Who's the Mummy?

I'm in my Happy Place.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

Oh yes, I’m writing this post in advance and by now I’m on hols. Maybe I’m on a beach somewhere making sandcastles. Or perhaps experiencing the special joy that is eating in a motorway service station. Who knows? I hope the weather's good, though.

Anyway, many thanks to Nurmisur over at To Much Information (do you see what she did there?) who has passed on this Great Read award to Who’s the Mummy? Thanks for that.

Now I'm supposed to tell you 10 things about me, but on the basis I’ve kind of done that already here, I’m implementing a slight tweak. I once read an article in Reader’s Digest (so you know it’s definitely true) that said people are genetically predisposed to be mostly happy or mostly unhappy. The test to see which you are is this: can you think of 10 happy memories? Now think of 10 unhappy memories. Which was faster?

The theory is that if you’re the sort of person who remembers happy things more vividly than unhappy things, then you’re likely to be happier overall.

The article really struck a chord with me, and every day I make a conscious effort to try and think of something that made me happy. When I tuck Flea up in bed at the end of the day we also have a routine of telling each other something we did that day that was really fun, or which made us happy.

So, here are the 10 happy memories I can think of this morning:

1. Sitting on the beach in Brighton having a barbecue one evening last summer with my friends A and P, watching our little girls playing football together. The sun was sparkling on the sea, it was warm despite being 9pm, and it was just one of those perfect moments when everything is right.
2. Taking a bus home from Camden to my new flat in Finsbury Park one April afternoon when I was 23, realising I’d just been offered my first ever journalism job. I felt like a proper grown-up for the first time.
3. Having lunch with my friends L and R last week, and laughing at L’s description of London drivers so hard that I almost passed out. She’s dead right about Putney Bridge, though – it’s survival of the most psychotic.
4. Having a scan three weeks after being told I’d had a miscarriage and hearing the operator say, “right, there’s the heartbeat.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt more grateful for anything in my life.
5. Hearing that one of my very good friends has just got engaged this week. She’s 38 and lives in Manhattan, and I’ve seen over the years that a good man is not easy to find in that city. I’m just so pleased for her I smile every time I think about it. And her 1920s art deco ring is beyond gorgeous, which is I suppose what you get for marrying a French guy.
6. Watching Take That in concert this summer. I wasn’t a fan as a teenager (I preferred a bit of the Jam and Prefab Sprout, really) but it was the most fun show I think I’ve ever been to. And it’s weird because even if you’re not a Take That fan you magically know all the words, don’t you?
7. Watching the chap trying to clear a herd of ducks from the road last week when they were swarming on the bridge. Turns out that a grown man running around clapping and making bizarre honking noises isn’t at all intimidating to ducks. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in all my life.
8. Reading My Family and Other Animals while eating a Greek salad and looking out over the ocean from the veranda of the White House that Durrell once lived in, in Corfu. Great book, great island, another perfect moment.
9. Our last day this summer on the chap’s boat – we regularly get lost, get drenched, forget to do vital boating tasks and generally are completely irresponsible but I love the feeling of being on the water. It’s like being untouchable.
10. Playing a new chord properly for the first time last week on my Baby Taylor. I’m not a musically talented person by nature, let it be said, so this is a big achievement for me. 

And I'm tagging the following people as being great reads - feel free to aswer my questions or random questions of your own, obviously: Hot Cross Mum, Sleep is for the Weak, Diary of a Surprised Mum, OMG I'm Pregnant, Sharon at Tish Tash Toys, and finally, Babyrambles. 

Ferris said it best.

I’m off to that there London tomorrow for some meetings then I’ve got a few days holiday before Flea starts school.

Perfect timing.

Certain minority factions in the Mummy blogging community have got their collective knickers in a twist and it’s all threats of legal action, people leaving communities, and people getting their feelings trampled all over left, right and centre. God, it’s like Mumsnet all over again.

It’s so easy to be offended by something on the Internet, isn’t it? To imagine slights where they don’t exist, to gather your virtual friends around you in a posse and destroy your virtual enemies. It's so easy to point out someone else's failings, to tell them where they're going wrong and you're going right (of course). It's so easy not to give someone the benefit of the doubt; not to assume their intentions were probably good at the time.

I think there’s a uniquely female characteristic that means some women need feuds like the rest of us need oxygen. I recently stopped working with a couple of women who had precisely this attitude – there was an “Enemies” folder on the computer, Google Searches to track the activities of anyone who annoyed them, and a big hand-written poster on the wall with FOAD written on in marker pen (look it up).

