Our Best New Books

Our Best New Books

Father Christmas must know how much we love reading because we got looooaaaaaads of new books for Christmas! They’re all lovely, of course, but there are a few that stand out as being special; modern classics that we will treasure forever. So to give you some inspiration for the new books you and your little ones need in your life, here are our top five:

1.  Helen Stephens, How to Hide a Lion.

When a friendly lion is chased out of town by terrified locals, he finds an unlikely friend in Iris, a little girl who decides to hide the lion in her house. This beautiful book depicts the relationship between child and beast in a manner reminiscent of The Tiger Who Came to Tea (one of our all-time faves) and the vintage-style illustrations are so old-fashionedly gorgeous that I was surprised that this was published in 2012. If you love the innocent charm of Judith Kerr’s books then this is for you. There’s a serious message here, about not making negative judgements and getting to know people before you, you know, chase them out of town with a pitchfork, but the story is so much fun that your little one will want to hear it again and again (and again and again).

2.  Usborne Books, The Story of Coppelia.

Forget those horrible, tinny-sounding “musical” books that you have to hide from your children because the sound drives you crazy. The music in this book, whilst not quite MP3 quality, still manages to sound beautiful because the publishers have used real orchestra recordings. The book tells the story of Coppelia simply, with bright, bold illustrations that children will enjoy, but it’s the music that takes centre stage. Watching Amelia dance to the ballet music was heart-melting, even on a hungover Boxing Day. If there’s a place in your heart that loves ballet, beautiful music, or both, then you will adore this (and you might even play with it yourself when the kids are in bed).

3.  Julia Donaldson, Stick Man.

Whether it was the BBC screening of Stick Man on Christmas Eve, or whether it is just the fact that Father Christmas makes an appearance, I don’t know; but Amelia is obsessed with this book and asks for it nearly every night. Every time we go out for a walk, she’ll find a stick and yell, “Look! Stick Man!” The story of Stickman’s struggle to be reunited with his family is genuinely emotional. At the part where he is woven into a swan’s nest, Millie always frowns and says, “Poor Stick Man.” This is a good thing; she’s learning empathy. The repetition, “I’m Stick Man, I’m Stick Man, that’s me!” delights toddlers who will love to join in with it. And the association with Christmas makes this book extra special.

4.  Julia Donaldson, Hide and Seek Pig.

This book was supposed to be a present for someone else, but Amelia found my not-very-well-hidden present box and claimed this as her own. In a way I’m glad it happened, because this is one of the most child-engaging books we’ve ever had. Little readers get to open gates and lift up blankets to find out who is hiding behind them, and they’ll be genuinely thrilled when they “find” Hen at the end. The rhyming couplets are brilliant for building word awareness and memory, and the illustrations are gorgeous. This is just perfect.

5.  Julia Donaldson, Rosie’s Hat.

Little Rosie loses her hat one windy day by the sea. The hat has lots of adventures of its own until years later, by sheer coincidence, it is reunited with grown-up Rose.

Now let me just get one thing straight- I have no problem with pink, I have no issue with princesses, and I deeply love traditional fairy tales and would defend them to the death. That said, I love love love the fact that when Rosie grows up she is a fire-fighter (as well as a wife and mother, if you must know). I do believe that, somewhere between the pink tutus and the sparkly shoes, our daughters need strong role models and although this is only one book in a million books, every little helps.

I realise that three out of these five books are written by Julia Donaldson, and that’s not a deliberate thing. We parents are not the real judges of children’s books, our children are, and I have very much found that the Julia Donaldson books “last” with Amelia; that she keeps going back to them long after the novelty of a new book has worn off. I think, in the end, that that is the measure of a great children’s book…. And I’ll look forward to expanding our already-substantial collection next Christmas.

Review: Father Christmas Experience at The Chill Factore

Last Christmas, Amelia was only one, and although some of my NCT friends had braved Santa’s grotto, it had generally ended in tears. I decided she was just too young, and didn’t bother. This year, however, Millie is much more aware of Christmas and all its accompaniments; she’s become obsessed with Christmas trees, reindeer and presents (I’ve tried to balance this out with references to angels, stars and baby Jesus, not that she understands) so I thought it was time we finally met “Farmer Mitmus”, as Amelia refers to him.

