Tag Archives: parenting

Parenting lessons are about the Nanny State, not Supernanny

EACH time I go to the doctor, I dread the blood pressure test. Out comes the cuff-of-doom, which just about fits around my chubby bingo-wing before the inevitable nurse-inflicted bruising starts.

As the air is pumped in, I try desperately to be calm. Controlled breathing Hilary, nice thoughts . . . ouch! This blinkin’ hurts!

The result is usually “a little bit higher than it should be.”

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not the most placid of people. My workmates wince at my noisiness, my sons steer me away from potential confrontation in supermarket car parks, my family eye-roll discreetly at whichever particular rant I happen to be on.

They’re used to it, so they know, that much like the popularity Nick Clegg, it will be over as quickly as it began.

Sometimes though, there are issues that bubble and fester in the back of my head without raising my blood pressure to its usual eye-popping level. They build, ominously.

One such issue is the party politicising of parenting.

This week specifically, ‘free parenting classes’ accessed via vouchers given out at Boots (hey, and make sure you spend, spend, spend while you’re in there!)

There’s even meant to be an iPad app, telling you how to change a nappy or cope with teething. *reaches for blood pressure monitor.*

Bad parenting is blamed for everything. It’s our fault kids are fat, it’s our fault they are unemployable, and our fault the country is in debt because we spoiled them on our credit cards in the 90s.

In a bare-faced attempt to look like they give a toss, the government are throwing good money at this instead of actually investing in more and better social workers and health care professionals who already run these services.  It’s a PR stunt, started by previous governments with ‘tsars’ and ‘initiatives’ that saw money disappearing into some quango or ‘facilitator’.

It’s a tricky subject, I know. We read about many children suffering neglect and abuse and how their parents had been ‘badly parented’ themselves. And they come from every social class. The courts can already make parenting orders on those whose criminal neglect sees them in front of a magistrate.

Sure Start centres across the country have been quietly getting on and helping thousands of families who really do need help. Those with post-natal depression, in abusive relationships, or whose extended families have rejected them.

But they are also seeing free services being snapped up by uber-parents; those who over-parent their offspring through the neurotic belief that they aren’t doing it ‘properly’ already, (so the State, or Mumsnet keeps telling them).

Some remember their own strict 1950s-style parents handing out more punishment than hugs, and decide to reverse that behavior towards their own brats offspring. The ones who really need the classes would never go whether they are free or not.

The truth is that becoming a parent is a terrifying and bewildering thing. With some common sense, a good health visitor with more than five minutes to spare, some honest friends with children we don’t detest, and memories about the best parts of our own childhoods, we can just about get through it. Without the Nanny State throwing away money that should be spent on services we already have.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

Hamster’s escape act becoming a talent

IT had already been a frantic evening. And then we lost Jemima the hamster, Billy’s most beloved thing in the world.

Bloke was away that night with work, so I’d collected and fed the kids, put Bonnie to bed, and was trying to fit in a quick shower and slap of make-up before I was due to attend a friend’s leaving do.

I was already an hour late, when Billy, who was being put to bed by babysitter Jed, shouted: “Hey, Jemima’s cage tubes have gone.”

It took a few seconds for this to register. Jemima has two cages, one on top of a very tall bookcase that the kids can’t reach, and a smaller one on a tall chest of drawers. The two are linked by a series of interlinked tubes.

If the tubes had fallen off and Jemima was in the top cage at the time, she’d have an open hole to a very long drop (about 12feet).

If she’d been in the bottom cage, she’d have had an open hole to a five-foot drop.

Half-dressed and with wet hair, I checked she wasn’t hiding in either cage. She wasn’t.

Billy hadn’t started to panic, but he wasn’t far off. Our eight-year-old has a habit of going into wailing hysterics around potential disaster so I wanted to get him out of the room in case we were going to find Miss Jemima had shuffled off this mortal coil to visit the cosy shredded paper nest in the sky.

