Thames Valley Mums Blog

Becoming a working girl

No, I'm not planning to drop my (considerably more expansive post-children) knickers and go on the game (it's not an issue of morals; the pension plan just doesn't measure up to the public sector) but I do need to re-join the rat race. I left work in 2006 when, six months into my first pregnancy, my waters unexpectedly broke, and I haven't been back since. I merged seamlessly from one maternity leave to another, having my children in batches, like a hamster. Two and a half years on the coffers are empty, and unless we want to teach the kids early on how to fend off the bailiffs, it's time to go out and earn some cash.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

I am sat here at my desk wondering why everything has to be so hard all the time. Already this morning I have had two things that have made me roll my eyes in exasperation and it is only 11.00! It has been the same for the last few days so I am going to catalogue my woes in a cathartic and cleansing manner (how very new age of me).

It all started last Tuesday morning, I get up, have breakfast, make packed lunch for K and I and then totter off into the bathroom to have a shower. I turn it on and the bloody thing didn't work. The water pressure was too low for it to run. I therefore have to have a strip wash and wash my hair over the sink. I rang the water company, to be told that no one has reported any problems and they will look into it.

Coffee mornings and threadworms

I love coffee mornings. Women get together and discuss all sorts of things that they wouldn’t dream of mentioning on the playground or at a dinner party.

This week the topics drifted from Sarah Palin (the UK is actually frightened) to Jerusalem artichokes (I had no idea!) to threadworms.

My ears perked up when the discussion turned to threadworms. It’s one of those topics people don’t often talk about in public, like flatulence, headlice, and sex.

It turns out that threadworms (knows as "pinworms" in the US) are quite common in the UK, and most of the mums at the coffee morning had dealt with them at one point. Oh, my.

It's been taxing

Just touching base to let you know that I have battled my resistance to all things numerical. Yes, I am finally doing my first set of accounts.

Urgh.

More a words than a numbers kinda gal, I haven't really kept any accounts to speak of since I started freelancing last September. Which makes it rather tricky to do my tax return. No, not tricky...

BORING.

So, I have just chucked all my receipts away (only those for the small stuff) which has saved me hours, if not days, of being a spreadsheet slave.

The quick start guide to creating a fab mummy blog

Mummy, or "mommy" blogging, a huge phenomenon in the US, is just starting to take hold in the UK. A staggering 36 million women worldwide participate in "blogosphere" every week and fifteen million women have their own blogs. A growing number of these women are British.

I've put together this guide to help mums who are interested in creating a blog, but have no idea where to start. I assume a bit of technical savvy (such as you know how to surf the Internet) but in no way do you have to be an IT expert. I'm not, and trust me, if I can do it, so can you.

So what are you waiting for? Sit back, have a read and get blogging!

How I learnt to embrace pink

This is a photo of Lily at six months and you’ll notice something…there is not one pink thing in sight.  I’d banned it from the moment I discovered I was having a girl.  Friends and family could buy clothes and toys in white, at a push lilac or yellow BUT NO PINK was to ever enter my house.

Of course everyone thought she was a boy and in the end I’d just tell well meaning old ladies that her name was Harry just to avoid the question of why she was in jeans and a t-shirt.

Let me explain my aversion, I was a 1970’s tomboy as a child and I loved climbing trees, riding bikes and playing in mud.  Pink was not a colour that was terribly practical for any of those activities.

A little boy's dream: the London Transport Museum

Where do you take a train, plane, bus and car mad three-year-old for his birthday in London?  Why, The London Transport Museum in Covent Garden, of course! This was Boy #2's treat of choice last week.  Admittedly, they don't have airplanes there, but as a place where you can spot practically every other mode of transport in London, it ticked all his boxes.
 
The Transport Museum is tucked away in the South East corner of the Covent Garden Piazza, and is easily reachable by tube.  As a family-friendly destination, they don't come much better than the Piazza, with it's host of shops and stalls on the galleries in the restored old Covent Garden vegetable market, the street entertainment on offer in and around it, the (admittedly pricey) restaurants and bars when you need refuelling, and the simple pleasure of being outdoors in what I personally find an exciting, buzzy and vibrant part of town.  Add the Opera House, the local theatre, and the Transport Museum to the mix and this are becomes one of the top tourist attractions in London.  

