Posts Tagged ‘The Urchin Rants’

Research leads to a milkshake

Wednesday, January 19th, 2011

Milk Fight

Oh hurrah. It turns out that exclusively breastfeeding a baby for the first six months of its life might not, as previously thought, protect him or her against picking up on allergies and excema. It might even increase the chances of developing them. Which won’t impress the boob-at-all-costs brigade. As soon as you announce a pregnancy, one of the first things you get is a lot of information about breastfeeding. Some of it from friends, some from healthworkers, some from charities such as the NCT. The benefits of breastfeeding to both baby and mum apparently include, but aren’t limited to, increasing IQ, protecting against breast cancer, helping lose baby weight, preventing a child becoming obese and making it less likely for a child to develop allergies and excema (see above). The literature is positive to the point of making mothers (myself included) feel guilty if they so much as introduce the occasional bottle of formula. And having sat with friends literally crying with frustration at their baby’s inability to latch on, or a low milk supply, or endless rounds of mastitis, I know it’s often far from easy. I breastfeed all four of mine for around seven months.  I didn’t have any particular problems getting started, and after the first couple of weeks found heading out with the baby was much easier without having to lug around bottles. It wasn’t an unalloyed joy, breastfeeding on freezing cold park benches is never going to be fun. But the point is, it was relatively easy for me to do or I wouldn’t have done it. Which makes me much more selfish than the mothers who spend months expressing, or who simply find breastfeeding impossible so don’t do it.

I’m not suggesting this new research means we should all give up breastfeeding. But hopefully it might mean giving mothers a more balanced view of it. Most of us have come across smug mothers who wear their nursing bras as some kind of badge of honour. And lots of us have regretted not doing more, even those who carried on for a year or more. All I really know for sure is that I can’t tell which of my friends were or weren’t breastfed. I can’t see any discernible difference in my children’s schoolfriends. And I’m really looking forward to the day when I’ll never have to wear another non-underwired, ginormous nursing bra again.

Life’s guilty pleasures

Friday, December 31st, 2010

New Year’s Eve seems an appropriate time to respond to a tagged post on ‘Guilty Pleasures’. Isn’t this the night when we’re all supposed to think about becoming better, fitter, nicer and kinder people the following year? Promising to give up guilty pleasures is the chief point of resolutions, little naughtinesses that don’t really hurt anyone, but tend to make us fatter and more stupid. It was Mrshev who wrote the original post, and he imagines angels&urchinsblog to be a furtive viewer of Noel Edmond’s Deal or No Deal, while drinking vats of Tia Maria. Tsk tsk. Isn’t it obvious that Bailey’s with lots of ice is my secret tipple? And as for Mr Edmonds, I’ve never quite got over the pleasure of waiting on his table.

Many moons ago I had a holiday job at the Theatre Royal Plymouth. One evening I ironed Dame Peggy Ashcroft’s bloomers (not exactly a pleasure, even a guilty one. These mothers made Bridget Jones’s big pants look like something Giselle might wear on Ipanema beach). Another evening, I was pressganged into the restaurant, where Noel had booked a table for his family. ‘Wasn’t it obvious?’ he bellowed, ‘That I’d want a corner table?’ ‘Er, I’m terribly sorry, but no, we didn’t realise’ I responded. ‘You only had to look at the booking name to realise it was ME. I don’t like being looked at when I’m out for dinner’. To think that up to that point I hadn’t realised that there was only one Edmonds family residing in the British Isles. That evening, and a complete inability to count, has rendered me incapable of watching Deal or No Deal, or anything else associated with Noel. Which is a pleasure with absolutely no guilt, I have to admit.

So, here they are, my guilty pleasures. And the chances of giving any of them up? None whatsoever.

