There comes a time when, whatever it is you do, you have to call upon all the skills you have ever learned in your field to overcome a particularly tricky problem.

Maybe you’re a newly qualified doctor and have to administer CPR for the first time in real life. Perhaps you’re an accountant and the Inland Revenue decide to audit one of your clients. Or you might be a firefighter coming up against the worst building fire you’ve ever seen.

Today was that day for me. I encountered my first ever Big Test as a parent. It required quick thinking, clever tactics and the ability to draw upon everything I have learned in my life thus far. 

The Big Test came after a day of arduous parenting. Exhausted after a night of little sleep (these gale force winds, this stinking cold and that rain) and an early morning run (my first in three years), I was already on the back foot.

I muddled through the pre-school drop-off without arriving late or forgetting Frog’s packed lunch. Driving back to pre-school for collection time, I congratulated myself on not eating any biscuits on my first morning back at my desk working. Considering the lack of sleep and this stinking cold, I was doing pretty well, I thought.

Then there was a huge tantrum. And I’m talking H-U-G-E. In the middle of the street huge. With people watching huge. And no free hands to try to pick my screaming three year old off the pavement huge.

The gale force winds and torrential rain did not help. Neither did the fact I was wearing a dress that kept billowing up to reveal a post-Christmas wobbly backside stuffed into a pair of less-than-flattering tights. As I hopped desperately from foot to foot pleading with my child to “GET UP NOW!” a fresh gust of wind would bare my flesh, moving in ten different directions, to the gathering crowd of teenage spectators enjoying the impromptu lunchtime entertainment.

So you can imagine, by the time I was to face The Big Test, I was not in the best frame of mind.

It didn’t arrive until teatime. Sitting happily eating her pudding, my three year old chirruped, “I love chocolate ice cream Mummy” before sucker-punching me – BOOM! – with, “Oh yes, and why do people die?”

I mean really? REALLY?!

Lulled into a false sense of security over the ice cream comment, I was caught totally off guard. I countered with a stumbled, “Because they get very old or poorly or have an accident – and we can’t all live forever”. To which she replied, “But why can’t doctors save them?”.

“Doctors don’t have the answers to everything,” I tried to remain calm, smiling reassuringly. Mother knows best, and all that.

“But Aunty Lizzy’s a doctor Mummy,” Frog looked up at me earnestly. “She makes people better. She is clever.”

And with that one comment I had the situation back under control.

“That’s true. But she can’t make EVERYONE better because she’s not THAT clever.”

If in doubt, just blame it on your sister. Works every time.

The post The Motherhood Test appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I’m not a fan of labels. I think they divide us rather than bringing us together. “Attachment Parent”, “Stay At Home Parent”, “Natural Parent”, whatever the label, they all make me feel kind of itchy.

I have no problem with the concepts behind the label, but the idea of belonging to a “club”, likening parenting to being a fan of a particular football team, just doesn’t sit well with me. I was the kid at school who loved Take That but also had a secret soft spot for East 17. So you see, I’ve never been very good at choosing sides.

Of all the labels out there that are thrust upon mothers (and I say “mothers”, because I’ve yet to hear someone use the father equivalent of this label), the one that I detest the most is “Full Time Mum”.

Full. Time. Mum.

Let’s think about that for a second. You’re a mum. And you do this role “full time”. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!

Does it mean that you clock in at 9am and leave at 5pm, mumming approximately 40 hours a week? Or does it mean that you are always a mum, spending every second of your day wearing your title proudly?

In truth, I know what “Full Time Mum” is supposed to mean. I’ve heard it used enough times to work out that a “Full Time Mum” is a mother who stays home and doesn’t use childcare. It’s a term that is often used interchangeably with “Stay At Home Mum”.

But “Full Time Mum” is, at best, a rubbish description of this role and, at worst, insulting. It’s insulting to the mums who stay home and it’s insulting to the mums who go to work. After all, if you’re a mum who stays at home, then you don’t get the luxury of clocking off at 5pm. “Full Time Mum” fails to consider the 3am nightmares and the 6am wake-up calls. And if you’re a mum who goes to work, you don’t magically stop being a mum between the hours of 9am and 5pm. You might be in an office miles away from your child, but that doesn’t mean you’re not wondering what he is doing right now, or planning what to cook him for tea tonight. Someone else might be looking after him, but they are sure as hell NOT his mother just because you aren’t there.

