tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5157598946723479972024-03-13T11:35:55.951+00:00Notes from the ToyboxReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-14787159177654533682014-09-08T15:30:00.002+01:002014-09-08T15:30:32.146+01:00Sorry luv, too busy lookin' at mah smartphone to teach you good manners...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOS8yYNwCSc1pAHgWoUmtEXY6bGZqajBjPtWOAuu08GRsY4Y5rThqj1QdTZ3pqTH8qYGQfeqsdszFH7_vhzmmrLZWA8suvAhvBckDizGH2TSOeVap6f3AueMtMO9z1uf87yepJU5aDPls/s1600/Hammack-queue-308x232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOS8yYNwCSc1pAHgWoUmtEXY6bGZqajBjPtWOAuu08GRsY4Y5rThqj1QdTZ3pqTH8qYGQfeqsdszFH7_vhzmmrLZWA8suvAhvBckDizGH2TSOeVap6f3AueMtMO9z1uf87yepJU5aDPls/s320/Hammack-queue-308x232.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excuse me, is this where I queue for a part in "Bod: The Movie" ?</td></tr>
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It was one of those stupid things that's so insignificant and everyday but underlined one of the things that's guaranteed to press all my buttons in no time at all. </div>
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Politeness. Manners. Words that, to the average six year old, are just words and have no basis or foundation in their lives. I always wondered whether me being a constant grump was just some genetic predisposition for being like my dad's side of the family (notably grumpy to a tee) or something more deeply rooted in what's going on in the world as a whole. </div>
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The incident that triggered this missive was so low-impact that most parents will probably scoff, snorting "If that's the only type of problem you have in a playground, then you're lucky matey!" But it was merely this. Charlotte patiently waiting for her turn to go on a Playground ride (a zip wire). Two boys butting in, trying to shove her out of the way so they could go first (in fact one of the boys - probably no older than three or four years old, nearly clocked the thing right in the face because he insisted on running after her - even at the point where the zip wire contraption rebounded at the end of the run and nearly took his head off). </div>
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We've always taught Charlotte to take it in turns, to queue, and to be polite - and she does this without question. But she's a sensitive soul like us, so when the two boys were trying to push and shove her aside, her natural instinct was to just let them get on with it. It took me wading in, and another thoughtful parent (who also saw what was going on - and headed it off by physically 'handing' the zipwire contraption to Charlotte rather than one of the rude little boys) to get the message across. At any given moment though we expected an angry parent to look up from their smartphone for the split second it would've taken them to murmur in a tired voice "Don't do that Gaston! Don't do that Renfrew!" or more likely, to come over and shout in a horrid mockney accent "Whatchafinkyoredoinktomykidddddaaaah". </div>
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Queuing is just one of those things that us 'british' are supposedly so up our own butts about that the rest of the world finds it comically quaint. Half an hour at any Disney resort, or in fact any resort anywhere in the world will probably highlight just how low down everyone's list of 'basic human behaviours that won't result in you ending up in a fist fight' queuing is. Like an errant Marty McFly though, I can't stand queue jumpers of any description (kids or otherwise) so it was one of those instances where I was glad of some parental intervention from someone else who obviously didn't tolerate it either. </div>
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"They don't teach manners or politeness in schools any more" is the sort of ridiculous newspaper missive you'd expect to read on something like this. Why the hell should they, what's wrong with parents actually...you know...parenting? We managed it so why the heck can't anyone else?</div>
ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-19133433875856986752014-03-12T14:52:00.002+00:002014-03-12T14:53:14.372+00:00I am so proud of my daughter!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess C Rocks!</td></tr>
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I know we all say we are proud of our child for this, that and the other. Some parents can go gushing on about the smallest thing. But my girl has given me the biggest smile, but tainted with a sad tear in my eye.<br />
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They changed a light bulb at work, the smallest thing but it annoyed me so much as it makes the room so bright that it brings on an epileptic seizure. I'm not supposed to have light sensitive epilepsy but for the last 3 months with no light bulb in that room I was fine. The day it was changed I had a hellish seizure. I've <a href="http://notesfromthetoybox.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/being-mum-with-epilepsy.html">blogged about my epilepsy</a> before and should explain here that I have absence seizures that last from 10 second to a few minutes.<br />
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This happened just before home time, I still wasn't feeling great on the bus to school so as I got there early I took a seat inside and just closed my eyes for 10 minutes and felt a bit better. When Princess C came out I warned her what had happened hoping all would be fine from then on. As it turned out, it was going to be one of the worst evenings I have had in a long time.<br />
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I had a seizure on the way home where Princess C had to stop me walking and hold onto me. I had one as we were opening the front door and I couldn't remember the alarm code straight away. I had countless more at home. In the end I tried to sleep on Princess C's bed while she played around me. I thought just lying down and resting would improve things as it often does. <br />
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Readitdaddy was going to be late home, a very rare thing, so I had to do dinner. Thankfully there was a microwave meal in the freezer so I could put that on for us and pudding was fruit, and a rare chocolate treat for Princess C for being such a star. I had another seizure during dinner where C had to take my knife and fork off me and place them on the plate.<br />
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We made it to bed with very few problems but I couldn't read her a book at bedtime so we picked out a nice book she could read to me, one that she knew all the words too so I wouldn't have to follow the words. She said "look at the pictures mummy and then you will be fine". Into bed she shot and 45mins later readitdaddy was home. I'm not sure I've ever been so pleased to see him.<br />
I went to bed and watched tv, there was little else I could do with my evening, it was a struggle to talk or to think.<br />
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At school the children had to make a promise for the term and hers was to look after mummy better when she has a seizure. We had discussed this a week before as I said she looks after me so well, but she felt sad that daddy often takes over and doesn't let her help more. She's only just 6 so she shouldn't be looking after me, but she doesn't understand that.<br />
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At school this morning we had a chat to her teacher to tell her about the day before, her teacher also told her how proud she is of her and how grown up. I was almost in tears.<br />
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Because of my epilepsy C and I seem to have a very strong bond and she will often look out for me and check I'm ok, there are moments when readitdaddy and C at the same time will both ask if I'm ok.<br />
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So I am happy to shout I am the proudest mum ever, even with a tear in my eye.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">smiles all round</td></tr>
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<br />The Strolling Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14039790199970554604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-32947338185699759112014-02-06T10:00:00.000+00:002014-02-06T10:00:02.161+00:00Moments...<br />
Sometimes in life we come across things that make us think and evaluate life and make serious changes. We are going through one of those at the moment.<br />
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My Dad had a heart attack, was rushed to hospital and 2 weeks later is still in hospital and waiting for heart bypass surgery. Only a few years before my mum had a stent put in for a blocked artery. They were both just over 65 when this happened and as it has happened to them both, the chances of my brother and I also suffering increases.<br />
Neither of them are overweight, drink excessively, eat badly and they both get lots of exercise. My dad has seen the dietician in hospital but aside from a slightly higher salt intake it can't be linked to anything specific.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvljbYwWcP2xY0suRgMWplwoo3IPAn7aRkLGg1UzzuDDXjrLzhYwvKvlzjhyphenhyphen4vvAxVMfyQCD_9L2vqXLNt__Sr1EDlmEXgHD0mpcTaR8PiYilwsevhz_A5_VGHLCk1bcUxzIm0cUl7r2_/s1600/11916065686_3b1019484d_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvljbYwWcP2xY0suRgMWplwoo3IPAn7aRkLGg1UzzuDDXjrLzhYwvKvlzjhyphenhyphen4vvAxVMfyQCD_9L2vqXLNt__Sr1EDlmEXgHD0mpcTaR8PiYilwsevhz_A5_VGHLCk1bcUxzIm0cUl7r2_/s1600/11916065686_3b1019484d_m.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lots of veggies with xmas dinner</td></tr>
