Manic August

So a crazy couple of weeks.

Number 3, a boy, arrived. On time... the first one that didn't have the mothers late gene and not appearing embarrassingly late.

This was also the day before Number 1's 5th birthday, and despite a fairly simple birth they kept both mother and child in overnight, as my wife's iron was a little low. PANIC!  All birthday plans had gone out the window although my Mother being a practical matronly woman already had a contingency plan up her sleeve.

Crisis averted Number 1 was able to celebrate her birthday party with the extended family and then the best present picking up her new brother (and Mummy) from the hospital.

After a lovely couple of weeks paternity leave i finally return to work to be put under consultation due to a company restructure. The threat of redundancy hanging over my head means even more sleepless nights than i'd have with a newborn anyway.

Hopefully when things settle down i can begin to put more time into this blog again.

A Spoonful of Sugar

We were on a short break last weekend on the outskirts of Weymouth when no2 comes down with a very high temperature and a series of rotten nappies. While she was a little clingy had it didn't really spoil to much and we were all able to enjoy a lovely time at thanks to a steady supply of Neurofen.  On returning home my wife took her to the local GP, convinced it was tonsillitis, our local GP couldn't make a clear diagnosis from an un-cooperative 2yo who refused to open her mouth, insisting her big sister should be at the doctors instead. A late night rush to the out of hours GP on Saturday finally confirmed that it was in fact a case of Mother knowing best as tonsillitis was diagnosed and antibiotics prescribed.

And that dear reader is where the problems began... 

On returning home from the late night chemist tired and ill, we decided to started the first course straight away. The first bottle prescribed proudly stated 'Sugar Free' and was a bright orange and smelt faintly of citrus. 'No2' took the syringe swallowed a tiny amount then pulled a face 

Ewww. No. That’s Gross. | Gifrific

The remaining 4ml we tried to hide in ice cream, jam, yogurt, jelly, we tried bribes, promise and reason... to no avail, all rejected to the point that she wouldn't trust us to even put her to bed for fear we'd trying and slip medicine in somewhere. In a final resort we tried to forcefully give it to her with a syringe, wrapping her up in a towel so she couldn't thrash around like a octopus trying to be put in a bag. The antibiotics went down for around 11 seconds before they were vomited back up, to bed she went tired and poorly with two frustrated parents.  "How bad can it be?" i asked the wife and tasted a tiny amount. After violently retching several times i vowed to called the Dr's first thing in the morning for something more palatable. 

The 2nd bottle of antibiotics also claimed to be sugar free, and looked more like the contents of a glow stick poured into a bottle, it too came with a taste which was more reminiscent battery acid. Mary Poppins rum punch flavour this most certainly was not... Again this was rejected out of hand by 'no2'. I turned to Facebook and twitter for help, and got several suggestions - Mash it in with Jam; 1/3rd of a jar was not enough to mask 5ml of the noxious florescent yellow stuff. I tried several other ways of trying to mask it, i tried to force it down but only ended up covering clothes and furniture, this was not going to work. 

I called the Dr and we spoke at length about the situation of trying to get Children to take foul tasting medicine, she agreed that it was a problem and suggested amoxicillin the banana flavoured antibiotics i remember from my childhood which while not being ideal might work, it's still not the nicest tasting medicine when it first came on the market 40 odd years ago now but it's still the only one that is adapted for children. 

'No2' is on the mend again, but this episode highlights a total lack of understanding from pharmaceutical giants that having an ill child is stressful enough without them rejecting the very thing supposed to make them feel better. That as parents we could not give a shit about our poor little monkeys teeth, about how much sugar is in the pediatric suspension, or how many e-numbers were put in to make it easier to take.  You can bet that if you could purchase the stuff over the counter they'd all be fighting it out to make them better tasting, more palatable and more appealing to Children. 

The NHS cannot absolve itself either, bad tasting medicine is a false economy i now have 3 bottles of antibiotics in my fridge, surely it would have been cheaper to give us one slightly more expensive bottle 'no2' would have been willing to take?  I know these medicines exist, one pharma' sales manager has already been in contact to say it's not kids medicine is not rocket science and that his company is producing chocolate & orange flavours. 

