How to sell your parenting skills in the work place

Parenting versus Managing

There isn't a day goes by that I don't use skills at work that I learnt through being a parent.

Whether I am being encouraging; or expressing my disappointment at someone who should know better; managing conflict and assisting with calm authority, denying gossip; managing good and bad performance; managing relationships (and ensuring the team don't kill each other); teaching office manners, where it's OK to smoke - but "I really wouldn't because xyz", that "please", "thank you" and "you're welcome" are not optional extras, and finally, teaching that punctuality is a key measure by which you'll be judged.

Over and over again I find myself having the same conversations in work as I've had at home talking to my girls as they grew up.

And actually, teaching and training and managing the 6 and 8 year old is often much easier than doing the same with a bunch of adults who all think they know better. Some of which have never been taught how to spell. Some never got into the habit of saying 'thank you'. Some are learning new things and getting frustrated by the slowness of their learning. Many (oh goodness FAR too many) gossip and argue in the same way you'd expect on a playground.

 

Sell your parenting skills to interviewers

So if you are trying to get back into the workplace after having children you can absolutely sell your newly learnt skills in parenting as management skills.

Feeling like you are not a good mum?

I feel this numerous times everyday. I honestly think that if you permanently think you are a fabulous mum you are probably suffering from delusions.

Part of being a good parent is recognising your weaknesses and knowing what you are doing well and what needs improvement. We are not all perfect. Knowing this makes us one step closer to attaining success.

It will be different in other parts of the world, but in the UK we live in a culture where women are told in school that girls are more intelligent than boys. The exam statistics prove it. We are told we can do anything, be leaders, lawyers, doctors or pop stars - it's all available to us. We are also shown celebrity mothers, usually those in the film, TV or Modelling industry, in top designer wear, with perfect haircuts, running their children to school in 4x4s, playing out at the park in their designer jeans, and somehow maintaining a career without their mascara running. We think that this is what we must strive for. Everything. Woman have fought long and hard for us to have equal opportunity to men. We shouldn't waste the opportunity.

It's all an awful lot of pressure to have everything and do everything and to do it all brilliantly with fabulous skin and perfect nails.

7 ways to NOT be late in the mornings

So there are only 7 sleeps until Christmas, and I don't know about you but time is really of the essence right now.  With nativities to attend, presents to wrap, parties to attend (alright, "party", let's not get over excited) and endless chores to get done saving a minute here or there can make a real difference.

Sometimes, it doesn't matter how early you set your alarm, or how prepared you think you are, the universe conspires against you to make you late.  It only takes a split second to miss your train, or bus, or tube and often that will make the difference as to whether you make your meeting, or gets the children to school on time, or make your first pilot-training session... Who knows right?

So how do you save time?

1. Reduce the travelling.  By this I mean, the numerous times you end up charging backwards and forwards through your apartment, or up and down the stairs of your house to fetch lippy, your purse, your phone.  It sounds obvious but have a place for everything that makes sense and always put things back where they live.

2. Pack your handbag the night before. It's like being back at school isn't it? But it works. If you mess about swoping handbags around in a morning you will be a) late and b) annoyed you left something in the other bag.

The Ion Sound Splash Bluetooth Waterproof speaker: a review

ion sound splash Bluetooth wireless speaker

I love music. I shower everyday. How great to be able to maximise the joy that is iTunes Match on my iPhone by listening to it perfectly safely in the shower.

I love this gadget. It's my new favourite piece of tech. Simple, smart, pleasing to the eye. You can even, if you were super sad, answer the phone using it. Thankfully video calls wouldn't work.

Anyway.
It takes less than 30 seconds to read the 3 steps involved in pairing it to your phone.

Basically press a couple of buttons and you are on.

I left my iPhone in the bedroom, got in the shower, turned on the Ion Sound Splash and pressed play. It started playing where I last left off. Brilliant. I need to keep testing the range, but the Bluetooth connection is pretty darn good.
You can play and pause the song and also control the volume. You can't skip tunes though, so make sure you have a shower playlist, or album, ready.

Juggling all those parenting balls? Join the rest of us jugglers at the Britmums Juggling Carnival!