Billy was dispatched on a very-important-task to another room.

It wasn’t looking good. The tubes were in a disconnected mess all over the floor, but no sign of squished pet. Perhaps she’d been in the tubes when they fell, and they’d hit the shelves, breaking her fall.

I always wondered how hamsters managed to ‘escape’ so frequently, seeing as ours is meant to stay in her sealed cage, unless she’s having her fifteen minutes a day roll around the room in her ball.

The last time Jemima ‘escaped’ (the lid was left open), we found her in the most impossible to reach corner of the boys’ room chewing away on some power cables, having already stuffed a tissue in one cheek pouch and a bit of dirty sock in the other.

I’ve heard stories of them chewing through cages, and into wood, make a Tom and Jerry style hole in the skirting, and then living beyond reach in the wall cavity.

A reader told me of her family’s apparently indestructible hamster who had one night been discovered dodging traffic outside in the street before a keen-eyed neighbor had rescued the tiny pet.

The same hamster eventually met her adventurous end after going missing for two weeks. The children had accepted that Hammy had gone to hamster heaven, when she turned up on the back doorstep, considerably thinner, but unfortunately with two broken legs. Presumably she’d had a fight with a cat and had escaped. Amazingly, after surviving all that time in the suburban wild, her instinct had led her home.

Despite the Second Coming though, the poor thing had to be taken to the vet and, as my reader put it to her kids, ‘transferred indefinitely to the lovely hamster hospital’ (where no visitors are allowed).

I was desperately hoping Jemima was not going to end up in the same place. Semilong cats are pretty tough.

By this stage I’d forgotten about going out and expected to spend the evening comforting a bereaved, hysterical eight-year-old. Then he wanders back into the room, looks under his bed and fishes out a bewildered but fully intact Jemima, as though nothing has happened. (And yes, we DID look there.)

Perhaps the bond between Child and Pet shouldn’t be underestimated. Now would be the time to get Billy to train Jemima up to do tricks, so they form some Ashleigh & Pudsey-style talent act and perform for the Queen . . .

Or maybe not.

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

We’d decided not to bother with the Olympics, but somehow we’ve got tickets

HAVING decided it was all a big waste of money, how unfair it would be not to take all of the kids and that we’d be better off watching it at home, we’ve actually got four tickets to the Olympics.

We had failed to get any in the previous ‘rounds’, but we’d had an email last week giving a last chance to fork out £20 or more per person to see early rounds of events like cycling, swimming and, er, Greco-Roman wrestling.

Bloke and I had decided that getting up at 7am on a Sunday – again – was ridiculous, and that all the tickets would go to those with faster broadband and an actual interest. To be honest, we didn’t feel was worth swapping a much-needed lie-in for.

Bloke would never turn down the chance to see weird masked figures in white bloomers chasing each other with swords (fencing), and our sport-mad boys really wanted to go, but was it really worth applying when we were limited to a maximum of four tickets, for one single event? Forking out £86 before you even factored in the train fare? Bah, Olympics-shlimpics.

Checking email much later, and quite possibly because I’m too stubborn to admit defeat, I stuck in a speculative request for the hockey, the only sport I thought we would agree on. Four tickets, when we’re on holiday anyway (and not going anywhere).

This time the computer tells you straight away if the tickets are available. After two tries, it let us have four for the earliest rounds of the women’s hockey, on a Tuesday, at 7pm. No idea who’s playing, but we’ll be there. If we can think of a simultaneous adventure for Billy and Bonnie that is.

Tickets for those who missed out previously are on sale until May 17, and if there are any left they go on sale on May 23. You might as well try, as you can always sell them back if you can’t get a babysitter. Apparently.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

Yo! It’s a 13th birthday treat

WE now have two teenagers. Those of you who have read my family saga for several years will be no doubt thinking the same as us – where did the time go?

And we’re also thinking: why can’t we understand a word they are saying? And why won’t they pick up the things they drop all over the floor?

