Friday 25th July 2013: Coniston, The Lake District

It is hard to believe after a difficult and very tiring 12 months, that I am sat beside the peace and beauty of Lake Coniston enjoying a glass of cool, crisp Chenin Blanc whilst watching my children play by its lapping shore and observing Rob savour a pint of the Lake District's finest beer and navigating a fishing net at the same time.

Even harder to believe is that exactly one week ago I had my work leaving/birthday party and swore I would never touch a drop of alcohol again. I've not been out partying like that for 5 years and on the basis of how I have felt over the last week, it is clear that I will need another 5 years to build the stamina for an evening as epic as last Friday.

Mind you, I will be 40 and based on the fact that it took me 3 days to recover this time (one day for each major organ), goodness knows how long it would take for me to re-hydrate myself after the big 4-0.

It really is the sublime to the ridiculous. 

As much as I loved the partying, the peacefulness of the lakes and the soulful rest that they bring, is my idea of bliss. Being here with my beautiful family and seeing how happy our children are at the fact that they have their parents to themselves for a whole week, is as overwhelming as the lakes and mountains themselves. 

Don't get me wrong, camping has been fun this year; however, I have also found it quite stressful. Trying to get James to stop pole dancing around the gas canister that we use for cooking whilst holding the huge camping lighter is a tad nerve-wracking. I feel like I either need CCTV placed around the tent or I need to get James tagged. Neither of which I associate with a relaxing holiday.

Yes...as we are all paddling around the Lake where Donald Campbell felt it was a good idea to attempt the water-speed record in the 1960's, there is a sense of calm that I haven't experienced with James whilst sleeping under canvas.

Rob is enthralled with the Donald Campbell story. Nevertheless, I could have told Mr Campbell that travelling across the Lake at over 300MPH in a blue vehicle that resembled the green Thunderbirds 2 aircraft, would end in tears. 

However, as I watch Rob sip his 'Bluebird' Bitter, it dawns on me that who am I too add pragmatism to the legend that was Donald Campbell.

Above: Splashing good fun at Lake Coniston

June 2013: Week 3

Mid-June at Chez Hillier began with a haircut - or half a hair cut in James' case. Even having Rob there couldn't stop the Greek Tragedy that unfolded before us.

Laurie, our wonderfully patient and talented hairdresser comes to our house every six weeks to give us all a cut and trim; everyone except Rob.

No. Rob's loyalties lie with his barber of 14 years. The man who makes more jokes about his wife and mother-in-law than Les Dawson and Bob Monkhouse put together. He uses all of the cliches to describe me, 'The other 'alf'; 'the ball and chain' and my favourite, 'the trouble n strife'. I take no offence at this last one as this piece of Cockney rhyming slang quite literally applies to me, at times, in a domestic and professional capacity. 

However, I do take issue when Rob's barber says, "Is the trouble n strife at home with the bin lids?". Now Sweeney Todd, you can call me what you want but associating my children with refuse disposal is one step too far. I know he is the one armed with sharp blades but I pack a mean punch!

Mind you, on our wedding day 5 years ago, at least the barber gave Rob a free haircut; I can see his strapline now, Come to the barbers for 9 years and get 1 haircut free! Like I said, Rob is a very loyal person and that's why we're married.

However, this admirable quality of loyalty was of no importance to me 2 months ago. To summarise, I was trying to console James whilst I was in the middle of having my hair cut. This is no mean feat I can tell you. Trying to calm a strong and feisty one year old whilst there are scissors, hair products and blow-driers about, behind a cloud of crocodile clips that framed my sodden head, was one of the more challenging episodes I have experienced as a mother.

In desperation, I called Rob at work and all he could hear was James wailing and me shouting, "Help! He is pulling on my crocodile clips!" which meant that Rob had to do a SOS call home; consequently, he had to leave the office during an important meeting. I can tell you - no meeting with fellow computer blokes could have possibly over-shadowed the hysterical scene that he encountered when he walked through the front door. I honestly have no idea where Bethan was during all of this.

Following this particular distressing experience, I insisted that Rob was there to help me restrain James whilst he was having a haircut. It made no difference. At least this time we managed to get James to have half a haircut; it's just a shame that one half of his head is trimmed and neat and the other half looks like an overgrown meadow in the summer.

Poor lad.

Dentist or hairdresser? Dentist or hairdresser? Hmmm... which is worse?