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There have been a number of programmes on tv recently about salt, fat, sugar levels in food and this got us thinking, but what has happened personally has made us change things. We have never been that unhealthy but small changes can always be made. As one tv programme said, what used to be occasional treats are now becoming every day things. So out go the biscuits and swapping shockingly high levels of added sugar in yoghurt for low fat ones and adding our own fruit. We are having whole wheat pasta and rice and it actually taste nicer. We have had a look at what makes a portion of fruit and veg, sometimes its more than you think so we have tried to up our veggie portion sizes. We all drink water so getting rid of juice isn't a problem. We were surprised to see added salt in a pesto pasta salad that Charlotte often eats, so we don't buy that any more.<br />
We are stumbling a bit with cheese, as we do love cheese, but slowly making changes there when we can.<br />
Charlotte says she is missing some of the old foods (think she means chocolate), but I think over time she will get used to it, and its not a complete ban on the bad stuff its just going to become the odd treat. This will benefit us all over time, this is for our futures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBEps-tA8r6o6W3f-Dp_qHtANeIVIilfHy7gQv7ZSOhL1eQgrmeAJF0ZaQLWA2DTJFOXmWKErd53XcRgrRhJ8YjvKvd5wFYNOMiNjhHcNfFAE6IigUv9Cz8DUREEBsauRx7Ch4txsMGXx/s1600/7832112440_7e617e4627_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBEps-tA8r6o6W3f-Dp_qHtANeIVIilfHy7gQv7ZSOhL1eQgrmeAJF0ZaQLWA2DTJFOXmWKErd53XcRgrRhJ8YjvKvd5wFYNOMiNjhHcNfFAE6IigUv9Cz8DUREEBsauRx7Ch4txsMGXx/s1600/7832112440_7e617e4627_m.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">who doesn't love candyfloss, occasionally</td></tr>
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Charlotte gets load of exercise at school, they do PE almost every day and swimming once a week. We walk home from school, at work we walk round the park every lunch time. Weekends we always try to go swimming and even if we don't go out for a walk (something else we love) we pop a dance game on the wii and have a bop.<br />
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My brother and I have both been to the doctor to get our blood pressure checked and a blood test taken to measure cholesterol levels, we are now going back every year to get these checked.<br />
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Who knows if these changes will make a difference, but at least we have tried.<br />
<br />The Strolling Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14039790199970554604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-54158795930915327542014-01-13T15:50:00.002+00:002014-01-13T15:50:47.919+00:00Happy New Year, now where the heck did the time go?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeOUspcsKjjBg0R9zmx41Ap8RyJZmVt09_X8JSQGVfXIWmGqlY-e8M-JGc2dlXcc5SoSApE_1tozuya0ZUNGHi9ubOjz1zOWFTb_RWAdgAh35qvqWhV7tdNEGzXZds_QYTAJS5R3zxYM/s1600/Photo+26-12-2012+06+22+39+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeOUspcsKjjBg0R9zmx41Ap8RyJZmVt09_X8JSQGVfXIWmGqlY-e8M-JGc2dlXcc5SoSApE_1tozuya0ZUNGHi9ubOjz1zOWFTb_RWAdgAh35qvqWhV7tdNEGzXZds_QYTAJS5R3zxYM/s320/Photo+26-12-2012+06+22+39+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls and a sling. Probably not practical for 5 year olds then!</td></tr>
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Happy New Year! Where on earth did the last year or so go? More importantly, when did we let this blog slide so badly? We've had a hectic year and 2014 is shaping up to be no different. Though work has changed and Princess C's school time cuts into everything we do, we still find lots of time to do fun things. </div>
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My wife's blog over at <a href="http://caniwalkmummy.blogspot.com/">Can I Walk Mummy</a> still details all our comings and goings, and we've had some fantastic days out despite the horrible weather. </div>
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We're still reading lots and over at <a href="http://readitdaddy.blogspot.com/">ReadItDaddy</a> we've been having fun mummifying Barbies and reading all about history. </div>
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Hope you've had a brilliant christmas and are enjoying a crackingly brilliant new year. But where does the time go? Does anyone know?</div>
ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-75956958260346692702013-11-12T22:03:00.003+00:002013-11-12T22:03:41.861+00:00The loneliness of command<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06oxYdNijS3FivgD398KU3LryswNTO6sMXO_JV-Q2z29YhpZ4wxPfZ9xCvgyjLF0CVW4a7eqcSDLYuSXEpxr403zxQ0C6OOH41L-rLCI_io9u7HOSnUDOsQym7uuXaEJLjFpjpXuCZF0/s1600/12044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06oxYdNijS3FivgD398KU3LryswNTO6sMXO_JV-Q2z29YhpZ4wxPfZ9xCvgyjLF0CVW4a7eqcSDLYuSXEpxr403zxQ0C6OOH41L-rLCI_io9u7HOSnUDOsQym7uuXaEJLjFpjpXuCZF0/s320/12044.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I didn't get where I am today by...living at the behest of a stupid electronic calendar!"</td></tr>
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Oh dear. I think I realise now why I've avoided management positions for so long. Taking on a new job has hammered the crap out of me over the last month and a half. Doing the job because I was forced to, then being stupid enough to properly apply for it when it came up was probably one of the daftest things I've ever done.<br />
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Being in a position of authority sounds great in principal, right? But when you're the sort of person who does a mindless and dull job for two reasons - one to pay the bills and two, because it leaves your imagination enough wiggle room to soar once you cast off the shackles of work and come home at the end of the day, sometimes you find that work leeches into your home life and undoes all that careful planning and forethought.<br />
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Being a manager actually sucks. It's not the added level of responsibility so much as inheriting someone else's messes constantly, having to unpick the equivalent of a huge ball of crap-covered string with no fingernails while in a dark room, being badgered by crocodiles. OK that's a poor analogy, but the bit about inheriting someone else's mess is spot on.<br />
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I did that and it's had a direct impact on the blog (now I have to spend even more time in the evenings ensuring that our ReadItDaddy reviews don't suck). It's turning me into a grumpy bugger (which I REALLY hate more than anything else about the job) as my line managers constantly lump more and more work onto my plate because I'm too willing to just sit there and take it like a loon. Worst of all is the feeling that though stress is great for the diet (no, it really is - Being in a high stress situation completely knackers your appetite, trust me on this - as does not having 5 seconds in any given day to actually sit down and eat your sodding lunch before someone else drops another pile of steaming crap on your desk).<br />
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So moan moan moan (see I told you it turned me into a grumpy bugger).<br />
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And yet...my wife and daughter are still brilliant, and though they're the main reason I was stupid enough to do this in the first place, I know they're always there to back me up, to make me laugh and smile (and of course in the case of Princess C - to tell me to sit down, read a book with her and instantly feel like someone's applied a soothing balm to all the stress and horse-crap from work). If I've come across as snarky on the blog or on Twitter, I definitely apologise. As one of my wise sage colleagues keeps reminding me - "One day you'll look back on all this and laugh!"ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-83436122390170912492013-10-21T15:28:00.003+01:002013-10-21T15:28:28.167+01:00The Sleep Thief<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Counting these doesn't help. Trust me on this.</td></tr>
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Poor Princess C. When she gets a cold or a chest infection, she gets it - and how! She does seem susceptible to them, and that means that (like recently) we end up with a coughing braying sea-lion replacing our daughter until the bug clears up.<br />
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Recently she contracted croup (I never realised that 5 year olds could get this still) which took the night-time coughing to a whole other level (we no longer use the baby monitor but it doesn't matter, when she coughs it's still like being in the same room as the aforementioned performing seal). Splitting duties as we always do, this meant that both of us were running up and downstairs, haven't had an uninterrupted night's sleep in a couple of weeks, and feel like a pair of zombies (no fun when my other half relies on a good night's sleep to get through the next day seizure-free).<br />
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Lack of sleep filters into every aspect of our lives. It makes me particularly rubbish at work, it makes my other half suffer, and of course it means that poor Princess C bursts into tears at the slightest thing as her tiredness takes hold.<br />
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Colds and flu suck, chest infections really suck. Sympathies to anyone else in the same boat at the moment.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-13026757350390994282013-09-23T11:21:00.000+01:002013-09-23T11:21:11.589+01:00Legoland fairies and the seventh layer of hell<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUqRTLy_SI4wWbN7vrsqNvGutrhrYOViJ1atqJxpbuCugQKHrtxj1r1zhhVYq_jhLE7gRdqxYsij-PLNP5RcGtz_OnxPHlcVDEP6Jki9S7f9rNWhRaJ1A_aeFyXYKU9U3FFtI60Pbph6E/s1600/pic10F3DA833755B24838F966D95B0BE5BB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUqRTLy_SI4wWbN7vrsqNvGutrhrYOViJ1atqJxpbuCugQKHrtxj1r1zhhVYq_jhLE7gRdqxYsij-PLNP5RcGtz_OnxPHlcVDEP6Jki9S7f9rNWhRaJ1A_aeFyXYKU9U3FFtI60Pbph6E/s320/pic10F3DA833755B24838F966D95B0BE5BB.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Legoland Fairy. Not sure why she's got a ripped dress but et la!</td></tr>
