Tuesday witter

So I hear through family that my sister in law, half-way through her maternity leave with her 3 month old second child, is finding things tough. She says that she's 'a career woman'. This being at home with the kids lark is not for her; it's too difficult.

I feel incredibly sympathetic (no, really, I do). It is a shock to the system when your second baby arrives. What you previously thought of as hard work - looking after child #1 - is suddenly proved to have been a walk in the park. You know, when you have time to sit and look at your year old / 18 month old first baby / toddler, and the hormones do their special dance, weave their magic and you think "Aah, let's have a second one. I know what I'm doing now. How hard can it be?"

And of course, whilst everyone around you and all the books out there tell you exactly how hard, frankly you don't really believe that these tales of exhaustion, changing two sets of nappies, dealing with a demanding toddler unable to properly communicate with you, and a world that thinks doing these things are as easy as water off a duck's back actually apply to you. It will be hard, yes, but you'll be OK. Perhaps you'll even have more! I mean, you always said 2 or 4 kids, right...?

But enough about me.

What I'm trying to get round to saying is that my sister-in-law is only now finding out that being at home with your kids is just about the only job in the world for which you get no proper training other than that which you provide yourself. No wonder she's finding it hard. As a new - or repeat - parent you are simply parachuted in and expected to get on with it. And not only to get on with it, but to love it with every fibre of your being, and never complain, ever, about the long hours, the crap pay, and the lack of an appraisal structure.

I mean, obviously, you are getting to spend all your time with your children, to be there for all the important milestones, and to ensure that they are well-cared for and well-looked after.

But no shit Sherlock, yes, it's hard.

So here's one way of looking at it, for all those at home, struggling, and who are thinking that they are not cut out for this 24/7 parenting business. That they are career women / men.

Let's pretend. Let's pretend that being a stay-at-home carer is a 'proper job'.

(You know, one that you get recognition for doing, one that doesn't get regularly dissed in the press by people who've either never tried it or who struggled through their maternity leave desperate to get back to work for proper pay, conversation, wearing smart clothes and killer shoes, and the chance to go to the loo with the door shut. Aaaah, the memories...)

Anyway.

You've taken on this new and 'proper' job. It's in an unfamiliar field, but it's something you've wanted to do for a while, and haven't had the chance to do until now. Some parts of this new job are AMAZING. Some parts suck. Whilst dealing with the latter, you ask yourself whether or not you've done the right thing. But over time, although the AMAZING parts may become a little muted - simply through the fact they become commonplace - the parts that suck actually don't suck quite so much. You get used to them. You find coping skills to make them seem less awful. And sooner or later, you find you're actually becoming quite good at this new job. You feel more confident, more able to cope, and you begin to enjoy yourself.

Let's be honest though, the job descripition hasn't changed; what's happened is that you've grown into it. Sound familiar? Does that sound, in fact, like many jobs you might have had throughout your life? Well, welcome to parenting. And like most jobs, whilst there are some people for whom childcare is as easy as falling off a log, there are others for whom it takes a little longer - and I make no bones about the fact that I was one of those, too.

Until we stop telling ourselves that being the main carer should be easy, we're going to continue imagining that if we don't 100% love it straightaway we're better off doing something different.

Now I'm not for one moment suggesting that we turn back the clock and that the legions of working mums should throw in the towel and stay home to look after the kids. Please, no. Not only would the economy collapse, but everyone should do what is right for their family. On top of that, from a purely selfish perspective, I want to go back to work one day, no doubt about it, and I'll need as many of you there as I can get. (For a start, what man is going to have the nerve to tell me that my skirt is tucked into my knickers when I come back from the loo? And yes, it's happened before...)

I'm talking, I suppose, to those who currently find themselves at home and looking after their kids, and are shocked or miserable at how hard they're finding it, whether that's on maternity leave, in between jobs, or because it's the only way right now. I would just ask you to question the assumption that what you're doing - looking after your children yourself - should be easy, and not to beat yourselves up about it if that's not your experience.

I mean, why should it be easy? It's something worth doing, and when was that stuff ever easy?

Shock News!

MUMMY BLOGGER 'PUTS IT ABOUT A BIT...'

Which is short-hand for; 'help, I'm beset by a three year old begging me to play scary t-rex's (after a therapeutic trip to the cinema yesterday to see Ice Age 3 which has resulted in much growling, roaring and chasing activity from said child with model dinosaurs), so I can't actually spend more than two minutes at the computer today'.

As a result, I'm sending you here, to Powder Room Graffiti, where I've outlined a job description for some assistance (aka 'a desperate cry for help') that I suspect is going to be needed more than ever over the summer break...

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

There seems to be a worrying tendancy for my British Mummy Blogger of the Week post always to feature the fact that I am just a little bit hungover. In fact, anyone checking in every now and again to find out who it is might even be excused for thinking I can't take my drink. (Newsflash; I've had two children. Of course I can't take my drink.)

In any case, I'm not going to bore you with tales of hangovers etc today in case it starts to seem that my Saturday nights are always blurry. Suffice it to say though that plans I wrote of in yesterday's post for time off sipping cocktails with my girlfriends have been put on hold indefinitely due to lack of battle-readiness on my part. And if you wouldn't mind dimming the screen a little and keeping your voice down, it would be much appreciated...

Right. Let's get down to it. This week's British Mummy Blogger of the week writes of herself:

'I'd like to think it all started when I accidentally took an overdose of dog hormone tablets but, truth be told, things were strange long, long before that...'

