Once at the supermarket, my toddler delighted in choosing some delicious treats for an indoor picnic. She perused the veg aisle and plumped for juicy red peppers with crisp cucumber. Her eyes wandered over the various types of coleslaw but she ignored them in favour of hummus and a pot of sour cream and chive dip.

We hurtled past the yoghurts and I really let her loose on the cheese. Usually we shop online or do the supermarket trip in a bit of a mad rush, so it was sweet to see her relishing the opportunity to take her choice so seriously. Eventually (I’ll admit, my super mum patience was wearing thin by this point) she picked Applewood smoked cheddar and wensleydale with apricots. Her taste is (unfortunately) by no means cheap.

We brought the bundle of goodies home, set up a blanket on the floor and some teddies, before taking our time over our lunch. My gunky-eyed girl spent a good ten minutes positioning the teddies in the “right” place – apparently there’s some kind of teddy politics I’m unaware of and they don’t all get on – and then sat down, patiently waiting for her servant mother to serve up the goods.

We ate, chatted and fed some of the pitta to a couple of the peckish teddies. Frog was in good spirits, laughing about eating lunch on the floor and constantly checking she wasn’t going to be in trouble for not sitting at the table.

My heart burst with that all-encompassing hit-you-in-the-stomach type of moments of love for her. I’m always floored by her continual ability to melt me to a puddle of mushy mum nostalgia.

I think we’ll do it again. Soon.

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Last year was a tough one. Long working hours, not enough family time and barely any holiday, family loss, high stress levels and a distinct lack of sleep, all made it less than perfect. But I smell new beginnings, big change and some exciting plans in 2013. All made concrete by an amazing ten days together as a family, with time to talk and realise that we actually rather like each other.

On the first morning of the holidays – Christmas Eve – we took our toddler to a routine hospital appointment for her hypermobile joints and she was given her first “Christmas present”; a pair of special insoles for her new “grown-up shoes”. She was thrilled. I considered telling Father Christmas to eBay the rest of her gifts, but thought he might not approve.

We followed up the riveting hospital visit with an afternoon making magic reindeer food (the glitter helps Rudolph fly, apparently)…

And writing very important letters to let a certain person know he was to help himself to a homemade mince pie and a sip of Amaretto (he’s gone off Port), but that the carrot was for his reindeer.

This is the first year Frog has really “got” Christmas. She was completely absorbed with her letter writing and reindeer food preparations. The excitement rubbed off, so that by the time she was fast asleep in bed I was as wired as I used to be when I was little. I now understand why my mum and dad used to love Christmas so much.

Christmas Eve ended with a special tea (prawn starter for Frog, with fishfingers to follow and, later, a steak for her mum and dad, washed down with champagne). We like food.

Then the big man arrived and sorted the gifts. I didn’t realise he’d got quite so many until I saw them all wrapped up together, under the tree.

Christmas Day passed with present opening and playing, eating and drinking, a crisp country walk (with a new umbrella) and a bit more eating and drinking.

It was an eye-opening day, with no tantrums or tears, just lots of laughter. It’s a funny thing, holidays. The (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I had no idea just how stressed and exhausted we’d both been until we stopped.

Shutting the door on the world and just spending time together, the three of us, we realised things have to change this year. Frog spent every day of the holidays – starting with Christmas Day – asking if it was “still the weekend?”. Turns out our two year old is more perceptive than we thought and relishes weekend time with us just as much as we do. She couldn’t believe it when, time and time again, we assured her that yes, it’s still the weekend.

Boxing Day was spent playing with new toys and reading books, baking and turning leftovers into freezer fodder, before a mammoth six days away. We went up north to see the NLM’s side of the family and to Devon, to see mine. Lots of driving but – again – not one tantrum from our diva child. As soon as she heard it’s “still the weekend” any sign of moodiness vanished.

