Parenting advice: Do as I say, not as I do

I have lost count of the number of times I have seen a parent (sometimes me) shouting at the top of their voices at their children; "WILL YOU STOP SHOUTING AND BE QUIET!"

I understand the compulsion as I've have been there.  But it's interesting how often you see it happen: a parent asking their child to do something that they are not doing themselves. 

I've now worked out the solution for us in the case of shouting.  When our two girls are screaming at each other, sometimes in anger, sometimes just because they want to be heard over each other, I pause (to take a breathe and ensure to be calm) and make sure I walk right into the fray, crouch down to their level, gesture for them to look at me and I, ever so quietly, tell them that there is no need to shout at each other or me, as we are not a million miles away.

It's surprising how effective speaking quietly is.  The sudden change in volume, coupled with their need to go quiet in order to hear my words, has a drastic impact on the decibel level in the room.

Besides; I shouldn't expect them to be quiet if I am allowed to shout.  In the same way you can't teach children to be honest if you regularly lie, or to be reliable if you are constantly late. 

Are there any things you do, but that you try and teach your children not to do?  My vice is chocolate.  I try and teach them to eat healthily but regularly find myself sneaking a biscuit on the sly so that they don't want one too.  How bad is that!?

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Still trying to get the kids to school on time...!

Time to school bell : 30 minutes

So I’m sat on my knees on a wooden floor.. (don’t snigger)…. And I’m pleading with my daughter to put her pink all-in-one waterproof suit on to go to Chatsworth County Estate on her first ever school trip. She’s not having any of it, and I’ve no idea where her other waterproof coat is.

25 minutes.

I could put my foot down, but I‘m stressed, and I don’t want to be the mother that spoilt her first trip for her. So I run around the hall, flinging coats about in an attempt to trace at least one waterproof coat (rain’s definitely forecast). In the chaos the youngest is happily putting her waterproof on. Of course she isn’t going on a trip – just to Nursery. But irony wouldn’t have a job otherwise.

23 minutes…

Eureka! Brainwave! All waterproofs are in the utility after we wore them to do the gardening at the weekend. I grab them in relief.
Which is short lived.

20 mins…

They are, of course, covered in mud, since the girls helped us plant our spring garden so well.

Cue a sprint through the house to the kitchen cupboard for baby wipes, which come to the rescue, and a quick wipe down makes one coat suitable to wear; though whether it passes the in-law test remains to be seen.

Ok, so she’s got her packed lunch, her 2 (not 1) drinks, her trainers (in case of rain), her waterproof (freshly wiped down), sun-cream on (the weather is really that temperamental), and her sun hat…… no. No sunhat.

19 minutes…

Now don’t laugh. I know I’ve just stressed about the waterproof, so why on earth would she need a sun hat as well? Easy. It’s May. In the Midlands. It’s 20 degrees Celsius one minute and hailing the next. But her sun hat is no where to be found.

17 minutes…

She’s had her sun hat roughly 3 weeks. What was I saying about irony.
I find two other old hats. Neither will squeeze onto her head. The youngest finds hers and promptly struts around in waterproof and sun hat as if to mock us.

15 minutes…

I still have the youngest to drop at Nursery so we run to the car. (I run, the children are encouraged in a very exuberant way that results in them slowing down.)

We drop off the youngest. Who is still wearing her waterproof all in one, and her sun hat, and I haven’t the heart to argue with her.

2 minutes…

We park the car and run……….


I so hope she has a good time!

Sleep. Lack of Sleep. And a Pigeon with a Leisure Pass.

On Tuesday it took an hour from first getting Cheeky Monkey No. 2 into her cot bed to her falling asleep.  On Wednesday it took 45 minutes. Yesterday it took 1 minute (she was exhausted, and hadn't napped.  I knew it was a fluke.)   Tonight, it took 15 minutes.  Progress is being made!

I'm trying to be calm, supportive, gentle and firm.  That means that rather than raising my voice when she starts screaming as soon as I leave the room, I simply walk back to her cot, gentle pick her back up, quick cuddle, "it's bedtime", into bed, "night night", leave the room.  And I've lost track of how many times I've repeated that.  But it's working. 

I remember getting more upset going through the same process with Cheeky Monkey No. 1 two years ago.  I remember getting angry, frustrated, teary, and wondered why she was getting more angry, frustrated, and teary!  It would appear that staying calm is definitely the key.  Easier said than done, I know.

Having said that, it's an awful lot easier to stay yummy-looking when you're not in tears.  And when you have the backup of the Clarins range!  I love their concealer now, and I didn't wear make up at all a year ago!