And how about the mums who work AT home? What if you work at home while your child is at nursery, or whatever. Are you automatically a “Part Time Mum”? I dare you to call ANY mother a “Part Time Mum” and see what response you’ll get. I’m willing to bet big money that it won’t be pretty.

So there you have it. I don’t think “Full Time Mum” does any “type” of mum justice. I vote we ban it.

I vote we just use the term “Mum” instead.

The post Why we should ban the term “Full Time Mum” appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Guilt wine

What is it about parenthood and guilt?

My life seems to revolve around a continual cycle of guilt at the moment; guilt at working too hard, guilt at not working hard enough, guilt at spending too little time with my toddler, guilt at worrying about spending too little time with my toddler, guilt at eating too much, guilt at eating too little, the list goes on and on and on.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It’s exhausting. And also, totally pointless.

The thing is, I think I’m partly motivated by guilt. As much as I hate to admit it, the pangs of guilt that I experience every hour of the day – that unanswered email, that chocolate biscuit, that “I’ll be there in a second darling” moment – all help stop me giving up completely and slumping on the sofa with a jumbo packet of crisps while my toddler jumps on me. In a way, the guilt keeps me going, doing, striving and being.

Then again, it’s not particularly healthy to feel guilty all the time. And also, not particularly nice.

Pangs of guilt stop the enjoyment of a chocolate biscuit, for example. They can mar the deliciousness of an afternoon doing nothing much but cuddling up on the sofa with a sleepy two year old. In short, pangs of guilt may be motivating, but they’re not much fun.

So, from now on, I’m going to try really really hard to give up the guilt and be a bit easier on myself.

Just one question – how?!

Do you ever suffer from guilt pangs? How did you let them go? How do you get the balance right so the guilt doesn’t rule you, just keeps you on the straight and narrow? I’m listening.

The post Giving up the guilt appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

This picture sums up a discovery I’ve made over the past few weeks. To be the best mum possible, you need to strike a balance and find some time for yourself. Even if it’s just a little sliver.

I made a decision over the Christmas break to try and regain some kind of balance. I wrote recently about how being self-employed can make it hard to get that balance right. Although I love every aspect of what I do, I’ve come to accept that I do need some element of non-work, non-mum life too. I need a piece of something for myself.

And since I’ve been taking that piece over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed my shoulders haven’t been so tense. I haven’t been a shouty mum (OK there was the time she drew on the wall, but let’s ignore that one) and I haven’t been a grumpy wife (OK, there was the time he went to the pub and forgot his key and I had to stay up until 1am for him, but let’s ignore that one too).

Mainly, on the whole, I think I’ve been a much easier person to be around, because I’ve been ME. Not a hamster running on a wheel, trying to spin a million and one plates. But ME. Someone who’s prone to laugh. Not someone who’s crying every five minutes through exhaustion and wondering if they’ve lost a little piece of themselves somewhere down the line.

I’m me again. And I like it.

These are the things that have helped:

A beautiful scented candle lit in the kitchen while I’m doing the washing up or faffing with the laundry.

Realising I still have a whole hour to go before I need to collect my two year old from nursery, so making a quick detour to the shops and finding a dress for myself. Not a pair of toddler trousers or a jumper for my husband, but a dress. A dress for ME.

Taking two minutes to pick an outfit for work the next day rather than stumbling around in the dark at 4am. Rocking up to work wearing my favourite pair of pre-pregnancy tights that I’ve found at the back of the drawer.

Taking on a manageable amount of work, rather than a huge mountain I’ll never climb, giving myself the odd evening to do something totally rock and roll, like knit while wearing PJ’s and watching the Downton Abbey box set.

These are the reasons I’m smiling. It’s the little things that have set the balance back to one I can happily deal with.

Now, I’m off to go and do my knitting. Don’t judge me.

The post Me Time and Mum Time – striking the balance appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It started with me being hit over the head by a moody toddler, who’d woken up in a terrible mood.