I have a BRILLIANT collection of blog posts to delight your senses.  These are stories from real women about the real challenges we have juggling our roles as (in no particular order) mother, daughter, wife, employee, boss, sister, friend, entertainer, pot-washer, hairdresser, clothes washer, seamstress, baker, spider catcher, dancer, writer, accountant, author, reader, cook, card fairy (magically sending cards to members of the family you've only ever met once, but who you absolutely must send cards at appropriate points in the year), tweeter, sympathetic-ear, first aider, toy mender, story teller, dietitian, referee, taxi driver......... and that's just me!

Grab a Sangria.  Throw on your dancing shoes.  Join us for the Britmums "Juggling" Carnival.  A party for us to share how we keep those balls; clubs; knifes; flaming torches even; in the air, and maybe get a slice of 'me' time in the midst of all that juggling!

Roll up, roll up. The Britmums Carnival is coming....

It's nearly carnival time here at Yummy Mummy? Really? I have been preparing my headdress and painting the float. In my head obviously. This is an on-line Carnival, and as such it's all rather virtual. The spirit of the event is exactly the same though. It's time to get together, socialise, have a couple of drinks if you are so inclined, dress up in crazy flamboyant outfits (come on! don't be dull) and showcase your talents and skills.

The Britmums Carnival, for those not already in the know, is a collection of blog posts (written in the last month) all shared in one post by the host (moi). Bloggers take turns to host and its a great way to showcase your latest blog post or discover great blogs.

There is usually a theme selected by the host. In the spirit of the event I am choosing the theme:-

Save time toning your bum; with this exercise whilst brushing your teeth!

 I made a hideous mistake this weekend.  I got on the scales.

NNNOOOOO! I hear you cry.  Why, oh why, would I do that?  I honestly don't know.  It was Mother's Day and for a reason know only to my subconscious I stepped foot on those scales for the first time in over a year.

I am 5ft 6 inches tall.  I'm telling you that so you can make a judgement as to how bad, or not, the resulting 'weight' was.

11 stone 8 pounds.  That's apparently 73.48 kg (conversion chart here)

Since having children it seems to be true that if I hover around 11 stone I can fit, comfortably, in size 12 trousers.  At 11 stone 8, most of my wardrobe doesn't fit.  I am wearing jeans that, as I am writing this, I am desperate to take off, as the belt is digging into my tummy.  I know it's not a pretty picture I am painting, but I feel the need to share, in the hope it'll stop me reaching for yet another biscuit.

So I have started making changes.  One of the first is to try and cram exercise into every possible part of the day I can, but without actually spending special extra time exercising.  How?

My first trick is going to be to do the Yummy Mummy? Really? Bum exercise whilst brushing my teeth.

The Yummy Mummy? Really? Bum Exercise

Whilst stood in front of the sink; brushing teeth with one hand; use the other hand to steady yourself against the sink for balance  (ideally don't hold on at all).

Stand with your feet together.  Now take your right foot and place it behind your left at a right angle.  You should have the toes on your right foot (and your right knee) pointing to your right, and the heel pointing to your left.  The middle of your right foot, the arch, should be resting against the heel of your left foot.

Now lift your right foot up off the ground slightly (a couple of millimetres), bending the knee and keep your foot flexed.  You are ready to exercise your right bum cheek.  Lift the right foot behind you, keeping the foot angled from right to left and flexed (not pointed), and keeping the bend in the knee the same.

It won't go very high up, and the height doesn't really matter.  What does matter is that the lifting should be felt in your bum!  Trust me that if you are doing it right you'll feel it.

Return foot to the lowered position, and then keep lifting and lowering.  I do roughly 30 up-downs by the second hand on the clock.  Up for 1 count, down on 2, up on 3.  I do 1 minute on one side, and another minute on the other side.

That's the 2 minutes of teeth brushing done too.

Multi-tasking at it's best.  No time wasted, teeth brushed and bum toned.

Anyone got any others?

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!

Disney Princesses, Woody, Buzz, Eeyore, not forgetting Mickey and Minnie..... It's EuroDisney and how to survive it!!

We've just got back from four days at Disneyland Paris and am in desperate need of four days in a very dark, quiet, warm place where there's wine and pillows.