Check out Stickhead's blog Slightly South of Sanity for a very entertaining read, not least for her fantastic tip on how to keep your kids amused at the park on hot day...

To check out the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but we're not fussy. Dads can be members too!)

Question...

Does it make me a bad mother that I have started to think I will be a better one if I have some time off?

I don't mean anything radical. Just a couple of days away from the constant hum of a family.

I love my Husband and Boys beyond life, but sitting at the breakfast table this morning and being assaulted (yes, that is how it feels, and no, I'm not good first thing) from all sides by a) Husband discussing his forthcoming travel plans b) Boy #1 talking 10 to do the dozen about how 'merit' badges at school need to be shared around and that's why he didn't get one on Friday (hmmm) and c) Boy #2 talking about - well, actually I can't remember what he was talking about, which in itself is not surprising but nevertheless makes me feel I'm failing him in some way - I found myself dreaming of some time away.

Not on my own, mind you. No, I'm not after splendid solitude. What I want is a couple of days just kicking up my heels, drinking too much, sleeping in late and generally shooting the breeze somewhere warm and balmy with a girlfriend or two.

However, with a move likely, the summer holidays around the corner, girlfriends with equally busy lives, and Husband's work taking him away from home more than is strictly civilised, it doesn't seem likely any time soon.

Ah well.

I can't fit into my 'warm and balmy' girl's night gear anyway.

Pass the chocolate, somebody?

True Brit (warning; this is not a tennis post)

Sometimes I just love being British.

There are plenty of times I could take it or leave it, you understand. Like during the current mania surrounding Wimbledon and the chance that Andy Murray might make it to the finals this weekend. Sorry, tennis fans, but that, I could definitely leave. Mind you, tennis is not my thing, so that's probably not a good example.

I'm not keen on announcing my nationality in certain European holiday resorts either, but that's probably more because I am (not so) secretly a bit of a snob and can't abide grown men - or women - in three-quarter length trousers. (Although for some reason the Scandinavians usually manage to carry that look off...)

But there are other times, like in our local Sainsbury's yesterday morning, when I just love being a Brit.

A late middle aged American couple accosted a managerial type by the strawberry fixture. She was clearly irate about something...

She (very politely): "I'm going to make a complaint to you, if I may?"

Managerial type (probably mid-40's, Scottish accent, equally polite, without missing a beat and with a broad friendly smile on his face): "Complain all you like, I'm not going to listen..."

There was a moment of shocked silence (broken only by my snort), and then all three started to laugh. With just one sentence the manager had managed to diffuse the situation and put them at their ease.

I don't know how the problem was resolved - it clearly was, since I saw the couple shopping happily 10 minutes later - because I was too busy laughing whilst trying not to look as if I'd been doing anything as nosy as listening to someone else's conversation...

But maybe finding that sort of thing funny is a British thing?

And now I am two...

Happy Blog-Birthday to me, Happy Blog-Birthday to me.... etc etc.

That wasn't how I intended to start this post. I was going to write about the fact that we (as in 'The Potty Family' - or more specifically, Husband and I) are in the Doghouse - note the capital D - as far as the other residents of our building are concerned.

However, I'm so bored by this myself that frankly I've decided not to subject you to tales of neighbourhood bickering over whether 'we' (The Potty Family) do or don't have the right to erect a set of steps - on our own property and meeting all planning regulations - up to the communal garden behind us. (Can you tell I'm cross? Thought not. I am a picture of calm...)

Instead, I will just state that whilst officially my 2nd blog-birthday is not until Sunday date-wise, it was on Thursday 2nd July 2 years ago that I kicked off The Potty Diaries with my first post, and bearing in mind that I hit post number 400 yesterday, today seemed as good a day as any to mark the fact that I have now been wittering away on the internet for such a long time.

Who would have thought my charming, funny, beautiful and entertaining Boys could provide me with so much interesting material? (With - admittedly - a little padding from me about related and unrelated subjects).

So, if you want to delve back into ancient history, here's the humdinger of a post that started it all.

http://potty-diaries.blogspot.com/2007/07/hello-world.html

Original title, huh? And note the plethora of comments. It took me a while to work out that commenting on other people's blogs might be what it took to get some visitors of my own...

Battle fatigue...

...has set in.

This is a Bad Sign. The school holidays haven't even started yet, for goodness' sake, and already I'm feeling like a wet weekend in Formby. My darling Boys have been on the receiving of one too many short-fuses; things that would normally just wash over me - or which at least I could nine times out of ten shrug off with my usual mantra of 'they're 5/3, it's their job to be this way' - have been resulting in shouty responses and flouncing about in a prima-donna styley from me.

I'm old enough to know better and need to stop. Unfortunately the things that have resulted in my current state of mind aren't going away;

• The unfortunate propensity of a five year old to whine when things don't go his way.
• The 3-year old hard-wired response of a tantrum when things don't go his.
• The unrelenting travel schedule of Husband meaning I have 'the con' far more often than is healthy for me.
• The increasing likelihood of a move of country and the consequent chaos that will ensue.
• The knowledge that if we do go there is every possibility that last August's fun and games with Boy #1's starting school will repeat itself all over again, and that there is nothing I can do, other than maintain a positive demeanour, to shield him (or myself) from it.
• The looming summer holidays (the horror, the horror!).

And the heat isn't helping this wilting English rose either. (I know. That's how bad it's got; I'm actually complaining about good weather.)

On the plus side, chocolate and 30 degC + don't go well together, so at least I've lost a bit of weight...