Sunday 12th May 2013

I cannot believe that our very own little Hercules has celebrated his 1st birthday this weekend :-) Everyone has really enjoyed the festivities which have personified James perfectly; a bundle of fun and trouble.

As predicted,  Bethan thoroughly enjoyed opening James' presents and playing with them whilst the Birthday Boy was more interested in the Sky+ remote (minus battery), eating the wrapping paper and terrorising everyone whilst bursting the Gruffalo balloons that I bought.

Yes, the BBQ and ensuing party was a cracking get together and even though it rained, in that Great British tradition, we didn't let it stop us. Children and adults all hunched under a gazebo whilst somebody holds an umbrella over the dad cooking, is the perfect depiction of a BBQ in the UK.

I am going to have to agree with that vastly over-generalised stereotype though which is that all of the men gravitated towards the cooking taking place around the BBQ. My question is, why don't they gravitate around your gas hob at 6 o'clock every night when you are cooking the tea and a one year old is pulling so hard on your jeans that they fall down? 

Yes, a BBQ is a social anthropologists dream. It provides the perfect tableau: men with fire and meat at BBQ; women struggling with children in cave, ahem, under gazebo.

Even though I forgot to cut and hand out the birthday cake as well as forgetting to let the young children ice their own fairy buns in addition to having 3 huge vats of jelly in the fridge that I forgot to dish out, the party was still a triumph! Our son had a wonderful birthday weekend because even though we are far away from our families, we were surrounded by good friends. 

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...

Wednesday 27th February 2013

Bethan did her first wee in her potty! Yay! :-)

Unfortunately it happened whilst I was at work, Boo! :-(

When I got Rob's text I started shouting with happiness in the English Office; I'm sure my colleagues were confused and thought I was getting overly excited about meeting my new Year 8 class. When I explained why I was so euphoric I got the customary "Aww!"

Bethan's first wee on the potty isn't just a rite of passage for her it's also a huge confidence boost for me because I had got my knickers (no pun intended) in a right twist. I had started to convince myself that there was a problem  when all I really had to do was promise Beth a trip to Snakes and Ladders at the end of her toiletry exploits and voila! It comes and goes for Bethan - she does it when she can be arsed to be honest. It's exactly the same as when we were waiting patiently (not!) for her to walk.

I suppose this is something most working mothers have to get used to. You do all of the ground work and the moment your back is turned and you are trying to explain the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb to a group of confused looking 13 year olds, your baby or toddler decides to take their first step or crawl or wee in their potty.

The kids are definitely as unsettled as I am, as is the cat but she's always pissed off to be honest. Besides the guilt of leaving them I have a) the guilt of missing important rites of passage b) the guilt of not being as entertaining as the nanny when I am off work and c) the guilt of being a Roman Catholic (I was a HUGE Alanis Morissette back in the day).

Another thing that cheesed me off today was that bloody woman famous for being on 'The Apprentice' again. Not content with offending parents who have children called Charmaine or children who have soft play birthday parties (to summarise, she is a snob and assumes these children have no academic rigour) one week later she is telling Phil and Holly and a rather large lady who is well-qualified and looking for a job, that she "would not employ a fat person because they are lazy and lack ambition". The This Morning team in their sub-heading labelled her a "fattist".

This was then followed by a commercial break where MacDonalds are claiming to be the Kofi Annan of the 21st Century non-nuclear family. Apparently all a young teenage boy needs to do is share a Big Mac with their prospective step-father and bang! Peace will reign in your household.

I give up.

Saturday 23rd February 2013

I started writing this blog on Thursday.

However, I found it difficult to type with one hand because on Thursday, my incessant need to sterile everything meant I ended up sterilising my left hand by mistake. I ended up pouring water that had just boiled from the kettle over James' tippee cup lid and the aforementioned hand.

It's times like this I'm so pleased that I have watched the embedded YouTube tutorials on the British Red Cross website.

I wrapped my hand in cling film after it spent 15 minutes under the cold water tap. Fair play, it looed like a sweaty half-eaten sandwich found in the bottom of Bethan's bag after lunch club at pre-school but at least it wouldn't blister like a bugger. The two brandies I consumed and the pain relief made me feel like I had a bionic hand and not a shrivelled one.

Bethan seemed positively disappointed when we told her there was no trip to see Dr Brown Bear at the hospital. She loves the toys in the a&e department.

Boiled hand or not, I was desperate to have a rant about that woman "who was on The Apprentice" (apparently that is what she is famous for) who, last week, wrote an article for The Daily Whale (sorry Mail). Now I know this not because I bought The Daily Whale (sorry Mail) but I saw it was being discussed on 'Lorraine' on ITV player whilst I was cooking the tea (prior to boilingwatergate).

The introduction to the article says,"'I won't let my children play with friends that I deem beneath them... that's what caring mothers do': Apprentice star admits she targets playmates who are a good influence".

