever imagined. Is it so hard to believe? Very few people seem to accept my take on this. What are your thoughts?

Quiet voice?

Yep it's another playgroup story. Are you sick of these yet? I'm afraid there are few other outings in my week. It's all I've got aside from my almost daily visits to complain to the dry cleaner who ruined yet another Brioni shirt but we won't go there today.

I've been trying to teach Tinker about using her "quiet voice" and until today I really thought the concept was too advanced for her. Turns out she really is the genius I often say she is.

She has a very loud, clear voice and tends to yell a bit, especially when trying to coax the neighbour's cat over for a pat. So each day I try to come up with a new lesson about using the quiet voice but it never ever seems to sink in.

This morning at playgroup there was a dad shouting at his toddler. She seemed to be a bit whiney and to me looked like she just needed a nap. She certainly wasn't making much noise but he was yelling at her. He pointed at my Tinker and said to his kid- "look at that little boy he is smiling and happy. None of the other children are crying. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE LIKE THEM?"

The more he yelled the more she whimpered. So I had to put my calm gentle mummy hat on for a minute. I was tossing up whether to (A) teach him about the quiet voice (B) thump him for calling my baby girl a boy (she was head to toe in pink even her socks were pink) or (C) Offer the kid some cheese to tempt the Dad out of the tantrum (it always works for Tinker)

All the other mums had picked their children up and moved well away from the yelling Dad, a few rolled their eyes, a few shook their heads. He seemed to think they were not impressed with the child. I wanted to tell him it was him not her. I was gearing up to suggest to Tinker that we go and ruin another handbag with the "washable paint" that doesn't wash off when she stood up on the foam block and in her very loudest voice said:

"Naughty naughty naughty dog, quiet voice? Quiet voice where are you?" while pointing at the yelling Dad. Now just so you know, because I am constantly chastising my dogs for barking at people Tinker has learned to say naughty dog. Unfortunately she even says it to people.

Fortunately for the man, the second part of her question was not as clear as the first and I don't think he understood what she was saying. I certainly did so I replied "the man's quiet voice is all gone, maybe if he used it his little girl wouldn't be so upset."

Immediately I felt really guilty. Maybe a bit like that nutjob with the bad hair who criticised my parenting at the shopping centre that day. Who was I to make such a judgmental call? Was I as bad as that crazy bogan on the escalator? I'm not sure what came over me. I was both thrilled with Tinker for understanding the quiet voice concept and furious at the yelling Dad for making his baby cry like that. The dad definitely heard me and he did stop yelling at the toddler but I felt really sheepish and escaped with Tinker to the play-doh table to roll some gooey germy bits of playdoh around the place.

Cringeworthy? Am I as bad as that bogan? What do you do when you see or hear parents being abusive like that?

Simple (sometimes sticky) Things

Here is my little Tinker in the sweet little knitted woollen hat, top and pants I bought at the craft store in Bowral on Sunday. I adore handknitted things especially paired with something really dressy. A little handknitted piece always adds a bit of love to an stylish store bought outfit. I couldn't resist decking her out head to toe in this pink woollen outfit. It is her "leisure suit" to rival my "not to be worn out of the house" velour leisure suit. Stop snickering. I swear, I haven't left the house in it. Ok fine I did go to the letterbox but never over the boundary line.

Yes she is playing with some sticky masking tape. It is a thrilling and complex game. Have I mentioned my child is a genius? I tear off bits of tape and stick them on her and she laughs herself silly as she takes them all off one by one. Then she says "again?" and we repeat the process a few dozen times.

What are the simple things that amuse your little one?

Tinker always loves a peg from the washing line or a key ring full of keys. An iPod or a mobile phone is a sure thing but nothing beats the plastic container drawer. She will amuse herself for ages pulling out the boxes, taking off the lids and then rearranging the cupboards.

My shoes will keep her happy for about 10 minutes. First she goes to the shoe cupboard and chooses a pair. Always a pair she never mixes. Then she takes 5 mins getting them on and then she proudly walks through the house in them clonk clonk clonk. Here she is tonight in some sensible flats:

She also loves a pad of Post-it notes and nothing beats freshly pressed and/or folded washing. There is something magnetic about neatness that draws her in. She must find it, and mess it all up. It is as though she is under a trance. Neatly folded pile of fitted sheets? Perfect.