Time with extended family saw cuddles with a gorgeous new addition, a delicious meal out, cousins playing together, more presents, wine, a night out at the pub, walks in woods and on beaches and a 1am toddler dancing show in front of Jools Holland (the one and only time she’s ever been allowed to get up and hang out with the adults post-bedtime, except for when she’s been poorly).

So that was the holidays. And now they’re over. 2013 is going to be a big year for us. Lots of changes we hope plus putting some exciting plans into action.

And how is my toddler feeling about the return to routine and non-weekend time? Oh, she’s totally fine about it. Honest.

***

By the way – something odd happened to my subscriber list last year (I love how last week is now last year) so if you’ve subscribed via email before you may need to resubmit your email address to continue getting posts in your inbox. Sorry about that.

The post So, that was Christmas appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Three years ago I was just over three months pregnant with our baby, Frog. That year, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I decided to “do Christmas” ourselves. Being the fierce family types that we were, the thought of either of us ditching one of our family’s in favour of the other’s just didn’t feel right. So we made a pact to spend our first Christmas just the two of us, visit our beloved families together afterwards and to spend our time alone creating our own traditions.

Some of these traditions were taken from our own childhoods and some were from things that we both liked to do (mainly eating and drinking related).

The NLM savours fond memories of going out as a family for dinner on Christmas Eve. We haven’t replicated that exactly, but we’ve taken our own twist on it. Today, we celebrated the arrival of the season we both love – a love we appear to have passed to our toddler – by a special lunch at our local pub.

We wrapped up warm and meandered down the canal to sit and stuff our faces. Oh, and wear silly hats.

The food was delicious and the festive mood was well and truly set. After a tough, tough year, this was exactly what we needed: time together just the three of us. Our family.

This marks the beginning of Christmas for us and I think it’ll be something we do every year now. The NLM describes the tingles of excitement he’d feel as a child as he ordered his meal on their special evening out, knowing that soon Father Christmas would be visiting. I like that he remembers it in such detail and I like that he wants to recreate that for Frog.

When we came home we watched a cheesy Christmas film (I forget the name) and slumped on the sofa. My toddler fell fast asleep on me and it was beautiful being able to relax into the cuddles without feeling guilty about looming deadlines and unanswered emails.

The NLM claimed he had Norovirus, an annual bout of hyperchondria that often follows a session of pigging out. Luckily, he slept it off and managed to soldier on for the rest of the day.

Christmas Eve will be drinks and nibbles at a neighbours, followed by the obligatory Father Christmas letter writing and leaving of carrots and mince pies. It’s amazing how becoming a parent can bring back those frissons of excitement about the big day. I feel a tumble of jumps in my tummy whenever I picture my toddler waking on Christmas Day to discover her presents have been delivered.

Tomorrow night’s bedtime will consist of stories including The Night Before Christmas and The Nutcracker – the same copies of the books my own mum read to me on Christmas Eve. Then we’ll wake on Christmas Day to stocking opening in bed with steaming hot mugs of tea, followed by gammon and eggs downstairs and the unveiling of the living room tree presents that Father Christmas has left.

Smoked salmon and cream cheese on blinis, Bucks Fizz, champagne, roast turkey with all the trimmings, Christmas pudding, cheese – lots of it – homemade sausage rolls and pork pie will also make an appearance. Along with lots and lots of chocolate.

And love. So much love and laughter – the odd bout of “Norovirus” – and cuddles.

I love Christmas.

And with that, I bid you all a very merry time. As I have mince pies to make and bubbles to drink.

Have a good one.

The post Our Christmas appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

With a baby with a history of refusing to let anyone put anything in her mouth (seriously, no Calpol unless she was holding the spoon – and certainly no bottle) I dreaded the thought of weaning.

Baby-led weaning sounded like a far more fun – if messy – approach. One that wouldn’t see me suffer a nervous breakdown anyway.

