So rather than be sad, I pushed the anxious thoughts to the back of my mind and spent four hours with my beautiful girl, appreciating life. When things go wrong, I think that’s all you can do. Appreciate life and grab every second of happiness you can. It’s a gift, not something to be taken for granted.

We joined the OAP’s at the local garden centre cafe. I ate a cheese scone with a cup of tea while my toddler tucked into a crispy chocolatey cakey thing.

We wandered into the fish shop (I’m sure that’s not the correct term, but I’m not really a fish person) and checked out the goldfish and other types of fish (no idea) swimming around. I spotted one about 3 centimetres long and priced at £65. We’re never getting fish.

Then we drove into our nearest town and mooched about the shops, buying Frog a new pair of shoes in the process. It’s the first time she’s had a pair of shoes without ankle support and her physio recommended it. She loves them, calling them her “big girl shoes”.

We bought some chocolate buttons (it was that kind of day) and popped into a charity shop where I picked up four lovely books for the grand sum of £3.50. My two year old will be so pleased on Christmas Day. No, seriously, she will.

Then we did a bit of celeb spotting…

And reindeer spotting…

As the crowds gathered in front of the stage in the middle of the square, ready to see the lights being switched on, I watched as my two year old lapped up the atmosphere.

I looked at her dancing her little heart out and smiled.

These are the moments we take with us. These are the moments that make life so worth grabbing hold of. These are the moments to treasure.

Life is precious.

The post Making the most of the people I love appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

“NO!” She shouts as she pulls the hat down over her eyes. “I SCARED!”

My toddler is startled by a loud duck on the lake. She runs towards me, arms outstretched, as she begs to be carried away from the source of her fear.

Two days later, a visit to a nursery sees a lady drag out a hoover. “NO!” My daughter whimpers. “I SCARED OF THE HOOVER!” And she pulls at my arms, attempting to wrap her legs around me as I walk.

Later that night, as CBeebies is turned on for the regular pre-teatime juggle of cooking, stroppy toddler distraction and washing / cleaning / wiping multi-tasking…. “NO!” My two year old screams from the living room. “I SCARED OF MR WHOOPS!” She cowers under a blanket, occasionally peeping out as Grandpa In My Pocket blares from the television.

My daughter is a scaredy cat. She wears her badge with pride, regularly boasting of the latest thing she’s frightened of because – in her own words – “I scaredy cat. I don’t like it”.

At the age of five months, my baby girl happily gurgled in her bouncy seat as I moved around the kitchen tidying. Emptying the bin, I shook out a fresh bin bag with a satisfying shake. The high pitched scream and the tears that followed told me to beware binbags near my daughter in the future. Her binbag phobia lasted a good four months.

After the binbag it was the hoover. She’s now fine with the hoover she knows and loves, but not with unfamiliar hoovers, preferring to scope them out before allowing them near her.

Nakedness terrifies her. She admires her own naked self in the mirror but the sight of my bare backside sends her running. For some unknown reason she’s started refusing baths with her mother. What was once an occasional fun activity that saw me jump in the bath, wash my hair and quickly scrub at my armpits while she happily played with her plastic ducks and pretended to paint the bath, is now an ordeal. Rather than laughing at “Mummy’s bottom”, Frog hides her face behind her hands, shouting, “No Mummy! No tuppy! Bye bye tuppy! Put pants ON!”

Charming.

This is all normal. It’s an odd toddler phase that will pass, my mother tells me. I’m reminded of my own childhood fear of hoovers and motorbikes. Images flood back to me. I’m three years old again, sitting on a stool in the living room as my mum hoovers around me. I’m terrified she’ll suck up my toes, desperately trying to tuck my knees under my chin. Walking to nursery, a motorbike whizzes in the distance. I reach for my mum’s arm, jumping up and down in a mad panic as the noise gets nearer.

I remember. I remember being scared to kiss my uncle goodbye because of his scratchy beard. I remember being scared to go to sleep in the dark in case monsters climbed from under my bed. And I remember walking with a renewed sense of urgency every time I passed the cupboard where my childminder stored her hoover.