  • Reality TV. This is the mental equivalent of seeking nourishment through eating marshmallows. When so exhausted that my eyes can barely focus, I pop myself on the sofa and surf to find a reality show. Even though we only have Freeview, there’s always something on. It could be Location, Location. Possibly Strictly Come Dancing. There’s always space in my life for X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent. But why end with the obvious ones? One night I found myself watching, possibly with my mouth open and scratching my head, Britain’s Best Young Beautician. It was an elimination program, the four hopefuls quickly whittled down to two due to blotchy fake tans and waxing that might have been better deployed in Basra.
  • I’m an avid reader, with David Mitchell (I’m currently reading the wonderful The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet), Margaret Atwood, Jane Austen and Carol Sheilds among the authors I read time and time again. But occasionally you have to let your brain enjoy a fallow period. When I can sense literary overload, I reach for the chicklit. The less well known the author and the more lurid the cover the better. The plots are all the same (‘slightly overweight 30-something despairs of ever finding true love/a job/the way to the gym and then manages to meet a man/win a contract as a TV presenter/takes up spinning’) so I’ve occasionally managed to read the same book twice without realising until I notice a bookmark I’ve used before. Sigh. It’s very relaxing, but I’d definitely pretend that ‘a friend’ had left the book in my house if anyone spotted it.
  • Chocolate. High cocoa content truffles, preferably from Rococo. Nothing guilty about that, apart from the mortgage needed to buy them. Nope, what I do feel bad about is the occasional foray into trash chocolate. Eat a Dime bar, chilled Mars bar (I have to eat them from the fridge, layer by layer) or box of Malteasers, and you might as well swallow lard. Yum.
  • Lying around in bed. All day. Wearing pyjamas for a minimum of 24 hours. With the occasional foray to grab a cup of tea and some cheap chocolate, see above. It is sheer laziness that makes me want to enjoy the odd duvet day, and alas, it’s not something that ever happens nowadays due to needing to actually look after my children from time to time. What did I want for Christmas? Not to have to get out of bed. Did I get it? Yes, till 5.40am.

I’ll probably be back to add more. Procrastination being a guilty pleasure I should probably add to the list. In the meantime, Happy New Year and I hope you manage to stick to your resolutions, unless they involve giving up chocolate or taking up watching Noel Edmonds.

Booktrust funding saved

Monday, December 27th, 2010

“It is as important as health and it is as important as education – it is part of both, actually”
So declared author Philip Pullman on hearing the news that the government had decided on a U-turn and were  no longer going to cut off funding to the bookgifting arm of Booktrust.

Thank goodness for that. This is a charity that is universally applauded for helping give books the importance they deserve. The nay-sayers, including Ross Clark in The Times, argue that there are plenty of books on offer in libraries and in schools, and the work of Booktrust, in part, does little more than fund ‘fat cat’ children’s authors. Clark should have done his homework. Libraries are closing at an alarming rate, and literacy in the UK is among the lowest in Europe. And ‘fat cat’ authors? With an average annual income of £5,000, most children’s authors are clearly not in it for the money. 

So while it’s not about pristine copies of books, it is about accessibility and a feeling that being given a book to call your own is something very special. Pee Po Baby, one of our Booktrust gifts, must have been read by me to the children well over fifty times. It’s a simple lift-the-flap book, helping teach the very young about colour, shape, different objects, the rituals of bedtime and bathtime, and how just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. Familiarity helps reassure, and with this reassurance comes a fondness for storytelling that I believe has helped my children progress through different stages of books. Would this have happened without Booktrust? Undoubtedly. We’re not a bookish but are a booky family, and have lots of different titles in pretty much every room in our house. But for us Booktrust has reinforced the fact that being given a book is a real treat, and books are to be treated with respect and excitement.

So well done the government on being big enough to admit to being wrong. Good luck to Booktrust, an organisation which should now go on to even bigger and better things after all this publicity. And, children, are you listening carefully? Enjoy the books you’re given because sometimes they can disappear even more quickly than you can say, ‘It was the night before Christmas…’

Not by the book – Booktrust savaged

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010
Bookstart Treasure Chest

Priceless treasure for young readers

The announcement that the Government is cutting Booktrust‘s funding by 100% is so maddening that I’m finding it hard to find the right words. Savage, devastating, short-sighted and incredibly sad, the cut (can you call it a ‘cut’? ‘Termination’ might be more correct) will have a huge affect on this charity.  Along with its other works, including administering such high-profile literary prizes as the Orange Prize for Fiction and John Llewellyn Rhys Prize for young writers, Booktrust is behind Bookstart, a national program which gives a free pack of books to babies, with guidance materials for their parents or carers. The books are well chosen, the guidance tips helpful and non-patronising, and the aims, as far as I can see, totally altruistic. Who doesn’t think that literacy is fundamentally important to enable a child to build a successful future? And it’s the work of Bookstart, along with programmes for older children, Booktime and Booked Up, that will be under threat.