I started by researching my options and asking friends for recommendations. I’d heard too many horror stories of Santas who smell of Benson and Hedges and hour-long queues in the rain, and I wasn’t taking any chances.

After copious googling, I finally decided on the Chill Factore. You pay £15 for yourself and your child- additional adults cost extra, but as I was planning on taking Millie by myself, this wasn’t a problem. For this price, your child gets to meet the big man, receives a small gift and gets thirty minutes to play in the snow (the “Mini Moose Land” area is specially for children aged four and under, so no danger of being run over by a 16 year-old on a snowboard). It was only after I’d booked and paid online, that I read the small print and realised that the photo is an additional £10 (and taking your own pictures in Santa’s Snowy Kingdom is strictly forbidden). Oh well.

I received a confirmation email straight away, as well as a reminder the day before, not that we could possibly forget; we were far too excited.

The email advised me to arrive early, because “there may be long queues at peak times”. Happily, when we arrived, there was hardly a queue at all, and everything seemed to be organised and moving efficiently. I noticed a huge sign hanging from the ceiling saying “Queue here for Father Christmas” so I went over and enquired, perhaps stupidly, if this was the correct place to queue for Father Christmas. I was asked if I had bought a ticket and I replied that no, I had booked online ( I had the email on my phone, and had also written down the booking number just in case my phone was non-functioning for any reason). Strangely, however, the lady didn’t ask to see my email or booking number, and I was waved straight through. Note to self: get it free next time.

 

We were placed in a short queue, in a quiet, separate area which was equipped with toys, books, mini chairs and other things aimed at small people, which meant that Millie could safely and happily play while I held our place in the queue. Our appointment with the big guy was at 11am and sure enough, at eleven on the dot, an elf popped out of a fairy-light tunnel and asked us to come through.

The elf introduced herself as Snowflake, which I doubt was her real name, but she was lovely nonetheless. She spoke to Millie and asked if she was excited and received, in reply, a slow nod.

At the end of the tunnel there was a 6ft tall plyboard castle draped with tinsel and fairy lights, and we were ushered in through what I can only describe as the front door. Inside there was a cosy scene; a red-carpeted room with a pretend fire in the pretend fireplace, a Christmas tree towering over a pile of identically-wrapped presents, and hundreds of fairy lights and other twinkly, sparkly paraphernalia. A second elf stood to attention, military-style, beside Father Christmas’ throne.

And of course, there was the big man himself. He was exactly as you’d always like to imagine him; festively hefty and satisfyingly old with a (real) snowy-white beard and half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his nose. Although Amelia was initially shy- and, I think, a little in awe- he chatted to her and she soon came round and started replying to him; she even, when he asked if she liked Frozen, gave him a short rendition of Let it Go, which I think was a little more than he expected.

We were probably only in there for about three minutes, but it was enough for a slightly overwhelmed two year-old. He asked Amelia to leave a carrot and a mince pie out on Christmas Eve, and she nodded gravely. So far, so heart-warming. Then, before we were shown out by Snowflake the elf, we were presented with a small gift bag, which we thanked him for, but didn’t open in front of him as it seemed presumptious to do so.

 

And with the formalities over with, it was time for our thirty minutes of playing in the snow. Woo-hoo!

This was the part where I wished that I had Jon with me. Pulling a toddler up a hill in a rubber ring whilst also carrying my over-stuffed tote bag is not the most fun thing I've ever done. Thankfully, after two slides down the hill, she’d had enough.

She pottered around in the snow for a while, where there were various things to play with; those ELC bouncy animals that you find at every Baby Sensory class, jumbo foam building blocks, a Little Tykes playhouse. However, it became obvious that we were not going to last for thirty minutes because, at the risk of stating the obvious, it was really cold. Although Amelia had gloves, I’d neglected to bring a pair for myself, thinking “I’m an adult, I’ll be okay,” and it was amazing how quickly I went from feeling fine to feeling like I had frostbite and was going to die. I asked Millie if she was ready to go, and to my relief she replied in the affirmative. So that was the end of our snowy experience.