When she says "good influence" she means those who have names that are traditional names; if their names are Latin-based that's even better; she doesn't like her children mingling with children who have invited them to soft-play parties (that's us out then); she doesn't like her children associating with children who have all the latest gadgets, blah, blah, blah...the article went on and on.

The inverted snob in me wants to say that if she and her children knew me when I was a child there is no way I would have been accepted into that circle of friendship primarily because of where I came from, where I schooled and what I got up to. However, my social background did not affect me or many of my friends from back home in Droylsden, Manchester from being academically rigorous or wanting to pursue our dreams. One Masters Degree in Literature later and being fortunate and proud to have friends from all walks of life who have all influenced me in one way or another, I wouldn't change anything.

That being said, the article got me thinking about trying to socially engineer my children as I am not totally innocent. I am not going to say that I let Bethan choose and do whatever she wants because I am totally guilty of living vicariously through her. Growing up with three brothers meant I was more likely to be 'Face' in the A-Team than Daisy from The Dukes of Hazard. Now I am blessed with a beautiful little girl, I do tend to veer on the cliched side of 'girlie things' which, at the moment, she seems to love too.

However, how long the pink bedroom will last is anyone's guess. I know that as she becomes a teenager experimenting with her identity is absolutely crucial to her development. Therefore I am quite prepared for the Emo stage. In fact, I'm quite looking forward to it. Moshing to Nirvana, the Foo Fighters, any Dave Grohl band really, will be right up my street too. I think after being an Emo I went on to being an Indie chick during Cool Britannia oh! and then there was my love of House music and wearing luminous clothing, and don't forget.....

Tuesday 19th February 2013

I know I'm going to sound like a right old whiner but, have you seen the price of batteries nowadays? I think they cost more than the toys in which they belong. You need to buy decent ones too because if you get the cheaper supermarket ones or those 'bargain' ones from the pound shop, then you might as well throw them away as soon as you take them out of the packet because they're crap.

Also, I would definitely be wary of those recyclable batteries. My parents have them and they have nearly led to the end of 49 years of marriage. This is because when my mum does the ironing in the boxroom (my old bedroom), she takes out the thing which holds the batteries, from the plug socket, so that she can plug in the iron. However, when she has finished ironing she always forgets to plug the thing back in and you can hear my dad shouting, "For crying out loud Alice, you know my digital radio runs out of batteries quickly. How am I going to listen to Talk Sport now?". The other thing about these recyclable batteries is that the quality of them is like the cheaper supermarket and the pound shop ones; crap. When we were at the Sacre Coeur we were about to take a beautiful picture and all I could see was the zoom lens retreat back into the camera. My mum was like, "This camera takes great pictures when it's working. It's always broken. Darn it!" and I said to her "It isn't broken, it's those rechargeable batteries you use in them; they're crap!".

Anyway, Rob and I listed all of the toys where the batteries had run out (or at least the ones we knew about) because the kids were just looking at them as if to say, "Is that it?". Unless these things burst into a pan pipe version of Twinkle Twinkle or have some child singing Wind the Bobbin Up in a high-pitched voice whilst the lights are flashing more than they do at an illegal rave, they are just not interested. They (the toys that is, not the kids) are like a soulless hard piece of coloured plastic. And Rob, he doesn't want to know either. Years ago I bought him a Scalextric and as soon as the batteries went in those gun shaped remote controls, he just wasn't bothered. Or maybe it is just my kids and Rob that aren't interested in dormant toys (I feel like I should have shares in bloody V-tech). Fortunately, James is now at an age where he is more happy with the box that the toy comes in as opposed to the toy itself but this box phase doesn't last forever.

It transpired that we had a number of toys (and they were the ones that we knew about) that had run out of batteries; these included two pretend hairdryers (which still terrify Bethan even though we try to reassure her that they aren't real); a Dyson...yes, you heard correctly, our daughter has a mini Dyson that actually sucks. I remembered when I had hours of fun with my Gran's Eubank. I would run around her living room with it and it left more dust than it picked up but at least it was electric-free. There was also a walker; a keyboard; a till that calculates, recognises bar codes and has a tannoy system built in (it also takes your hand off like Arkwright's till) and lots of other plastic fun stuff.

When we finally listed the batteries we needed, Rob went to the Coop and came back saying that because we needed so many batteries of different sizes, the bill came to £25!!!!!! What the...???? It would take years for us to raise that amount in Coop Dividend vouchers. After a whole year of having 'shares' in our local shop we are lucky if our divvy vouchers come to the price of a bottle of bog-standard Soave.

It's funny though that amongst all of the 'must-have' electrical toys and gadgets, James is happiest playing with an empty box or bashing a wooden spoon on one of my pans. Bethan's favourite thing in the world is when she is reading or being read to.  Rob is happiest when he is watching 'The Professionals' or telling me about a steam train that ran out of steam 150 years ago or something like that (I do try to listen).

