Who's the Mummy?

...So we sat in the house and massacred innocent civilians.

It was a quiet day in Playmobil-land. Children raced go-karts, while mothers kept a loving eye on little ones, cosied up in their prams. A friendly policeman chatted with a child, while in the background, small dogs and cats playfully chased one another.

Who'd have thought, on an ordinary day, in an ordinary town, unimaginable danger was just around the corner?

 

Yes, that is a baby the dinosaur is eating.

I can't quite decide if it's a good or a bad thing that Flea came up with this lovely tableaux without anyone else's help. The whole "people lying on the floor while police and paramedics look on helplessly" thing? All her own imagination.

(ps  we're decorating, hence the dodgy wall coverings.)

Too wet to go out, too cold to play ball....

It’s been a busy old week. I had a book deadline, plus a former client snark up (technical term) my websites. So I've been typing like mad, trying to rescue my website and attempting to disentangle myself from the client relationship with dignity intact and no bodies in the basement.

As of last night though, my website was finally unlocked, the client has been sent all the handover files, and I was looking forward to a few days off with Flea and the chap.

Except – torrential rain. Ugh.

Flea looked out of the curtains this morning as I lay in bed trying to convince her it wasn’t morning. “It’s a horrible, horrible day.” Pause. “Unless you have Wellingtons.”

So we’ll probably head out this morning for some puddle splashing but when that gets old (after about 10 minutes) we’ll be back indoors. Since Flea doesn’t watch television except for the odd movie, I’m sometimes a bit stuck for indoor activities when the weather’s bad.

Here are Flea’s top three indoor games, but I’d love your recommendations. I suspect my own childhood favourite game of “taking the mattress from Mum and Dad’s bed and riding it down the stairs” may fail 2009 health and safety standards….

Game 1: Camping.
Flea adores camping. This game involves putting lots of toys in to your backpack, and wandering round the house until you find your tent (£6, Ikea, complete bargain). Then you get into the tent and unpack your bag, and make a campfire feast. Mothers are permitted to bring sandwiches, of course.

Game 2: Drawing
Flea also likes drawing. When I say Flea likes drawing, of course what I really mean is “Flea likes to take out tubes of glitter and spread them over the dining table where, it turns out, they can only be removed by sandpaper”. Sometimes, for a change, it means "Flea likes to stick stickers to your newly sanded floorboards where they can only be removed with white spirit." I HATE drawing.

Game 3: Playmobil
Basically, Playmobil has saved my life. Flea adores Playmobil and can be entertained for an entire day by her little people. She particularly likes knights and pirates (obviously) but she also has a strange habit of taking out all the Playmobil children and one adult, and then making the adult tell every child they are very, very naughty, spanking them and sending them back to bed in the toy box. If a social worker ever sees this role play, I fear bad things might happen.

Flea's first school report: the highlights

Flea has now finished her first year at pre-school, and her teacher dropped off her file today.

This includes a regular school report. Apparently, Felicity - Flea's official name -  is a “lovely little girl who is polite and sensible at all times”.

But the file also includes dozens of Flea’s drawings together with lots of photographs the staff have taken throughout the year. Each photo is accompanied by a little anecdote to tell me what she was doing and saying at that particular moment.

It’s a really, really lovely idea – especially since if I ask Flea what she did at pre-school between the hours of 9am and 5pm the answer is usually “I can’t remember” or a detailed recollection of the lunch menu!

I thought I’d share my favourite photo and anecdote from the file.

So young to learn the harsh lesson that boys often get your hopes up, only to be distracted by something more exciting:

No, I don't want to give my child a 'head start', thanks.

When we moved to Lancashire, Flea and I signed up to a variety of activity groups, hoping to meet some other Mums and kids.

On one level it was a resounding success – we met some great Mums at swimming, and I knew I’d get along with the local vicar the moment I clapped eyes on the Photoshopped picture of him with two bikini clad vixens on his bathroom wall.

But on another level, it’s all rather depressing, isn’t it? 

“Give your child a head-start in the classroom!” chirrups one website, before moving on to a series of facts and figures about educational underachievement, with the unspoken assumption that if your child ends up with no GCSEs, shooting up heroin in a Camden bedsit, it’s probably because you didn’t do enough to nurture his pre-literacy and communication skills.

At one activity class, I watched as a group of mothers tried to keep their toddlers focused on a series of small pictures, trying to match rooms with objects, and spotting things that rhymed.