My older two children have been beneficiaries of Booktrust, and were very excited about their book parcels. Pee Po Baby, a lift-the-flap card book is a toddler favourite, and the oldest boy now reads it two of his younger brothers. Just before he started school, the oldest was given a ‘treasure’ box from Booktime, containing a cardboard pirate chest packed with a great selection of books and poems. We  still read them, and the chest sits on the bookshelf to this day, keeping safe some very special treasures, including a pirate map and a book of ancient pirate lore. Booktrust knows the books children like and presents them brilliantly to keep children engaged right from the beginning. As an introduction to literature their choices are non-judgemental, and the emphasis is firmly on fun as well as quality.

These books are available to everyone in the country. There is no means-testing and no tricky way to get hold of them. Children get them at school or at medical check-ups, so the number of children who own books, who might otherwise not have had the opportunity, is vast.

So what will this cut mean? It amounts to £13 million annually, a huge sum that will need to be found elsewhere if the program is to continue. At a time when literacy levels in the UK are among the lowest in Europe, and books are seen as important in less than half of UK households, the cut seems incredibly short-sighted. And call me a cynic, but isn’t sneaking news of the cut in just before Christmas a very mean trick? Children and their hard-working teachers are home for the holidays, and parents are racing around trying to make sure everything is done in time for the 25th. It’s not difficult to imagine Michael Gove et al thinking this would be the perfect time, bah humbug, to bury some bad news.

This is something we’ll report back on. If you want to follow Booktrust on Twitter, click here. In the meantime, enjoy the ‘treasure chest’ poem I’ve photographed rather badly, below.

Bookstart Treasure Poem

Oh help, oh no! I’ve given away a Gruffalo

Monday, November 8th, 2010

A couple of years ago, I was browsing the Waterstone’s website and spotted some limited edition, hardback, slipcased editions of The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo’s Child. They looked beautiful, cost £10 each, and were signed by the author. My children love both books, so I knew others would too and congratulated myself on a job done on finding presents for friend’s new babies who were going to arrive over the next few months. I ordered three of each copy, and when they arrived was thrilled to see that they weren’t just signed by Julia Donaldson, the author, but by the illustrator, Axel Scheffler, too. He even doodled an ink picture of the Gruffalo’s head for good measure. Better and better. The books were so lovely that I kept a copy of each title for my children, and gave away the rest as the new babies arrived.

So far, so good. However, a random Google trawl the other day revealed some sensational news – my Gruffalo books are now worth some cash!

My editions of The Gruffalo’s Child are changing hands on Amazon and Abebooks for £30 and upwards. And, sob, I’ve seen copies of The Gruffalo on sale for nearly £300! Obviously I’m thrilled (and even more obviously, my copies have been swiped from the playroom and installed in the highest shelf in my study). However, I can’t remember which new babies received the other four copies. I’m not no really I’m not, honest planning to swipe them back on a playdate, but would like to tell the mother that it might be worth stopping Jnr chewing his or her book, or making a collage out of the owl, fox, snake & co.

So if you’re reading this and I gave you a copy, don’t let me anywhere near your house with a carrier bag. And grab your copy and wrap in acid-free tissue paper – it might just pay for a month’s university tuition fees in a few years time!

Gruffalo Signed Copy

Anyone seen a (hardback, signed, limited edition) Gruffalo?

Football’s coming home

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2010

After months of employing the traditional ’1-3-2′ formation in our seven-seater car, I’m wondering if I’ve got it all wrong. The daily school run sees a lot of ducking and diving, a fair amount of noise from the terraces (especially on a sunny day when the windows are wound down and ‘fans’ in another vehicle are passing) and plenty of shouting at the referee. When every seat is taken (I’m part of a complicated street school run) I’m worried the crush will lead to a pitch invasion. Perhaps you could advise.

I try wherever possible to keep the passenger seat clear, because having a co-pilot means far too many opportunities for unregulated radio station transfers. The subs’ bench at the very back is another hazardous area, being far enough away from the manager to permit all kinds of naughtiness. Clobbering spectators in the row in front is a popular activity, as is stealing their strip. But the middle row is usually home to debenture seats, and everyone knows how entrenched these can be.  One of them is backward facing, the other involves a half-hour nightmare to strap back in, which means it’s often easier to just let the hooligans get on with it in the back, and threaten persistent bad offenders with relegation to the middle of the middle row.