I just don’t understand the mentality. Why waste so much time and energy being offended by something that really? Doesn’t matter. How much free time do you have, woman? When you get to the pearly gates, will you be glad you spent those precious days hunting down your imagined enemies, or will you wish you’d spent a little more time with your children?

Like Ferris said: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Have a great week. Can we try and be a bit more normal when I get back? That'd be great.

Flea's 5 Tips for Big School

So, the world and his dog are busy writing random lists of how to get your kids ready for big school. My favourite tip was this one: "A week before school starts, start getting into the routine of getting up early, getting dressed & having breakfast."

Are you completely stark raving bonkers? My last week of not having to get up at 7.30am for, ooh about 12 years, and I should get up early? Voluntarily? Pah.

Flea's starting school for the first time next term, and we're totally gearing up for the big day in our own special way. Here are our top tips for getting ready for big school:

1. Buy an iron. And an ironing board. I've manged 35 years without an iron or an ironing board, so it's a sad day, but I admit defeat in the face of school shirts. I may rethink my whole school choice if I find a local school that puts kids in polo shirts, come to think of it.
2. Calculate precisely what toys fit into your new school coat pockets. Flea already knows that she can either take two burglars and a pteradactyl to school, OR the pteradactyl and the T-Rex. I definitely think this forward planning will avoid traumas on the big day.
3. Plan your menu. Flea has discovered the school menu and has planned her first week's lunches already. You may think I'm joking, here, but I'm not. Meatballs on Monday, roast lamb on tuesday, Wednesday is chicken pie, Thursday is shepherds pie and Friday is pizza, which she's not keen on, but it's better than jacket potatoes, apparently.
4. Stitch name tags everywhere, especially on the blazer. A top tip from a fellow Mum - having spent the best part of 50 quid on a blazer, the last thing you want is for someone to nab it during playtime. Apparently, this happens all the time, then the Bad Mothers pick out the name labels. So - put name labels where they can't easily be seen, including inside the pockets and a quarter of the way down the inside of the sleeve.
5. Make the most of your last week of freedom. You've got your whole life to get up early and put on a uniform. This week is for lie-ins, running on the beach, staying up late and eating jelly dinosaurs until you feel sick (that's just me, obviously)

Did we miss anything?

So, that underbelly I was talking about... (updated)

A few months back, I wrote a post on my PR and journalism blog, Getting Ink, mentioning the commercialisation of the UK Mummy blogging scene, and how I felt it was beginning to create some divisions and tensions.

I got a lot of comments – universally saying I was wrong. The Mummy blogging community is so supportive and friendly, people said, nothing resembling a seedy underbelly here.

So, erm, did you all see this in the Indie yesterday? Nice article on Mummy blogging, quite bland. But check out the comments – ouch! 

Have to say, I’m not surprised in the slightest. If you add money to any community, those who get it (in terms of advertising, freebies or publishing deals) will always be a source of irritation to some of those who don’t. Isn’t it inevitable?

I’ve had some first-hand experience of handling this frustration, because I put together an index of  the top 100 UK parent blogs. “I was once blog of the week in the Daily Mail!” fumed one blogger. “I regularly pay Wordpress for additional bandwidth, and I know for a fact that X and Y blog have less than half of my traffic!”

Another blogger said she belongs to a “private forum for established, PUBLISHED bloggers” and claimed that BMB (a social network for parent bloggers) is basically just a circle of mates sending each other pretty badges.

Being honest, I can see both sides. It must be frustrating seeing people who don’t write as well as you getting plaudits or freebies. Perhaps even more so to see someone getting a book deal when you know your audience is far bigger.

But from a journalist’s perspective: I don’t think the PR community is being misled. I think most PR agencies view blogger outreach (as it’s called) as being incredibly inexpensive, and they don’t worry too much if some of their attempts don’t generate a return – providing they get enough return overall. Also, for a PR agency, a Mummy blog with 500 incredibly relevant readers might be worth more than a generic website with 10,000 readers.

 That's not to say PRs don't need to be smart or selective when pitching blogs. They should absolutely be asking questions like: is this a good blog, is it read outside a small circle of virtual friends, is it well linked to, does it generate conversations? Does it have values and content that align with the client’s messages? Is the blog itself selective, or does it promote anything that comes along?  Part of me suspects in the early days that many PR agencies are just adopting a scattergun approach and hoping something hits the target – which doesn’t surprise me, it’s what many agencies do when pitching mainstream journalists.