It was brilliant.  Our cheeky monkeys, are now 2yrs and nearly 5yrs respectively, are very different.  The eldest Cheeky Monkey No.1 was dead keen on meeting as many Princesses as possible.  We managed Ariel (twice), Tiana (twice), Snow White (twice), Cinderella and Wendy (does she count?).  The youngest (CM2) was more interested in Buzz Lightyear and shaking hands with Captain Hook.  I think we've inadvertently turned her into a tomboy.  She did indeed meet both, along with Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Pluto, Eeyore, Peter Pan, Woody, Jessie and Suzy and Perla (the mice that help Cinderella!).  And I saw Mary Poppins.... Is it pathetic to be a grown woman, and to be excited about that?

They came home with an autograph book full of signatures and had a brilliant time, including being chosen to dance with the Princesses in the Parade on our last night (just before we jumped on Eurostar to return home!)  It couldn't have been a more perfect end to the trip.

It's a place, though, that's full of potential pitfalls for the innocent traveller.  I'm going to try and post some tips over the next few weeks, to hopefully help make it the best holiday you've ever had too!

Today's Disney Tip (no. 1) - Pop out of the gates of the Disneyland park, and into the mini supermarket just inside the train station for baguettes, wine, papers, snacks, all at reasonable (sensible) prices.  The prices for food inside the park gates are high (7 Euros for one hot dog) and it's difficult to find quick food that's not an  ice cream or waffle.  All the places that sell actual food; the sort that contains something other than sugar; are all restaurants that have large queues at meal times.  (Fine if you reserve your table in advance and are ready to pay over 100 Euros to feed a family of four.)  If you can't stretch to that kind of food budget, the 5 minute walk out to the station is your answer.  You pass it going back to the hotels at any rate!

Or should it be Scatty Mummy?

It's no surprise that there's a general consensus that having children kills off your brain cells. Particularly if other Mummies have the same kind of daily experiences as me.

Today I hit the shops with the elder, 4yrs, in tow. Not wanting to browse around, as she was getting tired, and was likely to run down the aisles any minute, I asked a male sales assistant, where I could find the waterproof mattress protectors.

He duly led the way across the store to the correct section and I, trying to steer my daughter in the correct direction behind him, followed.  The elder immediately hid behind a display. I had to do the quick telling off, look up again, clock the sales assistant and continue following him.

He headed straight for the tills. He got in behind one of the tills. I stood next to the till. And he looked up and said, "Can I help you?".

I looked at him. Carefully. Thought about it. And turned around. Another sales assistant was stood slightly further back in the shop looking at me with a confused expression on his face.

I had, of course, managed to follow the wrong sales assistant after telling my daughter off.

You could have fried eggs on my face. Not a good look.

A very timid mummy followed the original sales assistant to the correct side of the shop for my mattress protectors, and tried to protest my innocence... mumbling about uniforms, etc... I didn't help myself.

Hence my apparent evidence in support of the brain cell theory. Doesn't 'distraction by a 4yr old' count as a defence?

Are boys really that aggressive when they're 6?

I've spent 2 hours of my afternoon in an indoor play centre. I assume they have similar places all over the UK, but here in the Midlands they seem to have replaced the 'garden' as the place to let your kids let off some steam. (I'm sure it's because we're paranoid about muck these days and won't let them play out if it's wet!)

My girls both love these play centres. But conditionally. The condition seems to be that there are practically no other children there, OR, that all other children in the place are the same age as them and preferably also girls.

I thought this slightly odd to start with. The first occasion we were in such a place and the elder came running up to tell me she wanted to go home, I thought it was a one-off occurrence. But she was adamant that they were "too many scary big boys". She clearly wasn't enjoying herself anymore, so we did, indeed, come home.

Today though I took the chance to have a good look around whilst we were there. I only had the elder with me, so I could take a breath! And I was fairly surprised to notice the level of aggression the young boys had. Do we really bring our children up to meet such stereotypes? Or are they just naturally like that, and we can't really do much about it, even if we wanted to?

The boys all dived into the 'football' area - of course. Again, stereotype? Who taught them that!? And proceeded to wallop the ball at each other, flinging their legs about in a manner which, I'm sorry, but even I could tell would warrant a red card and a comment about dangerous play. And then, when a ball accidentally whacked them in the head, they squared up to the boy who had kicked the ball and started shouting about how they could take them.

Really?

If it were girls, the offending girl would be apologising before the victim had chance to turn around, and the victim would no doubt say, as a result, "it's fine, thanks".

I guess I'm just so shocked that our boys have such anger inside them. And it made me wonder why? Is it our fault as parents? Or are they just dealt that hand of genes?