Flowers, bits and the nether region

Since the moment I knew I was pregnant (and technically before that point, but let's keep this clean) goings-on below the bikini-line have been uppermost in my mind. Following the arrival of my little bundles of fun, I've changed more nappies and wiped more boy-bits and girl-bits than I've had gin and tonics; and I've needed a fair few of those since their arrival...

As the children grow up I have become ever more aware of the words I use when I'm with them; conscious that I am shaping the future vocabulary of my ultra-absorbent audience. Over the last couple of years I have managed to phase out swearing almost completely, replacing the profanities with a range of 'blimeys' and 'botherations' that would bring credit to a vicar's wife.

With this in mind, my thoughts have turned to what to call my childrens' nether regions. My little boy is easy; he has a willy, in common with most other boys in his peer group.

It's all over...

Thank God that is all over. Is that a terrible thing to say? I think just about every day over the past two weeks has felt like it lasted forever.

For this is what happens in our household. We all get up late relatively late as there is no school. This is good. What’s not good is that a) the baby has turned in to a wailing machine which means I have been up and down with her every night for what seems like weeks. I hear her at about midnight, then 2am, then 4am. She has a hacking cough which wakes her up and then she starts wailing.

‘Mama, mulk,’ she says.

I then get up and stumble trip downstairs and find her and find her a clean bottle and then warm up some milk and try to force cough mixture down her. Then I put her back in her cot with her warm bottle.

My girl's got heart

Yesterday, Ella and I were settled on the sofa sharing a fleece blanket.

She had just finished playing with her virtual Pony on her Dad's Nintendo DS (which she has negotiated part shares in). I was slipping into the salty sea air of Coastliners (you haven't read Joanne Harris? Do).

A soft silence snuggled around us.

After a few minutes, Ella mused "I wonder what I was born for, Mummy".

Duvet days

Once upon a time, four child-free days would have been a dream come true. Nowadays I dread sending my little dears off - it happens much too often and gives me much, much too much time to think. A friend in a similar leaky boat told me the secret is to keep busy, so I have drawn up the following lists:

Things I would like to do while the children are away

1. Go on a holiday mini-break with True Love. This would involve poking around a scenic medieval capital, browsing the art galleries, having a few delicious dinners under warm, starry skies and generally gazing into each other's eyes in a way guaranteed to sicken any passers-by.

A carnival with dangly bits

Check out the latest edition of the Best of the British Mummy Blogger carnival. It's up at Single Parent Dad.

And yes, this is a momentous occasion, it is the first carnival to be hosted by someone with dangly bits.

It's full of all kinds of stories from the parent blogging community. Some will touch your heart, others will cause you to fall off your chair in laughter.

Thanks to Ian for putting up with the name.

We're always looking for new carnival hosts, dangly bits or not, please read more...

This post was written by Susanna, A Thames Valley Mums Blog founding contributor. You can read more at her blog, A Modern Mother.

Post Christmas analysis

Well, it's over. Again.

Whew!

Here are my Christmas 2008 highs and lows:

Top Ten Highs:

1. My six year old's glee on Christmas Eve when our friends arrived for a drink. It signified for her the start of the actual festivities.

2. Our Christmas goose. I love goose and there is nothing better for Christmas dinner. Nothing.

3. Making homemade mince pies a la Nigella. It took me three days to actually complete the mission but I did it. Yippee!

Fridge traffic

You may not know this but the contents of a fridge has a profound effect on a person's mood. A fridge stocked with lovely things = happy mood (unless you're trying to lose weight, in which case it has the opposite effect).

A soulless, empty fridge with nothing more than a wrinkling cucumber and a hardening piece of cheese might in fact be a direct cause of depression (note: scientific results pending). At Christmas time, given the volume of fridge traffic, it can result in quite alarming mood swings.

I'm willing to share with you the secret diary I keep with my fridge to provide greater insight into the dynamics of a fridge/owner relationship.

The Stonor walk

When I was dating future Scottish hubby, he took me on this walk.

I was in the UK on a quick weekend stop over between Boston and San Francisco.

I'm sure we must have slept late, then gone out for the papers to read with our frothed coffees and buttered toast. I had already half moved in and purchased a Krupp's cappuccino maker, and future hubby was just starting to realize how important the black drug was to me.

That was more than 10 years ago, and I remember taking a photo of the manor home of Lord and Lady Camoys, and later, when I was back in my office in Marin Country, I shared it with my colleagues.