And it ended with a moody toddler, intent on breaking her mother’s glasses.

There was a fraught car journey in the pouring down rain, raised voices and sky-high stress levels. It was one of those days that you just wish you could do over.

So when I woke up this morning, next to a sick husband who’d been up all night vomiting, I was adament I would do better today. We’d planned to take Frog to soft play or swimming, to make up for our utterly pants parenting the day before. We wanted to spend some quality time together as a family, with smiles and cuddles rather than irritation and anger. But when I looked at my husband, pale and shivering, sweating off a fever, I knew that wasn’t to be.

Instead, I spent the day with my daughter while the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine slept in his sick bed. And (sorry NLM) it was a brilliant day.

We went to the park and stamped in leaves.

We baked a banana loaf and licked the mixture off the spoon.

And we chased bubbles in the rain.

Somewhere amongst the day I managed to cram in three loads of washing and hoover downstairs (with the help of my toddler). And we had 45 minutes on the sofa, snuggled amongst blankets while we read stories and almost fell asleep.

Today was a good day. Today felt like being on holiday. I need more days like today.

The post A day with my daughter appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

When I rang my beloved mother yesterday in a fit of worry, terrified that my daughter was unhappy and withdrawn, that I’d made the wrong decision sending her to a childminder, that I should give up my radio job and just work from home, she didn’t answer the phone.

This was probably a good thing, because I would just have transferred the worry to my own mum. And, while Mother Worry is bad, Grandmother Worry is ten times worse.

So, instead, I turned to you.

I told you about my fears. I confided that I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. I asked for reassurances, advice and shared experiences.

And – jeez – you came through for me.

So, in typical daughter fashion, I’m connecting with you right now to tell you everything’s alright. Frog spoke more than a tiny whisper at the childminder’s today. She even played with a new little girl there and did some dancing. This afternoon she happily ate cake and only screamed three times during her swimming lesson (this is an improvement, honest).

I think she was just mardy yesterday at being made to wake up early and leave the comfort of her own home after a two week Easter break.

Anyway, all is well. I hope. If not then I know who to call when I have the next panic.

The ability to eat cake and feed rabbit juice = no longer mardy

***

Disclaimer: It’s OK Mum – you’re still my number one.

The post You’re just like my mum appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

She had a wobbly tummy, big bags under her eyes and a yummy little baby.

But, despite this woman’s attributes, she was worried.

The whole year stretched ahead of her and she didn’t know what it would hold. She didn’t know when her yummy little baby would start sleeping through the night. She didn’t know if she would return to her old pre-baby job. She didn’t know how long she could continue to pretend she had a clue what she was doing when it came to being a mum.

So she decided to start a blog.

She wrote about the fact her daughter was last at everything. She wrote about the white lies at baby and toddler group. And she wrote about the less-than-perfect beginning to family life.

Then she got married. And she wrote about that too.

Along the way, the woman began working again. The blog opened a few new doors and she didn’t end up returning to her pre-baby job.

The woman also made some new friends. She didn’t need to make up white lies about her non-performing baby to these friends, because they knew the score. They’d read her blog.

The woman started to wonder if she was too lucky. How could so much good stuff be happening all at once?

Then more good stuff happened and she was short-listed for two national blogging awards. She didn’t win, but she drank wine and made more new friends.

Just shy of a year after starting the blog, the woman got a phone call. She was offered a sparkly new contract as a radio presenter. She was very pleased.

Sitting at her computer one evening, the woman remembered back to the early days when she used to worry lots. She smiled, looking back with fondness at the luxury of having time to worry.

Then she got back to business and posted a picture of her daughter wearing a woolly hat in the bath….

****** The Beginning ******

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It’s just after 9am on a Wednesday morning.

We’re into the last hour of the show and I’m catching up on tweets. Twitter says I’ve missed a good week on The Gallery.

I’m a bit miffed. Work and mum duties tend to have a habit of getting in the way of the blog at times.

So I ask our lovely producer Adrian to take a picture of me, right now. No fussing with hair. No trying to put my head at a flattering angle. I’m even still biting my nails.

Frog, this is what your mum does when she’s at work. This is me, right now.

The post Me right now appeared first on Mother's Always Right.