Flea, like the impeccable three year old she is, gathered up all of her pictures, announced “These are my birthday party invitations” and proceeded to ‘post them’ through an imaginary letterbox, throwing them exuberantly across the room.

When I admonished her with the words “You’ll end up at a third-rate polytechnic at this rate,” I’m not entirely sure the class leader realised I was being ironic.

When I told another class leader it wouldn’t occur to me to be impressed by a three-year-old knowing all their letters, I got a lecture about “the downward spiral of educational achievement”. Pfft.

Not that all activity classes are evil, of course. Flea and I have been swimming since she was 10 weeks old - she was about 16 weeks when the photo on this post was taken - and hand on heart, she’s had a great time and still loves swimming. But the key is that we’d go swimming even if there weren’t any ‘benefits’. It’s just fun, and we both really enjoy it.

If Flea follows my example, she’s got 17 years of full-time education to look forward to. I don't care about boosting her academic performance just yet, thanks. I care that she’s learning to sit on a big swing on her own, she’s got great manners and she can create an entire imaginary world using nothing more than a tea towel and a box of Playmobil. Oh, and she’s now able to go downstairs and get her own cereal in a cup while I stay in bed.*

What do you think? What activities have you really enjoyed with your little ones?

* ps - not really.

7 Things I Hate About You...*

Well, it's my first meme here at Who's the Mummy, courtesy of Emily over at  Maternal Tales, who understands that I left my heart in Brighton. I have to list seven of my personality traits, and then pass on the meme to seven other blogs. So, here goes:

• Inappropriate. I must confess to having frequent, inappropriate thoughts about Robert Pattinson, even though he's a whole decade younger than me, and it's all sorts of wrong. I have a post-graduate diploma and a mortgage, but I still want to ruffle his mop-top. I've seen Twilight more times than I care to admit. Not sure I'd go this far, mind (safe for work).
• Obsessive. I have a touch of the OCD. I alphabetise my spice rack, all my tins in the cupboard are facing front, Sleeping with the Enemy style, and my CDs are organised by artist and genre. I find imposing order gives me a sense of control in a chaotic world. Also, it looks pretty.
• Practical. I don't own an iron, but I do have an impressive toolkit and selection of power tools. This is what comes of growing up with a single mother - you learn how to wire a plug and use a belt-sander, but you can't make a cupcake to save your life.
• I don't have rows. Ever. I always think people who say "names will never hurt me" are stupid. It's the cruel things people say that we remember for all our lives, and are most wounded by. So I try to never speak in anger. I'm much more likely to just decide I don't want to speak to someone any more, and that's that.
• Sarcastic. Apparently, people say I'm sarcastic. I just don't see it myself.
• Indecisive: I used to be a really decisive person - I moved from London to Brighton on the strength of one episode of Phil & Kirsty. But a cataclysmic marriage breakdown before your first anniversary kinda leaves you doubting your ability to make good choices. Flea is currently registered at five schools while I decide which one to send her to (in, erm, 6 weeks) and my life is one long round of, "Yes, but I'm just not completely sure it's the right way to go.."
• Different. When I left school, my headmistress filled in a character statement saying I was "idiosynchratic". I thought it was the best compliment ever. I now spend an awful lot of time trying to teach Flea that on the list of things to worry about, "fitting in" should be somewhere towards the bottom, right above "have I ironed my socks?"and "what if Katie and Peter never work it out?"

Now I need to nominate 7 blogs I'd like to see do the same, and I'm nominating: Brits in Bosnia, Baby Baby, And 1 More Means 4, Clarey Babble, Four Down Mum to Go, Raving Mary, and Parent Dish - because they're all new on this month's top100 index.   Over to you, ladies.

* and if you get the song reference, you should be ashamed of yourself. Think on.

Everything you wanted to know about me and Flea - by Flea

It's been a week since we launched our new blog, and we're so excited - over 1,000 visitors! Amazing.

I feel a responsibility to be entertaining now I know I have an audience, but since I had a child, I figure I can leave that sort of thing mostly to her.

So, I canvassed Flea today on the things we should tell our readers about us.

I hope you'll agree we covered all the major bases, including this wonderful illustration of Flea and Mummy, by Flea. I should point out - my hair does NOT look like that.

Our names: Aiden the Monster  and Sally (Flea has been going by the name of Aiden since last December. Does anyone else's kid do this?)

Our ages: 3 and 22 (in case I didn’t mention it yet, I love my kid)

What we want for our birthdays: Mummy wants a new car because she was driving fast and broke our black car and now she doesn't like the car we have because it is green. I want loads of things, but mostly I want a monkey that I saw on the floor yesterday. I think someone dropped it off a trampoline. 

