British Parent Bloggers

 An article by guest writer Joanna Cake

 When the kids were smaller, one of the things I hated most was trying to hack round the supermarket with the pair of them in tow. Far too stressful. As fast as I got one dressed to go out, the other would be removing clothing. Neither wanted to get into the double trolley and then neither would want to get out again. Once inside, my daughter could be kept quiet with food bribery but my son would only be pacified by Lego, which started to prove expensive.

My daughter would also actively disprove the theory that children are not affected by external influences on the television. I was informed that I shouldn’t tell her off for getting banana on her clothes because if I used Ariel, it would come out. She also insisted that we buy Kingsmill ‘because it was better bread’. She would have been about three at the time!

So I made use of the online delivery services. In those days, these were still quite new with various teething problems but the more reliable service was provided by Sainsburys with their mid-week special. If you spent over £50, you got free delivery on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.

If I wanted lots of very specific organic meat, I would order from the creme de la creme - as in Waitrose. One day, I told a friend that I was about to place an order and she asked me for a favour. Could I get her some organic tampons made by this one particular company and which were only stocked by Waitrose. ‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘No problem.’

When the delivery man arrived, he stood there with his clipboard listing the things that they hadn’t been able to deliver and these tampons were among them. As you can imagine, his little face was all pink and I was trying not to smirk as he told me that they couldn’t provide the organic tampons.

However, he was delighted to inform me that they had a substitute instead. I was immediately crestfallen at the prospect of a packet of Tampax but, no.

He handed me the bag with almost a flourish.

It contained…

… wait for it…

Two packets of something called Mr Majelka’s Magic Bendy Drinking Straws.

You know, the type that have the little hinge in about an inch down that bends to make sucking without spilling easier. I think there’s a possibility that you could bend them into shapes for parties as well but I couldn’t read the blurb on the box properly since my eyes had filled with tears because it was just too funny… the idea of trying to insert one of those instead of an absorbent tampon.

Taking one box out and looking at him quizzically I allowed him to examine it for himself, I can still see his face now - all red with discomfort and me, standing on my doorstep, shrieking with hysterical laughter. I was practically on my back with my legs in the air, I was that tickled.

I was so tempted to tell him I’d keep one box and report back on how effective they were.

Poor, poor man, by the time I’d stopped laughing, handed them back as being an unsuitable substitute and signed the forms, he was almost puce with embarrassment.

I was still chuckling as he drove away.

An article by guest writer Joanna Cake

In so many families, there seems to be a vicious circle as each girl child swears to herself and to her mother: ‘I will never be like you…’ and despairingly watches and hears herself becoming that person, despite her best efforts to the contrary.

I grew up watching my father, however unknowingly, disrespect my mother, my father-in-law doing the same to my mother-in-law and my husband to me. None of these men found it easy to show affection or appreciate their wives in terms of their appearance or the love they were given without return. In their search for the straight man/the stooge who would make them look like the life and soul of the party, they thoughtlessly demeaned their female counterpart in the eyes of their audience of children, particularly the girls. The boys instinctively retain their protective feelings for their mothers, even when they are pulled away by their future wives. But the girls…

Do I just feel this through my own jaundiced experience of three women? Or are things better for the women who bring up female offspring without the interference/disrespectful example of a male partner?

I do know several couples where the women are the driving force of the pair. Where the male adores his strong woman. Whilst he provides the money to run the home and then enforces her rule where necessary, he enjoys being pampered and cared for and makes those feelings clear. He compliments her and shows his affection openly and she responds in kind. These are the strongest partnerships that I have come across. They complement each other. There is an almost palpable synergy between them. Yes, they have their spats, but then the joy of the rapprochement is eagerly awaited.

My own daughter recently subjected me to a 20 minute tirade, shouting vitriol viciously over the top of my own attempts to calm her. Apparently I am a sad old woman nearing 50 who spends all her time on the computer, who should get a life. Whilst, almost in the same breath, she accuses me of never being at home. It would seem that laundry, housework, cooking and shopping constitute the bare minimum obligatory requirements of motherhood and she completely overlooks the 12 years that I spent at home totally devoted to her and her brother. I am a shrieking banshee who only ever shouts at them.

When I try to point out that the shouting tends to come when I have asked politely and respectfully for the same task to be completed three or four times earlier, this thought is pooh-poohed with the distraction technique of reminding me that respect has to be earned and that if I stopped shouting at her, she would stop shouting at me.

