Category Archives: First times

The art of communication…

From a very early age we learn how our kids communicate. When they’re babies we note distinctive cries for food or sleep. I’ve found this continuing through my daughter learning to speak, having to repeat the noises made to pick out words.

And then recently, a story she wrote, it’s a definite bestseller, but only if you speak what I like to call Loish (her name’s Lois).

Here’s the story……

Once upon a time, there was 3 little hatchimals, was going to the shop, the end.

Watch out JK Rowling!

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What are Dads for?

I often wonder if my daughter misses out with not having a father around at all, she has strong male role models all around her, but recently a couple of things have come up that I see as ‘dad’ jobs, the first is gross and the second I’ve just got on with.

Farting, letting out wind, blow offs, I think every kid goes through a stage of finding this super super funny, being obsessed with bottom burps, trumps, pops. I, on the other hand do not find this amusing, in fact it made me feel sick when traveling along the motorway my sweet innocent 5 year old asked if I “could smell that?” Euurrrggghhhh! See, she’s missing someone who’ll find it hilarious when she starts whafting the air from her bum after the loudest noise that’s ever come out of her!

The second act I’ve always seen as something the Dad would do and funnily enough did see lots of dads do, the day we went to the park with her new bike with NO STABILISERS! As we got crash hats, handlebars and knee pads out of the car a little boy whizzed past on two wheels, with his pop right next to him, his mum 10 meters behind, filming the proceedings. So it’s just me and her, I’ve got to play both parents, so it’s a case of holding on, chasing beside and trying to film at least 3 seconds on my phone. Would you believe it, after 2 tries and a lot of me reminding her to keep pedalling, she only went and nailed it! My heart jumped out of my chest with joy and pride, I did that, I’ve made the most wonderful, amazing bike rider, now I’ve got to teach her to stop.

Is it about the winning or the taking part?

I like running, good for the body, good for the mind and all that, but I’m having to take it more seriously now. I may not know an exact date, but I know there’s a good chance that my kids sports day will come up in the next few weeks and I want to be ready.

Yes I know it’s her first year at school and it’s not about the winning, but it would be amazing to cross the finish line as champion of the parents race wouldn’t it? Not that I’ll have a speech ready for the podium medal ceremony. No, it’s not about that at all. Are you allowed to take supporters to cheer you on and chant your name?

So I’m going to train like Mo Farrah, get lots of miles in the legs and do speed training on the track in preparation for the day of glory.

N.b. I’m almost certain, none of this will happen, I’ll get scared on the big day and not even make it to the start line.

After school clubs

Cast your mind back to when you were at school, apart from netball, did you take part in any after school activities?

This term my 5 year old daughter has been offered the chance to go to after school clubs, here’s a selection of what’s on offer, cricket, parachute fun (I presume they are meaning 10 kids throwing one in the air in a school hall, not jumping out of an aeroplane?!) and board games.

When I was in the infants class I used to stay behind and do country dancing and I hated every second of it.

A world of worry

We welcomed a new baby to the family this week and I can’t get out of my mind how much it is a welcome to a world of worry.

Worrying about them, people around them, germs, even the air around them. Worrying when you’re with them that you’re doing too much, that you’re doing too little, that you’re being a helicopter parent, or that you look as if you don’t give a flying whatsit. Worrying that they’re falling behind their peers, not putting on enough weight, putting on too much weight, one toe is longer than the other.

Worrying that their clothes are a bit big, too scruffy, not the right brand. Worrying when they won’t stop crying, worrying when they’re too quiet, worrying that the tv is too loud, worrying that the only place they will ever sleep is in the car, then worrying when you see a red light cos you know that stopping will wake them up.

Worrying about breastfeeding, worrying about not breastfeeding, worrying they’ve had too much milk or worrying that they’ve had too little. Worrying about childcare, did you go back to work too soon or should you go back at all?

Worrying that you haven’t done the car seat up properly or did you do it too tight, have they got milk down their clothes, have you?

You genuinely never stop worrying from the time you first saw the blue line on that test. And I don’t think it gets any easier as they grow up, you just worry about different things.

Nativity problems

The cast list has gone up and hearts are broken, she only got the role of sheep 2. You would think it was the end of the world for my friends 6 year old daughter, sobbing uncontrollably at the thought of having no other lines than “baaaa baaaaa!” To say at the nativity. I totally get where she’s coming from, it’s the equivalent of being put in goal in football, that you couldn’t fulfill the bigger role (and you’ve got to wear a fluffy rug around you.)

They always say that every role is important, but just remember, this is a cutthroat world and no ‘extra’ has ever received an Oscar!

Approaching my daughters first school show, I’ve got my fingers crossed for the part of Mary, but who knows, maybe she’s destined to be a festive frog or a Yule mule. Have you had any experience of this, good or bad? How did it turn out?

How to finish with the moon?

All the way through being a mum I’ve sort of had a project on the go, it’s the main issue of the day if you like, I’ll concentrate on that until we get it nailed then look for the next mission.

So, it might be eating decent food or potty training or not taking your clothes off in the park.

Right now I think I’m gaining on my biggest win to date. After sleeping in with me for 2 years, I have got my 4 year old daughter to sleep in her own bed in her own room, hoooorrrraaaaayyyyy!!! But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had to endure pain on the way. Nights of getting up 7 or 8 times in the night are not rare and we’ve had many a melt down after getting to the top of the stairs at bedtime. But she’s finally got there…..with bribery.

Every morning the moon, the lovely kind hearted moon that used to put her in my bed, leaves her a present under her bed if she’s been there all night. Felt tip pens, a purse, a torch, socks (whatever I’ve bought at the shop that day, she even got a tin of rice pudding one morning) they all spur her on to being a “big girl” and stay there overnight.

Problem is, I’ve been doing this, sorry, the moon has been doing this for 3 months now and is running out of ideas and money. Any tricks you lovely people have for bringing this tradition to a close would be gratefully received?