Which brings me to another point: the UK Mummy blogging scene is very new. I don’t think, as yet, any real leaders have emerged. I think over the next year or so, we’ll start to see some blogs remaining non-commercial. Those that do accept advertising, or freebies for review, will have to learn to balance commercial and non-commercial content – or lose their audiences.

Blogs that are better written and more engaging will find it easier to build and retain an audience than those that are less well-written. If you genuinely feel overlooked, then work harder to promote your blog, to increase engagement, to build links - you can't expect the world to come looking for you.

Ultimately, those who’ve invested time in building relationships and not undermining their blogging friends are the real winners – because the real point of blogging, for most of us, isn’t making money or getting freebies. It’s about having fun, sharing our writing, making connections and exchanging experiences and ideas about parenting, creating a record of our children’s early years. A free box of soap here or there doesn’t change that, surely?

 [Note: I updated this because I don't want to be overly ra-ra* about ALL blogs. I do definitely think that good writing and being selective about what you cover on a blog is important.] 

*technical term

It's like driving off a conversational cliff when your brakes have failed...

There are two sorts of women in the world, in my view: feminists, and women I want to slap round the head while chanting: "Does Emily Pankhurst mean nothing to you?"

Because I’m a feminist, when I had a daughter, I decided she should grow up with a positive body image and no hang-ups about her sexuality. I know she’s only four, but I think it pays to have a plan about these things.

Oh, I felt so smug about my anatomically correct terminology, my casual approach to nudity, my plain-spoken answers to her innocent questions about babies and stuff. God, I am such a GREAT parent.

Except of course, it’s all come crumbling down around me. Right now? I’m sitting in the burning ruins of my good intentions, on the verge of creating an international incident.

It all began innocently enough. The Father bought Flea a book called, “Dinosaurs Love Underpants” and we were reading at bedtime, when we came to a line about how cavemen invented underpants to stop them feeling rude.

“What does rude mean?”

Bugger. I have no idea what to say. “Erm, it’s when you don’t have good manners. Like if you forget to say excuse me.”

“But why is being naked rude?”

Damn those stupid feminist principles.  “Well, it’s not really. But I suppose if you were at school or something and you were naked, it might be rude, because other people don’t want to see you naked?”

I’m floundering and she knows it.  “Does Mrs Edgar not want to see me naked?”

Mrs Edgar is our next door neighbour, and Flea adores her. When Flea is naked, and getting into her pyjamas at bedtime, she often shouts out of the bedroom window to say goodnight to Mrs Edgar.

So I say, “I’m sure Mrs Edgar doesn't mind seeing you naked darling, because you are beautiful, but if you went outside to see her and you were naked it might be cold. So it probably wouldn’t be a very good idea, would it?”

“What about Mr Edgar?”

Oh, it’s like driving off a conversational cliff, and my brakes have failed. “Erm, I don’t know that Mr Edgar would want to see you naked.”

“I think he would.” She adds, with conviction: "Because Grandma says I have a lovely bottom."

I should probably mention at this point that Mrs and Mr Edgar are our neighbours. They are also the head teacher and deputy head teacher of the private school that Flea will be attending from next month. 

So I'm starting a sweepstake: how many days before Flea chirps up one day in class: "My Mummy says Mr Edgar wants to see me naked"?

Let's Play Mummy Lingo Bingo

For those who don't know this about me: I'm a journalist.

Like most journos, I've spent time working in newsrooms. Nowhere teaches you to swear better than a newsroom. I became a prolific pro-swearer in my 20s - if there's a better compound swear word user than me, I've never met them.

But at the age of 30, something weird happened to me. I had a baby. That wasn't the weird thing (well, not the weirdest, at any rate). No - the weirdest thing was that overnight, I acquired a completely new vocabulary. I found myself using words that no sane adult uses in regular conversation.

To reassure myself that I'm not alone, I've invented Mummy Lingo Bingo - a brand new game where we identify how many of these random words we only use around our children. Like I used to say "dirty" but now I find myself using the word "mucky" on a daily basis. Seriously? Who says mucky??

How many of these words or phrases have you used this week? Bonus points awarded if you score a complete dozen.

• "Goodness me!" (I'm sure I used to have a ruder version of that)
• "Beddy-byes"
• "Shoot."
• "Jim-Jams" (oh, the shame)
• "And what do you say?"
• "Lovely manners"
• "Good try!"
• "Eat up!" (c'mon - have you EVER said that to anyone over 5?")
• "toes-ies"
• "shift your bottom"
• "scootch up"
• "We don't do that, do we?"