I was very enthusiastic. I saw my baby eat cool stuff. Proper food. It was a bit weird and that was why I loved it. I wrote articles about it. I interviewed the Baby-led Weaning gurus on more than one occasion. I was a total convert.

And here I am, with a two year old child who has fads.

A few weeks ago at supper she pushed her plate away and said, “No Mummy! YOGHURT!” before tipping the contents of said plate on the floor. She tried the same tactic the following evening. I got cross. Never before had I been faced with a child of the fussy variety. I started breaking every rule in the Baby-led Weaning book.

“You will NOT leave this table until you’ve eaten at least THREE MORE SPOONFULS young lady!” I reprimanded. And then I gave in and let her have a yoghurt.

Once the flood-gates were open that was it. “No pudding until you’ve eaten your main course! Every. Last. Mouthful,” I frowned. “Eat your greens!” I scolded. “No you will NOT get down until you finish what’s on your plate,” I chided.

In short, I became a dinner lady from my own childhood. It’s amazing how ingrained these habits are. I stopped trusting that my daughter knew when she was full. I started turning mealtimes into a battle that I had to win.

After 18 months of happily trotting to the table, Frog started having tantrums about eating. Just the odd one, but as a foodie from the age of 6 months, this was odd.

So I made a radical decision a few weeks ago. Back to basics. Back to the Baby-led Weaning books.

I brought her mealtimes forward half an hour, so she wasn’t tired. I made sure I always ate with her, rather than sitting opposite staring at her. I offered fruit for pudding, but put it at her place setting next to her main course of food. I ignored what she ate.

And she ate.

She ate and she ate and she ate.

This is her two weeks ago, on a family trip to our local pub for her birthday. She ate pan fried scallops with Asian inspired slaw and ginger. That starter was far more interesting than the pasta and tomato sauce on the kids menu:

And last night? We had fishfingers, chips and peas, with lashings of ketchup. (We like to mix it up a bit.)

My toddler still has the odd tantrum around mealtimes. But now I’m confident enough to accept it’s because she’s tired and she’s not interested in the food.

There’s nothing she won’t eat, but there’s plenty she’ll refuse on certain days. Sometimes yoghurt is the in thing, sometimes it’s curry or paella or piri-piri chicken. Whatever. She knows what she likes and she knows how hungry she is. If she doesn’t want what she’s offered, then fine. But there’s nothing else on the menu. So that’s that.

And guess what? Food is fun again. It’s so fun, the toy kitchen bought for Christmas is back in use…

***

This post was written for this week’s Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Head over there to read the rest.

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Behold. The latest for environmentally conscious parents.

The Beco feeding set, from Beco Things.

I’d never heard of this brand until they got in touch to introduce themselves. I have to say, I was a bit sceptical at first. I mean, I know it’s trendy to be environmentally aware and all, but aren’t eco potties and plates taking it a bit far?

And then I tried out this feeding set.

Call me fickle, but the fact it’s made from natural plant fibres, is biodegradable and is created using ethically conscious manufacturing is, quite frankly, at the bottom of the list of positives for me. Because it’s just so darn pretty.

I know, I have my priorities completely straight, right?

The thing that I love about this set is the way it looks and feels. It’s got a texture like china, which makes a change from the usual plastic tat Frog tends to eat off. This plate and bowl have a “grown up” feel, but are still very non-toddling toddler friendly.

The edges of the plate feature a handy lip, to stop food going astray…

The cup is made from the same material and has an equally satisfying shape. It’s slanted in the middle, making it easier to drink from for those less experienced in Big Girl Cup Drinking.

But it doesn’t have handles.

For us, this is a bonus, because we’re trying to get Frog more used to drinking from normal cups rather than the “sippy” and “doidy” variety. The sooner she can drink from such vessels the sooner I can stop lugging around spare cups in every handbag.