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We decided to descend on Legoland yesterday - forgetting lots of key things about the place like the fact that you really need to arrive within a smidge of it opening to avoid the traffic, the queues to get in, and the queues for the rides (basically if you ever want to go - and go on everything - don't go at weekends or at half term!).<br />
<br />
The single most annoying moment of the day for us was queueing up for over an hour for a ride which subsequently broke down just as we were getting to the end of the queue.<br />
<br />
The second single most annoying moment of the day was hearing a mother shouting at her son (something she was obviously well practiced in). Her exact words..<br />
<br />
"Will you stop (bleeping) prancing around like a (bleeping) fairy!"<br />
<br />
I have a couple of issues with this statement. One: the inference that little boys should not show any signs of glee or enjoyment (certainly not by prancing around and jumping up and down with excitement) and two: the use of the word "fairy" - in this instance used in a semi-homophobic way by a mum who probably has quite a few 'fruity' views on subjects you really wouldn't trust her views or judgement on.<br />
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It stuck with me for the rest of the day, distracting me from the fact that - as a very expensive leisure destination - Legoland is a bit poo really, and for the entry cost, the cost of some of the "extras" and if you're crazy enough to eat there (you really would have to be insane not to take your own lunch - and Legoland know this, which is why it's nigh on impossible to find anywhere to enjoy a picnic that isn't a gigantic sodding wasp magnet) you could probably buy some seriously expensive sets and sit at home having a fabulous day building them. It even distracted me from those people who barge to the front of the queue, offering up a weak "excuse me, can I squeeze past" without finishing the sentence with "I haven't got a Q-Bot pass or anything but at the end of the day, to be honest, I will punch you repeatedly until you lose consciousness if you try to stop me jumping the queue? D'ynarwhatimean? By the way I have an IQ that's less than your shoe size and I can't get it up any more so this is my compensatory default behaviour."<br />
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My wife has visited Legolands elsewhere and said how amazing they were, and how different. We get the scabby offspring here in the UK, quelle surprise - but for all its faults and for all the petty little annoyances yesterday, that one incident with the mother and her boy p*ssed me off more than anything else - even the queue-jumpers and wasps.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-86370438293641923512013-09-01T22:04:00.001+01:002013-09-01T22:04:11.540+01:00Introversion is not a crime...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzAJc-7LJTklj0kLHznhBEpvmPfALZWfiG-_moiFAcGXLIlRcLyXpXlYN-cV1RsO3iRAqX_chKDX2CYGqpiqSfeYAYsFdK5h9ckOVsOxRfaHpE9rGUijouKEzzrllazfIQ7lzFxxc7Uk/s1600/tumblr_mkz0lvjl6l1r47bczo2_r1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzAJc-7LJTklj0kLHznhBEpvmPfALZWfiG-_moiFAcGXLIlRcLyXpXlYN-cV1RsO3iRAqX_chKDX2CYGqpiqSfeYAYsFdK5h9ckOVsOxRfaHpE9rGUijouKEzzrllazfIQ7lzFxxc7Uk/s320/tumblr_mkz0lvjl6l1r47bczo2_r1_500.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does the modern world care if you're introverted? </td></tr>
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Something a fellow blogger (the awesome Anne-Marie at <a href="http://childledchaos.me.uk/">Child Led Chaos</a>) said struck a particularly poignant chord t'other day during an email exchange. Being introverted (which, I should add, isn't quite the same as being shy though the two are often seen as interchangeable and are often mistaken for each other) seems to be something that's unfairly stigmatised in schools. Why is that? Why is it that a talented and imaginative person isn't measured with a scale that doesn't 'mark down' the quiet ones who often have so much to say and so much to share, but can't always do so as easily as the extroverted and 'show-offy'.<br />
<br />
I worry that my own natural tendency to be a bit shy, and also quite introverted, rub off on Princess C. She's actually quite brilliant at getting on with other kids (in fact I think she's a bit too cuddly sometimes!) but if we're not there, she can be pretty shy and also quite happy to get on and do her own thing without the involvement of others.<br />
<br />
When I was a kid, I was painfully shy and had zero self confidence. I'm still like that now, and get very nervous in social situations but like most things in life, I figure that you've got to give yourself a big kick up the arse from time to time and get out there and do things that petrify the living crap out of you.<br />
<br />
So I try, and since Princess C's birth, I've done just about everything I can to make sure that she never suffers or misses out as a result of me being introverted or shy. But maaan, sometimes it's hard and still nagging away at the back of my mind is that little voice gently whispering "You really do make a complete arse of yourself, most of the time, did you know that?"ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-32576649450101044162013-08-28T09:30:00.000+01:002013-08-28T09:30:00.383+01:00Being a mum with epilepsyI have had absence seizures since about 17 years old, we don't know why they started but one day as I was locking my bike up at college I wondered how I had got there. I'm sure there were other things that happened that made me go to the Dr but my memory is bad and I don't remember them now. I remember seeing the consultant at the hospital and having an MRI scan and being admitted for what is now called video telemetry (it was called a cassette EEG in 1996). I remember staying in hospital quite clearly and was hoping I would never have to be admitted again as I did not enjoy the experience (old hospital, horrible food, toilets that didn't lock, that sort of thing).<br />
<br />
My absence seizures at the moment happen about 4 times a week, sometimes I can have about 6 in a whole cluster almost one after the other until I have a nap. Others it's a one off and I'm back to normal except for missing the 30 seconds to 4 minutes that I have been having a seizure. I don't fall to the ground, I just stop what I'm doing for a moment, some people don't even know I'm having them if they are short. I'm aware of what is going on around me, I can put a book mark in the book I'm reading or go find a seat to sit on. Sometimes one or both arms will shake but its not a whole body violent shaking.<br />
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I was put onto carbamazepine in 1997, this worked fine for a good number of years, I was happily seizure free but slowly over time they appeared again so in 2004 I went back to the Dr and referred again to the consultants, it took seeing a number of different registrars for me to convince them that I had become immune to my tablets but got there eventually. In 2005 I was put on lamotrigine and was again seizure free for some time. I was on lamotrigine whilst pregnant and had a very healthy little girl, Princess C. Until 2009 when again they returned and referred again. I saw a great registrar (a good one makes a huge difference after all the rubbish ones I have seen) who really listened and instead of increasing meds switched me to keppra and again my seizures stopped. That is until 2012 when again they came back. My Dr increased meds due to the low dose I was on but this made no difference so early 2013 I was back to the hospital and saw a new consultant. She is really excellent and decided that we will go back to the start and have the tests retaken but add in a new tablet, vimpat, on top of the keppra.<br />
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Sadly the vimpat just did not work for me, it made very little difference to my seizures and the side effects were dreadful, I don't know how I made it through some days I struggled with talking, finding words, I had no want or desire to do anything and made mistakes on some of the easiest tasks. After a few desperate calls to the specialist epilepsy nurse at the hospital I came off vimpat.<br />
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So this year I have had another MRI scan and went for an outpatient EEG (they stick metal disks to your head and measure the electrical activity). Sadly the outpatient EEG didn't give the consultants quite the answers they were looking for so in August I went for an impatient VEEG (video telemetry). Thankfully I managed 6 seizures over the 5 days I was in hospital for and so didn't have to stay in any longer, and the experience was so much better than last time. The west wing at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford has purpose built rooms and wonderful staff. It's not fun having disks stuck on your head for 5 days and being videoed 24/7 and not being allowed to leave the room but hopefully if the results are good they will be able to find me a better medication.<br />
This <a href="http://jade-epilepsymynewlife.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/video-telemetry.html">blog post </a>explains really well about what having a VEEG is like with photos. <br />