Tuesday was Dougie’s 13th birthday. My cuddly little angel of a baby is now officially mumbling his way into adulthood and reminding me he’s old enough to get a Facebook account.

And my, how the tastes of teens have changed. For his birthday ‘treat’ he asked to go to Yo Sushi. Yes, a sushi bar, with a moving conveyer belt of mini dishes rolling past. A potential disaster with children, as you are charged for the plates you’ve picked.

I had visions of them all grabbing, sticking their fingers in or sniffing, and turning their noses up. Instead they were all fabulously behaved, perched on high stools, eating far more adventurously than expected and having a great time.

I’d highly recommend it just for the fun, although beware the bill – all those fun little dishes are colour coded, and while they all cost between £1.80 and £5, that deliciousness adds up. Limit your pinks and greys!

Oh, and the kids loved the dessert plate called dorayaki, but all hated the pink Mochi. It made a welcome change to one of many Pizza Hut visits.

The nearest Yo Sushi is in Milton Keynes. Perhaps we could get one closer to home . . ?

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting, Reviews

School applications – with 400 extra applications and over 400 not getting a first, second or third choice place – councils need to do the maths

IT LOOKS like a huge amount of people didn’t get their children into their nearest primary school this year, and will have to start the soul-sapping job of appealing.

Allocations for secondary places always cause problems, but the primary system is now heaving under the weight of requests. There were over 400 more applications than last year.

The number who did not get ANY of their three choices was 476.

That’s a whole school’s worth of reception-age kids, or roughly 15 class-fulls.

I feel particularly for those who live near a school and haven’t got their eldest child in because they don’t already have a child in the system. But there’s no arguing with the priority for sibling link. It would be heartbreaking, let alone a logistical nightmare, to drop a four-year old off at one school and bus across town to get a six-year-old to school somewhere else.

I know that sounds biased because all four of our offspring have been at the same school since our eldest got a place ten years ago. But I can’t apologise for that. Back then the school wasn’t oversubscribed, as very few schools were. Now it has a waiting list. It is also one of the few that has a nursery and afterschool attached, which means people further away have to choose it.

The plain fact is that the county council has a responsibility to find places for all children and they knew full well the population was rising. They are allowing new houses to be built which are meant to attract families. But new schools are not being built as swiftly as new housing developments.

Since the move from the middle and upper school system almost a decade ago, many schools were closed down, as pupils were crammed into the remodelled primary and secondary schools. The end result is that there simply aren’t enough primary schools in Northampton. There are plenty rotting away in a state of desperate disrepair waiting to be sold, but not enough to house children nearby.

There are lists of all the schools in the county on the county council’s website. They break down how many places were allocated by what criteria. In Northampton there are only two schools that are marked as having places left. The village schools have LOADS with places. But how many families with young kids can afford to move to a village? How long before a village school with spare places is deemed uneconomical and closed too?

Idiotic and largely misleading league tables, coupled with the maddening fiction of ‘parental choice,’ and financial cuts that are seeing fewer teachers employed when there should be more, are all having a detrimental effect on education as a whole.

Investment in nursery places is great but what if there’s nowhere to teach them locally when they actually get to compulsory schooling? Why give parents the chance to go out to work if they’ll have to give up that job in order to get their children to a school half and hour’s drive away? It’s a ridiculous situation.

It is essential that you look at the county council website to work out what to do next, as different schools have different procedures.

If you didn’t get ANY of your choice, I would advise that you ring your three schools and get on their waiting list. You may find that a school has held back places for appeals, and most importantly, when everyone responds to their allocations, more places become available. Which makes it very important that you respond QUICKLY to accept a place if you DID get what you wanted.

Any extra places are re-allocated on May 30, June 20 and July 16, or you may find you get a call literally at the last-minute. A friend’s son had actually been bought uniform for a school further away and the day before term started she was told a place had come up at her nearest.