We walked to the main exit, at which point Millie burst into tears because, I guess, it was all over so soon. So, feeling guilty, I U-turned into Frederick’s ice cream parlour, and let them tap my wallet for a cappuccino and a humongous milkshake because they “don’t do anything smaller”; it cost £4.50 and Millie drank about a tenth of it.

It was at this point that we looked inside the gift bag, and found a small, cheap teddy that had all the hallmarks of Poundland. I guess even Father Christmas has to think about his profit margins.

 

The Truth About Breastfeeding

Breastfeeding: the easiest, most natural thing in the world. It’s good for baby, good for you. Your breast milk contains important nutrients that infant formula simply can’t replicate. It’s vital for the bonding process. It’s convenient- no mixing, no sterilising, just pull your top down and bob’s your uncle. It helps you to lose weight and get back into those size 8 jeans. It helps to avoid the risk of SIDS, allergies, obesity and oh, about a million other things. It helps your baby’s brain development- you don’t want him to be in bottom set for maths, do you?  If you get mastitis, don’t worry, just pop a cabbage leaf in your bra. Baby won’t latch on? Give your NCT counsellor a call and they’ll sort it. These are some of the things that I was told in my antenatal class and by various health professionals while I was pregnant. My only thought was, why would anyone not breastfeed?

I wanted to breastfeed. I bought shirt dresses, wrap tops and nursing bras in every colour. I bought two breastfeeding pillows, one for the sitting room and one for the bedroom. I bought a breast pump so that I could express if I was invited to a party. My cupboards brimmed with breast pads and Lansinoh cream. I read every book and leaflet I could lay my hands on (“Every Baby Deserves Breast Milk” was the legend emblazoned across some of them). I went to the NCT breastfeeding lesson as well as the free one at my local Sure Start.  No-one could have been more prepared. Everything was going fine, until an actual baby was added to the mix.

The first night in hospital after the birth was horrendous. I was exhausted, traumatised and- once family hours were over- terrifyingly alone. I was trying to feed a baby that would neither latch on nor quit crying. She slept in short snatches and I lay stiffly beside her, terrified of waking her up. I counted every hour of that dark night. Miraculously, when morning came, I managed to give Amelia a full feed, and the midwife let me go home. But little did I know that that night had set a pattern which would continue for the next few weeks.

Back home, I was faced with the realisation that I was already failing. Amelia screamed constantly and never slept for more than 45 minutes. All the milk I could give didn’t seem to be enough for her. She was rarely satisfied and cried just as much after feeding as she did before. I couldn’t pick her up without being scratched and kicked as she screamed for more milk; I was heartbroken that I couldn’t just have a cuddle. Perhaps because I wasn’t getting much of a break between feeds, the pain was intense- a toe-curling, fist-clenching, teeth-gritting sort of pain. But it was the exhaustion more than anything else that was tipping me over the edge.

I grew increasingly desperate. I remember the night that Jon suggested giving Millie a bottle feed before bed. We already had some formula in stock for “emergencies”, so it was simply a case of making up a bottle. I couldn’t watch, and sat crying on the bottom stair as Jon gave Millie the feed. That night, something amazing happened. Amelia slept for over two hours, and when she awoke, she was just making snuffly noises rather than screaming. This was such a dramatic contrast to what usually happened, that I had no choice but to concede that the best thing would be for Amelia to have a bottle every night… and maybe one in the day too…

From there on, she had more and more formula, and less and less breast milk, as she became frustrated and impatient at the breast when the milk came less quickly than from the bottle. The nightmare was far from over, as Amelia had full-blown colic for the next three months, but gradually the pain in my breasts began to subside and  I started to catch up on some sleep. A week went by with virtually no breastfeeding at all.

Then one night, I woke up having a huge panic attack, convinced that I had made a terrible mistake. Everything I had read about breast milk came flooding (no pun intended) back to me, and I was suddenly convinced that Amelia wouldn’t develop properly without it. I Googled “restarting breastfeeding”- apparently, it was perfectly possible.

I knew Amelia wouldn’t breastfeed now, but I could still express. Over the next few days, I sat for hours hooked up to a breast pump, but never got more than a few drops. I gave up hope. The breast milk that was meant for my daughter had disappeared, and I could never get it back.

It’s hard for me, now, to look back at that time- how wretched, useless and helpless I felt. I had let my daughter down. I had fallen at the first hurdle. I was selfish. I hadn’t tried hard enough. Et cetera.