She tires of proper toys quite quickly but these simple things always amuse her. So I'd love to know what your little ones love when it comes to simple things. I'd like some new ideas for the Tinks.

Holy Grail...my journey

Don't panic, I have not gone all spiritual lovey dovey self aware on you. I am talking about my journey to find what at times has felt like the Holy Grail.

I wanted so much and I travelled so far, ok fine I didn't cross The Bridge but I did sit in a lot of traffic. Nobody seemed to offer what I wanted. Nobody seemed to offer enough.

What am I drivelling about now? Preschool. I am talking about finding THE preschool. Of course for an exceptional child of Tinker's calibre, I knew I would never find perfection, but I had a list of must-haves and dammit I wasn't going to compromise. Yep that's me, that really annoying demanding fussy mummy with the clipboard and checklist on the preschool tour. Alright I didn't have a clipboard but I totally had a list, in my head.

Being the thorough researchy-type that I am (you can take a mummy out of the courtroom but you can never take the years of law school research lessons out of the mummy) I wanted to make sure I covered my bases and saw all sorts of centres.

I started out viewing a preschool attached to a primary school. Not just any primary school, but an "alternative" style school. One without school uniforms, rules (they have democratic agreements instead) and one where all the children play together. 3 year olds to 12 year olds. I liked the philosophy in parts, I liked how homely the environment was, how passionate and interested the teachers were but there was no way in hell my Tinker was going there. I actually burst into tears when I got back to my car, I was so disturbed by the grubbiness, the idea of 12 year olds playing with my baby... and lets face it. I was a legal aid lawyer but I did it in Ferragamo heels, I'm no hippie and nor is the Tink.

Next I saw some not for profit community ones, meh. Then one that is part of a huge conglomerate of child care centres. Meh. Then I saw a nice private preschool that offered french lessons, specialist music classes and a really yummy menu but still, I wasn't blown away. Every day my girl amazes me with her intelligence, her gentle nature (except when she wallops our dogs) and for her I need to be blown away.

After more mediocrity I found somewhere that sounded exceptional. On paper it ticked all my boxes. For those about to start the hunt, I suggest you come up with your own list but in case anyone cares, here is my list (in no particular order)

* All meals provided, must be made on site by qualified cooks, no processed foods, fresh, wholesome and proper hot lunches. No lame sandwiches thanks.

*Stellar reputation and high quality results in the NCAC accreditation

*Extra curricular activities taught by qualified external staff (baby ballet, yoga, French etc)

*small class sizes with above standard child-teacher ratios

*Exceptionally clean and tidy

*Quality equipment and facilities

*Flexibility when it comes to tailoring activities to suit each individual child (some places have hard & fast rules)

*A transition class for 2-3 year olds to ease them into proper preschool classes at 3

*Parking and safe access for cars (I shudder when I see parents double parking on busy streets, it seems so dangerous)

*Kind staff who are passionate about teaching

*A curriculum that is constantly evolving not some tired old bag of lesson plans

*Gardens and vege patches

*access to animals/ class pets

*Regular activities involving parents at preschool

*Photographic observations of the children

*Proper toddler toilets. I saw so many places with grubby adult sized toilets.

Gosh I had quite a lot more but I'm starting to think you are all reading this and thinking I'm a complete nutcase. Anyway you get my drift. I wanted it all.

I am very very pleased to say that I found a centre that offers it all. 3 teachers per class, 3 small classes. Each day they offer a different extra curricular activity with specialist teachers (yoga, ballet, French etc) and they have a lovely art studio where the children can go in small groups 3-4 at a time to focus on special projects different to the ones they do in class.

All the children and staff eat together and the cooks were lovely, they happily chatted to me about the menu and once a week the children participate in the cooking. They have a vegetable garden and they have farm animals and while I was there I even saw a little wallaby. It isn't too far from home and only minutes from the school we chose for her so I hope she makes preschool friends who will also end up at the same school with her.

I could go on and on but I am certain you are all as bored as anything by now so I'll finish up. My little Tink will hopefully (we are on the waitlist) start there when she is 2 and a half. She will do 2 mornings a week building up to 2 days 9am til 3pm. The plan is for her to stay there til she 5 and ready to attend 'big school'. I am so relieved. My husband, not so much. He isn't as happy as I am that I managed to find the highest preschool fees in the country but I'm sure he will change his mind next year when the little Tinker brings home an "I Love Papa" painting or something.