The middle row can seat three, but when the middle seat is up it’s difficult for even the most nimble to pass it on the left or the right. And this can give the over-exuberant just the excuse they need to jump out the boot or over the head of fellow passengers.

Apologies if I’m making no sense, but it’s only Tuesday and my carload of football crazies has kicked off the season in quite some style. Oh well, only thirty or so more match days until the Christmas holidays.

Advice. Should you just keep quiet?

Tuesday, October 26th, 2010

Advice. Does anyone really welcome it? Even when it’s asked for, the answer is often unwelcome and unwanted. And unsolicited advice can cause the breakdown of friendships and even lead to war. If Archduke Franz Ferdinand hadn’t worn that paisley tie and helmet full of feathers he probably wouldn’t have been shot in 1914. An act, as anyone born in the early 70s or earlier will know (any later and you only need describe how it might feel to be an assassin, or the kind of weapon you might use to knock someone off, please include a detailed drawing), led to the outbreak of World War One. His wife told him to put it on, when he should have listened to his inner valet telling him the navy blue number was far more ‘him’. 

Anyway, this weekend a wellwisher remarked that one of my sons might be better behaved if I could only learn to ignore him from time to time. Not helpful, if possibly truthful. Never one to live and learn I thought I’d pass on some of the advice I have taken on board over the years.

  • When changing a boy’s nappy, make sure his willy is pointing down rather than up
  • Eating for two during pregnancy isn’t necessary. Nor is eating for three when breastfeeding. So why does God (and he is definitely a ‘he’ in this example) make women in either situation so darned hungry?
  • Teeny tiny coathangers are not a newborn must-have. They’re only big enough for newborn outfits, newborns wear nothing but babygros for months, and a babygro doesn’t need hanging
  • Learn how to make a bolognaise sauce. Children will eat it every single time, even if ONLY ON THE RED PLATE and IN THE SEAT SOMEONE ELSE IS SITTING ON. Just ask blogger hilaire Mrshev
  • Always tell a pregnant lady she looks fabulous. Never be tempted to tell a mother with a newborn she looks knackered.  And don’t ever ask ‘when is it due?’ just in case she had it a few weeks ago. (Ocado delivery man, you know who you are)
  • Enjoy each stage and don’t try to rush to the next because it’s all over far too darned quickly
  • Don’t give advice

The last point is probably the most important. Saying that, I wish I’d remember point one a bit more often. Squelch.

Dannii has the yummy mummy X Factor

Monday, October 18th, 2010

Dannii Minogue and Buggy

I’m only a little bit ashamed to admit that I’m loving this year’s X Factor. It’s got it all. Heart-wrenching tales from the supermarket checkout (Mary), kiss & tell tabloid tales (Katie), and stupidly spelled names (Paije, and – in a major way – Treyc. If your parents didn’t christen you that, there’s really no excuse). There are even 10-foot long eyelashes courtesy of ‘Mummy, is that a man or a lady?’ Cher. Louis and Cheryl are clearly not on speakers,  judging by such comments as, ‘It’s not all about you, Cheryl’. And Elnett might want to review their contract given that on Saturday Cheryl seemed to be wearing a plaited horse’s mane that had been dragged through one too many bushes. Sorry love, but yummy mummy Dannii is upstaging you in the style stakes.

Sigh. Yes, another yummy mummy. But Dannii, I don’t think we can hate you for it. You disappeared back to Australia to have Ethan, instead of waiting in the UK and giving birth during an X Factor audition. Then you forced the producers to send the ‘Judges’ Houses’ contestants out to you instead of coming back to Britain. Apparently baby Ethan was never far from your side and even wailed during a crucial part of filming when you were about to reveal who would stay and who would go. So far, you’ve been relatively restrained about bringing Ethan into the spotlight, apart from using Twitter to post the first public pic. As you could have got a fortune for doing this in Hello!, or countless other publications, hats off. And you rocked the dress designed by another even more famous yummy mummy, Victoria Beckham, last Saturday.

Obviously, it’s annoying that you’re looking this good only three months after giving birth, let alone stringing coherent sentences together. I know you’ve a team of people styling you, and mopping Ethan vomit off the shoulders off all those designer dresses, but I’m sure I saw some wrinkles on your forehead at one point during the live show. Perhaps your sleek and shiny looks might not just be down to good lighting, inch-thick TV make-up and Botox. And I like that while you’re clearly loving motherhood, if your Twitter feed is anything to go by, it’s not defining you.