Eventually, I got over it, but not for a while, and never completely. It takes a long time to gain perspective on a situation like that, and to look back and ask yourself honestly where you went wrong, and how things could have been different.  Even now, when I see someone breastfeeding a baby, I feel a surge of something that is part jealousy, part despair. How do they make it look so easy? Why couldn’t I just do that? And the one persistent question that’s been going round and round my head since Amelia was born, no, since she was conceived:

     What is wrong with me?

And the answer is, probably nothing. There is probably nothing wrong with me. Because, unless they are exceptionally lucky, most people struggle with breastfeeding at some point, in some way. It’s not the easy option that some health professionals- and the media- make it out to be. Sorry, but it’s not easier than sterilising bottles. It’s really not.

So why are we persistently told that breastfeeding is easy, painless and convenient? The objective may be to encourage new mothers to breastfeed- and it works. But it doesn’t encourage anyone to continue breastfeeding. Because when you think that you’re the only one who has a problem- that you’re producing too much milk/not producing enough milk/ have deformed nipples (delete as appropriate)- then you’re much more likely to quit. It’s not very encouraging, for example, to be told that breastfeeding “shouldn’t” hurt when you’re in complete agony. If we were warned about the potential pitfalls and difficulties from the start- if we were mentally prepared for them- then more new mothers might persevere, knowing that the problem is surmountable (if, indeed, it is).

Perhaps, then, the breastfeeding slogan should not be Every Baby Deserves Breast Milk, but Every Mother Deserves the Truth. We can handle it. And it might just make us more determined to breastfeed.

 

What are your experiences of breastfeeding? Did you ever feel under pressure to breastfeed? Did you change your mind about breastfeeding after you’d had your baby? What problems (if any) did you encounter? How long did you breastfeed for? Would you do anything differently next time (if there is a next time!)? I’d love to know…! X

How U Are You?

Would you be annoyed if you child’s teacher told them to say “pardon”? Are your children banned from asking to go to the “toilet”? Do you advise your children that saying “serviette” is worse than saying “fuck”?  

Welcome to the wacky world of U and non-U words; the U standing for “upper class”, in case you haven’t guessed. This concept was coined in the class-obsessed 1950’s by British author Nancy Mitford in her book Noblesse Oblige, and is still very much alive and kicking today. I’ve lost count of the number of Mumsnet discussion threads that have ended in a debate on this very subject (the reason I googled U and non-U was because, I must admit, I didn’t know what it meant) and Carole Middleton was famously berated for saying “pardon”. Not that this seems to have fazed the Middletons any; Kate remains the poster girl of the aspirational middle classes, and a style icon in her own right. However, in the upper echelons of society, there will still be those who look down on her for being of “common” (non-aristocratic) birth.

Personally, I find it extraordinary that someone can be dismissed as a worthless peasant (or, more accurately, a lower-middle class wannabe) for saying the word "pardon". However, I still pored over the Wikipedia article of U and non-U words, as if I had stumbled across some ancient secret code; which, in a way, I suppose I had.

So- are you dying to find out how “U” you are? Of course you are! Answer the questions below as honestly as you can, then add up the points to get your final score. But don’t get too excited if you score highly; apparently there isn’t much difference between upper class and lower class words- it’s only those dreadful lower-middles who refer to pudding as “dessert.” Who knew?

Do you say:

        Scent (1 point)                              Perfume (0 points)

        Vegetables (1)                               Greens (0)

Glass (1)                                     Mirror (0)

Napkin (1)                                   Serviette (0)

(in a game of cards) Knave (1)     Jack (0)

Sofa (1) or Settee                        Couch (0)

They have two children (1)          They’ve got two children (0)

Lavatory or Loo (1)                     Toilet (0)

Chimneypiece (1)                        Mantelpiece (0)

Pudding (1)                                Dessert (0)

Graveyard (1)                             Cemetery (0)

Rich (1)                                      Wealthy (0)

Died (1)                                      Passed away (0)

False teeth (1)                             Dentures (0)

For midday meal: Lunch (1)         Dinner (0)

(Score an extra point if you say “luncheon”).