You should also contact your local councilor, because they should be the ones working to get more schools built-in this town, not sitting back while the weeds and wildlife take over the ones the politicians chose to close.

3 Comments

Filed under Parenting

Why a scar on a girl’s face is different to a boy’s

OUR boys are always nursing some injury or another – stop! Don’t ring social services, they are boys, and they play sport.

I wouldn’t want to generalise and say boys get more scrapes than girls, but having three sons one after another it seemed from the moment they could walk they were scraping knees and elbows. While we’ve been lucky enough so far (*touches wood) to avoid any broken bones, Jed has a large scar on his elbow plus one on his eyelid, Dougie has several on his knees, plus one on his eye, and Billy Whizz seems to be attempting at every opportunity to get a scar of his own.

But while the boisterous boys will expend their energy on the rugby pitch, their self-appointed princess of a sister has her own daredevil streak and is constantly trying to climb things that shouldn’t be climbed or stand on tall objects.

However it was rugby that gave her a major cut recently, not playing it yet, but falling flat on her face while we were watching Dougie play. For some reason she didn’t put her hands out to stop herself and ended up with a cut on her nose and a grazed chin and lip.

While I was obviously concerned, I found myself fussing about potential scarring, and guilty that I was more worried about our daughter having a scar than I’d been about our sons. Boys can wear scars and scabs with pride. Girls get neurotic and self-conscious about them. Especially when they are right in the middle of your nose.

She’s not bothered, although when I said she mustn’t pick at it or she’d get a scar on her nose, she was instantly concerned. I’d forgotten that to a four-year old, Scar is the baddie in the Lion King . .

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

Are we being ripped off if VAT-free ‘children’s’ clothing only goes up to age 12?

WHEN your children are babies, or pre-school, it feels like they cost more money than you could ever earn.

Nappies, special food, prams, cots, car seats, milk, clothes that they grow out of in a week and then perhaps nursery fees that cripple the family budget – even though childcare staff are among some of the lowest paid workers.

You know that when they come out of nappies, or start school, the bills should reduce, shouldn’t they?

School uniform is an expensive business, even when you don’t have to buy for three (or in our case, four from September). But at least we are told children’s clothes aren’t subject to 20 per cent VAT.

But what constitutes children’s clothes? Under 14, apparently.

Our eldest is 14, his brother just about to turn 13. Still children, right?

Not when it comes to clothing I’m afraid. My kids aren’t enormous, pretty average in height, but the eldest both measure in at size 14-15. Many of their friends their age have been six-foot tall for some time already, and they aren’t even 15 yet. Their parents will already have been doing what we are now having to do: buy them clothes and shoes intended for adults.

Jed and Doug in cheaper attire

The choice of clothes for boys aged 11-16 is very limited. Unlike girls, who seem to have racks of options, few clothing stores seem to cater for teen boys, which seems bonkers to me when they are more fashion conscious than ever before. They are also having frequent growth spurts not seen since they were newborns, and seem to need new trousers and shoes every other fortnight.

Why are the retailers so terrible at catering for them? Surprisingly, Next is rubbish for boys over 10, as are M&S, BHS, TK Maxx, John Lewis, Matalan, Debenhams, Primark, New Look and the supermarkets.

H&M are one of the few places I don’t have a fight on my hands when shopping, but they aren’t well stocked or cheap. As for shoes, they both have bigger feet than me and I have to now pay adult prices for adult-sized shoes (although half-decent children’s shoes are sometimes more expensive than adults’ anyway).

Adult clothes don’t quite fit either. The legs are too long, the tops too baggy, but it’s all we can get.

So who is getting the benefit of this zero VAT? Someone’s missing a trick.

Our kids have always had to put up with hand-me-downs, except Jed as the eldest, but even he has to wear second-hand now. Don’t tell him, but I’ve found that I’ve shrunk so many items of Bloke’s clothes they now fit his sons.

Thankfully, for the kids, he’s not quite got to the elasticated trouser and cardigan stage yet.

