I've become my Mother

Somehow, in the last few months, I have turned into my mother. This is a good thing generally as she is a dynamic, glamourous, fun and loving mum. Yesterday as I was flying around cleaning up flung toast, nibbling on my breakfast, checking email and talking on the phone it struck me: I am now a queen multi-tasker. The mess in the kitchen is no more. The laundry gets done with little time stewing in the basket. The shopping appears at our door like clockwork. The bills are paid [thank you direct debit!] Yes, it has happened: I am a grown woman and master of my household. Just like my mum.

Now, this might be a false sense of security. While I'm feeling all smug and multi-tasky things could creep up on me. I know the usual suspects: the stack of post, the dry cleaning to be taken in, the buttons to be sewn. And not to mention the clothing labels to be ironed in. [Those dastardly hallmarks of modern motherhood!] So I will be vigilant, I will not let the cloth fall from my weary hand or my husband tempt me with compulsive TV. I will be serene, on top of things and always smiling - just like my mum.

Watch this space to see if I can maintain it - if I wasn't all full of the positive mental attitude our American cousins tout I would be hinting that the next post might be titled 'When Hell Froze Over.'

Playground Heaven...or Hell?

Our local council has just proved that old adage: if you build it, they will come. Two years ago, the good people at Thames Water dropped the ball and the local park was flooded with all sorts of unspeakable things. Of course, the worst affected area was the high traffic playground. Fast forward 2 years, numerous consultations (which never seem to work anyway) and about 40 trips to see if the replacement playground was ready and lo! and behold! it is. This quaint little park in the greenbelt conveniently located behind the house is now open for business. It's shiny and earthy at the same time, imitating nature with giant leaves acting as canopies and fish swimming across the matted floor. It has all the usual hallmarks of the playground: slides, swings, climbers and a little bit more. The roundabout is level with the ground. One of the slides is a tandem so it's twice the fun. The paint is glossy. I have to admit that I am really impressed with how far along playground design seems to have come. My little boy loves this new adventure oasis. Unfortunately, so do the local set of rough teens.

Now, I remember what it was like to be a teenager - or at least I think I do ;) I just don't remember the smoking, swearing and general mass disturbance at the ripe age of 13. My husband says that I have blocked out any ruffian-type behaviour that I engaged in, but I'm just not sure that I was as obnoxious as those that are already establishing a toe-hold on this local park. I like to think I'm not alone in having an issue with teens screaming obscenities at the top of their lungs? And call me a prude, but at the age of 13 (if that) is drinking a can of lager in the local park at 2PM really the done thing? Do these children have no respect, no morals...no parents?!!! A playground is for play and for children at play and hey, it's cool if they sneak in at twilight or rough about at night but not when my 18 month old is there in the full shine of day, thank you!

Do you agree? Or am I just totally old school?!

Being Foreign

It's Canada Day today - hurrah (said in a mock English accent!) I was not born on this soil but have called it home for the vast majority of the last 11 years. The UK has been good to me: great husband, lovely fledgling English son, a big job and good friends. It hasn't always been easy though. I am asked everyday where I'm from, or how long I'm staying. I can practically hear people thinking "she's not from here, she doesn't understand" when I question the status quo. [I do this regularly - it seems to be my trademark and am known for it in my social circle. I mean, come on, it's totally acceptable to challenge things which make no sense like no child swimming in the outdoor pool until after 4pm!] Those of us with non-Brit accents stick out. That's fair, I get it, but sometimes it's nice not to be so obviously different. My BFF is also Canadian but spent her early life in Yorkshire and she puts on a cracking accent when speaking to anyone official because it's easier. No questions, no assumptions, no being the other.

Being a foreign mum has resulted in me meeting lots of other foreign mums which is fantastic. I have a wealth of friends who are from all over the place: Bolivian, Mexican, Argentinian, Czech, South African and more. It's like the United Nations at the local playgroup in our corner of South West London. Our kids will grow up English but hopefully proudly declare they're half English and half xxx which is fantastic. My husband and I laugh over whether our son will say 'rooouf' a la Canadian or roff in the English style. Either way, he has a heritage to be proud of, even if his mummy is a little different! Or should I say 'mommy?'

