In these financially troubled times I decided that it’s time that I taught my son about the world of money by opening a savings account for him.
Also I need somewhere to put all the cash he’s accumulating in gifts from relatives. I can’t steal it all, apparently. I’ve been using his piggy bank to pay the window cleaner for years now, and I’m starting to feel bad about it. Well, I’m not, but he’s starting to notice...
Recently there have been more news stories reminding us of the dangers of co-sleeping with babies.
It’s something I’m acutely aware of because I have chosen to go against the official advice by having my baby son in bed with me. Just like I did with my other two.
There are many reasons my decision such as bed sharing aiding bonding with the baby and making breastfeeding easier, but mostly it comes down to the fact that I can’t be bothered to get the cot out of the attic.
The washing machine has had enough of exploring every possible interpretation of the term “heavy soiling”. It’s dealt with disposable nappies accidentally going in the wash, and exploding little water absorbing crystals everywhere. It’s had countless toys left in pockets, clanking round the spin cycle.
It is almost considered an unarguable matter of fact that “children have less manners nowadays”. But have you ever considered that maybe a few less manners isn’t such a bad thing?
If you include not wanting to cause offence as a question of manners then I have found that my own politeness can be a bit of a disability, at times bordering on mental illness.
Many times I have been happily on my way home from the school run when it suddenly occurs to me that my compliment to a friend could have been misinterpreted as an insult...
Sometimes I’m genuinely envious of kids. My (nearly) three-year-old gets showered in admiration if he successfully wees on the toilet, (If he’s unsuccessful he just gets showered). I wish I received encouragement so easily and enthusiastically.
However I think he’s getting a bit bored of praise too easily achieved.
When it comes to holidays, the mind can play funny tricks on you.
It’s a bit like childbirth, the reality of the pain fades in the memory so that it’s possible to go from screaming “never again” to “we’re trying for another” in the space of a year or so.
I find the same nostalgic amnesia applies to holidays of the past. I remember my childhood European vacations as days spent lazing by the pool, playing in the sea and eating ice-creams whilst strolling through picture postcard towns.
I hate taking my kids to the doctors. Every second I spend in the waiting room, I feel there’s a large neon arrow pointing at me and a sign saying HYSTERICAL MOTHER: TREAT WITH CAUTION.
Apparently the simple act of bringing attention to your child’s suffering, is “making a fuss” and from then on in, you’re treated like a venerable idiot or worse, a volatile nutter who might burst into tears or a tantrum unless smothered with a protective layer of patronisation.
I have to admit that some of the time, I’m a bad parent, the rest of the time I’m in denial.
Whenever a study is published which says a particular thing is bad for kids, (eg. Too much TV, too much junk food, too many video games etc) then my automatic default position is that I hardly ever do that thing anyway and when I do, it’s for really good reasons that the study hasn’t considered and therefore I am exempt from its conclusions. And if all else fails, I trot out the old “it’s not like I’m abusing them” and “there are a lot worse parents in the world”.
Going through my picture files on my computer and seeing all the close ups of my baby’s face covered in chocolate cake, (snaps which I took at the time because I thought he looked ‘cute’, but given the sheer number of similar shots I’ve had to delete, now seems disturbing, bordering on child abuse). It occurs to me that most of the pictures we have are of my eldest son. There are less of my middle son, but hardly any at all of my youngest.
Is this evidence of how my third born misses out generally by being born last? Does he miss out on the parental care and attention that his older brother received?
I have a cat. She’s very old and getting thinner by the day. I can’t see her lasting more than a couple of years and to be honest, when the day finally comes when I discover her motionless body lying on her favourite rug under the stairs, I will feel an enormous sense of relief. Not because she suffering in her old age, but because she’s a real pain and I can’t stand the damn thing.
I know that longing for a pet to die, isn’t going to get me any Heart of Britain nominations, but before you judge me, hear me out.
In these financially troubled times I decided that it’s time that I taught my son about the world of money by opening a savings account for him.
Recently there have been more news stories reminding us of the dangers of co-sleeping with babies.
We’ve had a death in the family.
It is almost considered an unarguable matter of fact that “children have less manners nowadays”. But have you ever considered that maybe a few less manners isn’t such a bad thing?
Sometimes I’m genuinely envious of kids. My (nearly) three-year-old gets showered in admiration if he successfully wees on the toilet, (If he’s unsuccessful he just gets showered). I wish I received encouragement so easily and enthusiastically.
When it comes to holidays, the mind can play funny tricks on you.
I hate taking my kids to the doctors. Every second I spend in the waiting room, I feel there’s a large neon arrow pointing at me and a sign saying HYSTERICAL MOTHER: TREAT WITH CAUTION.
I have to admit that some of the time, I’m a bad parent, the rest of the time I’m in denial.
Going through my picture files on my computer and seeing all the close ups of my baby’s face covered in chocolate cake, (snaps which I took at the time because I thought he looked ‘cute’, but given the sheer number of similar shots I’ve had to delete, now seems disturbing, bordering on child abuse). It occurs to me that most of the pictures we have are of my eldest son. There are less of my middle son, but hardly any at all of my youngest.
I have a cat. She’s very old and getting thinner by the day. I can’t see her lasting more than a couple of years and to be honest, when the day finally comes when I discover her motionless body lying on her favourite rug under the stairs, I will feel an enormous sense of relief. Not because she suffering in her old age, but because she’s a real pain and I can’t stand the damn thing.