So there it is, my journey to find the perfect preschool. I skipped the bits where I had to bit my tongue so hard it bled while visiting one of the mediocre centres. The teacher had made a big poster and stuck her little charges photos around a banner saying "Your So Special". I'm sorry but I could never send my bunny to a preschool where the teacher couldn't differentiate between you're and your. I also left out the centre where the director munched on a banana while she gave me the tour. Hello, it's not the zoo!



Opening this up for comments, is anyone else going through the preschool hunt? What have you seen? What have you hated/loved?



image credit lillington baptist.com

Transsexuals in Iran

"Negar"- BBC.com

These days I tend to watch light-hearted TV shows if I have time for television. I like the real estate shows we have here like Selling Houses and the other home makeover ones. Occasionally I'll watch Gilmore Girls, but mainly the only thing I get to see on 'the box' is Teletubbies.

So tonight was a little different. I caught the second half of a documentary on SBS called Transsexuals in Iran and it was about just that. I'm disappointed I missed the first half but I was downstairs battling with my dryer. It has been on the fritz since Friday.

Anyway it was a moving programme. The low down is that it is against the law for a man to dress and behave as a woman in Iran, so the state has the answer. Have your penis surgically removed. You will be issued with a new birth certificate and you will have a new identity card saying that you are now a female. Your family will most likely disown you, if they haven't already and the only job you will be able to get is that of a "temporary wife". A sex worker.

It was a really distressing documentary with a really sad ending. So much for my light hearted TV viewing. It got me thinking again about that episode of Oprah to do with children who want their parents and their communities to accept them as the opposite sex. I was not a parent when I saw the show and I remember being horrified with the parents on the show for allowing a 4 year old to say "that's it mummy I want to be a girl from now on" and then raising their son a girl.

Now here I am, a mother and I am wondering what I would do. The answer? I honestly do not know. I think now I have a lot more compassion for the parents than I did then. Before I just thought it was a lack of discipline and direction but know I realise that was a very ignorant perspective.

The whole thing is just so sad and depressing. One of the people featured in the Iranian doco was Negar whose parents rejected him as a man with female tendencies and then he had the surgery and they completely disowned him as a man without a penis but legally a woman. Negar said her mother and father had killed their love for Negar and following the surgery Negar's body had love removed completely. She said she would never feel any sort of love again and would devote the rest of her life to making money as a prostitute (the accepted term is temporary wife).

Did anyone else watch this terribly sad and moving show? Have you seen that episode of Oprah about the children with 'gender identity disorder'? What are your thoughts?

Heavy topic really. I'm off to tour a prospective preschool tomorrow morning. I've seen so many now but I think this will be the one. I am getting pickier and pickier, if this isn't right then I have no idea where Tinker will go because I have almost seen them all!

Not Who You Think I Am

image credit flatrock.org.nz

Picking the busiest moment to slip through the sliding door behind a leggy blonde, I covered my face with Good Housekeeping Magazine (ok fine I'm lying it was Hello Magazine) I anxiously looked for a spot far far away from The Target.

The option was either up the back next to a smartly dressed set of Chinese grandparents or along the side next to a group of 12 year old boys waiting for Squad to start. I went for the Grandparents. I figured with the magazine in front of my face I could pass for their badly dressed niece.

"The Wheels on the Bus" had started. I was trying to peer over the story I was reading about Prince Harry (who BTW is now kinda cute... does that make me Mary Kay Letourneau?) when The Target appeared to look my way so I instinctively bent forward and pretended to tie my shoe. This gave the grandparents reason to raise their eyebrows. I was wearing ballet flats. OOps.

No matter, the main thing was that The Target hadn't seen me. Things were going well. It was already 9.15 and as far as I could hear (from the cheap seats) there was no crying to be heard and I may have even seen a smile and heard a laugh at one point.

Where was I? Why was I carrying on like the hot chick from Get Smart at 9am on a Saturday? I was at my local swimming pool. Watching my Tinker and her Papa take toddler swimming classes. Why the disguise, despite the fact that I actually like Hello Magazine? Well I happen to be one of those parents who has to hide out of view whenever my child is doing an activity without me lest she breaks down in tears.