As for sugar helping the medicine going down, it certainly does, and as it's medicine our little darlings aren't going to be drinking it by the litre now are they? 

  

3 into 2

The Boy is due in August which seems ages away but i know will sneak up on us pretty quickly, so we're planning on putting the girls together in the same room from this weekend. Bunk beds are due to be delivered on Thursday, so swearing will be heard across the home counties from Saturday morning as i attempt to put them up.

And it's in a good time too, Number 2 has just started climbing out of her cot i say climbing out, more getting herself over the top of it and letting gravity do the damage on the way down. It's a thunk followed by a scared just under 2 year old crying...

The downside to them both going into one room beside having to decorate the nursery again, which has had much of it's wall paper peeled off around the cot... the little bloody ASBO monkey.  What concerns me the most is how badly it could go with them keeping each other up all night, or number 2 escaping and running amok.

Only the other morning did number 1 go downstairs to be greeted with a "hello... How are you?"  as number 2 helped herself to the breakfast cereal while Saturday we were woken by two child follow my leader/ conger line around the bed...

Any tips anyone?

Neglect...

This blog has almost been neglected for almost as long as my golf clubs.  Or if you want to over share as long as my sex life with my heavily pregnant wife

I'm amazing how people do it and keep it going...blogging that is

It's a full time thing for many, events, blogs, some of you guys are machines a blog post a day.  Do you not watch TV or anything?  I'm going to try and get back into the swing, but with longer evenings and being a little more financially solvent than i have been in a long while, it's nice to catch up with friends.

As work quietens down a little more i'm hopefully be able to get more involved in this blogging lark.

Reviews - Protect Yourself from Catching the Clap

I had my first approach from a PR agency this week.  I won't lie i was incredibly flattered that someone had read my stuff, stuck me on a mailing list and offered me something to review.

But it got me thinking. I started to look around some of the other parenting blogs recently and was surprised at how much PR material was posted up as content, of how many freebies were handed out from large multi-nationals all in the name of 'grass roots' coverage.

Everything from lingerie, toys, buggies even test driving family cars were dished out, and with it came fawning  reviews and 'look at me' tweets of piles of lots of lovely free stuff.  All gaining lots of coverage for the PR agency, who are paid tens of thousands of pounds for this, to push under the nose of their client.

I shouldn't really be surprised, after all I see it from the other side in my day job in Marketing. I spend millions a year searching and courting evangelists for my products, desperate to drive word of mouth to seemingly spring up and positively influence people.  So hopefully the following advice from a novice blogger might hold a little weight?

I'm going to start with a metaphor (technically i think it's a simile. Writing reviews and working with PR agencies is a bit like getting into bed with an attractive stranger... it might be fun but can also lead to catching an STD.

The single most important thing if you choose to review things on your blog is your audience. We marketing folk are not paying an agency lots of money to dish out products to bloggers to get a fawning review we're doing to to get access to your readers and your peers.

You might think that a positive review will get you into the good books with PR agencies, it probably will for a short period, until your readers realise you're nothing more than a stooge, a fraud that is writing positive things in return for free stuff.  That your reviews can't be trusted... Bad news that handsome stranger you were romping with has just given you the Clap.

What you'll see next is your visitor numbers dropping off to the point where the PR agency is no longer interested, you're too small time... you've trashed your own reputation, destroyed your following and burned your blog for a 2 nights stay at Pontins in Great Yarmouth. Was it worth it?  Sitt there with your antibiotics  staring at your mobile phone wondering why they stopped calling?

So to avoid this just follow these simple rules.  And please remember despite being an inexperienced blogger i've had 15 odd years of targeting people like you and me to write these reviews.

• Don't write for the PR agency write for your audience - your audience is interested in your experiences and thoughts not reading what you think a PR agency wants you to say 
• Write a Reviews Policy on your blog. Some of the best parenting blog have these, they explain your principles to both your audience and any potential suitors so there are no gray areas
• Don't be afraid to say what you think if it's the best product you have ever used say so.  Like wise if you didn't like it explain why. Many PR agencies and companies know their product isn't perfect, and honestly will hold no grudge should these be pointed out

...are there any others that people would like to add? Or you think i've missed off? 

Blue is the Colour. Being a Daddy is the game

So it's a boy.