Saturday 25th May 2013: London, Part 2. A Family Affair

I've been to London many times but going with my own little family and my brother's family was the best. It reminded me of going to the zoo and not because the Capital is full of animals. No, it reminded me of when we went to the zoo last year for the first time with Bethan. Seeing something that you have seen many times before and taken for granted each time, suddenly becomes a whole new world when looking at it through the eyes of a child.

The journey was indeed an intrepid one. It involved: The train (by the way, if you upgrade to First class for an extra £7.00 why do all the people who have paid in advance look at you whilst your children are climbing the table as if to stay, What on earth are children doing in First Class?); the tube; an open top-bus; a taxi (the driver told us off because Bethan had a wet bum. I tried emphatically to reassure him that she had spilled orange juice on herself in the first class carriage on the train but I'm sure he thought it was wee) and a boat trip.

First stop was the greatest toy shop in the world: 'amleys (Still dropping those /h/s). I don't know who had the most fun; Rob and my brother or the kids! The fun continued on our preferred method of transport - Open-top buses are certainly the best way to see a place: Final. I always thought it was such a 'touristy' thing to do and felt like a bit of an inverted-tourist snob but no, it was brilliant because we saw EVERYTHING! We even witnessed Crystal Palace fans singing and cheering on their way to Wembley (they eventually beat Watford 1-0 and I was very pleased because their singing and chanting far exceeded those of Elton John's chosen football club). Apart from being a little wind-swept and having chapped cheeks, it was so much fun.

Favourite time of the day was by the Tower of London because: a) We changed James' pooey nappy outside it and we didn't get arrested for bum exposure in public (according to our own tourist guide, Mr Robert Hillier the Tower is still a prison) and b) We befriended 3 Chelsea Pensioners who humbled us. In fact, one of them, Joe, invited me to visit him at The Royal Hospital in Chelsea. Rob said that only I could visit London with my family and befriend a Chelsea Pensioner.

Lots of amazing memories were made that day. Even the English Defence League who were 'protesting' outside Parliament Square with a huge police presence, couldn't spoil our day. It's ironic really considering they were protesting loudly in one of the largest multi-cultural and diverse cities on earth. Their need to push, shout and generally try to intimidate those who were around (they failed by the way) reminded me of the quote made by Archbishop Desmond Tutu's father who said to him, "Don't raise your voice. Improve your argument".

If only...

Beth's interpretation of her trip to London
(with a little help from me ;-)

Our new friends: Joe is the 3rd in from the left

Saturday 18th May 2013: London, Part 1. A Girlie Affair

After a pretty turbulent week (turbulent in terms of western standards), Rob gave me a day pass and not just of the Oyster variety, so that I could spend time with my nearest and dearest in London.

Think Sex and the City meets Manchester in London and you are close(ish) to setting the scene for the day.

Just back-tracking to the turbulent week.  I think the level of turbulence can be easily summarised by the fact I nearly ran myself over with my car.

As I was getting the shopping out of the boot, I could hear Rob the Wise's wizened words, "Will you please remember to put the hand break on when you park the car". Yes, even writing this I can feel the fear unfolding again in slow motion...

Open the boot of the car; Sainsbury's bags in my hands, clinking; car moving towards me and increasing in speed; drop the bags - find the time to put the clinking one somewhere safe; open the passenger seat door as car is still in transit; spread-eagle myself across the passenger seat as I heroically dive for the hand-break; cheering in the background (err, that never happened:Ed); neighbour walks past to see Sainsbury's bags strewn across the car park floor and me, legs akimbo, facing down over the passenger seat.

Yes, a shopping trip with m'mam and lovely sister-in-law in Covent Garden (or 'Coventry' Garden as I later found that I had been telling everyone via the wonders of predictive text) was just the tonic needed. 

As I arrived at early o'clock in Covent Garden, it was so peaceful and calm. Whilst waiting for the others to arrive, I spied the Disney Store in the corner of my eye and thought to myself, "I will pick up an over-priced Minnie Mouse toothbrush which glitters and sparkles whilst you brush your teeth". I hasten to add that the toothbrush was a gift for Bethan as they don't do an adult one...unfortunately...

Anyway, I saw a very long queue of people outside of the Store and considered if it was really worth queuing for a bloody toothbrush? I decided it was and joined the queue. 

As I stood there, patiently, I was people-watching along the queue for quite some time (people watching - a favourite past-time of mine; especially as I make up stories for the people I watch much to Rob's annoyance) and was disconcerted to see that most of the people looked liked they were of high intelligence and had copies of Tolstoy's War and Peace on their person; I started to consider that the Disney Store would be the last place on earth that they were visiting, never mind queuing for. "Hmmm", I wondered and decided to ask the academic-looking man in front of me (who vaguely resembled Bamber Gascoigne) why they was such a long queue for the Disney Story to which he replied in a very posh voice,

"There isn't daaarrling...Ha! Ha!...we're queuing for tickets at The Royal Opera House so we can be assured of seats to watch Verdi's Don Carlo which has been directed by Nicholas Hytner".