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It's still a waiting game, I'm still on meds that don't work, I'm now waiting for an appointment at the memory clinic and will hopefully see my consultant in a few months to see where we can go from here. Being a female of child bearing age also makes a difference to medication, I've done the "safe" medicines so now the options left are those that are untested or not suitable for pregnancy so epilepsy has made the decision for us to only have one child. A hard one to accept at times.<br />
<br />
So how do I cope as a mum, I just do but with a lot of support from family. I don't let it rule my life and I try not to let it stop me doing things. ReaditDaddy and I have always been open with Princess C (who is 5) about my epilepsy and both of them can tell when I'm having even the shortest of seizures, as Princess C has got older she has understood more about letting me rest when needed or taking something off me if I'm holding a cup for example. It's rare for me to have them outside of the house or office. It's like something inside me will hold them off until I'm in a safe place... not always though. The hardest thing I find is not the epilepsy it's self but my memory. Events and conversations new and old that I just can't recall. I can't drive and probably find this the most frustrating bit (which means I rely on ReaditDaddy and buses a lot), I shouldn't really go swimming by myself or with just my daughter. But I often think of the things I shouldn't do after I have done them! The Strolling Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14039790199970554604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-85131252102991568122013-08-20T14:19:00.001+01:002013-08-20T14:19:46.803+01:00Home Alone<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRCr2UTsERpTiNcqF_eaASwDzB5YAyK8ODL5Rf8_Kdm1syYpDB8g69BEc669OO6mXZza7f5pqUi5kUfPC_cHaMISSBN6p6f2LrS0xw4TNmEpTiYVgJH4cqrTb2EEa0WzFSezIZ0hun3Q/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRCr2UTsERpTiNcqF_eaASwDzB5YAyK8ODL5Rf8_Kdm1syYpDB8g69BEc669OO6mXZza7f5pqUi5kUfPC_cHaMISSBN6p6f2LrS0xw4TNmEpTiYVgJH4cqrTb2EEa0WzFSezIZ0hun3Q/s320/images.jpeg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thankfully no houses were burgled / bricks hurled during the making of this blog post</td></tr>
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Last night was one of those rare occasions where I was home alone. Princess C was staying at her grandparents after a very busy and long day down in sunny Devon and The Strolling Mum was starting a horrible week in hospital covered in wires and sensors during what looks like another sodding mini heatwave (poor, poor her).<br />
<br />
So for most of the day and the entire evening I had time to myself - which is a rarity and not always a welcome one. After spending a lot of time sketching and drawing, and doing household chores (any man who tells you that they lounge around in a deckchair watching sport wearing just a pair of pants has never been on the receiving end of his better half's wrath when she finds out he's done "absolutely sod all" while she's been away!)<br />
<br />
I missed my girls. I missed the house feeling lived in, noisy, messy but most importantly feeling like our family home rather than just some place I'm living in.<br />
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It's also hell on my diet. As it's just me for most of the week and Princess C will be eating at her grandparents for three of those days I didn't shop - which meant hoovering up whatever food was left in the cupboards and freezer (not a lot!) so I made too much pasta sauce, ate too much pasta and polished off a stack of jaffa cakes that were about to go out of date. Bleugh.<br />
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Time alone might sound like a delicious luxury to some folk but to me, it's just weird now. Not right without Mummy and C.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-68619951113545832972013-08-14T14:02:00.001+01:002013-08-14T14:02:18.955+01:00Stupid idiot things that you think are hilariously funny at the time, but will bite you squarely on the arse #1: Nightmare Cheese<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQf8jSVmd1fRe1-3zhyL9dazt2QsS85CZj7keOVQJDQ2LXORjS_rLiTBb-Ux_XYD_8tn9Gx8Vmd47XiVKnURTDoEXABb4fR5kdh76r27U2IyTAuW8P5pcoT8FunHgVhYRULtZiAncmtw/s1600/234801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQf8jSVmd1fRe1-3zhyL9dazt2QsS85CZj7keOVQJDQ2LXORjS_rLiTBb-Ux_XYD_8tn9Gx8Vmd47XiVKnURTDoEXABb4fR5kdh76r27U2IyTAuW8P5pcoT8FunHgVhYRULtZiAncmtw/s320/234801.JPG" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The white bits are safe, the blue bits give you nightmares. FACT!</td></tr>
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One of the problems with being a "silly daddy" is that sometimes you carry a joke too far, and sometimes that joke becomes a rearing venomous snake, and bites you back - hard.<br />
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Now, picture the scenario where you - the ardent cheese lover - try to convince your child (in this case, Princess C) that "Veiny cheese gives you nightmares" and the blue bits are the worst for doing so.<br />
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Amazingly enough I never had to beg or plead with Princess C to get her to eat anything weird like Blacksticks Blue or a really good piece of stilton. She just does but oh yes, that nightmare cheese thing really did kick me (or rather my poor long suffering other half) squarely in the pants. I put Blacksticks Blue in Princess C's packed lunch yesterday. She ate it, enjoyed it, but the closer we got to bedtime, the more apparent it became that I'd done something really stupid. No not necessarily putting the cheese in a sandwich for her to eat, but starting off the whole nightmare cheese thing ages ago only for it to 'pay out' some way down the line.<br />
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First she bellowed for me to come into her room shortly after we'd put her down for the night.<br />
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"The nightmare cheese made me dream that there's a skeleton in the middle of my floor!" she said (not ten minutes after we'd closed the curtains and turned out the light, and the little blighter hadn't even been asleep).<br />
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I switched on the light. No skeleton. Tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. Again.<br />
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Then of course at 3am Princess C had the mother of all nightmares, and woke up wailing. My wife dutifully went down to her but there was the unspoken promise that because I'd 'slept through it' (I hadn't, but it wasn't my turn for the night-time thing) I would be made to PAY later on...!<br />
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Of course, it now means that Princess C has shot herself in the foot as well as making me look like a terrible dad who doesn't know when to quit on a joke. She'll never experience the tangy melting deliciousness of really good cheese ever again during her childhood because I'm durned well not going to carry the blame for any more nightmares. She'll also never get to watch the rest of the Harry Potter movies (they've recently been airing on TV over here, and I bought a box set to finish them off - but as the series goes on, it gets darker and darker, and more harrowing - so that little avenue of enjoyment will also be cut off just in case...)<br />
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Random nightmares will come and go, undoubtedly - and it's impossible to shut off a kid from everything that might scare them during the night - but stubbornly I'm going to dig my heels in. No more nightmare cheese, no more monsters before bedtime. That way at least I won't get the blame!ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-17027892706293481412013-08-12T15:15:00.003+01:002013-08-12T15:15:56.231+01:00Trying not to influence your childs veggie decision (by veggie parents)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDA3q2mpwYCrn4ZDllhmha9kkAuX6FHh1Z-6UUuNQn2AUkRSL8QPDpRm61US2TCczB-i6QmeiJJPI5509MNd3Nm3oLliXFJHAc_DVx8iItipq5OvQXqyIqEzPoPPGJGFyBZOL8CTNGcY/s1600/image-1.axd.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDA3q2mpwYCrn4ZDllhmha9kkAuX6FHh1Z-6UUuNQn2AUkRSL8QPDpRm61US2TCczB-i6QmeiJJPI5509MNd3Nm3oLliXFJHAc_DVx8iItipq5OvQXqyIqEzPoPPGJGFyBZOL8CTNGcY/s320/image-1.axd.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet the veggies, meet the veggies...they grow here in my nursery!<br /></td></tr>
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We are both vegetarian, Readitdaddy is allergic to meat and I just plain don't like it after going through that fussy teenage stage. We both eat fish so not true 'veggies'.<br />
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When I fell pregnant we both decided that our child would be brought up as a meat eater and they can make up their own mind as they get older as to what they would like to be, I didn't expect that to happen at the age of 5 though.<br />
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Princess C has up to now always enjoyed dinner at her grandparents and happily eaten what ever has been put in front of her. At home we used to buy sausage rolls or ham for sandwiches. But over time she has slowly gone off one item after another. First sausage rolls, then chicken, then ham and now its a struggle to get her to eat any meat, telling us that she is vegetarian. This is the girl who until a few months ago would eat chorizo and peperoni, anything with a bit of flavour to it.<br />
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She also won't eat meat substitutes like quorn or tofu either telling us that its chicken. Give her veggie sausages and shes worried its meat and so is a bit wary even of those.<br />