Getting out there

So, apparently to make friends and get reading on Technorati I need to enter this code in a blog - so here goes: rc7jumxvns

Sorry for those of you getting this as a feed. All this technology can be painful but we secretly love it, no?!

Thank god for the organic pouches

Poor sick baby is still that: sick. He is surprisingly spritely in the morning, galloping about with great enthusiasm. He wanes very quickly when it comes to food - should I be suspicious of this?! It seems that poor sick baby only has an appetite for pureed food in those handy pouches. I am of the home-cooked food camp, not feeding the little mite much from the jars. [I grew up in an eastern european and Irish family which involved a lot of guilt when it came to packaged foods. Surprising as the whole family went on to work in the supermarket world. Guilt and indulgence are also hallmarks of this background ;) ] I have always been swayed by the oh-so convenient packaging and organic goodness of these pouches. I admit it, I am sensitive to good advertising and any suggestion that my child won't be getting the best. I used these tempting little baby treats when out and about during the weaning stage, and always keep some handy just in case.

Well, this is 'just in case' now. He won't eat anything prepared by my hands. We're going through lovely home-cooked meals at an alarming rate. They're not going into him, but into the bin after a few half-hearted nibbles, some flinging and a lot of mashing about with the little hands. Not cool. So, I turn to the pouches. He falls on these with an appetite to rival Michael J Fox in TeenWolf [ok, everyone can now guess roughly how old I am] and devours them in seconds. We've even moved beyond the need for such useless implements as a bowl and spoon - he sucks them straight from the pack, kind of like a baby Dracula. Am I being played here? Is he sick? Or, does all this terrible eating herald more teeth?

Did I mention he's been walking since 9.5 months but still has only 10 teeth? His friends are all like baby sharks (as the breast-feeding mums can attest!) and he's gummy still. Hmmm. If anyone's telling you that there's a real schedule for baby development don't listen - they all go at their own rate!

Anyway, I digress. The pouches are flavour of the month and like a good and slightly desperate parent I'm off to the shop to stock up so the fussy sick/teething guy doesn't waste away.

Baby Tip 1: Poor Sick Baby

One would think that after 18 months I should have learned one of the cardinal rules of motherhood: don't try and cajole/forcefeed the baby when they're just not interested. This is because they KNOW when they're not interested. Unlike my good self who can always be tempted with a delicious treat, my little one knows when he's had his fill. And for good reason in my experience: he's feeling sick, or soon will be :( Some kids might just not like the food - but not my little guy.) When there's vehement shaking of the head and 'nononono' passing his lips I should know that it's unwise to press on. But I don't! Last night the poor little mite refused his favourite chilli, then nibbled listlessly at a cheese sandwich and turned his nose up to fruit (always a big winner.)

food refusual = sick baby. Memorise, remember, think silly mummy!

Cue massive sickness on the treasured bear and cosy sleeping bag. Then brief nap and even more on the spare bear and sleeping bag. Crying, dripping nose and general misery which is so heart-breaking. Back to bed and then furious washing ensues - thank god for a tumble dryer.

So, next time I will remember that when food is pushed away it's for a reason. He's not going to starve in the few hours of the hunger strike, and it will pass soon. Water is good if he'll have it.

Oh, and a top smallworldmum tip when dealing with a sick baby: Woolite or other wool detergent gets the smell out of carpet! It took me a long time and lots of consultations with my fellow mums to find a solution that worked!!

Tales of the Lost Hat

Somewhere out there must be a parallel universe stocked solely with the lost hats of toddlers. Tons of hats, floating in space, rubbing up against each other and then gently drifting off. If you were an observer of this universe, you would notice that all of these independent hats are missing one thing: heads for them to go on. The hats must go somewhere right, so this is surely a possible explanation?!

Like many mums I seem to be going through hats at a fierce rate. My little one casts them aside so casually from the pushchair, the red wagon and on the move. Sometimes this is accompanied by an 'oh oh' but usually the hat passes into another dimension with not a peep. Poor hats. Poor parents eternally buying hats. My great friend told me today she reckons she has had 8 hats in the last 6 months. What's the average? let me know so I know that I'm not alone!!!

How many hats have you lost this year? And where do you think they go when they leave your child's head?!