However,  I think that the most popular toy for toddlers at this particular moment in time is the 'Little Tykes' red car. You know the one. It's red and got a yellow roof. No? It's the one where the toddlers inside have to move around in it with their feet; a bit like Fred Flintstone's car. Whenever I have been to playgroups or parties where that car is, all the toddler parallel playing stops when the red car is present. All of a sudden, the toddlers become aware of each other and start fighting and crying because they want to drive the car with their little size 6 1/2 G fitting feet around the hall.

Bless them.

Saturday 9th February 2013

Bethan is like the Queen...she gets two birthdays!

We had her party today at the local soft play company (named after a 1950's board game) and considering we've been plagued with illness and had a certain amount of worry with regards to the competence of the aforementioned company, it went extremely well. Even the 16 year old Party Hostess wasn't too bad. No Fizbo the Clown but still she managed to stop the CD at the right time and cut the cake perfectly. It's a shame Rob didn't realise that the party bags were named and had gender specific toys in them when he handed them out, but then again, who cares?

The main thing was all of the children seemed to have lots of fun and enjoyed eating the party food and cake. Although we still have to explain to Bethan the rules behind pass the parcel as she still insists on holding the parcel when she gets it and the music stops!

It was really lovely to see everybody and my gorgeous girl had a fantastic time.

She partied hard and then crashed out on the sofa whilst watching Toy Story 2 (again!).

Saturday 26th January 2013

Think I might need to consult Pippa's 'Celebrate' book after all. Getting increasingly twitchy about upcoming events. I heard the book didn't do too well so I should be able to pick it up for a couple of quid from 'The Works' in town.

I feel like I'm a kids' party debutante even though I'm not the one dressing up, showing off, getting to eat jelly whilst running around a number of chairs to music in the vain hope that I'm not the one who lands on my arse when the music stops.

A good friend warned me about how, when your children get to school, it really becomes a big deal. I also felt a little disconcerted when I was telling my sister-in-law about Bethan's birthday plans and she heaved a huge sigh of relief. She said she was glad that my nephew was old enough now that she didn't have to do it.

Following my research, to summarise, children's parties (especially for the older child) generally seem to fall into one of the following three categories:

1. Competitive: Venue size, matching accessories (including table confetti), hand-crafted cake, a theme etc etc are very important.

2. Selective: Unlike the above, only the chosen few are invited to do some activity like skating, pizza making or tight rope walking which invariably means that some child is left out.

3. Inclusive: This is the complete antithesis to number two; this is where you have to invite the whole class. My good friend said that she has been attending parties with her children where they have invited everyone in the class PLUS family and friends. One party, she said, included 45 x 5 year olds. I'm no Carol Voderman but even I know that is a lot of kids.

Thankfully, these dilemmas are two years away (Although they are hardly on par with real dilemmas like in the Meryl Streep film 'Sophie's Choice').

For Beth's 3rd birthday I have decided that getting someone to do it all for you is the way forward. This is the type of party where you can build some kind of package.

It's a bit like ordering a new car. You think you need all the extras and when listed separately, it looks like you have a good deal. That is until you leave the forecourt and realised you have been shafted.

I will not name the local company charged with sorting the party out (I can say that they are called after a popular child's board game from the 1950's). Following the initial booking where I was lulled into a false sense of security that it would be straightforward, I then phoned to check some of the details. Speaking to the young man did not fill me with confidence as he made the organising of a party for a 3 year old seem as complicated as splitting the atom.

Therefore, I have had to make a contingency plan B in case the aforementioned company named after a 1950's popular boardgame, bugger it up.

Also, I've organised it so the party is in the morning so that us adults can order a takeaway and gin and tonic in the afternoon and then collapse in bed by the evening. I remember when Saturday nights involved slippery nipples, dancing around your handbag (that was if you could dance as your shoes might be stuck to the nightclub floor) and a dirty kebab on the way home.

But I must say that children's parties can be incredibly funny and a social anthropologists dream.

I've been to a party where I saw someone sat having a cup of tea and reading a good Thriller at the side whilst all chaos was breaking loose around them. I was very impressed with their ability to do this. Although I would have chosen a Bronte book personally. Being transported to the wild and treacherous moors of Yorkshire would be a lot calmer than a three year old's birthday party. Trying to stop Bethan and most of the other kids from picking their nose and then trying to pick the icing off the cake, is a trial

The one thing I like about them though is that the majority of the adults seem as dazed and confused as you and there is a subconscious camaraderie.

Hands up to those parents who organise and prepare their children's party from start to finish. As for me, well, a soft play party it is. As long as Bethan and the other kids are happy and have fun and I get a g&t at the end of it chez Hillier will be a happy place. 3 years ago Bethan gave the fight of her life so now it's time to do some serious celebrating.