Good health (1)                          Cheers (0)

Drawing room/sitting room (1)     Lounge (0)

What? (1)                                   Pardon? (0)

How do you do? (1)                   Nice to meet you (0)

Headmaster/misress (1)              Headteacher (0)

Scores

0-4: Oh, you really are the height of vulgarity. You probably wear Juicy Couture tracksuits and have a large TV mounted on your living room wall. How ghastly!

5-8: You’re the classic "Hyacinth Bouquet" type; always trying to impress the right people- but usually getting it oh-so wrong. Are you sure you wouldn't be happier just being yourself?

9-12: You’re middle-class with ideas above your station. Good for you, I say!

13-16: You’re posher than posh. You probably wear tweeds and eat game pie and, every so often, you find yourself in a part of your house that you’ve never been to before.

17-20: You’re the Queen, right?

                               Carole Middleton: Sooo non-U.

  

I Can't Imagine Life Without...

Today, as I was gazing with that lovesick-mummy feeling at my baby girl fast asleep on my bed (currently the only place she’ll  nap), I was suddenly struck by a weird thought. What would I be doing now if I didn’t have her? If she had never come along, would I be sad? Happy? Lonely? What would my life be like? And the truth is, I couldn’t imagine it. My baby is so much a part of my life now that I can’t conceive of a world without her. And this got me thinking… what else did we used to live without, but now can’t imagine not having? These are my top ten, but do let me know if you have any more!

 

 

 

 

1.     GHD’s. Seriously, did I really ever just wash and blow? And what must my hair have looked like? (Thankfully, this was pre-Facebook).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        Mobile phones. I honestly, honestly cannot begin to imagine the nightmare of arranging to meet a friend in town, or a car breaking down, or simply getting separated in a shopping centre, without a mobile phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3.        Speaking of shopping: the Trafford Centre. Can you imagine a world where every time you need something, you have to drive all the way to town, pay £12 an hour to park and run to Zara in the pouring rain? Nope, me neither.  (Disclaimer: the Trafford Centre isn’t paying me to write this, and I’m not even its biggest fan, to tell the truth. But it is convenient).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4.       Leggings. What a godsend they are, pregnant or not. Okay, I know that leggings were around pre-2010, but only for children or the seriously athletic. Now, however, anyone can get away with them, and look okay- even me. What a relief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5.       While I’m on the subject of clothes, can you remember when jeans were only worn for events of extreme casualness, and you would never go “out-out” in them? I mentioned this to my mum, and she told me that back when she was young*, a lady wearing jeans with high heels was considered to be very slutty. I kid you not.

*        *I won’t name the decade, she’ll kill me.

 

 

 

 

6.
Google. My niece and nephew don’t believe me that when I was in school, we had to look things up in actual books.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.      BB cream. I shudder to remember a time when the choice was naked face or cakey, orange foundation. Yeah, I know there were tinted moisturisers, but they never really worked, did they?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8.     MP3 storage devices, be that your iPod, phone or tablet. Now that every nook and cranny of my house is crammed with baby items, I dread to think where I would store 500 CD’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9.      On the subject of baby items, I have no memory of living without them, but I say a little thankyou once (or twice) a day for the invention of the disposable nappy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Gel nails and/or Shellac polish. Did anyone ever really think that acrylic nails with massive white tips was a good look? Yikes.

 

 

 

 

Top Ten Reasons Why We LOVE Our Baby Sensory Class!

Since Amelia and I started Baby Sensory classes with class leader Laura Bannister at Croft Memorial Hall it has become the highlight of our week. I have genuinely never seen Amelia so engaged and fascinated with everything that is going on around her! Here are our top ten reasons why we BOTH love Baby Sensory:

1.      Laura is one of those calm, confident people that I secretly wish I could be like; she just instinctively creates a lovely atmosphere in the class. She also explains, at the start of every activity, how it will aid your baby’s development.

2.      There’s a good balance of structured activities and baby-led play; babies get some time to chill out, but not enough to get bored.

3.      There is a wide range of fantastic toys for babies to play with; not only that but the toys are different every week (it makes me wonder where Laura keeps them all!).

4.      It’s like having two classes in one, as there are lots of “sing and sign” activities as well as the regular baby sensory stuff.