On a completely different, very random, note: a pigeon flew inside the door of our local leisure centre in front of me this week.  I wondered whether I should queue up behind him.  He shocked the receptionist.  A couple of other female leisure centre workers immediately backed away in a very girly fashion.  The pigeon surveyed the reception area and scuttled through the entry barrier and made to wander up the stairs.  He clearly fancied a bit of a sauna.  It took another, more capable, leisure centre worker, (male, the stereotype's were prevailing today) to direct the bird back out of the door. 

Anyone got any other bizarre moments to share?

Yummy Mummy? Really?

I now know that I am officially a "Mummy".

I know this because my 3 year old daughter reminds me at least 100 times a day. "Mummy, can I have a snack?", "Mummy, can I have a drink?", "Mummy, will you play with me?", "Mummy, I don't want to wear my trousers today", "Mummy, I need a wee wee......", "Muuummmmmyyyyyyy".

I also, now know, that the idealised version of motherhood I had in my head before my husband and I had ‘the’ discussion, and opted to start our family, was clearly blurred by hazy childhood memories of happily playing in paddling pools in my mums' back garden all summer long. I don’t remember noticing my mum getting frazzled by the constant demands for attention, food, drink, cuddles, etc. Neither do I remember her ever really telling me off. Of course she has recently told me the frazzled stories, but only after we had already had our first daughter. Bit late mum?.

We have 2 girls; 3 years, and 10 months. I love them to bits. But I am annoyed at the media portrayal of what is now termed “Yummy Mummies”. Who are these “Yummy Mummies” anyway? In the hopes of trying to discover for myself how it is, or maybe it isn’t, possible to be a mummy, and also to be yummy, I have started this blog to share my thoughts and perhaps shed some light on the matter.

I, as you have probably already worked out, am quite often slightly frazzled. No, scrap that. I’m very frazzled, almost all of the time. This, in the quiet hour after the girls have gone to sleep, is usually my “collapse in front of the telly with hubby” time. But in the interests of gaining some me time (for us both - he’s in the gym), I am treating myself to some cathartic ramblings.

I thought I’d share a story about today’s minor breakdown. It started simply enough. My husband asked if it was OK for him to go and cut the lawn. Nothing wrong there. He asked me - he’s incredibly polite and thoughtful, and it was a dry day - a rare treat this summer so obviously the timing was appropriate. I think the only real problem was that I hadn’t expected it. I’d got the rest of the day planned out roughly in my head, and my hubby disappearing to cut our lawn hadn’t featured. (He would now point out that he had warned me he’d try and do it this weekend on Friday night - so sorry hun - I’m clearly a frazzled mummy with no brain cells left!)

I thought about it, had a minor freak out (I knew the job would take all afternoon - it’s a huge lawn and he’d left it a while), and told him to go and do it, of course.

So, all’s well so far. The youngest is having an afternoon nap. Only the eldest to contend with. Fine.

I tried to make a cup of tea. Not once. Not twice. But four times. Over the course of an hour. I never got that cup of tea. The eldest wanted to play. Then she wanted a drink. Then she had an ‘accident’ and we had to find new trousers. Then she wanted to play some more. Then we went outside to ‘help’ daddy cut the lawn by picking up the grass cuttings in our little wheelbarrow and watered the plants with out little watering can. That was my genius half hour that. I was, still am, proud of that. She loved it, but got so engrossed playing; making cups of tea with her tea set and the watering can; that she had another ‘accident‘. She is supposedly potty trained, but has crazy days like this sometimes.

Our youngest woke up. Now this, I think, is where it started to go a bit downhill. They don’t particularly play well together. Our youngest wants to eat everything (including her older sister) as she’s teething. The eldest wants to play with her dressing up table and jewellery, but won’t let her sister near it. If the youngest just toddles over for a look, her sister shouts and screams and runs across the room to find another corner to play in.

So literally 15 minutes after the youngest woke up; I have her screaming for attention, and for the use of at least one toy. The eldest taking all toys off the youngest, because as soon as she’s got it sister wants it. Me trying to get the eldest to help me tidy up. And the eldest screaming because I asked her to stop kicking me.

Cue Naughty Step. More screaming. A tantrum (in my head). Another more hysterical tantrum (The eldest this time). The youngest picking up the tune. An apology. And a very upset mummy shouting for daddy "any chance you can be finished about now?".

I might not have made it clear but I held it together (outwardly) right up to the apology. Then, once it was all done and back to normal (The youngest's usual crying whilst changing her nappy I could cope with normally), I broke down in tears.

I have never cried so often as since I had children. So here I ask, and it’ll be the first of many times I ask this I suspect, how can you be ‘yummy’ when you’re too busy giving out so much of yourself that you end up in tears?

And then, more tears, as I walked back into our playroom after drying my eyes to find that the eldest had tidied up. “There you are mummy” she said. “It’s all tidy now” and she came and gave my a big unsolicited cuddle.