From the mouths of babes...

We've been in the Netherlands with Husband's family celebrating what is apparantly our last ever (EVER) Christmas in civilisation (if you listen to the subtext beaming out loud and clear from my m-i-l, that is...). The highpoint of our trip was a visit to The Efteling Theme Park, a sort of pre-Disney Land fairy tale kingdom.

My mother-in-law has been planning this trip ever since her first grandchild made an appearance around 12 years ago, so this was understandably Big Deal for her. Consequently there were plenty of questions to the children (all 7 of them) as to whether or not they were enjoying themselves. Unfortunately, it seems Boy *2 did not recieve the memo about toeing the party line...

M-i-l: "So, did you enjoy that ride, Boy *2? Was it loek?" (Trans: cute, funny, enjoyable).

Boy *2: "Well... (I held my breath. This ride - the one she was talking about - was probably not what would normally have been his cup of tea. It featured elves, trolls, goblins, true, but it was also quite heavy on the fairy quotient). Yes, yes I did!" (I breathed a sigh of relief).

M-i-l: "And did you like all the magic?" (The ride took us through a fairy kingdom with various scenarios that might feature in your average elf's life).

Boy *2: "Yes... But... I was wondering. Who was controlling it all?"


Give me strength.

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

It's hard to stay anonymous when you're typing in plain sight of your in-laws who are supposed not to know about your blog, (we're in Holland with Husband's family where I am shortening the 'family & fish go off in 3 days' rule by getting decidely snippy after only 24 hours), so you'll understand if I keep this brief.

Following on from last week's Best of British Mummy Bloggers round-up, here are the rest. Enjoy, as you ponder the wisdom of eating that last green Quality Street along with finishing the dregs of the port bottle, and then conclude that after spending the last 5 days with your nearest and dearest, all rules regarding controlled consumption are suspended for the duration...


September 2009

http://www.appleislandlife.blogspot.com/
http://hotcrossmum.blogspot.com/
http://www.perfectlyhappymum.com/
http://clinicallyfedup.com/


October 2009

http://troutie.blogspot.com/
http://littlegreenfingers.typepad.com/little_green_fingers/


November 2009

http://isthereaplanb.blogspot.com/
http://www.everydaystranger.net/
http://monavismesamis.blogspot.com/
http://usebefore.blogspot.com/
http://kittymoore.blogspot.com/


December 2009

http://missustd.blogspot.com/
http://notwavingbutironing.wordpress.com/


Enjoy! (Normal service to be resumed next week...)

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).

This morning's definition of 'Panic'...

...is realising you've forgotten your brother's Christmas present and that the town where you're staying is not likely to offer anything particularly exciting in the '£10 and under' price range your family has agreed to stick to for presents this year.


This morning's definition of 'Gratitude'...

...is how you feel when your Husband returns from his foraging mission with 3 dvd's for under £10 all of which you know your retro-bro will love.


This afternoon's definition of 'Panic'...

is realising you've run out of wrapping paper, that the the nearest shop that sells it has just closed, and that you still have your sons' two 'big' Christmas presents to wrap.


This afternoon's definition of 'Gratitude'...

is confessing as much to your mother and finding out that she has plenty left over and is willing to share.


Happy Christmas all!

Christmas reflections...

Christmas for many of us is a time that you might call 'stupidly busy'. We - or I, at least - panic over the most inconsequential things. Are there lumps in the gravy? Have I got enough mince pies? Did I spend enough on Auntie Flo's present? It's easy to get wound up by things that for the rest of the year might just be water off a duck's back. Throw your nearest and dearest into the mix and it can be a recipe for turmoil.

For example, I've just got off the phone to my mother-in-law who was panicking that Husband might be on the roads driving to join us in the west country on this cold, snowy, icy, foggy evening. Quite what she would have done if he had already been en-route, I don't know, but midway through our conversation, as I reassured her he was safe and sound at home in London, I found myself starting to get a little frustrated by what seemed a fuss-over-nothing call. But then, I was suddenly reminded of my walk out with the Boys this afternoon.

It was cold, and the low-lying sun had made little impact on the icy slush in the lane we were walking along. My parents - with whom the Boys and I are currently staying - live on the side of a steep hill, and as we toiled up it to post the last (alright - the first) of our Christmas cards (no-one ever said I was organised, least of all me...), I found myself gripping Boy *2's hand tightly and instructing Boy *1 to take care. As the few cars willing to brave the ice drove by, I shepherded my sons onto the verge and out of the way. Boy *1, at least, would have been more than capable of taking the same evasive action without any lead from me, and yet I still felt the need to protect and look out for him.

So as my mother-in-law was talking to me about her concern for her son during our call this evening, I suddenly checked my irritability. Was what she was doing so different to my probable over-protectiveness earlier on? Who's to say that the feeling of responsibility that comes hand in hand with bearing and/or nurturing a child should stop when they are 10, 15, 20 or even 25 years old? It may be that as our children get older our protective instinct becomes more focused - we worry less about cuts and grazes, and more about drugs and alcohol, for example - and it may be that some of us become more expert at hiding it from others, but from what I've observed, it never lets up.

I hope that I'm not a helicopter parent, but what I realised during that call this evening was that you can't turn Motherhood off, the good or the bad stuff. Being a parent is project that you will never get to see finished and which you can never - god willing - draw a line under, or shut the door on, saying; 'well, that job's over and done with'. So my mother in law will no doubt continue to make those vaguely annoying phone calls for as long as she can dial the number, and I will probably continue to metaphorically reach out a hand to steady my sons on the icy roads they might walk for just as long.