Yes, seriously. Now usually I go and grab myself a coffee and then I hide behind her best friend's mum but this week her BFF missed class so I was forced into solo espionage. It sounds awful doesn't it? The thing is, Tinker actually loves swimming class. She has been going since she was 4 months old and she only cries when she can see me. Sure the answer might be for me to don a swimsuit and actually join her in the pool but lets be honest here. Who wants to get their post-baby body out at 9am on a Saturday when they have a perfectly willing husband? Not me.

So the incognito act it is. I scanned the pool on Saturday and as far as I could tell I was the only one behaving strangely. No other parent seemed to be doing it. So I wonder is anyone else a closet spy or am I all alone with this embarrassing charade?

What will people think?

image credit smh.com.au

You know those pushy show biz parents that round their kids up and bus them from activity to activity? I vowed never to be one of those. You know those poxy fathers who take up the loser spot in the last 2 minutes of a slow news programme banging on about their 1 year old with the killer golf swing? I vowed never to be one of those...

And now here I find myself at 10.30pm on a Sunday night googling for a sports class for my 1 year old child. Have I become one of those? Gosh I hope not.

See the thing is, my daughter adores playing ball, she throws, catches, kicks and even manages to dribble the ball halfway across the room. No I am not talking saliva either! For someone like me (sports challenged to the extreme) this is incredibly impressive.

Tinker and I were playing with the ball this afternoon and she called out to me "pass!" I looked at her and she pointed at the ball. So I kicked it to her and she said "catch" and bent down and picked up the ball. So in a nutshell my 17 month old baby has better balls skills than I will ever have. I am so hopeless.

I was thinking she would really enjoy some sort of sports class where they all get together and play throwing and catching and so on. All I can find however is toddler tennis and toddler soccer that start at age 3. Nothing for a little wee one of 17 months.

All of a sudden I got this terrible guilty feeling. What is the lack of classes telling me? That I have become Jelena Docic's Dad? That I have become Bindi Irwin's mother? Please tell me it isn't so...

I'm not on the hunt for these classes because I want my precious Tinker to become some sort of sports star I just thought it might be a fun activity that she'd enjoy more than her unco mother kicking the ball to her every night. Plus I thought it might be something she could do with her Papa. See, all roads lead back to me trying sneak an hour off to myself on Saturdays. The audacity!

What are your thoughts, do you think the lack of classes for her age group indicates my becoming a freak sports-showbiz mother? Or is she just super duper advanced for her age? Ha ah I'm pulling your leg with the last one. Of course I don't think I have a prodigy on my hands, I just want to make her happy and if kicking balls around with other toddlers is fun then why not?

Blog Bickering

I predict I'm going to cop a bit of abuse for this one, but I'm doing it anyway because...

A.) This is my blog and I can say what I like (insert 4 year old child symbol with hands on hips and tongue poking out)

B.) I've had a grumpy week so why not end it on a grumpy note?

C.) I *think* some of my lovely readers might just agree with me. I hope so anyway.

Ok so some of you might remember THIS post of mine a while back? Where I mentioned buying a little backpack harness for my sweet Tinker. Well I ended up buying the Panda. Tinker absolutely loves her "Pahndah" and it means that shopping with her is no longer a battle. Strapping her into a pram meant she would sob hysterically begging me to let her walk. Unfortunately she refuses to hold my hand for more than 30 seconds so letting her walk basically means letting her run in front of cars. So not going to happen.

With her little Panda on she can toddle beside me and touch things, pick up leaves, pat the dogs as we walk them to the park. You get the picture. I hold the end of the Panda's tail and she toddles in front. No dramas, no tears, only little chuckles as she trots along enjoying our walks.

Recently I read an article written by Wil Anderson, published in the Sunday paper and HERE on his blog. It really upset me so I decided last night to shoot him an email. I'm not normally one for wasting my time with such bickering but having been one of "those" people mouthing off about parenting before I actually had my daughter, I thought I should give Wil the benefit of the doubt and offer him the chance of enlightenment.

Here is a paragraph taken from his article:

I mean what is next? A collar with a bell and their phone number on it? Or why stop there, if you are that worried about them going missing take them down to the local vet and get them microchipped.