"Doh!" came my reply.

Later that afternoon, we went to 'arrods to get m'mam a bag and looked in 'obbs at some fancy dresses - yes, it was not the time and place for me to forget about dropping my /h/s; however, I was so excited to be with the girls shopping and dining in London with my free day pass that I didn't give an 'oot.

This is my 'Arrods bag from the Mancunian Branch of
the famous London Store. M'mam doesn't know what she's missing :-)

Sunday 5th May 2013: Day Four: No visitors today, just us (eek!)

Today was the first day on the campsite where we four were glamping, sorry, camping alone. For the previous couple of days we have had some visitors and it was fantastic to see them as they really helped with "Stop! James" who had a penchant for pulling himself up onto the free-standing and slightly unstable, gas cooker.

One of my friends who came to visit, brought her beautiful little girl who has been friends with Bethan since they were about 6 weeks old. This particular friend who I met when the girls were still babies completely knows and understands the PTSD I suffered in those first few months following Bethan's difficult birth. I credit meeting her and the other 3 mothers that I also met at that time with helping me learn to laugh and relax around what I considered to be my sick baby.

Back to the campsite.

So, this friend is a Therapist and I was telling her about the difficulties that I thought I would have with my OCD whilst living in a tent on a campsite. Let's face it, campsites aren't known for their 5 star award rating for cleanliness and my knuckles were already cracking and bleeding from the amount of washing and cleaning I had done in the lead up to our camping expedition. Unfortunately, this need to wash my hands before layering on copious amounts of anti-bacterial gel in addition to cleaning door handles at every possible opportunity, stems from being institutionalised on a neonatal ward where the cleanliness has to be meticulous, especially around the premmies.

However, my friend praised me for going on the campsite with my baby and embracing the whole 'back to nature' thing (even though we had an electric fridge and heater, to me I was still heading 'back to nature'). She continued to say that it is good to get out of your comfort zone and build your confidence and the children will benefit from that confidence too.

I'm not even going to suggest for one minute that my OCD is cured as I was on pins about not being able to sterilise (even though James was eating soil sandwiches) but I started to become accustomed to the fact that you can't control everything and dare I say it; I started to relax! Watching Bethan and Rob relax (James kind of did but he was on a Dora and Diego mission to get to the gooey geyser most days; at one point he crawled and climbed through our picnic so he could get to the purple, plastic spoon) really helped and for the first time in about 20 months, I managed to read my 'Time' magazine from cover to cover in one sitting. However, we still brought the cordless Dyson; just in case.

------------------------------------------------

Camping Etiquette - the children's playground *9

*Rob said that I forgot to include this in my previous camping etiquette guide. When on the children's playground, know your place. Priority for the swings and co goes in the following descending order:

1. Recurring visitors to the campsite.
2. Age - the older you are, the more likely you are to be able to go on the swings and flirt with the other teenagers from Meadow 4 who you see each Bank Holiday.
3. Bog - standard young campers like Bethan and James. They didn't care as Beth loved running after the frisbee, bat and ball and plastic skittles that we had brought with us and James enjoyed eating them :-)

Friday 3rd May 2013: Day one in the tent

He-di-hi campers!

Yes, we the Hillier family, have finally made it camping. Well,'Glamping' actually-the negotiations that took place between Rob and I prior to the trip included making sure there was an electric hook up so I could straighten my hair. Which is ironic as I never actually get to do my hair at home. Plus, the fact that I can write this post with a very good 3G signal suggests that we are no where near a forest that harbours bears and things.

Unfortunately, we are more like Ted Bovis and Gladys Pugh than Bear Grylls the Chief Scout dude and that lovely Blue Peter presenter Helen who sailed down the Amazon in a canoe. Even the fancy fleeces that we are wearing, apparently a campsite fashion must, can't disguise the fact that we aren't seasoned campers.

Never mind! All that matters is that we 4 are here to spend quality time together!

Fortunately, we have managed to drag ourselves away from a ballroom lesson with Barry and Yvonne in the 'Club House'. For now, anyway.

We arrived yesterday afternoon at the campsite to a meadow and a pitch that was basked in sunshine; we were all alone and the smell of freshly cut grass made us feel that summer was finally attempting to show its face after such a grizzly winter. Immediately I fell for the romanticised depiction of camping.