5.      Everything is clean. I can’t tell you how relived I was when Laura came round with two baskets, one for toys that had been mouthed and one for those that hadn’t. I’ve been to classes where you can’t touch the toys without having to go for a tetanus jab afterwards.

6.      The variety. Every week there is something new for babies to be amazed at. The only things that are always the same are the “Hello” and “Goodbye” songs. These are what you’ll find yourself humming/singing as you push your trolley round Asda.

7.      Two words: bubble machine! This is currently Amelia’s favourite thing in the world.

 

8.      The other mums are genuinely lovely; everybody talks to everybody and I can honestly say there is no “cliqueiness” whatsoever.

9.      Places are limited, so while this could mean you spend a couple of weeks on the waiting list, it also means that classes are never overcrowded, and there’s always enough space/equipment for your child.

10.  The class ends on a calm and gentle tone, usually with a song and a light show on the ceiling, so that babies aren’t overexcited at the end of the class, and may even have a sleep in the car on the way home!

For more information or to find your nearest class visit babysensory.com/en

 

In Which I Butcher My Pants

Postnatal exercise is all very well. But when you’ve got a night out with your NCT girls coming up- as I did, last weekend- then you need a quick fix. And when it comes to quick fixes, there is only one thing that will work.

Head to your nearest department store. Locate the lingerie department. Walk past the wispy lace panties. Leave behind the silk satin thongs. Bid adieu to those scrappy little suspender belts. Say au revoir to anything frilly, frivolous and fun. Keep walking (for it is always right at the back) to the section labelled “Shapewear”. This is your world now, and you must learn to navigate it.

There are things here that look like torture devices. There are things that I can’t even begin to figure out. There are things that words can’t describe. But all I basically want is a pair of knickers with a wide “control” waistband that will squash and flatten everything down and make me look like someone who hasn’t just been pregnant for nine months. The control panties are arranged in three columns; one labelled “Light Control”, another “Medium Control” and the third “Firm Control.” I go straight for the firm; there’s no point messing about.

They are flesh coloured, and hideous, obviously. But the waistband feels reassuringly tight when I stick my hands in and try to stretch it. So far, so good. I glance at the price tag. £45.00! For a pair of pants! I resist the urge to hang them back up. I take them to the till, telling myself they’ll be worth every penny if they work.

I haven’t left myself any margin for error, as the night out (cool restaurant, swanky cocktail bar) is happening that very night. By the time I’ve applied the necessary amount of make-up and have battled my hair into some kind of submission, I have exactly nine minutes until my taxi is due to arrive. Off come the pyjama shorts. On go the fat pants. With the tags ripped off, obvs.

I look at the front. It’s all pretty impressive. The flesh-coloured waistband has whittled my waist into something approaching an hourglass shape and the front control panel feels like it’s doing what it should. So far, so awesome. Until I turn around and gasp in horror. Everyone gets a bit of VPL from time to time, but this is on a whole new level. Each butt cheek is perfectly cut in half and under a tight dress, my bottom will look very strange indeed.

I pull them down. But now the waistband doesn’t work cover my abdomen and I have a hideous muffin top. I pull them up again. The VPL returns. I have five minutes to go. Shit, shit, shit.

I could take them off and put a normal pair of pants on, of course. But from the front everything is fine and letting it all hang out isn’t an option. There’s really only one thing I can do. I grab a big pair of scissors from the kitchen. And I convert the short-style back to a thong-style back. In other words-  I’m just going to say it-  I cut the arse out of my pants.

I put them back on. They look terrible of course, but once my dress is on over the top, everything looks fine. Well, better than usual, anyway.

Ironically, a few days later I am in Asda and I decide to pick up a £5.00 version of the same as my “spare pair”- can’t afford another £45.00 on knickers. Also, what draws me to these is that they are labelled “No VPL!” which gives me some hope that I may not meet the same pitfall that I did last time. I took them home and tried them on and ladies, I can honestly say, they are bloody fantastic, and they will be getting a lot more wear than my butchered £45.00 pair.

I guess the moral of the story is, when it comes to control panties, expensive isn’t always better, so don’t waste your valuable cocktail money. Go to Asda, grab a cheap pair and go out and party. Because as long as those fat pants are hoisted up around your wobbly bits, you’ll look great.