We didn't want to know, we liked the idea of a surprise, but when offered with the chance to know during the scan we crumbled.  Like knowing you have to go home but are being offered one last drink in the pub, you know you'll be in trouble later, but it was on offer and you can't turn it down can you?

It could have been totally different, but for one little thing...

Number 1 has been incredibly excited about the whole thing she's told just about everyone at her school, so when my wife asked if she'd like to go to see the baby in Mummy's tummy at the hospital she jumped at the chance.

We turned up at the scan and were politely asked if we wanted to know towards the end the sex of the baby, my wife and i looked at each other and smiled and said "no, thanks".  "YES, YES... YES we do" came the shout from the up until then quiet as a mouse #1... it was the equivalent of the elbow nudge and "come on one more quick one" every man knows so well from being with friends in the pub.

A twinkle in my wife's eye said she was ready to accept that illicit drink.

"Shall we?"

and the die was cast...

"it's a Boy"

"Owwwwww...." grumped #1 wanting yet another sister

A few minutes later we're sitting in the waiting room waiting for Mummy to go to the toilet.

"So Daddy. Oscar is a nice name isn't it?"

I think I've created a monster.

Russian Roulette

We’re pregnant. Another bun is in the metaphorical oven.  My wife has wandered up duff street. She’s with Child. Whichever way I write this I’m still struggling to get my head around it. Normally this would be a time for excitement, to wish us well, to take joy in the fact of new life. So why do I feel like I've been kicked square in the ‘ gentleman's area’?  Why does this hat trick feel like I've scored at wrong end, two glorious wonder goals before haplessly slicing the ball past my own goalkeeper and into my net?

I expect zero sympathy from you dear reader, it was after all I (well ‘we’) who had all the pleasure of that night, not you. It was me that played Russian roulette with contraception and shot myself point blank in the head.

We’d always discussed a third child, I’m from a big family and we’d always liked the idea of a similar sized family to make things like Christmas and family gatherings that bit more vibrant and noisy. But we only moved into a larger house a couple of years ago, and I still haven’t even finished decorating a single room yet. I’d just be coming round to the idea of just having the two girls, of a faint hope that foreign holidays might be back in a few years’ time. Of sleep that lasts almost 6 hours at a time.  Dumping the kids of at the grand parents and whizzing off on a naughty weekend away with the wife.  I’d even toyed with the idea of taking up golf again or buying family season tickets at the Rugby or football.  All now firmly moved into the no bloody chance file.

So why am I struggling with the thought of having another? Am I selfish?  No probably not. it’s not really my life I worry about. The sex life apart, I don’t need anything of the above including the sleep, I’m one of those people that is eternally content with my lot.  That’s not to say I’m not ambitious I would love to have more money to give me more options in life, but I don’t strive to own more, bigger,  greater things.  I like things as they are. I’m happy.  

But the pressure is firmly on my shoulders. The girls are delighted about the thought of sharing a room, but how long will it last?  Money is tight now, how will it be when there is another little person?  Can we even afford for my wife not to work?  Would we be even better off if she still did? to We need to feed another mouth, to purchase a car to fit three car seats in, to eventually purchase a bigger house so all the kids have their own room while still making sure that it’s in an area that is best for their upbringing… And what the bloody hell will I call the blog if it turns out that number 3 is a boy?

I know I won’t resent number three for the sacrifices the whole family have to make? But I’d love to give the family the best chance in their lives and with that comes sacrifice from me.  Much of this pressure I feel is created by myself. So I’ve decided there is no time sitting around moping about the situation I find myself in, I’m lucky. This is a positive thing, I just need to convince myself of that.

 I’m off to find a new job… just as soon as I’ve booked in for a vasectomy.

The School Run An Anthropological Goldmine

So I’ve been off looking after the girls while my wife was away on business for the past two weeks. I loved every second of it so when I win the lottery I shall be retiring to be a stay at home dad.

One thing that fascinated me was the school run, the politics, the fashion, the tantrums.  I live in leafy Herts and everyday was an eye opener.  Attenborough would have a field day about the cliques and anthropological goings on at 8.45am every day.  