The bowl is also rather lovely. Perfect for banana eating…

My only criticism of the Beco Feeding Set is the fact it doesn’t come with a helpful assistant to teach your child which utensil goes where…

***

The Beco Feeding Set is available to buy from £11.99 from the website.

This is a review post.

The post An eco-savvy plate. Yes, really. appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Fast forward two hours and we still haven’t found our villa. Between the four adults on this trip, not one of us has remembered to bring the directions.

Another hour in and still no sign of the villa. We’re driving down a deserted dirt track with no idea where we’re heading. I look at my sleeping baby, in her rickety Turkish carseat and feel sick.

And so began our first family holiday to Turkey last Easter.

Despite the rocky start, we had a brilliant time.

Eating…

Drinking…

And swimming…

After a hectic nine months getting used to parenthood, it gave us some time together as a family to relax. It also gave my parents some time with Frog, to get to know the person she was becoming.

A person intent on “helping” with her grandfather’s crossword…

***

This is my post for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is “The letter T”. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

The post T is for Turkey appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Gone are the old, boring, white walls. Hidden are the original timber beams. And camouflaged are the dull beige carpet and cream rug. In their place are spots of tomato sauce, layered with smudges of mashed potato, accompanied with a fine dusting of rice crispies and crusty sausage.

Frog has taken to decorating like a true pro. She’s really gunning for Laurence Llewelyn Bowen’s job.

Now, everyone knows baby-led weaning is messy. Hideously messy. You need a crate of newspaper to cover the floors, at least two bibs for the baby and ten tonnes of overalls for yourself. Either that, or everyone gets naked and you all jump in the bath at the end of every mealtime. Not that we do that. Honest.

So, just as Frog was starting to get rather adept at using her hands to shovel food into her mouth (with only around 45 percent of it making it to the floor) we decided to up the ante. Not content with the fact our baby clearly loves her food and will eat anything (I mean this in the literal sense – we’ve caught her trying to lick a nugget of poo in the past)  we thought it would be a good idea to introduce a spoon.

Idiots.

I’ve admitted in the past I have a tendency towards the competitive side. I’m ashamed to say it, but despite all my promises to leave the baby race etc etc, I’ve jumped straight back in. My nearly-13-month-old daughter will NOT be left behind. Oh no. She will learn how to use a spoon and will, in less than 2 weeks time, be cutting up her own meat and veg in a manner more lady-like than the queen.

Or not….

[slideshow]

The post Why a baby is better than Laurence Llewelyn Bowen appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I had an email today telling me all about this new phenomenon that’s (supposedly) sweeping the nation. It’s called “Weekendvy” and, apparently, lots of us have it.

Yeah, right.

“Weekendvy” is pretty simple: we have very dull lives so decide to lie about. It works like this, come Monday morning you boast to your work-mates / mum-mates / anyone who is willing to listen, that you spent your weekend taking the kids to the zoo, having a romantic meal out with your other half and shopping for clothes in that amazing new boutique down the road. When, actually, you spent Saturday trailing round the supermarket and Sunday sitting around in your pants watching Countryfile. Get it?

Errr…

Now, call me competitive (I know, I know, at it again, can’t help myself) but when I hear on a Monday morning about the amazing weekends other mums at baby and toddler group had, I just can’t help myself. They went to the farm, or to soft-play, or had a romantic weekend break with the man, or had a night out with the girls. They most certainly didn’t sit around in their pants watching Countryfile. I panic  - why am I so rubbish at doing weekends – and cook up something about a family trip swimming and a meal out with the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine.  Phew – got away with it this time…

But all this has got to stop. I really must stop bending the truth about my weekends. So hands up, I admit it: I do enjoy a spot of Countryfile in my pants on a Sunday. And in the last eight months I have only been out for one meal with the (self proclaimed) NLM. He is so romantic he took me to an All-You-Can-Eat Chinese.

Ah, that feels better, what a load off my mind. Right, I’m off to clean the boat. We’re going yachting this weekend don’t you know…

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