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

Interesting graphic about girls and science

Girls in STEM
Created by: EngineeringDegree.net

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

Fifty things for kids to do? Don’t try this at home

THERE was a report (tenuous press release) this week about the ‘bucket list’ of 50 things children should do before they are 12, which included making mud pies, flying kites and collecting frogspawn. My lot, despite being townies, have ticked off most of the things on the list (except perhaps hunting fossils and ‘geocaching.’)

They take great pleasure in getting as mucky as possible at the allotment, have to camp every year, get let loose in parks and gardens at every opportunity and love beach exploring at their grandparents.

I mentioned to the kids that there were many things I did as a child that I certainly wouldn’t want them doing before they were 40, let alone 12. Then I couldn’t actually tell them for fear it would give them ideas.

However, for your eyes only, (look away kids, and my Mum and Dad) here’s a few things you won’t see on a children’s must-do list:

Make a ‘death slide’ over a fast running stream while trespassing on an angry farmer’s land;

Search the ashtrays in the cars in the village garage for used fag butts – and then dare each other to smoke them,

Remove half bottles of dad’s homebrewed wine and top it up with water, replacing the corks with a hammer,

Accept rides from older teenagers on motorbikes, even if it is ‘just across a field,’ or

Lie under jumps while your horsey friends – on their horses – jump over you.

It’s a wonder most of us with free-range childhoods are still here to tell the tale.

Leave a comment

Filed under Parenting

How my garden was obliterated in less than three seconds

IT has taken eight years to develop my shady, urban, child-infested back garden, but it took less than three seconds to destroy it.

At around 1.30am on Sunday, I was woken by what felt like the house shaking. Or was it just a dream? My nocturnal other-half came to bed a few minutes later.

“The wall in the back garden has collapsed,” he muttered, before rolling over and attempting to go to sleep.

That wasn’t going to happen. I was wide awake. I went to peer out of the children’s bedroom window to see what he was talking about. It was too dark.

Downstairs to the window nearest the garden. All I could see was a sheet of the climber hydrangea petiolaris, hanging forlornly in a sheet, not clinging to much at all.

As I peered I could see . . .well, not the garden anymore. Just a sheet of bricks. It was an extraordinary sight. Like an instant patio.

. . . after

To be honest, I cried. Yes, I know it’s just a garden and the fact it happened in the night meant everyone is still alive (it would have killed anyone in the garden, it fell so fast), but after recent nocturnal misadventures, like the car getting squashed and finding a strange drunk man asleep in the dining room, it just feels like we are cursed by bad luck.

Self pity? Yeah, but it took me eight years to build that garden. I write about it as a garden journalist. So no, I don’t feel very laid back about it at all.

The wall was too tall. A Victorian garden wall, bordering the large garden of our neighbouring house’s garden really, all the way around their’s, just one border on ours. It had stood for over 120 years, and yet collapsed in one devastating sheet of bricks, covering the right hand garden border and our entire lawn. A lawn the kids had been playing on just 36 hours earlier.

The following morning it felt unreal to see it. Huge amounts of brickdust covered all the plants and the neighbours’ outside lights, strung presumably on their side, where the ground is a foot or so higher than on ours. Like a horticultural Becher’s Brook.

I couldn’t even start to organise what to do next, as sons needed taking to rugby matches and general life needed to go on as normal.

Bloke spoke to the neighbours the next day. Discussions, apparently, that involved talking to our respective insurance companies. I rang them, they said they’d get back to us. They did, only to tell us the wall wasn’t covered because nothing had hit it, “like a car or something.” Unsurprisingly, getting cross and emailing them the photos didn’t make any difference.

Since then it’s been raining solidly, and each morning when I get up and look out of the window at the missing garden, a little part of my soul wizens. Under all those bricks, somewhere, along with all the other crushed plants, is a snowdrop named ‘Bonnie Scott’, named after my daughter.

What to do next? I can hardly face it.

3 Comments

Filed under Gardening