I’m sorry, but every time I see this it makes me feel uncomfortable. Surely a child is not a dog, despite how tempting it must be when they go to the toilet on the carpet to grab them and rub their nose in it.

So for me, the leash is one step too far.

How are you going to exercise your child, take them down to the park, throw a stick and get them to fetch? (Or will they be too busy sniffing the other kids’ bums?)

Then it’s only a small step to tie them to a pole out of the front of the shops while you duck in to grab the newspaper, and when they are crying too loud just put them in the backyard with a squeaky toy and a bone.

Again, I stress that I am not a parent, but I hope that if I am lucky enough to be one I will teach my kid boundaries and not just tie them to a rope and five them a three-metre radius.

I mean if you are that worried about letting them out of your sight then why stop at the leash, why bother even cutting the umbilical cord in the first place?

Then they will never get too far away, and for fun you can bounce them up and down like a yo-yo.

In fact while I am on a roll, maybe it is time we considered bringing in a parenthood test before we let people breed.


Here is a copy of the email I sent him:

Hi Wil, I like your blog and I really enjoy your column in the paper.
Your piece about "baby leashes" really irked me.
I thought I might invite you to spend some time walking with me and my toddler. I'd like to see how you manage without the "leash". Seriously.
I live in (my suburb) Sydney and my daughter is 17 months old. See attached. Really cute, really sweet but full of beans.
She won't hold my hand for more than a minute. She will throw herself on the floor and scream hysterically and then sob for 15 minutes if I do not allow her to walk.
So I let her walk and she runs off. She is too young to be trusted to walk on her own, she will run in front of cars. The "leash" is the only answer. This is her "leash" it is a backpack one: http://www.goldbug.com.au/collection.php?s=56

Let me know if you are up for the challenge. It might be funny.
Carolyn

He replied this morning and this is what he said:

hey carolyn,yeah that column has certainly divided people. and certainly i have had some negative feedback (admittedly only from people who use them, but they- like you- have explained their reasons why).all that said, i must admit that my position remains pretty much the same. i acknowledged in the original column that i am not a parent i think it's fair that we all have the right to have our opinions. it doesn't make your decision wrong, but it's also okay for me not to dig it. and i don't dig it.all the best,wil

So what do you my lovely readers think? What should I have sent in reply? This is a copy of my reply:

Fair enough Wil. It was just pretty harsh, what you said about needing a license to parent. I certainly know all about bad parents having been a Children's Court lawyer...I'd love to hear your suggestions though, an alternative? Perhaps the prison on wheels- The pram?Strapped into a pram, my sweet little Tinker will sob hysterically. She misses out on touching leaves, picking up sticks, running up to our dogs and generally toddling about. It seems such a cruel thing to do, but perhaps more palatable for the nonparent to see a hysterical child in a pram than a happy one in the backpack harness.Carolyn

Talent

A piece of art that only a mother could love.

The picture above was taken today, my Tinker tried her clever little hand at painting at playgroup today and that was her creation. It was quite an ordeal. The paint, the children, the paint, the children. Have I mentioned the wet paint?

I'm not good with mess as you probably gathered when I confessed to arranging spices in alphabetical order in my pantry so toddler art was really a realm of playgroup that we really shouldn't have entered.

While the other mothers were saying "Oh darling use blue for the sea, blue. Oh how pretty that is just wonderful Johnny" I was also saying those things loudly, or something similarly supportive all the while in my quiet-don't-let-other-parents-hear voice I was saying "ok this white cable knit cardigan is hand wash only sweet lamb lets try not to lean onto the paper as we paint it ok?"

Then we had the ordeal of putting Tinker's wet paint hands into this big tub of murky paint water that all the other little wet paint hands had been in and then drying them on a communal towel. Since I'd made no friends at our new playgroup I managed to bite my tongue and hide my horror and even managed some small talk with another mummy while my talented artiste plunged her precious hands into the grubby paint water abyss. Oh I'm so not cut out for ikky work sans anti-bac gel let me tell you.

Anyway I was then faced with a dilemma. The painting was wet and had to dry before it entered my car let alone my house so we had about 30 minutes to kill while it dried. Being the awesome team-player type that I am, I had timed our playgroup attendance down to the minute so that we would be able to leave before the closing bell where (I'm told) all the uber chipper mummies get together with their kids and tidy up all the toys and activities. So not for me.