That was until we started to put the 6 man tent up. Two and a half hours in the blazing heat and 2 very miserable young children later, we finally had our home for the next few days (don't even get me started on the awning).

If you ever find your relationship in crisis don't bother with expensive therapy. Get to 'Go Outdoors' immediately and buy the cheapest but more importantly, the biggest tent you can find. Two hours later, if you haven't impaled each other with tent pegs, it probably means that this one is for keeps.

Anyway, I didn't cook as I had anticipated. We had chippy from 'Fish'n'Chicken' and went to bed, wondering what our first full day would bring ...

Sunday 21st April 2013

Good Lord! What a weekend! Alpha Mum and Beta Dad have been in sixth gear whilst towing the kids along for the ride. At one point I though, "oh eck, I've become one of those pushy mums". You know the ones.

They stand at the side of the stage during the 'Britain's Got Talent' auditions whilst their 4 year old is singing Charles Gounod's Ave Maria, proceeded by a dance from musical theatre featuring a copious amount of jazz hands before ending their act with the soliloquy from Juliet's death scene. At the end Simon Cowell says, "I didn't like it...(CROWD BOOS - CHILD CRYING INCONSOLABLY)...I loved it! (CROWD CHEERS, AFORESAID PUSHY MUM RUNS ON THE STAGE AND EMOTIVE MUSIC SUCH AS 'THE FLOOD' BY TAKE THAT IS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND; CHILD STILL CRYING BUT WITH A WRY SMILE)

Just to rewind back a little, our Friday night started calmly and routinely. By that I mean red wine, a take away and my weekly texts from my friends at Pizza Hut and O2 Priority Moments. When I started to receive these texts I was initially cheesed off with spam infiltrating my messages. However, I then realised that they were two out of possibly four, five at a push, text messages that I receive each week so if they stopped, I'd probably be gutted.

To summarise the weekend as it happened:

Saturday am:

Bethan's Ballet Lesson (a different class where some lovely lady plays the piano)

Saturday pm:

Swimming Lesson 1 - Bethan
Swimming Lesson 2 - James
Children's Birthday Party

Sunday am

Mass and Sunday School

Sunday pm:

Family photo shoot
Gardening
G&T o'clock (well, why should the kids have all the fun?)

It is a sad fact that our children have a better social life than us. Mind you, going to birthday parties for the children is the only time that you can get a group of good friends together to have a catch-up. Ok, so we might be catching-up whilst our third eye is on constant guard for crying or injured children but nevertheless, I think I look forward to these events more than the children as I get to see what has been going on outside of the Hillier bubble.

This is why I've decided to organise a BBQ for 3 weeks time under the guise of celebrating James' 1st Birthday. In all fairness, James could not be bothered if he has a party or not as long as he can chew on someone's foot or shoes (they tell me it's a phase). The planned BBQ is founded on purely selfish reasons; I just want to have another catch-up with friends again. It will be like the old times except that we will be dancing around potties and Little Tikes playing equipment as opposed to our handbags.

The only problems with my cunning plan is: a) I forgot to put the date in the virtual invite I sent out (ok, a text message then) and b) we don't actually have a BBQ because the last one we had was used to help hold up our fence after a big gust of wind knocked it down. That poor thing rusted away against the fence for some time - it ended up looking like some kind of post-modern art work.

I digress. Again.

Whilst it was indeed a very busy and tiring weekend it was fab and full of funny memories! To top it off, the sun shone on the garden whilst I listened to Chaka Khan and watched the kids play with each other in their wee playpen. Bliss...

Saturday 13th April 2013

Battered, bruised, exhausted and that's just my ego. It's been exactly one week since I last blogged but it feels like a lifetime has passed.

This week has been a blur, a haze...It's been one of those weeks where I've been so tired that I put the butter in the microwave because I thought it was the fridge (that was messy); it's been one of those weeks where I've thought I need to take some annual leave from this job and thought crap! I can't; it's been one of those weeks that I've thought, I probably need to consider resigning and let someone better have a go only to realise, once more that, crap! I can't.

Baby-led weaning has turned into a game of Subbuteo where, for the sake of peace, I have become the goal keeper. Potty Training: Part 2 The Return of the Singing Potty has been even more stressful than last time because Bethan's bowels are constantly on my mind. However, the most tiring and guilt-ridden thing that has been plaguing me day and night for the last 7 days is this: I can't wait to go back to work for a break.