I'll say this though - if you ever catch me using the phrase "nicky-noo-nahs" instead of "knickers" (that beauty comes courtesy of my sister-in-law) then you have my permission to shoot me. I have some  standards, after all.

I See Bad People...

Flea and I went to Chester Zoo last week for her birthday treat. Flea loves the zoo. Well, strictly speaking, Flea loves monkeys. So Chester Zoo is always a good day out.

It was pretty busy, but I let Flea run pretty free at the zoo – after all, they keep most of the animals that eat children in cages these days. But I caught one mother giving me a pointed look as she chastised her own pre-schooler for not holding her hand. “Don’t you know how many bad people there are here who could hurt you?”

Oh dear. This isn't quite the approach I take to personal safety with Flea. Of course, we're not anarchists. We do have some special “outdoor” rules in our house. They apply any time we’re outside, except if we’re near a road or car park. They are:

Rule 1: Wherever you are, you have to be able to see Mummy.
Rule 2: There are no other rules.

Yes, I admit it: I’m a believer in controlled risk. This is a fancy way of saying I think it’s important that Flea gets skinned knees once in a while or even walks into a lamp post because she’s too busy looking for sea lions (unfortunate, but so funny).

Controlled risk is how I shocked an Other Mother at the church family fun day this summer when I watched Flea roll down a small slope of grass onto the driveway. "What if she bangs her head?" said the Other Mother, in horror. "Erm, it'll hurt?" I replied.

By allowing Flea the freedom to explore situations,  I figure she has a better chance of making good choices when she finds herself in a situation where Mummy isn't to hand.

Also, if you’re not constantly holding hands with a child, it makes it much easier to whistle innocently and pretend you aren’t with them when they shout, “MUMMY LOOK AT THESE WINDOWS ON THE MONKEY CAGE, THEY’RE EVEN GRUBBIER THAN THE ONES ON OUR CAR!”

How to be … a Mummy Blogger

I’m not sure why I’m writing this given that my blog is, erm, about a month old.

But I've just been given an award by the lovely Brits in Bosnia, and someone called me a "prominent blogger" today. Well, that might have been what he said, there was a bus going past at the time - it's entirely possible he was talking about my secret desire to work for the Forestry Commission (true story).

Anyway, lots of people have been in touch asking how they can get a bigger audience, how they can attract more comments and how they can get their blogs into the top 100 parent blog index.

When I thought about it, I realised that I’ve been blogging in various places for well over five years now, so I’ve probably picked up the odd useful bit of information along the way. So if you’re interested, here’s my *cough* wisdom on blogs. Feel free to add your own advice for blogging newbies in the comments:

1. Be true to yourself. Without a doubt, the blogs that I’ve worked on that haven’t succeeded have been those without a real identity, or where I felt uncomfortable about the subject matter or business. I think people respond on quite an instinctive level to writing that’s honest and real – that’s so much more important than perfect grammar.
2. Don't be lazy. Some bloggers think you can just throw up some random article you've got lying around in the virtual cupboard and people will magically want to read it. I just don't think it works that way. Blog posts need to be timely (there's a reason you posted about topic X today), they need to be personal (there's a reason why you have a specific perspective on this topic) and they need to invite discussion (it needs to be an issue or challenge other people are likely to have experienced or have an opinion on).
3. Read other blogs. I read hundreds of blogs, as well as magazines, papers and books. Everything from Lainey Gossip and D-Listed to technology blogs, news blogs and Mummy blogs. My feed reader is seriously over-stuffed, but I love it.
4. Get stuck in. I write blogs for companies, and one of the biggest mistakes they make is asking me to quote for writing X posts per month. I always refuse, because posting is only part of blogging. For me, a blog isn’t just something you write. It’s your gateway into a community – if you don’t read other blogs, comment on those blogs and link to those blogs, you’re not part of the community and why should anyone pay attention to you?
5. Don’t forget the pretty. You don’t have to be a designer, but do think about the layout of your pages, the colour of links, the position of pictures, how text will be formatted. Always preview posts before publishing them – how do they look? Is your blog easy to read?
6. Make it easy to comment. I’ve lost count of the number of blogs I don’t comment on because it’s too much hassle. I don’t want to join anything to comment on your blog, thanks.
7. Manners. If people comment on your blog, always respond and thank them. Even if they’re disagreeing with you, it’s polite to acknowledge the time they’ve spent reading and thinking about your post. I’m always disappointed if I return to a blog where I’ve commented and the author hasn’t acknowledged me.
8. Advertise. People sometimes find blogs by serendipity, but putting your blog on your business card, in your email signature, on your website on Technorati, Facebook and Twitter won't hurt either.
9. Think SEO. Think about what ‘key words’ describe your blog, and its content. Try to use those key words in opening sentences, in final paragraphs, in Technorati and keyword tags for each post, and in the tags accompanying images on the blog. Make it easier for people to find you.
10. Have a passion. Of course, none of this means anything if you forget to have fun - you're blogging because you want to communicate and share ideas. Don't get so caught up in promoting a business venture or chasing traffic that you lose that - because it's easy to see when someone's heart isn't in a blog, and it's no fun to read.