It is so hard to listen to a catalogue of obscenity-ridden invective without chucking some back but, always at the forefront of my mind, is the concern that anything nasty I might say now could come back and bite her on the bum in terms of psychological disorder in the future. So I hold my tongue and when she gets out of the car, I allow the seat to go flat and sob at my inadequacies for the majority of the hour that I am waiting in the cold darkness, whilst she has her music lesson, before driving her home again. She, of course, seems to have conveniently forgotten all the nasty phrases she used only minutes before and behaves as if everything is normal.

The terrible thing is that I do have a choice. And the decision over that choice becomes easier and easier when the reasons for which I stay become less and less obvious.

Several hours later, she did at least have the grace to come and apologise which is something of a first. But these altercations seem to be coming more and more frequently, despite my attempts to acquiesce to all her demands for independence and I am at a loss as to how to do things differently without it looking as if I do not care for her safety at all.

All I ever wanted was to have the kind of relationship where we would enjoy going shopping and stopping for coffee - something I never had with my own mother and watched other friends enviously who did.

I talked to my own mother only a few days ago. I told her that I had forgiven her for leaving us. Knowing what I have to deal with from just one teenage girl, I remember that she had two obnoxious hussies plus a disrespectful husband to contend with. No wonder she left when someone showed her some affection, gave her some sense of value.

She told me that she had decided when we were quite small that she would leave my father as soon as we were old enough and get herself a little flat and an alternative future. When she revealed this fact to my dad during an argument, his reply of ‘Who would have you?’ did a great deal to destroy what little self-respect she had left, but also galvanised her into a more determined desire to follow her threat through. However, she said that didn’t stop her from being very sad to have to leave her children behind when she started a new life in a new town with a new man.

But I am not my mother. I believe I have learned from her mistakes although I am, by no means, the perfect example of motherhood. However, I have tried to be the antithesis of the cold, tired, screeching maternal figure I remember. I have been extremely tactile with my children to the extent that, now she considers herself too grown up to snuggle with her mum, I will stand on my teenage daughter’s foot in order to make her stand still and have a cuddle, however unwillingly. I believe it is important to retain that ability to hug your children, no matter how reluctant the hugee.

My own mother tries to embrace me now when she feels the need for some affection but it is so hard to forget her desertion and the fact that she couldn’t or wouldn’t indulge in this behaviour when we were younger. I am the equivalent of my own teenager in those situations - rigid with embarrassment and uncertain how to respond. We have lost the intimacy for this type of closeness. If only my mother could make a joke or stand on my foot to lighten the uncomfortable moment, but she is a product of her own mother’s inability to show her even the smallest amount of tactile or verbal love. It is so sad.

I was talking to another friend who had suddenly found herself faced with choices similar to those that her mother had had to make 30 years before and for which she has bitterly resented her for years.

Suddenly, I start to wonder if sometimes what goes around, comes around and we are put in positions that are similar to those of our mothers in order that we can learn to at least understand their actions… if not to forgive.

An article by guest writer Joanna Cake

I have been reading a manual called ‘You Want to do What?’ by Karen Sullivan. 

The front cover claims that this book will give you ‘Instant answers to your parenting dilemmas’.

It was very interesting…

I didn’t read it in any particular order, just dipping into the various subject headings as they took my fancy and, not long after I’d got it, I left the bright yellow paperback lying on my bed. 

A few hours later, my 13-year-old son came in to the room where I was on the computer looking shocked.  He was holding the book open on the offending page and announced: ‘Mum, what are you doing reading a book with a whole section about masturbation?!!’

I hardly looked up from my computer screen as I replied: ‘Well, why not?  It’s a perfectly natural function and one which you shouldn’t be ashamed of.  Just don’t get a crusty carpet.’

His look of shock morphed into one of perplexed confusion.  A friend of ours had teenage boys and so I explained that ‘… if you let the stuff that comes out land on the floor, it makes the carpet stick together in a crispy patch so please try to catch it in a tissue.’

He asked further questions about girls and masturbation and I tried to remain just as matter of fact about it being a perfectly normal but private moment for both sexes and he seemed content with this.

When I checked with the book later that evening, I think I pretty much did as it advised.  Emphasising that it was perfectly natural when done in the privacy of their own room but not really any of my business.

A couple of weeks later, my 17-year-old daughter also asked me about the book.  She had read through several chapters and her view was that it appeared as if the author had never actually been a teenager.

Keeping both those two exchanges at the back of my mind as I perused the book over the following weeks, my overriding impression was that it was all very sensible theoretical advice but I have to admit that sometimes I did wonder whether they had actually had to deal with a real life stroppy, hormone-driven, completely unreasonable teenager.  Or, more to the point, one who was actually related to them and could use everything they had ever said as leverage/blackmail against their so reasonable assertions and arguments.  