Only three weeks ago such a thought would have horrified me; I was kind of getting into that whole earth-mother vibe and 'livin of the fatta of the land' ;-). Now I'm thinking, who am I kidding? I'm far too neurotic to be an earth mother! I'm just going to admit it: 24/7 with my two beautiful children for 14 days, 18 hours and 36 minutes has been very difficult.

This pill is even more difficult to swallow because I know how bloody lucky I am to have them. When Bethan was a couple of days old fighting for her life in an incubator my mum said to me, "She's strong; you're going to be nose to nose with her". I was hysterical saying that even thinking such a thing was too much because she could die at any moment.

As ever, m'mam was right. Bethan is strong; not just physically but also strong of mind.

As I was on my knees on one of our daily sojourns to the naughty step this week, I looked up into Beth's water-filled blue eyes and her mottled face from the amount of frustrated crying and had a very vivid flashback of sitting beside that incubator and having that conversation with my mum. It was at that moment after looking at Beth and then James did I realise that I'd hit a wall and needed some 'out time'. Following this epiphany I've had many sleepless, guilt-infested nights culminated in the following assertion: I can't justify why I need to work; it just feels like the right thing to do.

Mind you, once I'd come to terms with this 'feeling' (for now at least), chez Hillier has been back to its completely mad and frantic self today.

Desperate not to miss our first swimming lesson after the holidays, I started getting us all ready quite early this morning. It came as no surprise that we were still stuck in traffic 5 minutes before the lesson was supposed to start (Note to self: Put a brown paper bag in the glove compartment. This will help with 'why are we on the drag again?' hyperventilating). Once parked, we went rushing into the private building where the pool is, started to frantically get ready until,

"Liz, why are we the only ones here?"

I turned to Rob and went,

"Oh crap!"

Oh yes; I'd got the wrong pool on the wrong week. Many apologies to the residents of Cardinal Lofts in Ipswich. We saw the security camera whilst swimming alone in your pool but what is an Alpha Mum to do when you're dressed for the party and have nowhere to go?

Saturday 6th April

3am this morning

That's it! Finally! I've remembered what I wanted to blog about the other night...stolen buggies!

Unfortunately this illuminating thought happened in the middle of the night, but still! It's like when you're trying to remember the name of that 1985 record at the local pub quiz when suddenly, a few nights after the quiz has finished, you're fast asleep and you dart upright and shout, "Agadoo!". This is also the moment when the person lay beside you has a heart attack with fright at the thought that Black Lace might be in the room.

Yes, that was it, stolen buggies. I recently came across this article from my MEN (Manchester Evening News) app with the following headline: Greater Manchester a hotspot for 'posh pushchair' thefts and that, coupled with the fact I dared to open the door to the downstairs toilet (which is at present being held up  by a number of buggies) got me thinking about the issues surrounding pushchairs; stolen or otherwise. 

Within the article there was a sense of buggy or pram 'envy' as it is known. Whilst interviewing people from around the Cheshire area, the parents immediately listed the name of their buggy and it's value. At least one of the mother's did make reference to their child being their most precious thing. Whereas another mother seemed more concerned that the potential theft of her pram would be "a big blow" to her. A big blow to you? What about the poor beggar sat in the pram???

Within the article, I was surprised that there was no mention of people stealing the Bill and Ted buggy.This is a very expensive twin buggy where the baby is on some parcel shelf next to the floor and the toddler is sat in the chair above them. 

About 14 months ago we thought we might invest in one. I was 8 months pregnant with James and I knew that Bethan couldn't be trusted on a) a buggy board or b) to hold onto the pram. A double buggy would be just the job but they are so wide you would need to work, shop and live in a barn to get them through doors. 

So we trundled into a major mothering superstore in Ipswich to just see how close to the pavement your newborn baby would actually be (it turned out to be very close). When we asked to see another model of the Bill and Ted buggy they said to us as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "Sorry, no can do, it was stolen earlier today". We were like, "When? How? What?" to which they replied "Yeah, somebody must have walked in and just pushed it out" !!!! PUSHED IT OUT! There are no words.

Actually, there are.

It just shows that it is not only the Mancs who appreciate the value of a good buggy; those from Sleepy Suffolk also like to get in on the act.

There is one way to get around this incredibly difficult dilemma; you could use a wheelbarrow to push your child around in. Nobody would want to steal one of those; additionally, think of all of the other stuff you could get in there. These 'posh pushcairs' might be fancy and expensive but where the hell can you put any of your shopping?