Our Best Friends: Peter and Thomas. Peter helps me do things that are hard, and Thomas is kind. Sometimes at school I play with Joshua and Aidan and Max and Charlie, but now it is the holidays.

We like to eat: Biscuits. But we like every sort of thing to eat.

We don’t like to eat: tomatoes, salad, mushrooms. Mummy doesn’t like things that are disgusting like pretend cheese and pepperami.

Our favourite game: Pirates. One of you is a pirate and the other one is a tiger. The tiger has to say “RAAAH” and then he squishes the pirate. That’s how you play.

What we want to do as a job: Mummy works on a computer, and I want to be a pirate, a knight or a burglar.

Our favourite toy: Mummy likes her iPod but my favourite is my Skeleton figures.

What makes us happy: I make Mummy happy and she makes me happy.

What makes us sad: When someone is naughty and they break something. Or if a puppy ate our biscuit.

What makes us cross: People who steal money from monkeys. (what???)

Friday Night's Alright for Fighting

There are stacks of advice books on how to deal with toddler fights and disputes. Does anyone know if there’s one for grown-ups?

I moved to my small town about 18 months ago, and soon met two local mums, H and P. They've been friends for years, and work together.

We've recently fallen out in that spectacular way that women do, with lots of swearing and shouty tears (not mine, I hasten to add, I'm far too Northern for public displays of emotion).

It's basically a story of jealousy. I became friends with H and P soon after arriving in town, but it quickly became apparent that P didn't like me spending time on my own with H. To make matters more awkward, H had unresolved issues with P, and after a couple of drinks would become rather indiscreet, telling me about all the slights her friend inflicted on her, from criminal selfishness down to demanding the Tesco clubcard points when they went shopping.

Eventually I reached a point where I didn't want to be in the middle any more, and I said so. Of course - you can tell what's coming, right? - H and P were shocked by my suggestion. The loyal, trusty  H had never said a word against her best friend P, while the eminently sensible P would never be bothered by petty emotions like jealousy. Pah. Clearly, I'd made the whole thing up.

It's a stupid situation and I'm just sorry I got mixed up with it, in the first place. But how do I explain this to Flea, when I’ve spent the last couple of years drilling into her the importance of playing nicely, apologising when you’ve fallen out with someone, and never using unkind words?

This weekend, she wanted to go to H’s house to collect a brand new soft toy she’d left there. When I said we couldn’t, she was awake until 1am fretting. Tonight, she asked why she couldn’t go over and play with H’s daughters after school. I was a bit flummoxed, really.

“Well, H and P have been a bit naughty, and I don’t really want to talk to them right now.” (Seriously, is that the worst parenting answer I’ve ever given? There should be a sticker, or something)

“What did they do that was naughty?”she asked.

Hmm. “They were unkind to Mummy and to each other.”

“What did they do that was unkind?” (said in hushed tones, and with those wide eyes that make me feel I just trampled another little part of her innocence underfoot)

"Well..." Must not use swear words, must not use swear words. “They didn’t tell the truth, and I think that’s unkind if it upsets someone.”

"Oh." A pause. "Will we see them tomorrow?"

She went off to bed distracted by the promise of bacon for breakfast, but I really don’t know what she makes of it all. It’s complicated enough to process that sort of thing when you’re 34, let alone when you’re not quite four.

Welcome to Who's the Mummy?

Welcome to my new blog, all about me and my fantastic, feisty (nearly) four-year-old, Flea.

I could do a long introduction to our life, but some of you might know me from my previous blogging at Getting Ink or Totsy's Place. Besides, you'll pick up the important stuff as we go along.

I thought it would be far more useful to start with an inspired-by-Facebook list that will subtly reveal my personality. So here are five random true facts about Who's the Mummy?

1. Despite being 34, I have never owned an iron, ironing board or sewing kit. Seriously, life's too short. 
2. I don't think television gets any better than The Gilmore Girls - although True Blood comes close. 
3. I live in England's whitest, straightest town. Many of my neighbours seem to find this an advantage, but I find it a bit spooky, really. I wonder if there's a shed at the back of the Conservative Club where they keep all the gays, ethnic minorities and socialists.
4. I know people like to moan about their jobs, but mine (journalism) is fantastic. It's just the clients that are a nightmare. 
5. I once dated someone who had four nipples. I know this isn't strictly speaking a fact about me, but I still consider it was worth sharing.