The thing about glitter

Before I had children I imagined happy days making things from old cereal boxes, creating perfect potato cut outs for my well-behaved and well-coordinated children to print perfect pictures on rainy afternoons. We'd sit happily with the paint, glue and glitter and create priceless works of art that would be become life long memories.  Of course if it wasn't raining we'd be outside planting things or searching for acorns or other treasures in the garden.

Don't get me wrong we do do this. A lot as it happens.  I just never accounted for the mess.  Or the fact that glitter gets everywhere and never seems to go up the hoover like all the other dust. Why not? Is it because it is, in fact, fairy dust and therefore surrounds my perfect children like a cloak? I have hoovered about 10 times since Christmas day (and I'm not obsessively clean honestly, I just CAN'T STAND glitter) and still I see the sofa glittering at me or the ancient rug on the living room floor brought to life by a stray speck of the stuff.

11 things about Christmas

The girls were playing a Christmas game last night.  It involved Eliza being Father Christmas and Tilly being a reindeer.  She was, in fact, Daisy the Black Nosed Reindeer.  Of course she was.  They were both cantering about on an empty wrapping paper roll singing jingle bells.  I think it's fair to say they have entered into the spirit of Christmas.

Father Christmas has been talked up a lot in our house, mainly due to his ingenious 'naughty or nice list' which is a piece of parenting gold that I'd challenge any expert to improve upon ("Please don't hit your little sister or you'll be on the naughty list, lazy but effective it must be said.)

But I realised yesterday evening as I was wrapping up presents that maintaining their belief in a mysterious old bloke with a beard and a red suit is rather a responsibility.

All Babies Count

I was contacted this week by the NSPCC about the "All Babies Count" campaign and whilst the facts of it might be uncomfortable for us to read, particularly at a time of year that is so family-oriented I felt it was an important campaign to write about here.  All babies deserve a chance in life don't you think? But about 23 are killed from neglect, substance misuse or abuse each year. 

The campaign is raising awareness of the plight of vulnerable babies. NSPCC research shows that babies are more likely to suffer neglect and abuse and are eight times more likely to be killed than children of any other age. Almost half of all serious cases of abuse and neglect involve children under one, who are particularly susceptible to long-term harm. I know no one wants to read this before Christmas, or at any time really, but it's happening and we can't be blind to it.

The NSPCC is working on a number of innovative programmes to try and prevent the neglect and abuse of babies. But it needs our help to encourage the Government to make more of the vital services available for parents who need support in caring for their child.

The most important element of the campaign is the pledge.  The more people who sign this pledge, the better case the NSPCC has to show the UK Government that more needs to be done to help vulnerable babies. 

You can see the pledge here on the All babies count website: http://allbabiescount.nspcc.org.uk.

Go and visit and sign the pledge. Please. 

And if that doesn't convince you, watch this short video which explains why babies are at risk and what can be done to help them.  

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

During my journey as a mother (I'm not sure I'll ever actually arrive to be honest, but does anyone?), I have heard myself say things that I had sort of hoped I wouldn't.  The old favourite "you should know better" (to a 2 and 4 year old is a bit ridiculous) and the stalwart "I'm not going to tell you again.." which is the most pointless phrase in the history of pointless phrases, since a smart child (such as Eliza) will just say "ok then" and continue doing whatever she was doing with no threat of being told not to.  Pointless.

This morning however, whilst they were eating porridge Eliza declared she didn't like porridge with milk on it, "silly Mummy". And before I'd even thought about what I was saying the age old words came out of my mouth.

"There are children in other parts of the world who don't have very much to eat at all and would be very grateful for your porridge, with or without milk, so eat it up please."

"But Mummy, they might like milk on their porridge but I don't."

"Please just eat it Eliza."

"But I don't LIKE IT!" I looked at her and she was struggling not to cry, her chin was wobbling in the way it does lately when she's trying to be brave.  I had no idea this exchange would have upset her so much.  But then I thought that when you're 4 all you know is what you have, so I sat down next to her and had a bit of a chat about the fact that not everyone has a nice breakfast made for them by their mother (clearly 'nice' is subjective depending on your views on porridge). In a gentle, nice way. She then ate her porridge without complaint, which was frankly amazing.

Anyway, this afternoon we have been roasting chestnuts on the fire.  During the course of lighting the fire Eliza and him indoors were having a chat about changing one's mind (she's keen on this concept lately).

"Daddy I think I've changed my mind about chestnuts."

"Really? You don't want to roast them anymore?" (slightly crestfallen since he'd lit the fire especially.)

"No. I've changed my mind, I want to roast squirrels."

 Fortunately he didn't then go into the garden and wrestle one to the ground and throw it on the fire, he explained that perhaps chestnuts would be a better idea.  She seemed to agree.  

Shepherd's Ate Pie

One of the very best things about being my girls' mother is the conversations we have. The ones in the car are good, or over a meal (I say over quite literally since I am normally dodging something being slung in my direction), but the best are normally when they are in the bath and I'm sat on the loo seat with my feet up on the sink, taking the weight off for ten minutes or so.  Lately the bath has been a 'cafe' and Eliza has been the owner and Tilly the designated 'helper'.  I'm the customer. Clearly.

So what's on the menu I hear you ask?  Well I'm glad you did.

"Mummy tonight you can have eggs, milk and butter. But you don't cook it."

"Sounds lovely. Are you sure you don't cook it?"

"No. And it's got fish in it."

"Mmm..(gag) what's it called?"

"Shepherd's Ate Pie." I can't even think what this might be in real life. Shepherd's Ale Pie? Surely not, I've never knowingly shoved a can of Old Scroat in a shepherds pie for the girls.

Regardless of where it came from she went about the process of 'making' the pie. This involves getting Tilly to fill up an old plastic bottle with bathwater, pouring it into a plastic cup then putting it on the side of the bath, precariously. This bit doesn't always work hence we have a brown stain on the ceiling in the playroom which is below the bath. I was about to suggest moving the 'pie' when Eliza told me this:

"I'm actually a Mummy called Daisy and I'm 82 and she (Tilly) is my daughter called Missy and she's 8."

Tilly had other ideas:

"I'm a barn owl."

"No, you're my daughter." Eliza said, laying down the law.

"Ok." She knows her place.

"You are our brother called Harry and you are 6."  Of course I am.

I think my children are very entertaining. If, when I am 82, I have a daughter who is 8 I might be slightly concerned but their innocence and imagination has me in awe. It never fails to bring me into the here and now, who cares about a tough week at work, Christmas shopping, Little Mix singing a Damion Rice classic and the lack of an oven to cook Christmas dinner when you have little people like these?

Sleep deprivation #552

Not much goes on in the world at 5am.  Most normal people are asleep, Mabel's nowhere to be seen (of course), even the birds seem to be asleep. It's dark, like proper night time dark and it's cold too without the superficial warmth of the central heating. One might say it was not a very nice time to be awake, in fact if you didn't have to be why would you? But for one little girl (one of many I imagine) it's the very best time to be awake. And why keep this fun all to yourself when you have a mummy who's just dying to join in?