Monday 1st April 2013

So happy! Not only is Bethan now fully potty trained, she can also wipe the seat down of her Fisher Price 'toilet' with the Dettol wipes and put some toilet duck under its rim :-)

Only joking - April Fools!!! There's 6 minutes left until midday and I couldn't resist. Besides I'm bored. Stuck in the car on the M6 Southbound on the chevrons that are supposed to keep 2 cars apart (yes, like that's going to happen) and thought I would have a go at writing my blog.

Had a top Easter weekend with family and friends. Highlights include: a trip on Tommy the tram; shopping in the city; Bethan's first wide-eyed visit to the Disney Store; eating tapas and drinking good wine; James getting more confident in his intrepid crawling adventures; laughing and spending time with the Kirwins and the Sheldons; celebrating Easter services in the church I grew up in.

Lowlights include: 1. A near death experience; this happened when my mum convinced us all that a road which we were crossing to get to Deansgate was 'No Entry'. That was until a taxi came hurtling around the corner and nearly took us all out. Thank God Rob is nippy with the pram and buggy board. 2. James the Ripper's Pooey Bum: James' perchance for ripping up the weekend supplements and envelopes and then eating them meant that the two Easter Sunday poos were challenging to say the least. Sat in the snug in the Club changing his bum was a rite of passage for our son as all Kirwin descendants have been privy to that experience (Rob said it was more like a rite of a back passage). Anyway, the various bits of coloured paper that we found in the nappy told their own story. Rob said that all James needed to do was swallow some sticky back plastic and it would have come out gift wrapped. 3. Saying TTFN to our loved ones.

Had to laugh before we left my mum's this morning though. As my dad saw us packing our car with way more stuff than we actually needed he said, "Good Lord! No wonder you got a bigger car!".

This made me think about a beautiful Indian Summer during October half-term 1984 when my parents, three older siblings, myself and a week's worth of food climbed into our white Austin Allegro (equipped with a roof rack) and travelled from Manchester for a holiday on the Norfolk Broads. One of my earliest memories is when we all had to get out of the car so my dad could drive over the bridge at Wroxham because the car couldn't take the weight. No one batted an eye-lid as it seemed like the most normal thing to do.

Like I said, I couldn't help but look in our car this morning and giggle when I saw all of the crap stuffed into the back. If I took out Bethan's portable DVD player and asked her to play with a pack of cards she would look at me as if I was daft. On the other hand, James would probably be in his element because he could rip them up and eat them.

Wednesday 27th March 2013

Tears, tantrums, questioning and nervous giggling. Ah, yes, the joys of Parent's Evening and that's just from the teacher's side of the desk.

It wasn't until last night that being on the other side of the desk, in the parents' seat (or next to the teacher on one of those tiny toddler chairs in my case) did I fully realise that it was a hundreds time worse for a mam, dad or carer. I came home with cold sweats and Bethan's first school report not to mention sore buttocks from bum clenching on a tiny seat for half an hour that could just about hold one of my ample arse cheeks.

At 3 years old, I thought I would take Bethan's first 'parent's evening' with a pinch of salt. However, after reading her 'Reflection Journal' and having a chat with the lady who observes her objectively in a play school environment, I got a taste of what is to come. Subsequently, I realised that it wasn't what was said but my reactions to my daughter's progress that made me feel well and truly out of my comfort zone.

I assumed that having done parent's evenings on the teacher's side of the desk for over 10 years that I would know how I would react having seen a whole host of reactions from the sublime to the ridiculous. However, I felt sensitive, guilty, over-protective and judged even though I have a very good relationship with Beth's Key Worker. The majority of what was said I couldn't help but agree with and as usual, the ladies gave me some great advice and reassurance; however, it just took one reasonably negative comment and I couldn't let it go.  Having taught teenagers all day and having a tantrum-filled evening with my own kids meant that I was completely exhausted and would probably have taken things out of context anyway.

Nevertheless, as I walked through the door to fill Rob in on what was said, this huge realisation that this parenting business meant I was responsible for the social, physical and emotional development of someone that I love more than life, absolutely pole-axed me. Even the cold crisp glass of wine that I had been looking forward to all day couldn't settle my nerves.

Yes, my nerves. These often lead to my foot in mouth disorder whereby I start giggling nervously and say something completely inappropriate and vaguely humorous which often makes the listener feel uncomfortable and confused. In this case the recipient of my verbal disorder was Beth's teacher. I started wittering on as my bum was getting number about how I would write a parenting book and it was probably get to the top of the New York Times Best Sellers' List. You can imagine the deathly silence and wind howling that followed that unbelievably stupid comment but honestly, it really is a reaction to having bad nerves.