And yes, both of us should probably just stop stressing.

But since this constant hum of low-level anxiety seems to be part and parcel of the way we love our children - along with the day to day highs and lows that come from rearing them and interacting with their emerging personalities - I think the best I can hope for is that I can rein in the worst of my protective instincts and give my sons enough space to grow up confident and independant. And that the next time I get one of those calls from my mother in law, that I will remember the chances are, I may well be making them myself in years to come...

Christmas snapshots

Snapshot *1

My parents are at the table, enjoying a post-dinner glass of wine.  Dad looks across at Mum as he opens the second bottle of the evening, and says:

"I think, when one of us dies, I'm going to have to give up drinking..."

Snapshot *2

I've spent the morning in and out of the snow with the Boys.  We have thrown snow-balls (well, not snow 'balls' per-se - since the snow is very un-Britishly too powdery and dry for that - more handfuls of the stuff scraped off the top of the garden table or up off the grass and which, to be honest, are far more effective than snow-balls at properly soaking your opponents), got freezing hands and noses, and generally revelled in the unexpected white pre-Christmas.  We are, frankly, snowed-up to the max.

After defrosting ourselves and drinking a warming cup of hot chocolate, I kit the Boys up again, ready to make a trip to the shops.  We walk to the door.  I open it, revealing the snowy scene outside again.  Boy *2, standing behind me, gasps.

Me:  "What is it, Boy *2?"

Boy *2:  "SNOW!!!"

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

So we're nearly at Christmas. There are many reasons why I know this to be true; here are a couple:

1. I'm at my parents and have been drinking at lunchtime. This never usually happens (the drinking at lunchtime, that is, not the being at my parents), mainly because I know it's the fastest way to an afternoon spent snoozing attractively on the sofa and waking to a patch of dribble on my shoulder...

2. My parents' Christmas tree has already come crashing down. It's not Christmas until there has been at least one smashed bauble and various muffled curses from my mother as she hoovers up the shards of glass and pine-needles whilst bitterly regretting having made that 'final' touch to the placement of the pressies she had placed prettily on the branches...


In any case, enough lunch-time wine-induced wittering; it's time for British Mummy Blogger of the Week. I thought that this week and next I might do something slightly different, however. In the last year the number of members in the BMB ning have increased amazingly; we've gone from an original roll-call of about 3 to 832 at the last count, a lot of whom have joined recently.

In fact, when I started writing the Mummy Blogger of the week post last May there were 235 members, which means that if you're one of the 597 who've joined more recently you might not have seen the earlier Bloggers of the Week, so I've decided to list all of them out - over this Sunday and next Sunday - for you to take a look at when the thrill of Christmas specials on tv and 'tidying up' the edges of the stilton and cheddar finally prove to be too much. Enjoy!


May 2009

http://noblesavage.me.uk/
http://motherhoodthefinalfrontier.com/
http://singleparentdad.blogspot.com/
http://mightymother.info/


June 2009

http://gritsday.blogspot.com/
http://califlorna.com/
http://www.moretolifethanlaundry.com/
http://blogiota.blogspot.com/


July 2009

http://slightlysouthofsanity.blogspot.com/
http://www.britoutofwater.com/
http://aconfusedtakethatfan.blogspot.com/


August 2009

http://sleepisfortheweak.org.uk/
http://emilybassin.blogspot.com/
http://babieswhobrunch.blogspot.com/
http://britsinbosnia.blogspot.com/


Happy Christmas! (September, October, November and December will be listed next week...)

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too)

Chilblains and their side-effects...

Growing up in an old and draughty house, as a little girl I used to get terrible chilblains on my toes. (Click on the word for a link if you're lucky enough never to have experienced them). Oh, that burning, itchy feeling was simply horrendous. The relief of taking my school shoes off at the end of the day so I could have a good old scratch is something I still recall today.

Boy #2 - unsurprisingly, sturdy little soldier - is unaffected by them, but of course (of course!) his older and more 'delicate' brother suffers. Normally I tend to brush off Boy #1's afflictions; with the exception of his allergies and eczema he's actually pretty healthy, and when he does complain the causes seem most often to be imagined, or the result of near-fatal encounters with the edge of the table or fallings-off the arms of the sofa. When it comes to chilblains however, having experienced them myself, I am very sympathetic.

Unfortunately it seems that there's not much you can take for them as a child unless - as his did last year - they get infected, and the doctor prescribes antibiotics. You just have to try and keep skin moisturised, legs and hands warm, and your circulation up.

So far this winter he only has the one chilblain and I'm trying desperately to keep it that way, so when at bedtime yesterday he complained it was hurting him I decided to bring out the big guns and - gasp - reached for a hot water bottle, which I part-filled with warm water.

You think you know where this is going, don't you?

Well, apparantly it was just what the doctor ordered, and within a few minutes he was fast asleep. I'm not sure if it actually made much of a difference in real terms but the novelty value alone was enough to convince him that I was taking the situation seriously enough (which is, let's be honest, what we all want when we're feeling under the weather). What a great idea, I thought. No medication, no fuss, no trip to the doctors.

What I hadn't given much thought to, of course, was the possibility he might wake up at 5.00am and realise the hot water bottle was now cold. And I hadn't even considered the possibility that instead of pushing it away and down to the bottom of the bed - like any reasonable adult (as in, not a 6 year old) might do - he would sit up in bed and scream the house down demanding that it be refilled.

So, no hot water bottle tonight. But on the upside, it's good to know that threats of the naughty chair work even in the dark cold of the early morning...