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She is mostly a good little eater, we haven't had too much trouble there thankfully but this decision has stumped us as we weren't expecting it to happen so early. Now we are left wondering where to go with her decision. do we try to offer meat to her where we can or accept that she is now a veggie too and only offer her that option?<br />
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<b>Daddy's take on it</b><br />
<br />
We've seen some amazing examples of kids going off the rails with food and we always strove to ensure that Princess C would be exposed to lots of interesting food. Quite often I'm the one who prepares meals so with a fussy eater (mummy) and now a fussy would-be vegetarian (Princess C) my work just got that much harder. What worries me also is that we're going to find the going even tougher when she goes back to school - particularly if we opt back in to school dinners (as the only sandwich filling she'll now eat is tuna, and you can't just eat tuna every single day can you?)<br />
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There are a ton of interesting food options available to vegetarians but when you get home at night and literally have about 10 minutes to get something together before bedtime, it's no fun at all. Mummy bloggers who convince you that it's all so easy to do all your baking and making at weekends, freezing everything ahead so you can just pop it in the microwave and serve up interesting meals just have no idea what the average weekend is like when both parents work a full working week, and have to cram in all the other chores into a weekend.<br />
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So no doubt, I'll be trawling recipe pages and suggestions for quick stuff, and by the look of things, we're going to be in serious hot water if we try to visit other countries that think 'vegetarianism' is some new fad that will never quite catch on.<br />
<br />The Strolling Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14039790199970554604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-68822033636783028192013-07-29T15:10:00.000+01:002013-07-29T15:10:07.312+01:00Princess C's Pearls of Wisdom - Part 7We haven't done one of these in a while so here is a catch up of a few crackers lately.<br />
<br />
On a sleepover at her Nanny and Dodo's house, she was taken food shopping. Nanny asked her if she'd like some Ham and she said:<br />
<br />
"Will they have Prosciutto Ham, Nanny?"<br />
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(Where the HECK did that come from?! We certainly don't have that at home, we blame Grandma!)<br />
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On a browse through the holiday section of the weekend paper I said "Oh boring golf holidays". At which point princess C said "Oh great I like golf holidays!" Nobody in the family plays golf so this stumped me and decided to quiz further about this golf holiday she had been on.<br />
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"At Centre Parcs of course, we played crazy golf and it was brilliant" was the response.<br />
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(Well how can you reply to that!)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3qOWM94uyzoeav10masO_qdxsXwRdFz1jX3lELPb74rrPnOcfZruWF3wgJNR4gQQNInqtU0rl-XfXLSwqd5FFjnSyt4hRYKl5M_OEQlsj1ArCE_Rn8ZxMP2nozlxXWajaVVo8FCnxfbr/s1600/IMG_1678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3qOWM94uyzoeav10masO_qdxsXwRdFz1jX3lELPb74rrPnOcfZruWF3wgJNR4gQQNInqtU0rl-XfXLSwqd5FFjnSyt4hRYKl5M_OEQlsj1ArCE_Rn8ZxMP2nozlxXWajaVVo8FCnxfbr/s1600/IMG_1678.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy Golf at Centre Parcs with Grandad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Lovely Auntie came for a visit and was telling Princess C a bit of a naughty joke about a girl doing handstands. "When she went home to tell her mummy, her mummy said but all the boys saw your knickers. Next day girl does handstands and when the mother questioned her about the boys seeing her knickers she said she wasn't wearing any". Princess C within a bat of an eyelid replied "she should have worn tights".<br />
<br />
No flies on Princess C!<br />
<br />
<br />ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-58115096702893653392013-07-22T10:12:00.001+01:002013-07-22T10:12:15.087+01:00Danger - low flying objects. No Swimming / paddling!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgogKFG7KqOsaFvod0SQOwhw0JeSb2LBEHD6kUZWE_qhH0ekrWksxbGXxcmUEVVZVfwTX7NWr5FBU5rnEiBJKg20xu96x5xrtdL5KIWF-_uq8GZiJzbq9w7kqTsluy-Cfdb2vWH5-UjH2w/s1600/2278414_40ff2e67.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgogKFG7KqOsaFvod0SQOwhw0JeSb2LBEHD6kUZWE_qhH0ekrWksxbGXxcmUEVVZVfwTX7NWr5FBU5rnEiBJKg20xu96x5xrtdL5KIWF-_uq8GZiJzbq9w7kqTsluy-Cfdb2vWH5-UjH2w/s320/2278414_40ff2e67.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only time you won't run the risk of being clouted in the head by something while paddling</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I must've missed a memo, it's easily done I suppose. The memo where everyone was clearly given details of the headline of this article.<br />
<br />
"Danger - Low Flying Objects! No Swimming / Paddling" - which of course applies to any stretch of water, be it sea, or paddling pool, local swimming pool or even a muddy puddle in use during the fine weather.<br />
<br />
On holiday we spent most of our time in the hotel pool either dodging balls thrown the entire length of the pool (ensuring that no one could swim safely ANYWHERE for fear of being biffed by one), or people picking up on Wimbledon fever, playing tennis across the entire length of the water too. Not kids by the way, this was mostly adults (those who weren't clinging to their sunbeds having 'pre-booked' them with the towel routine at 5.30 in the morning - you know, like we laughably always accuse German tourists of doing).<br />
<br />
Similarly in the sea, same deal applied (as well as on any stretch of beach we happened to lay a towel on to sit down in peace). Then when we got back to the UK and had a dip in the children's pool at Beale Park a 'lovely' little brat and his sibling were throwing a lawn dart across the water, completely unsupervised by their docile parents / grandparents (who were glued to their smartphones, naturally).<br />
<br />
People say I grumble a lot. I probably do, but sheesh, IQ levels over the last 20 years seem to have dipped to single figures, and with no governmental move to introduce "The Common Sense Test" for would-be parents, this sort of dullard behaviour just seems to become more and more commonplace.<br />
<br />
In my mind's eye, if anything did actually hit Princess C while she was innocently getting about the business you get into a paddling pool or swimming pool for (ie paddling and swimming), I'd grab whatever object hit her and either throw it as hard as I could at the parents, or far out of reach of the kids playing with it.<br />
<br />
In reality I'd probably just swear a lot, grumble about it on a blog or something, and pray for rainy weather as usual :)ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-28928341110786527452013-07-18T11:59:00.001+01:002013-07-18T11:59:18.517+01:00Summertime, and the livin' is queasy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhltZqdYLZKKlsmRuZV5Nd0luvtNPpH6JPCzDlHar6cGj-kgqpAQwsi2ZM9dWR1HCehJ9pwru9BTAPRcYriB5L1M04YWi8WGB9SNKTyT9Ob16tdaqsPx0GJM6w-si6zPCA4Su0Rengf8o/s1600/paraguay-giant-barbecue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhltZqdYLZKKlsmRuZV5Nd0luvtNPpH6JPCzDlHar6cGj-kgqpAQwsi2ZM9dWR1HCehJ9pwru9BTAPRcYriB5L1M04YWi8WGB9SNKTyT9Ob16tdaqsPx0GJM6w-si6zPCA4Su0Rengf8o/s320/paraguay-giant-barbecue.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of our neighbours during hot weather. On wash day. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Much as I bemoan the cold, and the lapsed human need to hibernate in the winter, I really don't like hot weather or the summer.<br />
<br />
We fight a constant battle on several fronts. To keep the house cool enough (and also dark enough) so that Princess C can get to sleep before midnight (not easy, as I'm sure most parents will attest). Getting enough fresh air (if indeed there is any moving air around, certainly isn't at the moment) before the neighbourhood barbecue fiends replicate the scene in the header image above and fill the air with the stench of burning dog poo, rubber tyres and charred flesh.<br />
<br />
Creativity takes a dive, exercise routines are binned as it's just too durned hot to move. Sleep is something that happens purely through exhaustion rather than planning. Then there's the constant fight to cover your nearest and dearest (and youngest) in enough suncream to ensure they don't burn to a crisp. Slapping factor 50 on Princess C has to rate as the third worst summertime task (getting her to drink enough to stay hydrated, and eat anything probably rate slightly higher).<br />
<br />
But it is nice to see the sun, soak up a bit of vitamin D, and on those rare moments when you can escape into the wild, get away from it all, and find a small pocket of quiet and calm anywhere in our countryside, it can completely change your mind (so that'll probably be what we'll attempt every weekend that the weather holds).<br />
<br />
I just wish someone would invent a portable air conditioner that fits in your pocket!<br />
<br />
<br />ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-85033708769028968792013-07-01T12:10:00.003+01:002013-07-01T12:10:52.490+01:00It's already been a year (nearly) at school...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5DEouKZFzswWpKQKp4jQqVVz6YyUfnnDu9Pwz5zEXGOg0H3e8TB2D1qldqiJ6yzh_Ec5P557w_wpAckDeVPhyphenhyphenQQTcUESLo_xO4ztfNpyCJzDlwdmbU0pjOp0LLvJV_DT0UWCln40v2E/s400/school_children.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5DEouKZFzswWpKQKp4jQqVVz6YyUfnnDu9Pwz5zEXGOg0H3e8TB2D1qldqiJ6yzh_Ec5P557w_wpAckDeVPhyphenhyphenQQTcUESLo_xO4ztfNpyCJzDlwdmbU0pjOp0LLvJV_DT0UWCln40v2E/s320/school_children.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where does the time go!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Princess C has been at school since last September and is fast approaching the end of Reception. We can barely believe that it's been that long, and that we're now looking towards Year 1 with our little girl and wondering what new things she'll learn, what new quirks she'll have to deal with and most of all how much she'll miss her current teacher (luckily all her friends are moving up with her so that does make the transition a little easier).<br />