So there I stood. Mother of the Year wondering whether to ditch the Tinker's first ever painting because there was no way it would dry before closing bell, or whether I'd be the team player and pitch in with the massive clean up. Hell I could have even started the whole group singing The Wheels On The Bus... It was quite the conundrum. I was torn. Tinks and I distracted ourselves with some time on slide and then we read Possum Magic about 16 times. I checked on the painting and of course it was still wet. All 1 square metre of it...

I was gearing up to go, abandoning her artwork at the centre like a girl child in Yemen when Tinker piped up "painting where are you? painting?" so I gathered her up, proudly reclaimed her stellar artwork from amongst the talentless offerings of the other children and marched to my car. That's the kind of gal I am. Selfless, stoic and totally honourable.

Meanwhile I felt a slight pang of guilt about the clean up but when I got home and discovered some wet teal coloured smudges on the grape Dazzle stroller that lives neatly in my car boot I felt that all was fair in love and war. I spent a good 15 minutes cleaning the paint off my car, Tinker got her painting and I'm sure that Kumbaya type mother who had skipped over earlier to jabber a welcome to my daughter in tragic baby talk had happily done my share of the clean up anyway.

Medal? Anyone want to give me one?

Pork Chop Kids

Image credit pork chop kids

Yesterday on our walk to the shops my little Tinker removed her shoes (undoing both laces and Velcro), her socks, her skirt and her hat and that was only 10 metres away from our house. It was quite chilly and so windy I felt like every person who passed us by was thinking "look at that woman in a coat yet her poor baby is half naked" so I kept saying over and over in a really loud voice so people could hear "oh darling you really MUST put your socks back on at least!" To which she would reply (equally as loud) "No. Not now!" Yep that's my girl.

I was thinking I could really do with some thigh high tights for her. That fake housewife side of my brain started thinking- gee I bet I could even make her a pair. Fortunately for everyone involved I didn't get much further with that sewing disaster when I saw a little ad for Pork Chop Kids and they sell exactly what I'm after.

Of course they are in the States and of course it was only last week that I cancelled my lease of a US PO Box so I can no longer shop with my American postal address. The store owner is really lovely and she replied to my email right away she is going to see if there is a cheaper way of getting them to me. How nice is that? Now if there are American mummies reading this who have the same problems I do with keeping socks on their kids, I can definitely recommend this store for great customer service.

You really should buy a pair of these and what makes them great is they don't need to be removed for nappy changes and they have feet. I really don't like those " baby legs"tights they sell here in Australia that don't have feet. You still need to add socks and really it does ruin the line of the outfit, they are like tight legwarmers and as far as I'm concerned leg warmers belong with stirrup pants- in the 80's!

Weaning Baby, Weaning Mama

credit fisheaters.com

I was going to start this post by noting that breastfeeding has been in the news a bit lately, what with the tragic suicide of Katy Isden but then when I thought about it a little more I realised it has been in the news for ages. It is always in the bloody news! Breastfeeding is one of those topics that always draws a crowd and usually an opinionated one at that.

For as long as I have been reading parenting magazines and perusing parenting/childbirth Internet forums I have found the term Breastfeeding Relationship a little hard to swallow. I can't quite say what it is about it that I dislike, but it really annoys me. Not as much as Birth Rape though, that is one term that really gets my goat. I'm getting angry just thinking about how much I hate that term. Don't get me started! Another concept I have never really grasped is the ABA Meeting. I don't feel the need to attend a get together with a bunch of mothers who breastfeed. It seems off to me, like we should also have meeting for mothers who push red prams, or others who feed formula or mothers who don't eat meat. I don't know, it irks me.

My little Tinker is now 16 months old and still breastfeeds. Well, that was the case until I got sick last week and discovered that 2 days of vomiting not only dehydrates a person but it also stops lactation. My daughter has never been a good eater, so she is quite attached to her 4 daily breast feeds. I had no intention of weaning her, my plan was to allow her to self wean when she was ready. I had guessed it would be from around age 2 but I didn't really know.