Here are just a few types I've noticed on the school pick up

The Alpha Mum

Knows everyone, knows everyone’s business.  Runs the show like she was the prison top girl. Has a gang of slightly lower on the social spectrum mums that she is always to be found around.  Teachers and small countries are scared of her. Frequently tanned from her exotic holidays. Drives a 4x4. And everyone knows about it.

The Organiser

When she’s not mothering her own she’s trying to organise everyone else. “Fancy the PTA quiz night?” “Can I interest you in the 70’s disco at the school?” “Would you like to come around for a Neal’s yard party?” “Can I count on you to help with the Easter parade”... “No piss off”   Only marginally more popular than ‘Weird Dad in a Hat’

The Glam Young Mum

The glam young mother that many others look enviously at, always immaculately groomed she sashays into the playground like she was on a catwalk in Milan. Stick thin, no one speaks to her except other young mums and all the dads…

The Weird Dad in a Hat

There is always that dad wearing an awkward baseball cap that if you saw hanging around the school playground at any other time you’d probably call the police.  When you arrive you realise it’s just you and him so you start signing up for ‘the organisers’ events or finding some very interesting spam email on your phone.

The Gym Mum

Always drops the kids off wearing sportswear and a full face of make up, a look that attempts to say that I’m off to Pilates for a couple of hours, a swim, then massage before eating an organic salad for lunch.  But actually just says that I couldn't be bothered to get dressed this morning and this is just a more socially acceptable version of PJ’s and Uggs to do the school run.

The Thinks he’s a Ladies Man Dad

Despite the fact he’s nearer 40, but dresses 15 years younger, has a pot belly and male pattern baldness he believes he’s something from a Diet coke break.  Surveys the young mums and anyone that gives him a second glance like a geriatric Lion on the plains of the Serengeti.  Makes eye contact and assumes they’re 'up for it'.

The Grandparents

Normally chasing around a younger sibling trying to get them to stop climbing on the playground climbing frame and “please sit in their buggy and see if they can see their bigger brother/sister”  will talk to anyone.  Best smiled to but avoided.

The Working Mum

Working glamour with a hint of breakfast cereal, always nicely turned out but not quite perfect as is the way when getting dressed in the morning involves ready break smeared toddlers hanging off one leg while their 5 year old roots around in the make up bag dropping foundation on the floor, which she then gives up and goes without.

The Late Mum

On walking out of the gate after dropping the kids off at school, she’s manically heading the other way pushing a Phil & Teds buggy with two kids in and another walking behind looking disheveled, and missing a coat.  Always last to drop off and last to pick up.  Doesn't work.  Just a terrible time keeper. Always seems to be a red head. 

The Joy of Fatherhood?

This is an important one to me; I've been reading https://reluctantdaddio.wordpress.com/ about one’s man’s difficulty about becoming a dad for the first time. It’s an excellent read into what is a somewhat of a taboo subject…

My own experience was very similar, below is an abbreviated slightly edited comment that I left on his blog that I wanted to share, to make sure it’s clear that not everyone lives in a ‘Hollywood’ world of parenting where everything is fine and dandy.

“I make no bones about it; I remember standing in the kitchen with the baby crying thinking “ I've made the biggest mistake of my life… I don’t want this.” everyone told me it would be an amazing experience, that it was magical, and how lucky I was. Bollocks! I absolutely hated every single second of it. I was surrounded by other dads talking about what their baby was doing how they loved it, I thought it was just me that felt this way and there must be something wrong.

The baby would not stop crying, it wouldn't sleep, it was always angry, you hear stories of a parent just losing their temper and committing infanticide, while I never entertained those thoughts I could totally understand it. I didn't bond with the child, I was disinterested… I wanted my old life back. My wife was moody & depressed (PND); I had to put on a brave face for her even though I was feeling exactly the same. After all my wife had 9 months of change to her life during pregnancy, for a dad it’s like switching a light on, and even my own mother tells me I was no good with ‘change’ as a child!

As my daughter grew up things gradually changed, as she grew from baby to little person the bond started to happen. Interest in world around her meant all of a sudden I was of use, the fact she was sleeping and could start to communicate through some baby signing helped. Things are different now; I love it I really do.  Sure there are times that you wish for an afternoon spent in the pub with mates or a round of golf, and then you think of life without kids and think yourselves lucky.