Dannii, you’re a mum and you’re nearly 40, two things which would have made you the Ex Factor not so long ago when it came to UK TV. For that, and for helping boot off Diva Fever, I salute you. And if you could have a quiet word with Cheryl’s try-far-too-hard stylists, so much the better. Though now the weather is getting chillier her ‘fox brush’ hair do might be a good one to adopt to keep my neck and shoulders warm. Perhaps it could be auctioned off for charity at the end of the series.

Keep the noise down

Monday, October 11th, 2010

Most mothers are familiar with that so-tired-my-eyes-can’t-focus feeling that appears with monotonous regularity at about 5pm. I’d like to add ‘thumping headache’ to the 5pm list. And the culprit isn’t just the children, but boys in general. I’m sorry, men, but you are just too darned NOISY.

Admittedly, I live in London, one of the world’s most frenetic cities. But forget the revving cars and emergency vehicle sirens (a large teaching hospital is a five-minute ‘NEEE-NAAAH’ away), the headaches are because I’ve got male. Five of them in my house, including my husband. As I’m typing this my eldest is jumping on our trampoline with a friend, both of them roaring so loud that we’ve probably put house prices down in the area by about 10 per cent. Child two is chasing child three, one of them pushing a mini buggy, the other a brick carrier on wheels, in grating circles over the kitchen’s stone floor. My husband is watching the Commonwealth Games while making some kind of plan on his mobile phone: ‘Yes mate, Wednesday mate, football mate’ is the mantra, which doesn’t sound complicated but must be judging by how many times he’s repeating it.

It’s the same kind of thing during the week. I’m part of a complicated school run with five other families on our street. Forget Girls Aloud, when it’s a predominantly feminine carful we talk about such topics as recorder lessons and the parties we’re going to over the coming weekend. When it’s all-boy, boy oh boy do I know about it. Sometimes six mini men can be trying to change the radio station, whack fellow passengers in the head, open the windows and ‘shoot’ passersby. I feel as though I’m driving a dodgem rather than a people carrier.

When sitting between men, any men, in church, after a rousing chorus of, say, Jerusalem, my head pounds as though I’ve been sitting in the bell tower. And staying with friends a couple of weekends ago, the wife banished the men from the kitchen while we got lunch ready because she couldn’t concentrate over the noise created by all their back slapping and ‘Heh heh hehs’. The Ryder Cup was on, so the boys had probably planned it that way, but they could have just snuck quietly away with the same result.

WHY THE NOISE? It’s probably some hunter gatherer thing, or maybe a mating ritual. Who knows. But if you’re male, reading this and have ever complained about women talking too much, remember that we have to. How else are we going to make ourselves heard over the collective roar of billions of men?

A newborn’s must-haves

Monday, September 27th, 2010

I loved reading about David Cameron’s newborn sleeping in a cardboard box. Not just any old cardboard box mind, this one was bespoke decorated by baby Florence’s older sister. Apart from proving the tot’s impeccably posh pedigree (only the truly upper-class would nonchalantly put their child in a cardboard box), it just goes to show that there isn’t much that a newborn actually needs. So I was interested to read research claiming that UK parents spend £5,000 before a child’s first birthday. Gulp.

I guess a buggy of some kind is pretty much an essential, as well as somewhere to sleep. Clothes are another definite, as well as food and nappies. But what else? Tippitoes claims to know and has created a Newborn Essentials section on its website. I wouldn’t disagree with most of it, but don’t think a baby bath is essential. I regret having bought one because it clutters up the bathroom, and anyway, I ended up bathing my firstborn in the sink till he outgrew it, when I upgraded him to a normal bath. Subsequent babies have shared a bath with their siblings. I also regret buying tiny clothes hangers because they were just too small. Besides, how many baby clothes really need hanging? Expensive shoes were never worn, and a battery-powered mobile broke.

What ‘essentials’ did you invest in and never use? Obviously I wish I’d bought a lockable, gem-encrusted, ball-shaped crib I once saw on an episode of Footballer’s Wives, but I can always save up and get it for the grandchildren. Or perhaps by then the Cameron cardboard crib, in all its home-decorated glory, will have made it on to ebay.