Following my completely unexpected reaction last night, I was slightly worried about how I would get on at the Pre-School Easter Activities Morning where I had volunteered to help. I was sure that I would witness a group of toddlers and parents who had it sussed and that I would be stood there with a huge Belisha Beaon on my head that said, "I am crap at this - any ideas, please help!". It wasn't; it was absolutely fine although I found myself people-watching even more so than usual just to see what other people do.

As ever at the end of pre-School, I was handed a piece of artwork that Bethan had done. I have that many but I feel completely guilty about binning some of the less impressive ones. As a result, my kitchen wall is full of a host of multi-coloured pieces of Bethan art. In fact, the whole wall could be considered an abstract, post-modern work of art and be placed alongside Tracy Emin's bed at The Tate Modern.

Mind you, they would never be appreciated by the likes of Brian Sewell which doesn't bother me at all; the love and the joy that has gone into them always makes me smile.

Thursday 21st March 2013

Following The Budget yesterday there was a lot of 'insightful' commentary on morning TV. Contrary to what this blog may suggest, I honestly don't sit down in my pjs to watch Daybreak and the programmes that proceed it. It's on in the background whilst I'm running around like a Whirling Dervish trying to make sure that everyone is happy and nothing can rock the apple cart.

I didn't pay attention to The Budget myself as it's a load of white noise in my ear. Listening to George Osborne trying to speak over lots of old blokes and a couple of women who are trying to out do each other in the 'Yeah, yeah' stakes is a complete waste of my time. In fact, Daddy Pig and Peppa often make more sense than some of these politicians because the Pig household keep it simple. Having said that, Daddy Pig would be a target for the NHS because he is so overweight and at risk of heart disease, cancer and diabetes; so actually, maybe using the Pig household as an analogy for the post-modern ideal of the nuclear family is a bad idea.

Anyway,the BBC will summarise The Budget for me with the following headline (in my seductive Fiona Bruce voice): "There is no money. We will take off Peter to pay Paul. That is all, and now for the rest of the day's news..."

So I started to think to myself, "Let's move on; the weather is crap; the economy is in free-fall; I sound like fag ash Lil oh yes, and I chopped my thumb with a pair of scissors instead of using them to open a packet of instant porridge. Never mind, I have all the love in the room that I need and I am trying to work on happy vibes".

This positive approach was working until, on the TV,...that bloody woman from The Apprentice appeared. (I have since learned she is called Katie Hopkins). She was on Phil and Holly's sofa basically routing for the plight of full-time parents who work their arse off at home looking after their kids...NOT!!! I'm really not sure whether this woman truly believes in the points she makes or whether she just loves being in the media limelight and enjoys being basked in the controversy of 'her beliefs'.

To be fair, Ms Hopkins' views may (I emphasise the word may) sometimes have credence. That is until she completely batters the debate by making inflammatory comments such as "Parents who stay at home wear it like a badge of honour!" and  "Why should we pay parents to stay at home? They just hang around in their pyjamas all day (or something to that effect)". At that point Holly and the woman who embodied the counter-argument went off on one; fair play to them. Holly says that she has all day Friday 'off' to stay at home with her children and openly admitted to it being the hardest job of the week. I couldn't agree more. I feel like I work part-time and have a full-time job at home too.

As a mother of three children, I'm not sure why Ms Hopkins doesn't get this; all I can think is that she has had an easy run of it because as much as I love and adore Bethan and James, I find it incredibly hard work when I am at home with them. James is into absolutely everything and Bethan is constantly craving my attention - there never seems to be any 'down time' for me. However, if you are blessed enough to have children, I do agree that is what you subscribe to when you become a parent. You can have your beliefs Ms Hopkins about people not being paid to be full-time parents. Nevertheless, you are on controversial territory when you suggest that for a parent, whether they work full-time, part-time or not at all, it is easier to stay at home than it is going out to work.

Later in the day I was in the car with the kids and as ever, karma put all of the above into perspective as there was an announcement on the radio. The DEC are launching an appeal for the 1 million or so Syrian refugees who have been ousted out of their homes and who have had their daily lives shattered by Civil War. One moment they are leading a 'normal' life like Western families and the next, it all disappears. "Bloody hell", I thought to myself, "What am I and Ms Hopkins moaning about? Why does parenting in the world that is lucky enough to have Peace on a daily basis, have to be so divisive?".

Friday 15th February 2013

Last night was...

A SUCCESS in the Romantic stakes!