Now that I have had to wean her all of a sudden I have had to face some unexpected feelings. Guilt is one of them, of course. I think mothers are just programmed to feel permanently guilty aren't they? Feeling bad that the child tripped and fell, feeling bad that the nappy wasn't fastened correctly so it pinched her skin, feeling bad that the garden still isn't finished and the child doesn't have a lawn to run on yet, feeling bad for parking the child in front of Teletubbies so Mama could have a shower alone... It goes on. Feeling guilty wasn't a surprise but what was surprising was my grief.

It wasn't because Tinker was throwing herself at my chest 20 times a day yelling "mama please, mooolk? all gone mama? mooolk all gone? Nooooo!" because that was sad and it did break my heart but I think the sadness that I felt at the loss of... dare I say it... our breastfeeding relationship was actually real and it wasn't felt in response to her being so upset. I felt sad for me. I felt sad that I could no longer be the ultimate comfort for my baby and I felt sad that I couldn't allow her to gradually stop doing something that came naturally to both of us.

Being of average emotional intelligence I can't put my finger on why it is so important to me, but it is. All the other overwhelming feelings you get as a new mother were not surprising to me. I was not surprised at the protective lioness I became nor the completely irrational sleep deprived nut case I became after a year went by and I still didn't have my baby sleeping through the night. However this grief about having to wean her, and wean me has been a real shock.

I'm torn between getting medication to kick start the lactation again or just persevering with this weaning process. So far I have managed to get her to a point where she isn't hysterical about not having the breastfeeds in the day time but she is still hanging on to the 7pm and 7am feeds. For now there is a small amount there but it won't last so I guess in a few days it will be gone and I suppose she will then have to accept that she has weaned. And so will I.

I'm interested in your thoughts on this topic.

One of THOSE parents

I am one of THOSE parents.




The ones who buy toys at the checkout for 30 seconds of peace, the ones who abandon overflowing trolleys full of groceries metres from the checkout because the tantrum is too loud to continue, the ones who allow their children to "taste" the coffee to avoid having the cup tipped all over them, the ones who smile and nod at strangers who say "teething?" even though it isn't the case, the ones who shake their head and say "she NEVER does this, I'm so shocked" even though it's the 124th tantrum that day...

The ones who sit at the computer at 9.30pm on a Saturday night trawling for the least offensive looking baby leash.





These "harness buddy" backpacks are a great idea. My husband is horrified that I am considering this, but my mother agrees it is essential. My little girl hates sitting in the pram at the shops, she always has even as a little baby she'd scream her head off. Now that she can walk and talk she demands that the pram stays in the car or if she agrees to sit in it she will only last about 10 minutes so we let her walk but it turns into a run and she refuses to hold hands!




This is a photo of me in a harness at Disneyland I think I was about the same age as my Tinker, bit of a grumpy look on my face but that might have been because I had a regular harness not a "harness buddy" with an animal head.

Anyway so I took Tinker to a baby store to show her the "harness buddies" so that she could choose the one she liked best. My plan was to make a big deal of it and then wear it myself so that she wanted to wear it- worked a treat with hats and shoes and tooth brushes so I thought this would be the same.

We went through all the different animals:




I got her to say what each one was and then to say the noise the animal makes. This all worked fine, she called the unicorn a goat but hey she is only 1. Then she smiles sweetly and says "gat?"

-No darling there isn't a cat one, what about a nice dog one? Look at the doggy, woof woof woof, isn't he cute? He is just like Beatrice (our dog) don't you want the dog?

"No." Then I went through all the other options again.

Her reply "meow. gat. meow meow meow".

So I ask the ratty looking assistant- ah excuse me do you have a cat harness buddy?

"No but we have a dog one."

-I know. She doesn't want a dog she wants a cat.

"Well they are all the same really, have you showed her the frog?"

-She wants a cat.

"What about the unicorn, little girls like the unicorns."

-No she really likes cats, I guess I'll keep looking til I find a cat one.

So the woman raises her eyebrows. I know what she is thinking, "spoilt little brat..." she gave me a fake smile and we left.

Oh ok so maybe we didn't leave right away.

I had to buy Tinker a stupid little Easter chick toy first because she wouldn't let go and there were people behind me and I couldn't possibly let her have a screaming tantrum right after the "gat" debacle. Then she'd really look like a brat wouldn't she.

So here I am still searching for a stupid cat harness online. If anyone finds one, let me know.