Just before we left, a girl, was being mercilessly teased by a bunch of about 5 boys. Well, I say teased, but that's far too tame. They were throwing (I toyed with 'chucking' there - and technically, up here in the North, that would be more accurate and, I'd argue, more representative of the manner of the throwing!). They were throwing those sponge shapes they have in these places; that are less like sponges and more like bricks when they hit you in the face; straight at this girl of about 7 or 8 years. She clearly knew them, and was defending herself well, and even attempting a few throws of her own. But then, the boy got too close, and the well aimed kick he received floored him for at least a minute.

I had too chuckle, even though it really, when you think about it, isn't that funny. But come on...I hear some of you say... Did he not ask for it!? If you start violence, should you not expect violence in return? Actually no. And that's why I teach my girls; no kicking, hitting or throwing at people. Because quite frankly it's dangerous, and I worry where it may lead.

Do mums of boys teach the boys that? Let me know. I'm intrigued. Do we really treat girls and boys so differently at such a young age?

Cor - that got a bit deep... sorry.... Back to being yummy next time I think. Tricks like washing your hair and getting the conditioner on so it can do it's thing while you scrub everything else. Or writing envelopes and thank you cards, whilst simultaneously talking on the phone.... I'm full of time saving multi-tasking me! Pity you can't cook dinner whilst sleeping... I'd like that one!

Six Days...

Six days!

Six days have managed to race by since I last had chance to take the time out to chat to you all. To people without children six days is forever. Six days is longer than a full five-day working week!

Back in the world of my official job as an accountant, in a five-day working week loads of projects can be started and finished. An entire month’s worth of financial transactions can be reviewed, checked, adjusted and reported on. A report providing edited highlights of the previous report can almost certainly be done as well. Hundreds of emails can be read and answered, phone calls, team meetings, client meetings etc etc. And then….then…. you also have a day off. A day just for you. A ‘nothing’ day. Where you can choose exactly how many chores to do, or not, what to watch on telly when, and the most important of all… when to get out of bed!

In six days with children you - or rather I - would be lucky to get the ironing done. The children will be fed and watered at regular intervals, dressed, entertained, read stories to and tucked into bed a few times. You will do all the usual washing up, clothes washing, cleaning, chores that the folk without children do, but of course at an increased volume. Compared to my previous single life I have at least four times the amount of washing up (you‘d be amazed how many drinks a three year old gets through on a hot summers day), at least four times the clothes washing (my 10 month old can get through two outfits a day easily - especially if pasta is on the menu), and a ridiculous amount of cleaning (the spilt food and drink, the mud covered hands, the sick, the paint all over the sofa….), you get the point.

So you’ve been woken up at 6am, you’ve not stopped all day, if you’re lucky you have them in bed by 7pm, perhaps 7.30pm, and then you start the tidy up, the washing up, the clothes in the washing machine, the make a cup of tea, the finally sit down at 8pm…if you’re lucky. That’s a fourteen hour day that. Let me just say that again to savour it. Fourteen hours.

So when ‘working’ people tell me that they think it’s ‘lovely’ that I’m taking a career break to raise my children, and how ‘wonderful’ it must be to sit around at the park on a summers day chatting to my other ‘mum’ friends, and that they ‘bet I’m not missing work at all’. I often say, to their horror, ‘well yes I am missing it actually. I would love to be able to start work at 9am, eat when I want, go to the toilet - alone - when I want, catch up with colleagues when I want, have adult conversations about something other than Iggle Piggle, our pretend mountain rescue team and which pants to wear.’

Alright. So I don’t say that. But I often think it. And I hope that doesn’t make me a bad mum. I think it just makes me human. To crave adult conversation. To crave my own personal space. To crave the environment where achievements are logged and recognised (often with actual pay!).
I don’t feel like the organised work person I used to be. I feel like a haphazard, unorganised, definitely not-yummy mummy, who doesn’t return phone calls for weeks, forgets what day it is, and definitely doesn’t have time to wash my hair every morning - never mind straighten it.

And yet I also feel like a super mummy. A ‘kisses it better when it hurts’ mummy. A ‘made you your favourite tomato pasta’ mummy. A ‘managed to vacuum the lounge’ mummy. A ‘kept them all safe’ mummy.

And that’s all good. Very good.

So there’s just one bit to work on then isn’t there…. This notion of a ‘yummy’ mummy. It’s a work-in-progress.

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.