I read in an article recently that the various parts of a teenager’s brain develop at different speeds and, whilst the parts that arouse them emotionally and make them pay attention to peer pressure are on full throttle, the frontal lobes which control impulses and resistance to peer pressure are still developing.  They are totally unable to see the link between behaviour and consequence. The article said that an eminent psychologist professor had described the teenage brain as being like a car with a good accelerator but a bad brake.  As a parent, this is a crucial factor to remember.

In its favour, the book did give me several pointers that I had not considered in a few areas and also flagged up possible problems that I had not envisaged having to deal with.  Certainly a book to read well before the problems rear their ugly heads so that you have some form of stance formulated in your mind for when/if it does. 

The introduction was particularly informative.  It covered all the different styles of parenting and the possible consequences on those children.  It also dealt with things that we all fear - that our kids are just growing up too damn fast and seem to have no patience or respect for anything or anyone.  The section on what children are legally permitted to do at what age was very helpful.

It really does seem to cover every eventuality to which your child could be exposed - dealing with different religious beliefs, sexuality, behaviour, morals, hygiene - and gives clear, concise and helpful guidance on how to respond in these areas.  When my children were younger, I would have been grateful for some of the advice given.

But just bear in mind what I said earlier.  In a lot of situations, your own teenager will not be rational or coherent with you in the way they might be with an independent adult like a counsellor.  They may not respond to you in a calm or adult fashion.  They indulge in circular arguments, shift away from any form of blame taking and try to push it elsewhere.  It’s like walking in quicksand trying to get to the bottom of a lot of problems because they specialise in distraction techniques away from the original point of the discussion.  And when they turn round and throw invective-filled hatred at your own shortcomings at you as reasons why they are behaving the way they are… well, that can really take the wind out of your sails in terms of both being reasonable and balanced and I don’t think any book can fully prepare you for the shock of that… every time it happens.

So, as a parent, I would definitely recommend reading it to get a balanced perspective on the situations you may have to deal with over the first twenty or so years of your child’s life and suggested ways of dealing with them but with the previous words of caution about the differences between practical and theory.

An article by guest author Joanna Cake 

Nearly thirteen years ago, when A moved from her carry cot into a proper cot, we bought her a special organic coconut mattress to sleep on, rather than one of the plasticky common or garden variety.  When T was born, A moved into a lovely new single bed, her old cot mattress was discarded and a similar expensive new coconut mattress was purchased for the new baby.

At 11 weeks, we were preparing to move T from his carrycot in our bedroom and into his new cot in his own bedroom when a news article on the radio caught my attention.  Apparently, there were fears about the safety of a chemical used to, I think, waterproof cot mattresses and it was being linked to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome  or cot death as we knew it then.  The famous and respected journalist, Roger Cook, had done a programme about it which would be shown the following evening.

As the day wore on, more and more stations were covering the story and it was a major item on both the BBC and ITV news at 6 and again at 9 and 10.  The newspapers the following morning were full of it.  Each article more scary than its predecessor until, by the time the programme was shown, the beleaguered parents of the UK were beside themselves with terror.  The programme itself had some shocking tales and statistics that seemed to categorically link incidents of cot death with the presence of the suspicious chemical in both new and previously-used mattresses.  It did not however specifically mention the special coconut version that we had purchased.  All varieties were being tarred with the same brush.  There was no distinction qualifying which brands contained the chemical and which did not.  Cot mattresses were dangerous! Full stop. 

Running around like a headless chicken, I was beside myself.  I just didn’t know what to do for the best.  There was my beautiful baby boy.  There was his lovely new cot in his nice new room.  But I couldn’t put the two of them together without the terrible fear that I might be signing his death warrant.

In the end, we decided that T would sleep with me in the double bed in his room until such time as we could get further clarification regarding safety.  The whole scandal rumbled on for several months… before it was replaced with something else and parents were left in this terrible place with fear but no proper facts.  Eventually, we moved T into the cot anyway but, of course, the damage of allowing him to go to sleep in the same bed as a parent was already done.  He had got used to dozing off with a warm, comforting presence and, deprived of it, he would cry heartrendingly.  It was not until he was three years old that I managed to get him to sleep through the night.  Yes, I tried letting him cry and going in at regular intervals to reassure but not to pick up.  He would cry and cry and eventually my husband would barge past me standing outside the door and pick him up, undoing any good that I had achieved.  When T was three, my husband had to go into hospital for a few days and in that time, I went back to the crying and reassuring.  One night he cried for three hours but, although I stayed outside the door, I would not pick him up.  The following night, he cried for two hours, and the next night for one.  By the time my husband returned, he understood that crying was not going to make me pick him up and he started sleeping - not right through the night but at least for reasonable chunks of it.