<br />
We feel so lucky that it's all been a relatively smooth ride, bar a few of those mornings where Princess C is ultra clingy and doesn't want to be there (thankfully with her brilliant support teachers and of course her current teacher, there's always someone there with a cuddle and a distraction to help her settle).<br />
<br />
Year 1 is where the kids start to knuckle down a bit. There is still play (hooray!), there's still only reading homework plus a few worksheets here and there, and hopefully the kids will still get to go outdoors like they currently do. I think we made the right decision on where she ended up when quite off her own back, she said how much she was looking forward to Year 1 and how she wanted it to start RIGHT NOW!<br />
<br />
Things could've been so different. Thinking back a year, at how we'd only just found out we'd got a place at this school and how stressful the year preceding that news was, it was a horrible time and probably one that's all too familiar to parents these days. If you're going through that now, you have my utmost sympathy. It's not fun, we know.<br />
<br />
<br />ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-77861008271306953812013-06-21T11:23:00.000+01:002013-06-21T11:23:03.187+01:00Part Time Blogging and the perils of 'time off'<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseb8PaOcYpuvVAHobdgv7LHXp1CcDc4-vW3jtcp1OodjRq3jwOZuNYWHSep39lxGtlyjAbBkqV74XyPmHaWDhek80Ya0sDcTqklQJCPQoLGMZ6goiqCj45OcRaGZ6rD8WOVi-QKq-MB8/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseb8PaOcYpuvVAHobdgv7LHXp1CcDc4-vW3jtcp1OodjRq3jwOZuNYWHSep39lxGtlyjAbBkqV74XyPmHaWDhek80Ya0sDcTqklQJCPQoLGMZ6goiqCj45OcRaGZ6rD8WOVi-QKq-MB8/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't what we do all day. It just feels like it sometimes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't think I've ever met a blogger whose sole purpose in life is to put together blog posts. Every single one of us (well, all the ones I'm aware of) blog away as a part-time 'hobby'. Writing is therapeutic, and sometimes reviewing things can be quite therapeutic too.<br />
<br />
Though there's that phrase isn't there - 'PR Friendly'.<br />
<br />
We're extremely PR friendly. In fact we're PR Friendly to a fault sometimes. Virtually every single one of the PRs we've ever dealt with have also been friendly, and for that we're extremely grateful. After all, they're essentially offering to send you things free of charge in the hope that you'll put something worth reading about them on your blog.<br />
<br />
So it's the 1%, the ones that <i><b>just don't get</b></i> that we have a young child (a very busy little Princess C) that we look after - and at weekends and during holidays we're incommunicado. Neither of us (well definitely not me anyway) are wedded to our smartphones. Neither of us are online 24/7 and neither of us would ever consider screwing up a family holiday by dropping everything to blog or be at the behest of a PR, even if you're offering to send us a free Rolls Royce or gold plated loo seat. We squeeze our posts in during the evening, schedule them to scatter throughout the working day, and truly hope that folk see them and read them. Sometimes we're even up late into the night putting posts together, not necessarily because we have to but because we enjoy it.<br />
<br />
We pride ourselves that even though we do this part time, we put a massive amount of effort into both our blogs to make them informative, good to read, and above all honest. But our only 'boss', and the only person who can tell us what to do with our time and when to be at their beck and call is 5 years old and is the best boss in the world...!ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-43788864123157426902013-05-28T11:05:00.000+01:002013-05-28T11:05:02.415+01:00Toy Review - Vannelope Von Schweetz and Taffyta Muttonfudge Toy Racers from ThinkWay Toys<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFdC0MoST7HpriiINCIHcYCl1MEXTYkTZA4BRUl4gbArSPtedkna74Qm_rTecupdq2SE1vqw0-QFjIx31lMlSofIvgPH-ck0aVWSTFdZoz7PFyNm6r_zRPiiLiRQjzyaE00AQhrEWYloo/s1600/41-ztkidRvL._SX385_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFdC0MoST7HpriiINCIHcYCl1MEXTYkTZA4BRUl4gbArSPtedkna74Qm_rTecupdq2SE1vqw0-QFjIx31lMlSofIvgPH-ck0aVWSTFdZoz7PFyNm6r_zRPiiLiRQjzyaE00AQhrEWYloo/s320/41-ztkidRvL._SX385_.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vannelope Von Schweetz and her Candy Kart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We've been looking for Wreck-It Ralph tie-in toys for a while, and it looks like a few are slowly leaking out onto the UK Market. Argos now sell three of the superb Thinkway Toys racing karts from the movie's 'Sugar Rush' segment, including the two we bought.<br />
<br />
Vannelope Von Schweetz's fantastic hotch-potch go-kart is super-detailed, and comes with a posable Vannelope figure which 'plugs in' to the kart, so when kids are driving the kart around the floor like mad things (as Princess C has for most of yesterday and today) the figure stays put. A good feature.<br />
<br />
Decorated just like her kart in the movie, it comes with biscuit wheels, wafer spoiler and lots of tiny little details. The wheels are free-rolling and it's a nice robust toy for even the roughest toughest playtimes.<br />
<br />
We also purchased Taffyta Muttonfudge's candy racer:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtssdp8lGdnHueBT-TcGZHNA8WXc9t71edRDjxtxiV0S_fpkBwupk31Um9qTexllfEN6z9AWCJv9L-y9Ctrj000Z9dhA3kqlU1N-_HkF607MbXnPgq9xV2j3pGiZGSecX3608aRcKpeE/s1600/taffyta_muttonfudge_by_taffytamuttonfudge-d5q4dag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtssdp8lGdnHueBT-TcGZHNA8WXc9t71edRDjxtxiV0S_fpkBwupk31Um9qTexllfEN6z9AWCJv9L-y9Ctrj000Z9dhA3kqlU1N-_HkF607MbXnPgq9xV2j3pGiZGSecX3608aRcKpeE/s320/taffyta_muttonfudge_by_taffytamuttonfudge-d5q4dag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Though she's the 'bad girl' in the movie, Charlotte actually preferred Taffyta's car (probably because it's so shockingly pink).<br />
<br />
It's a bit of a shame that Argos only sell the three racers (the third is The Swizz / Tongue Twister) as Thinkway and other manufacturers have put together some fantastic toys to compliment the movie.<br />
<br />
With the blu ray and DVD release coming up in UK territories, we might see a few more toys arriving - but so far, the only way to get them seems to be to hunt online where prices can be extortionate (both these karts were £12.99 each in Argos which isn't cheap but they're very good quality products).<br />
<br />ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-32330204967994102032013-05-24T11:20:00.001+01:002013-05-24T11:20:39.847+01:00We are bloggers - Feedback is like cheese or chocolate to us!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbL8hTM9l-DAv2nuvWXLDvqgbBvqEp7EuDZhzCeRZi8GBE4NiBH6u59hM88SiNauYWhxMnG9_kjWl0f_ZK3FL1TuOhtOfShxGZsP6ObWQ4jVXrqsq9wdCvGBjXqQQqf6EpHs6Gzya6B7o/s1600/feedback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbL8hTM9l-DAv2nuvWXLDvqgbBvqEp7EuDZhzCeRZi8GBE4NiBH6u59hM88SiNauYWhxMnG9_kjWl0f_ZK3FL1TuOhtOfShxGZsP6ObWQ4jVXrqsq9wdCvGBjXqQQqf6EpHs6Gzya6B7o/s400/feedback.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
It's interesting when we go to Blogger events, or get the opportunity to meet other blogging folk, or people we've been tweeting at for ages. We meet some very lovely people, and the one thing that most of us have in common is that we're all feedback junkies.<br />
<br />
Let me explain. To a blogger who tells you that they write their blog for therapeutic purposes, Feedback probably isn't that important but I've rarely ever met anyone who writes anything (for a living or purely as a means of spilling the contents of their over-active mind onto a blank blog post) who wouldn't want feedback of any sort.<br />
<br />
After all, we're out here in the public domain, talking about...well...stuff, so it's like cheese or chocolate to us.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it can be very frustrating when you've poured your guts, your sweat and most importantly your time into a blog post only for it to meet static and silence.<br />
<br />
It's also very frustrating when you put together a well-meaning post, or a positive review and then someone drops by the comments box or tweets you about it to tell you that "you missed the full stop at the end of the third sentence" (yep we do make mistakes from time to time, but so did the Dalek who ended up on a blind date with a dustbin).<br />
<br />
Feedback is important. We try to give it where we can, if we're popping by other people's blogs we usually will comment - or if someone's put together a stonkingly good blog post and tweets about it we'll fave and retweet it.<br />
<br />
We only ask that you try and do the same. You've no idea how much it thrills us.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-45449609041563654642013-05-13T11:15:00.000+01:002013-05-13T11:15:06.700+01:00When did Pass the Parcel get so complicated?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqM_I2WcsoGXhcQhwLE6U9RGCyMAL08gddu0jlk0sBkHNkcYQI2KABQdYD-xWyvZbz6z7IQTXSvoWWssTEAnzuZQA-KhwOoQ5pKUeUsFQl6bnSSzNDEPlgFO2Lo6ugBHTG80N0NA3Hqg/s1600/ready-made-pass-the-parcel-15-gifts-116-p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqM_I2WcsoGXhcQhwLE6U9RGCyMAL08gddu0jlk0sBkHNkcYQI2KABQdYD-xWyvZbz6z7IQTXSvoWWssTEAnzuZQA-KhwOoQ5pKUeUsFQl6bnSSzNDEPlgFO2Lo6ugBHTG80N0NA3Hqg/s320/ready-made-pass-the-parcel-15-gifts-116-p.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can now buy ready-made pass the parcel parcels! No, really!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We'll be straight with you here. We hate Pass the Parcel. If there was ever one party game to cause instant groans and moans of dismay (amongst adults that is, not kids!) it's Pass the Parcel. We purposely avoided doing it at Princess C's birthday party and quite a few folk seem to have cottoned on that it's a sucky waste of time at a kid's party but still it prevails.<br />