Initially I thought it would be as successful as Gwyneth Paltrow's 1998 Oscar speech. The 'fresh' peppercorn sauce, that was in a sachet, burst everywhere in the shopping bag. I found James eating the hard cat food which meant that he was coughing and spluttering everywhere whilst soaked in the cat's water as he had pulled her drinking bowel over (I'm convinced that baby James is either a. from the planet Krypton or b. preparing himself to be the next Usain Bolt).

However, the thing that made me cry, even more than Gwyneth did in 1998 if that's possible, was the fact that the two children slept for over 2 hours on Valentine's Day afternoon. Ordinarily I would be over the moon as it is extremely rare that I get two hours to myself on any day. I have already planned what I would do if I had a free two hours one afternoon...nothing! I would sit on the sofa, close my eyes and maybe, just maybe if there was time, listen to the afternoon play on Radio Four (with my eyes shut of course).

I spent most of the two hours I had free yesterday afternoon panicking. I was panicking because I knew that this would mean the children would not go to bed until later than usual which would spoil the romantic itinerary I had  planned.

Following James' attempt to try baby-led weaning with a packet of Iams, I then panicked about forgetting what to do if I found my child choking. Then, I spent the rest of this free time reading the 'the new edition of 'First Aid for Babies and Children Fast'', analysing the 'What to do if your baby chokes' chapter. This was quite difficult because I was using Bethan's My First Tiny Tears as a model whilst trying to keep the book open. I suppose it would be 'Fast' if you were practicing with someone else. Finally, I found their website which is amazing. They have these short YouTube videos embedded on their website showing you what to do in a whole host of emergencies. So, for the final 15 minutes of my unexpected free time, I could sit down with a cup of tea and a Hobnob, watching what to do if my baby was choking, as many times as I liked on my laptop! I have now put this website as a 'favourite' on my tool bar.

The day was certainly picking up.

Ok, so we ate at 09:30 that evening and we watched Question Time after. In fact drunkenly discussing and having a heated debate on politics with my husband on Valentine's Day is almost a tradition  for the Hilliers now. Except last time I got thrown out of the restaurant with it's 'special Valentine's Day' £45 per head a la carte menu (that didn't even include drinks) because I was rather loudly saying how much I disliked Tony Blair.

However, it is the fact that we love discussing politics and watching re-runs of the superbly Laurence Olivier narrated 'World at War', that Rob and I know that we are made for each other. We have been through so much together and are still passionate about the things that matter to us. Passion, hmmm...well, I was tucked up in bed by 11:15pm; desperately counting on my fingers how many hours sleep I would get before the children woke up. I missed the end of the increasingly annoying debate about who's to blame for the horse-beef meat fiasco but Rob stayed up to watch the drama unfold under the watchful eyes of David Dimbleby and filled me in this morning, over a cup of tea.

That's love, that is.

Sunday 2nd February 2013

They came, they saw, they celebrated and they went...back to the North West.

For the first time in three years Rob and I celebrated, guilt-free the birth of our amazing daughter and the Christening of our beautiful son; surrounded by a family that have been unfailing in their support to us and friends who have picked us up when we hit rock bottom.

You know you've either had an amazing weekend or a crap weekend when you wake up and your eye makeup makes you look like Alice Cooper.

Fortunately for me it was the former. I don't often put on a bit of slap; funnily enough it's not a priority for me in the mornings when I'm up to my neck in baby poo and a toddler's snotty nose. I feel like I'm doing the world a favour if I'm out of my pj's by noon.

But it felt fantastic to get my hair done, dust down the Clarins (side-thought: I'm sure I read somewhere that make-up goes out-of-date. If that is the case then my skin is up shit creak without a paddle) and dress up with my family.

It's amazing watching how your baby develops in such a short space of time too. Surrounded by his friends and cousins, James just blossomed. He will definitely give Bethan a run for her money in a few months.

My American friend said that watching a baby develop is compelling because it's like watching a science experiment unfolding. I agree, watching my children develop is as fascinating as it is wonderful. And like a science experiment, you're never quite sure what the results will be but it's damn exciting, shrouded in tentative moments and can be very funny.

After lots of attention and interaction this weekend, James has gone from rolling around like an Olympic gymnast on the floor to a confident little crawler.

He keeps trying to get through the curtains like those people who were on 'Stars in their Eyes' and said "Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be..." except that he hasn't actually managed to get through to the other side to the dried ice and music. However, it's only a matter of time before he appears as Neil Diamond.

In the meantime James continues to wrap himself up in the curtains, terrorise the cat and build up the courage to crawl to his Everest: the front door. I'm just really pleased that A&E is five minutes around the corner.