I’m sure that investigative journalists make these assertions with all the right motives, but once the sensation has reached its zenith, they move onto the next story leaving us to try to deal with all the problems they have stirred up.  And you cannot help but be left with the feeling that they have preyed shamelessly on our insecurities as parents, as other journalists jump onto the bandwagon and each subsequent report cranks up the pressure of our hysteria until we just don’t know what to believe or do for the best.

This is an example of media meddling that directly affected me but I will address others that have had a huge impact on all parents in a couple of weeks.

 An article by guest writer Joanna Cake 

 Following last night’s Panorama about the disappearance of Madeleine McCann, I was reminded of an article written by Janice Turner of The Times back in September when Kate McCann first came into the spotlight as a suspect in the case.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/janice_turner/article2456672.ece

I read this article with a growing sense of agreement but also a vague feeling of distaste. As a mother myself, I can understand Janice Turner’s point of view. I am so tired of being made to feel afraid for my children’s safety by the relentless press coverage of the terrible tragedies that have occurred over the past few years.

When that terrible man wreaked his havoc with guns blazing in the classroom at Dunblane, my own daughter had just started school. I can remember going into the playground on that awful afternoon. You could have cut the fear in the atmosphere with a knife. We were all terrified by proxy.

Again, when Holly and Jessica went missing in the summer holidays, my daughter was the same age. It was incredibly hard having to explain to her that she couldn’t trust anyone - not even the school caretaker. The hideous blanket press coverage of the disappearance, the search and the discovery and, finally, the trial and conviction, with all its consequent revelations. Followed by all the months and years of arguing over the correct legislation to protect our children from people with similar tendencies.

The case of Sarah Payne, snatched whilst playing with her friends in a field not far from her home highlighted every parent’s worst nightmare. It is so hard to convince a child that they are not invincible and would not be able to fight off a grown man, even if they have done some martial arts training. I even did demonstrations for my own kids and the children I teach showing that a normal sized man could pick me up under his arm and run off with me without any difficulty, no matter how hard I punched and kicked. Once he’d grabbed me, he had the upper hand. We repeatedly demonstrated how to maintain a safe distance from someone who was trying to engage us in conversation and how to ‘leave the scene quickly and safely to go meet a male family member’. But a week later, the kids would still allow themselves to be approached sufficiently close to be snatched and dragged away.

When Madeleine first disappeared, I have to admit that my first thought was ‘But why was she left on her own with two babies? She was only three.’ As parents, my Husband and I went on holiday to be with our children. We specifically targeted hotels that would allow us to eat with our children at a reasonable hour for them. Where this proved impossible and dinner was served just too late for them, we would sit with them whilst they had the kids’ tea and then spend the evening sitting in our adjoining room with the door ajar, watching tv and eating whatever was available from room service. Some hotels were good enough to let us order from the restaurant menu and bring it up to our room. Despite people’s insistence that we should use the hotel babysitting service, we never left them on their own, even when the oldest was three times as old as Madeline. We had seen how the intercom-based hotel babysitter worked and if no-one was sitting at Reception, no-one was listening to what our kids were doing.

However, I can’t help but feel sorry for the McCanns. They will have to live with the consequences of their action and the public’s admonishment for the rest of their lives. As parents, many of us do things that are viewed as ‘taking a chance with their safety’ that in another age would have been seen as the norm when children had to learn to survive and be independent and fend for themselves in far more dangerous circumstances.

Sadly, in the absence of any real evidence or obvious suspect, the finger of suspicion was always eventually going to point in the direction of the parents - even with the recent revelation that one of the ‘Tapas 9′ diners actually saw a man carrying a female child away from the flat. It seems strange to me, as a regular viewer of CSI, that it is so far down the line that forensic evidence has been brought into play and we will have to await the results of that line of investigation and the possible refuting evidence before that can be relied upon.

Always at the back of my mind is the face of another little boy who disappeared back in the early 1990s. I remember his story well because it was such an unusual thing to happen and his photographs showed such a cute little boy. Three year old Ben Needham was on holiday with his family in Greece when he vanished. Despite a big campaign, he was never found.

As Janice Turner says in her final paragraph:

Given that Madeleine has almost certainly died one way or another, maybe it is easier to accept a parental accident. Yes, let it be a banal domestic: we can guard against that, or so we think. Anything but the cunning, predatory stranger we watch for constantly but can never see.