<br />
But it's changed. Here's a then and now comparison:<br />
<br />
<b>THEN</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<ul>
<li>One parcel, one prize!</li>
<li>Parents randomly operating cranky old Binatone music centre while simultaneously glugging down a delicious beverage / holding down a conversation with other parents</li>
<li>Wrapping paper was nearly always newspaper or cheap stuff</li>
<li>All kids, regardless of gender, took part</li>
<li>Kids passed the parcel with scarcely a pause in between</li>
<li>The prize at the end was always massively disappointing</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>NOW</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>One or two parcels (sometimes even gender-specific pass the parcel sessions going on simultaneously to ensure the prizes 'fit' the winner)</li>
<li>A prize in every single layer - usually something you don't want your children to eat before they ruin their dinner / teeth / best clothes they came to the party in</li>
<li>Parent strategically operates iPod and Speaker Doc, following complicated hand and voice signals from strategically placed other parent who makes sure all children get a go</li>
<li>Wrapping paper must be at least M & S / John Lewis. Cheap stuff not allowed even though it's going to end up scattered all over the party venue</li>
<li>All kids take part, but the ones who don't still win a prize anyway</li>
<li>Kids pass the parcel with strategic clinginess just in case the music stops (pointless because of point 3)</li>
<li>The prize at the end is still always massively disappointing. </li>
</ul>
<div>
Pass the Parcel is great for two things. 1) Ensuring huge swathes of time at your children's party are taken up by this long, boring, drawn out process (watch parents faces if you do the whole thing twice!) and 2) For lulling children into the false sense of excitement that perhaps, just this once, they will be "THE ONE" (even though we all know that the winner is picked in much the same manner that Eurovision winners are - so it'll be a decision that's long been cogitated over and decided on weeks before your child has even turned up to the party!)</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I look forward to the bright shining future when Pass the Parcel has been superseded by "Pass the Smartphone around randomly until the winner is chosen and wins an unlock code for Angry Birds 20"</div>
ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-17732659370539285312013-05-09T09:30:00.000+01:002013-05-09T09:30:04.052+01:00how to get princess hairMy little princess seems to master messy hair very well. She has curls (thankfully not as curly as mine) but it's very fine and fly away. It seems to knot so easily and trying to get a brush to her hair involves screaming sessions and ouches that you didn't know could ouch so at the weekend we just let her leave the house extra messy and don't brush it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHXq7rRxmDz3IzlAW8Pf89W_Z4M7NhGXaq5tFngk9n_jF3CJz5qfOE-daUztXCIodGMj6hv9byMlHCmz0-n7PQohnrYkx_zr46VK2qJ9QyrDf3XkB7Ee0tjMx0FsXyvUVrQpydJGsJ7KA/s1600/IMG_1738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHXq7rRxmDz3IzlAW8Pf89W_Z4M7NhGXaq5tFngk9n_jF3CJz5qfOE-daUztXCIodGMj6hv9byMlHCmz0-n7PQohnrYkx_zr46VK2qJ9QyrDf3XkB7Ee0tjMx0FsXyvUVrQpydJGsJ7KA/s320/IMG_1738.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But with school each morning and having to tie her hair up I got fed up with the arguments and took her to Boots. Where upon she fell in love with the tangle teezer. We tried this out in Hamleys a few years back, the lady back combed Princess C's hair and then brushed it out with not a whimper. I was sceptical she had very little hair then and always behaves like an angel to strangers so didn't stump up the cash. But following this a few friends at work happened to say they wanted a good hairbrush as their hair knots easily, I directed them to the tangle teezer and they haven't looked back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrF7mgEZNhq0VkSgWyM3lpLBdaY0CWDL01oZqKFTpTdwHhvfl9sCw0zDeFfp5-L8IOE7qVPZ3frPEhMjN9wbGnffLysrLxM_vBmPjFCDGP5pjkn1L1sHrj-dQ8eV6mAoZVpKtL0ZaCYph/s1600/10304414-1294857518-375000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrF7mgEZNhq0VkSgWyM3lpLBdaY0CWDL01oZqKFTpTdwHhvfl9sCw0zDeFfp5-L8IOE7qVPZ3frPEhMjN9wbGnffLysrLxM_vBmPjFCDGP5pjkn1L1sHrj-dQ8eV6mAoZVpKtL0ZaCYph/s320/10304414-1294857518-375000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
So there we were in Boots and her eyes went straight to a pink flower pot tangle teezer that involved parting with more money than I really wanted but hey lets give it a go. Well its working and she's even brushing her own hair. Its the perfect shape for smaller hands to hold and it nestles in the little pot below that can keep a selection of clips and hair bands in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuSvuFNy55srj1s5s1KJQCiur0-IDWGt2Pe54RkPyXwGb_BpLeEa8v9oDxTteggxuHMsMZUeRKzWYgSHZlwFS5oAg5Z6wuNL2N8oHmvXrD5c8-sw48IHuqksYk-4DM65G8p3nmgYAFp4K/s1600/tangleteezerflowerpot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuSvuFNy55srj1s5s1KJQCiur0-IDWGt2Pe54RkPyXwGb_BpLeEa8v9oDxTteggxuHMsMZUeRKzWYgSHZlwFS5oAg5Z6wuNL2N8oHmvXrD5c8-sw48IHuqksYk-4DM65G8p3nmgYAFp4K/s1600/tangleteezerflowerpot.jpg" /></a></div>
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She loves it and has told everyone about it and we now have no tears. We have brushed wet and dry hair and combined it with anti-tangle spray for an extra breezy brush. So maybe I shouldn't have been so sceptical 2 years ago when we were in Hamleys and it would have saved us 2 years of tears!The Strolling Mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14039790199970554604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-76791531781368251622013-05-01T15:35:00.001+01:002013-05-01T15:35:10.248+01:00The case of the curiously coloured Tadpoles in Class. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQumws4PZisb3M-cV7-QknDrQYqB6sr024txgUwWDFSSt_BxnxE0NfPDIGOCq-rOc9aM6yBie85SaVCOypdSg_yCy4Ptvzi5FEJo6rTQVOW5_SjhD8qXt90ZkSD8TMijnAdAzFCveZxC4/s1600/IMG_8123-s5tdx0-300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQumws4PZisb3M-cV7-QknDrQYqB6sr024txgUwWDFSSt_BxnxE0NfPDIGOCq-rOc9aM6yBie85SaVCOypdSg_yCy4Ptvzi5FEJo6rTQVOW5_SjhD8qXt90ZkSD8TMijnAdAzFCveZxC4/s1600/IMG_8123-s5tdx0-300x225.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Children's drawings rock!</td></tr>
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It's been nagging away at me for some time, and it's something that quite a few arty folk are also concerned about. Are schools trying to stifle artistic talent before it's even had a chance to bloom?<br />
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There was a short sharp example of this at School this morning. One of Princess C's classmates is always drawing, and she draws some beautiful (and quite surreal) things. The class has a new Tadpole tank and the children were all busily drawing the tadpoles and the tank.<br />
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We were talking to C's teacher and one little girl came up to proudly show off her drawing. The most beautiful rainbow-coloured tadpoles, all happily swimming around in a crayola-storm of cobalt blue, a work that I thought was utterly enchanting, amazing and brilliant.<br />
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"Are Tadpoles that colour? Are they really? Did you look?" said the Teacher. The poor little girl looked utterly crushed or like she was about to burst into tears. I wanted to give her some encouragement and tell her that I thought her picture was awesome but there was that moment of nothing that passed between the teacher and I, that silent "I'm the boss here, don't disrupt the calm cool waters of my pond"<br />
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So creativity then? With the current strive to produce perfect little robot children who are literate and numerate, do we neglect to allow them the freedom of expression that drawing and creative play nurture? I don't get that. I don't get how there could ever be a way of thinking that literacy and numeracy are adequate substitutes for creativity when it comes to measuring success (particularly at school).<br />
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So what if the tadpoles were multicoloured, to me it still looked like a busy and thronging tadpole tank with all the elements in the correct place - the colours were actually an added bonus not a detriment.<br />