Flea: a scam artist in the making

"Don't make me go to nursery, Mummy. I will just play on my own quietly while you work."

This is what Flea said to me at 8.52am this morning as we prepared to get into the car with the cereal in a cup (today: Weetabix and raisins).

We arrived at nursery and Flea trudged in next to me, looking for all the world like I was about to pack her off to a Soviet labour camp. When the staff asked about her birthday and what presents she'd got, Flea just shrugged, in a world-weary way, and began to cry.

One of the nursery staff swept Flea into her arms for a cuddle and I backed out of the room as Flea reached over the woman's shoulders,  sobbing, "Mummy, please don't leave meeeeee...."

Nightmare.

I've got loads of work on at the moment, and I know logically that Flea has to be in nursery so I can get it done but, oh, that face. She does crying really well - no snot or unattractive scrunching up - she just lets tears roll down her perfect little cheeks while looking unbelievably sad. It breaks my heart just to look at her.

As I was going out of the front door of the nursery I saw my friend Ann with her little girl. "Hello Anya," I said. "I think Felicity is feeling a little sad, perhaps you could go and play with her to cheer her up?"

Two minutes later, I got a text from Ann:  Couldn't find Flea at first. She was outside on top of the slide shouting: "I am Captain Hook and you are all the crew of my pirate ship Ya-HAAARRRR!" Think she's ok.

She's either a future Meryl Streep or Frank Abagnale.

Happy Birthday, Flea!

Dear Flea,

Happy 4th Birthday.

Sorry I didn’t manage to buy the exact presents you asked for – a live monkey and a black cat called Thomas. Also, I couldn’t find a birthday cake with a dinosaur being ridden by a monkey. Sucks to be you, I know. Still, I hope the guitar is fun.

You don’t know this, but at midnight I sneaked into your room to watch you sleeping when you turned four. Technically, you'll turn 4 at about 11.30am, but you get freaked out when I stare at you for extended periods of time, so I took the easier option. I’ve got to say, you snore a bit and that looked horribly like snot on your Star Wars pyjamas, but you still looked like a miracle.

Four years ago, I was in a hospital bed, prodding my stomach and shouting “Get out already, you little leech!” Sorry about that. Still, I think it’s good that I didn’t raise your expectations of my parenting skills too highly.

My excuse is that I couldn’t wait to meet you, and I just wanted to know you’d arrived safely in the world. In the 40 weeks it took for you to cook, we went through 12 haemorrhages, 11 ultrasound scans and several medical procedures that involved a doctor with very large hands pointing a torch at the top of your head – while you were inside my womb. I’m saving the details of that particular story until you ask why you don’t have a baby brother or sister.

So, now you’re four. It’s been a good year, probably my favourite so far. Definitely top three.

You managed to swim a whole length of the pool for the first time; although the discovery of how to fill your cheeks with water and then slap them to create a personal fountain could probably have waited a year or two.

You’ve also learned about traffic this year. You love pointing out road signs, reminding me to use petrol not diesel (it’s like you know me, or something) and saying “It’s green Mummy, you have to go now”. Also, a more recent skill – identifying traffic jams and roadworks and using the phrase: “Oh good grief, why aren’t you moving, you great prawn?” Can’t imagine where you picked that one up, mind.

This was also the year I discovered you like to get up in the middle of the night and line up your soft toys, so you can do a performance for them. Hearing you singing “Nobody loves me, nobody seems to care…” in your best BB King voice might actually be the best thing I’ve ever heard at 2.30am.

At four, you can build a sandcastle, bowl a strike, turn three forward rolls in a row and your series of drawings of “monkeys in space” was, frankly, quite brilliant.

I can’t wait to see what adventures we have next year.

With Love,

Mummy
x

ps: I think I’m finally ready to forgive you for the stretch marks. I’m still working on forgiving the pregnancy-related increase in shoe size that meant my fabulous Pied a Terre boots became useless overnight. Maybe next year.