However one thing I always do is try and make a point of openly telling new dads that I meet how much I hated the first year of fatherhood. My wife will often tell me off saying I sound like I hate my daughters, that isn't the case, I grew to love them. It’s a taboo that new dads never mention or too afraid to mention, you’ll be surprised how many others out of earshot of their other halves or over a beer say the same.”

Dad’s need to be more open about their difficulties in coming to terms with fatherhood, there is a ton of help for new mums but as far as I’m aware next to nothing for new dads. When we dare mention we're not 100% happy we’re often told to grow up, that we're being selfish or to stop wallowing in self-pity.  It’s reactions like this that mean dads struggle in silence alone, afraid to talk and with no help or support and worst cases see the only solution as leaving the family unit.  Maybe we should all think twice at the 'advice' we offer and support both new Mothers and Fathers?

Hopefully the experience of ‘Reluctand Daddio’ and others talking openly about their difficulties of becoming new Dads will help others who are concerned they don’t feel anything like that bloke from the Athena poster.

The Saunders Family

It seems utterly ridiculous to feel so down by the passing of a family pet in my previous post when the amazing Saunders family have been through so much more pain in the same period.

Please follow their story here - http://www.facebook.com/ameliasmiracle?fref=ts

Dealing with Grief as a 4 year old

January is always a terrible month.  But this January has been awful.

Finances are tight and Christmas was a frugal one so when our beloved family cat Millie started to go downhill just before Christmas, we spent everything we could to try and make her better.  After several visits to the vet over Christmas and upwards of £400 we could barely afford on treatments not covered by insurance, we made the tough decision to have her put to sleep.  My wife was very attached to the Cat and wanted to bury her in the garden, I was less keen wanting the garden to remain a happy family space rather than a graveyard.  Lots of tears were shed.

But to my wife and I Millie was our first baby who we’d had for over 10 years, without sounding like a pitch for a bestselling book “Millie and Me” the cat was around to offer comfort when we were struggling to conceive and my wife suffered a long bout of depression, she had been with us through our lives from trendy twenty some things to married thirty something parents.

This is the first time (and I hope for a long time) both girls have ever experienced death and loss. Sure my grandmother passed away last year but she was living in a home could barely speak or hear. A visit was more of a frightening experience for the Girls than a pleasant one.   Besides my grandmother never slept at the bottom on number 1’s bed or followed number 2 around trying to steal her food… although she did piss on the carpet on occasion.

My wife explained on picking number 1 up from school that Millie had passed away and we’d bury her in the garden.  #1 was inquisitive, “can I see her?”  “Will she be with Greatnan now?”  but on the whole she seemed fine.  The following day she came home with a picture she’d drawn of something she’d like to put on Millie’s grave, I tried, I really did, but part grief, part touched by childish innocence I couldn't help shed a tear there and then.  She looked mortified she’d upset her big brave daddy.   

After that #1 wanted to go and see where the cat is buried in the garden, every day, even in the snow. Drawings coming home from school mostly featured cats, while books she borrowed from the School library were about looking after Cats.  While the bedtime story of choice was 'Tabby McTatt' or 'The Wishcat'. She even started sitting in the cats preferred places - on top of the sofa, by the radiator while sleeping in her own bed became an issue, which it hadn't been for a long while.

It was obvious she was dealing with grief but her little brain didn't really understand why or how to manifest itself.  Not sure what to do I turned to twitter, several people suggested the Lion King was a good film to watch, given number 1 is not yet 4 and a half, I thought maybe too subtle.  

It was @workingmumuk that offered up the following useful tips (and I hope I’m not breaking any trust by sharing them)

• ·         To tell number 1, It’s OK to be sad and miss the cat
• ·         The concept of heaven (despite not being religious) made it easier for Children to accept someone was going to a happy place with others they knew
• ·         She also suggested a star to remember the cat by  

Armed with this new advice we sat down and suggested that #1 should plant a flower where the cat was buried and we’d remember the nice times we spent together with the cat every time we looked at it, we also put a picture up on our picture wall of the Cat and her together. This seemed to go down very well with number 1 & we don’t seem to have had any problems since.

I still miss the cat though.