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I'm not sure what I'm trying to say from the top of my wobbly soapbox but I hate seeing instances where children are put down or dissuaded from creative moments because they're 'not doing things right' - Art was never about right or wrong, even when you get into the more technical aspects of exploring line and shape, colour and shade, anatomy and observation. Art was always about the amazing imaginative process of taking something that you have tucked away in your mind and letting it loose so others can share it.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-63821840850914542272013-04-30T16:28:00.002+01:002013-04-30T16:28:56.040+01:00That day the bully dropped by...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qlvm3AlSm7G9C5VvwfR3EAEqLGix8r6cABXHdkOh60zdIyzM8LOfSkx7xg2GiNyEksXApY_gMvbRRLN_Di0yrLtxi1gTzx2ZQ9NBsiOASFpd-tRWaJGRVnuzW1gH8uqGgBb9rQuCM-8/s1600/bully-scholarship-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qlvm3AlSm7G9C5VvwfR3EAEqLGix8r6cABXHdkOh60zdIyzM8LOfSkx7xg2GiNyEksXApY_gMvbRRLN_Di0yrLtxi1gTzx2ZQ9NBsiOASFpd-tRWaJGRVnuzW1gH8uqGgBb9rQuCM-8/s320/bully-scholarship-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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I don't like bullies, I never have - and after I left school (where bullying was rife, largely uncontrolled and always swept conveniently under the carpet by our head and deputy head - something that sounds shocking today) I thought I'd never see another day where a bully held sway over me or anyone else I was directly involved with.<br />
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Of course, you soon get to learn that bullies don't really change magically overnight like you see in the movies. In real life, Bullies usually grow up and merely sharpen their 'skills' in other ways - sometimes even at your place of work.<br />
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I lost my cool completely this morning. Something I've managed to avoid doing for the majority of the time I've been in my current role - mainly because someone in my office was being bullied (verbally, thankfully not physically) by someone else.<br />
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I flipped. I could probably blame a lack of sleep (didn't get quite enough sleep last night, one of those disturbed nights where deep sleep slips through my fingers like mercury), but it could also be because over the past 7 years or so I've seen this particular bully's modus operandii and method of exerting his bone-brained will on various people I work with. Normally I'd keep out of an argument if it didn't involve me but there was something about the language this person was using, the methods they were exerting over the person who couldn't stick up for themselves (or wouldn't), that pressed all of my 'Hulk-Out' buttons all at once.<br />
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To coin a phrase, I lost my shit, big time. It happens so infrequently that I actually felt like I'd gone into shock afterwards. I ended up in front of my boss, explaining the situation (and sounding pathetically like a kid whose opening gambit is 'he started it') and then again later apologising (though not to the bully - though a tiny voice inside me was telling me I ought to, just to prove I was somehow the better person).<br />
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I still don't like bullies. I detest the various excuses that creep out of the woodwork whenever a bully reaches the end of their reign of terror and people finally bring them to task for what they've done. I cannot stand the way that, deep down, though you'd hope the incident made them think long and hard about themselves and the way they deal with people - you secretly know that it's had the same effect on their thick skin as a flea has on a Sherman Tank. Most of all I hate the way I now feel like the lowest of the low, simply because I stood my ground and got pretty shouty (and sweary, ack) in the process.<br />
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<br />ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-22112618097327684662013-04-23T14:03:00.003+01:002013-04-23T14:03:39.814+01:00How do you explain the death of a loved one to a five year old?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmSwlY2M2vjM8CeeMTw81px_XRFNTcK9CIwMxFA2YR5fJ5lgfU22jZQJ5Le5iPWhKq1MQ6CslKde1aFNki_D1y5a5BRlfmiYX22X0R6o6IFSO9l805Pr6qCVCskutHoRZarl7WVWaOZ0/s1600/planes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmSwlY2M2vjM8CeeMTw81px_XRFNTcK9CIwMxFA2YR5fJ5lgfU22jZQJ5Le5iPWhKq1MQ6CslKde1aFNki_D1y5a5BRlfmiYX22X0R6o6IFSO9l805Pr6qCVCskutHoRZarl7WVWaOZ0/s320/planes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Heavenly Pilots" sequence in Hayao Mizayaki's sublime "Porco Rosso"</td></tr>
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Our great uncle passed away a fortnight ago at the ripe old age of 92. Bill was much loved by the whole family, particularly Princess C who found him funny and charming, and always good to talk to (some older members of the family see children as a bit loud and a bit of a pest but he never did).<br />
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Today is his funeral and we wondered how we'd broach the subject with Princess C. She would know something was wrong as I don't usually pick her up from school today, Mummy does but Mummy is at the Funeral.<br />
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The eerie thing is that she seems to have known all along. When my wife first heard the news on the telephone, Princess C was in the office with her and as my wife put the phone down, she came over to give her a big cuddle. She could sense something was wrong.<br />
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Since then, she's mentioned death and growing old many times - despite us not officially saying anything to her. Again it's like she's picked up on something and it's played on her mind.<br />
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In the end when we did tell her about Bill, we chose to echo things she'd have been told in school about going to heaven and how our bodies are left behind but the good bits of us, our spirit, our souls, go up to heaven and we stay in here (our heads / memories) and in here (our hearts).<br />
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She sat quietly for a while and said "That makes me very sad" (at which point I really struggled not to burst into tears in front of my wife and my in-laws who were present). Though there were no more mentions of it during the rest of the evening and before bed, we flagged it with her teacher for today (who gave my wife a huge hug, bless her) and hope for the best.<br />
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The reason for the header image was because we'd watched a Studio Ghibli film called "Porco Rosso" and there's a sequence in it where Porco is describing "the mother of all dogfights" - and at one point his plane breaks above the clouds and all the phantom planes and pilots of years past are all up there, flying in the clear air, forever more. This obviously stuck in C's mind because she now thinks that con trails are those long lost pilots, and that this is 'heaven' in a sense. That's kinda cute.<br />
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I'm not religious at all. My wife probably is slightly more than I am because of her mum's influence perhaps. But I guess at our core we all want to believe that death is not the end, and perhaps we do go onto something else (something better?)<br />
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It's a tough thing to try and broach with a child and there are many children's books and many well meaning folk who have their own theories and advice on how to deal with the situation. I think we did OK. All in all, I feel like I'd much rather Princess C had in her mind something that was reassuring, and emphasised that people live on in our memories long beyond the time of their flesh and bones - and leave their indelible mark on the world in one way or another.<br />
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Bless her heart though.ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-515759894672347997.post-22320837410503047432013-04-09T12:19:00.000+01:002013-04-09T12:19:29.127+01:00Slave to the Smartphone. A Zombie guide to bad parenting. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lBzOqgqaehyphenhyphen_y5GIHlqebEvoWJBXW1wQBcXWdeg5hIe71uBpH-_AYXevPXqi3rWZmKcf78bAB69ruveLgjwYsM_Gz1dbReuONdf2ny6yZ4P8rowmShjq_cU8BH53l5oVFn8uniVjqPA/s1600/Smartphones-Causing-Bad-Parenting.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lBzOqgqaehyphenhyphen_y5GIHlqebEvoWJBXW1wQBcXWdeg5hIe71uBpH-_AYXevPXqi3rWZmKcf78bAB69ruveLgjwYsM_Gz1dbReuONdf2ny6yZ4P8rowmShjq_cU8BH53l5oVFn8uniVjqPA/s320/Smartphones-Causing-Bad-Parenting.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Come on mum, push us, we've been here for 3 flipping hours!"</td></tr>
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I swore I'd never do this. I swore I wouldn't. In fact I've even mocked parents mercilessly before for doing precisely this. Zombing out on their smartphones while their children look on, wondering what on earth is so flipping important that it's worth glueing your eyeballs to instead of paying attention to what your child is doing.<br />
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Part of the reason I never upgraded my phone was that I secretly knew that owning a device that could let you read email, view web pages or prat around on Twitter would be like the kiss of death to an already meandering attention span but when I got my new phone, it became all too tempting to just dive on, unlock, dive into an app and twiddle around.<br />
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Princess C deserves better than that. We both do it (my wife and I) and though there are times as a parent where you're more than a little bit fed up of playing yet another round of 'shopkeepers' or really do not want to play that horrible "Tooth Fairy" game C's grandparents bought her, diving into a virtual world of tweeters and emailers is like turning your back on your child and saying "Sorry, this is more important". It's bloody rude really isn't it. So my pledge is to ensure that the phone goes off when I get home from work every night, and does not go on again until I head off for work in the morning.<br />
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Could you do the same? Bet you couldn't...!ReadItDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03701448003248147233noreply@blogger.com0