It should come as no surprise, then, to find my own daughter’s fears so clearly resembling the ones that plagued me in early childhood. But there is one that shocks even me.

Drawing a picture this evening, I started to talk about the impending festive season with my toddler. As she chatted, I drew a Christmas tree for her to colour in. And then a reindeer. And a present. And…. Father Christmas.

At the sight of the fat jolly man with his bushy white beard and rosy smile, my daughter winced. Standing stock still in frozen terror, she gasped, whispering, “No Mummy! Father Christmas NOT come in MY house!”

I’m now under strict instruction to leave a clear sign on the front door for Father Christmas and at the top of the chimney, lest he miss the original note. It will read:

Dear Father Christmas, please leave presents outside the back door. They will be collected in the morning. You are under no circumstances to enter the house. You will find your mince pie by the back step, next to the spot for presents. Thank you in advance.

I think I must have the only child in the whole country who is scared of Father Christmas. This could be an interesting few weeks.

The post Facing her fears appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

But it was worth it.

This time last year, I was excited – desperately so. I was counting down the days until I could enjoy all sorts of festive treats with my new baby.

But while it was our first Christmas as a three instead of a two, it turned out to be pretty uneventful. No trips to see Christmas lights being turned on, no carols, no Christmas markets. And certainly no Winter Wonderland. There’s only so much five month old babies are interested in, you see. And anything that doesn’t involve milk and sleep wasn’t met with a huge amount of enthusiasm.

So this year I’m doing it all. I have every festive event marked off on the calender, so determined am I to squeeze every last drop out of Christmas..

And it all started last night, with our trip to Lapland in central London. Or, as others would call it, Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland.

The excitement began on the train, as Frog “ooh’d” and “aaah’d” at every “choo choo” that she set eyes on. It’s amazing how something as simple as a train journey can be the pinnacle of excitement for a 16 month old.

And then, obviously, there was the journey on the Tube…

Frog’s determination to prove the world wrong about Londoners was well earned. Even the most stony-faced commuter melted and gave her a wave and a smile. Who says people aren’t friendly in London?

But the real fun began when we arrived at Hyde Park. It was like stepping out of the UK and landing in the capital of Christmas. Amazing.

There were Christmas stalls, selling everything from beautiful jewellery to funky hats, toys to candy. There were food stalls galore (if you love a good sausage I highly recommend the Hungarian food stall)…

Even the formerly fussy sister of mine enjoyed it, but I’m not sure how much of that was to do with the accompanying Mulled Wine…

There were twinkly lights and Father Christmas lookalikes, not to mention the Christmas tunes and the smell of roasting chestnuts and warm spiced wine. I was in heaven…

And then we rode a reindeer.

Yes I lost my dignity, but it was worth it to hear Frog’s squeals of delight as she struggled to tame this wild prancing animal. (She is on there, honest. Look out for the bobble on her wooly hat.)

And if the reindeer fun wasn’t excitement enough, Frog dragged her aunty into the best car on the “magic” roundabout…

Then we met a talking tree, who scared the living daylights out of my daughter…

So, to bring her out of her mood, we took Frog on the huge observation wheel that towered over the entire park. And she thought the train was exciting…

Unfortunately, Frog’s stubborn refusal to walk meant we could only watch the ice skaters from afar. Maybe next year we’ll be able to join in.

After another tasty nip of Mulled Wine and cheeky white chocolate-covered Belgian Waffle, we decided to head home. But not before we found a replacement for the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine, who was stuck at work for a late meeting…

A brilliant start to our marathon of festive events – even if it has left us knackered beyond belief today.

***

To find out more about The Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park, check out the website here.

Entry to the main site is free, although there is a charge for ice skating, to watch the Christmas Circus and to go on the Giant Wheel. You can buy tickets in advance online.

Disclaimer:

This is a review post. Costs for all the rides and attractions were covered.

The post Discovering Christmas at Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland appeared first on Mother's Always Right.