While you are there being helpful see if you can have a word to my nice neighbours. The good ones next door. They have just put their house on the market and I am panicking because Tinker has this daily routine where we go looking for their "gat" and she waves to him from every window of the house and we sing a song to him when we hang out the washing. I'm thinking maybe I need to get one of these:




I could pay the new neighbours to strategically place it all over their property during the day at set times so Tinker can still wave to the "gat" and we can still sing our song...



Or not...

Online Mothering...

For anyone who has had anything at all to do with online forums about parenting and pregnancy and the like this article will surely strike a chord with you:


http://nymag.com/news/features/17668/


It's enough to make you back away from the computer and then quickly throw it out the window.

Pediophobia

According to the always handy Wikipedia, Pediophobia is the fear of children.

Before my little girl was born my friends and family often joked about my obvious disdain for other peoples children. They wondered how I'd take to motherhood. I think may were surprised that I am completely and utterly obsessed with my ruby haired little doll. I love being a mother.

Still, while I absolutely adore my precious girl I'm not in the least bit 'clucky' about other babies and I never feel the urge to babble away like an idiot to strange babies in lifts and other public places. I find a lot of children very tedious. My daughter, of course, is the most charming, entertaining, clever kid on the planet but most other children- bleurgh!

My daughter has a BFF they are so cute together, I think they really do like each other. They have hung out since their were in utero! Her mum and I were pregnant at the same time and we shared everything so her daughter is one of the rare exceptions to my 'other peoples kids yuck' rule, I love her to bits but she is the exception.

We are not in a rush to have another child until our little girl is a little older and less dependant. I am fiercely protective of her and 'our time' together. She is politely described as a very 'busy' child (high maintenance) so we decided against a close age gap for her sake more than anything. She is very alert and demands a lot of attention. Quite a few friends have responded quite negatively when I've explained our rationale for wanting a larger age gap and I have even once been described as not being very maternal.

What makes a mother non-maternal? Is it because I find screaming children in shopping centres hideous? Is it because I don't believe 'all children are beautiful' and I don't want 35 of them? Is it because I don't wish my amazing toddler was a newborn again? Is it because I am a very cynical person and I hate all the saccharine lovey dovey googoo gaa gaa you hear from a lot of mothers?

Maternal is defined as having the qualities befitting a mother. I think I have those. I'm patient with my daughter and I don't get bored being at home with her 24/7. I do not miss my 'old life' one bit. Not because I didn't enjoy it but because I enjoy this more. I am committed to raising a happy, healthy little girl and I don't believe in paying others to raise her. I miss her desperately when I'm away from her running errands and I genuinely enjoy her company. I do whatever I think is in her best interests, even if it means my own relatives think it is creepy that I am breastfeeding a toddler til she self weans.

Ok so I am now thinking that this post has become one of those uber defensive pathetic "I'm a good mother" rants. I hate those! That wasn't really where I planned to go with this post. What actually started me thinking about pediophobia was this news article here:

http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,25247447-13762,00.html

To discourage what is now known as "anti-social" behaviour (aka teenagers hanging out together in public places) community organisations have resorted to pink light areas. No, this isn't a female version of the blue lights they use to make it hard for junkies to find a vein when shooting up in public toilets. These pink lights are the ones beauticians use to highlight pimples. So the pink lights highlight the teenagers acne and they feel embarrassed and uncool and move on to another area. They also play classical music and daggy old tracks by Barry Manillow.

Having worked with teenagers ad nauseam in the childrens courts I can, on one hand, relate to the majority attitude amongst the oldies that teenagers are annoying, trouble making time wasters. On the other hand I really think community attitude should change. I was a handful as a teenager, I thougth I was too cool for school and tried so hard to 'fit in'. I went through all the 'phases' and I was a complete loudmouth and I turned out ok. I don't think we should be discouraging teenagers from hanging out together in groups bigger than 3. Really, that is absurd. I don't think we should be shining lights in their faces and humiliating them. It is a really difficult time, changing, discovering who you are. Adults should be more sensitive...

Maybe, just maybe if our culture valued mothers and families a little more then it wouldn't be so uncool to admire your parents and hang out with your older relatives and teenagers wouldn't feel the need to find family in gangs. I don't know, just a thought.