Telly talk...

I’m one of those people that get a tune stuck in their head and go round singing it ALL day.

It really annoys work colleagues.

Usually it’s a song that I’ve heard on the radio.

But lately, there seems to have been a general change in style.

Here’s an idea of what I sing a lot these days:

Wash, wipe, scrub and clean

Make the kitchen sparkling and clean...

do do do do do...

Or sometimes it can be:

Come for a walk

Come for a ride

There’s so much to see

So come outside....

And perhaps worst of all:

The summer is over....

And winter’s on its way.....

Of course the keen-eyed among you will have noticed that all these ditties have one thing in common.

They can all be heard 20 or 30 times a day on the CBeebies channel.

Yes, I think you’re right.

My toddler does watch far too much telly.

Big Cook, Little Cook is a big favourite, as is Come Outside or as every child in the country knows it, Pippin.

Regulars Andy, Chris, Mr Tumble and the lovely Poi are as familiar and reassuring to DD2 (who is now 19 months) as me and her dad.

Is it terrible, do you think, that as soon as she gets up in the morning, she starts repeating the word “telly” until we give in?

Am I likely to be turning her into a future axe murderer?

Is she destined for a low grade career serving burgers in McDonalds because of her TV addiction?

Maybe.

The funny thing is, though, watching telly doesn’t seem to be doing her any harm at all.

Her vocabulary has increased tenfold over the last couple of months.

And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t learned the words “cook”, “car” and “wash up” from me.

We’re always reading about how dangerous it is to use the TV as a “babysitter” for our young kids.

But I’m not convinced it’s always such a bad thing.

Which is better:

Letting her watch the talented Justin from Something Special doing his brilliant sign language thing for half an hour while I cook the tea?

Or making her sit in the high chair and “interact” with me as I swear like a trooper because I’ve burned yet another perfectly good chicken nugget?

I’ll let you decide.

Hair raising...

I seem to have been born without a basic skill that most females possess as a matter of course.
The ability to do hair up into pony tails and bunches and stuff.
I always made a right hash of the process when I was a little girl and wanted to copy my mates with their cute plaits and funky ponies.
And now I'm a parent, I'm subjecting my two DDs to similar humiliating attempts.
When DD1 was little, I tried everything to force her hair to behave itself so that I could create a nice neat "do." Hairspray, mousse, gel, conditioning spray - nothing worked. It always looked like she'd been dragged backwards through Sherwood Forest in the height of a bad storm.
And now I've got the same problem with DD2, who is 18 months.
She hasn't got that much hair to be honest. But what she has makes her look like a cross between Bobby Charlton doing his famous comb-over and Limahl from Kagagoogoo during his classic "mullet" period.
DP wants us to get it all cut - but I'm having none of that.
She already gets mistaken for a boy all the time - I WANT HER TO HAVE GIRLY PIG TAILS DARN IT!
All the other girls at toddler group have fabulous locks with gorgeous little clips and pretty bobbles. They look so effortlessly neat and tidy.
I've tried doing it with DD2, but my creations are laughable.
And if I do by some mad chance get a little clip in her hair which actually looks quite nice, DD2 immediately grabs it and tries to eat it.
Where am I going wrong?
Are their courses for doing hair up going on somewhere that I just haven't been made aware of?
Is there a website that tells you how to do it?
Or are you just supposed to KNOW?
Somebody point me in the right direction otherwise I fear DD2 will end up being the butt of cruel jokes as she grows older.
As for DD1, who is 11 now, she's come up with her own solution.
She dyed hers all bright red the other day. Looks brilliant.
Grrrrrrr.

Are you a SMOG?

Heard a brand new acronym the other day and thought I’d share it here.
A woman I know got called a “SMOG” by a mate of hers and she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it stood for.
Silly Moo on Gin?
Sluts Make Odd Grandmothers?
Sensible Mums Own Guns?
But no - apparently it turns out this is a new term referring to Smug Mothers of Girls.
Obviously, it’s meant as some sort of insult. Are mothers of girls smug then? And if so, in what way?
Or are the people who came up with the term - mothers of boys, I’m guessing - just jealous?
Let’s face it, girls are much better than boys aren’t they?
I’m not just talking about better baby clothes and stuff, although obviously that is a pivotal consideration
They’re just so much more advanced at all the crucial developmental stages too - walking, talking, shopping…
And they aren’t as blardy naughty.
In fact, now I come to think of it, almost every small boy I know has at some point behaved like a proper little sod in front of me.
Kicking footballs at my head in my living room; breaking expensive furnishings; pulling my cat’s tail...
“Ooh, they just need to play fight sometimes - so much energy,” defend their parents.
Just need a good clip round the ear, more like.
Yet, apart from a few notable exceptions, all the little girls I know are lovely little pixies who sit quietly and do whatever they’re told without a fuss. Sigh.
Mothers of girls have every right to be smug in my humble opinion.
Until the girls reach the age of about 12.
Then you aren’t so much “smug” as just “relieved you’ve got through the entire day without committing murder.”

I'm fighting mad about DD2

DD2 got involved in a bit of an “accident” at the toddler group we go to this week.
I say “accident.” What I mean is she got jumped on and physically assaulted by another little girl.
If it had happened at Gatecrasher or Oceana, a couple of burly bouncers would have pounced on the culprit and escorted her off the premises at the very least.
But because DD2 is only 18 months and her attacker about two, I’m supposed to just accept this. Grrrr.
DD2 had been on the little red rocking ride, merrily perfecting her balancing prowess.
The other little girl decided to squeeze on behind her.
But as there isn’t room for two tots, she decided to sit directly on top of DD2 as though she wasn’t there and carry on rocking the device until they both fell to the floor bawling their eyes out.
This all happened in the space of ten seconds and though I rushed over as soon as I was able (ie when I could safely dispose of me cuppa), I was too late to prevent the inevitable.
The other girl’s mother was, of course, not watching at all.
She only came over to see what all the fuss was about when a crowd gathered to comfort the two “victims.”
“Oh what happened? Did they run into each other?” she enquired casually.
“No, actually your daughter sat on top of mine and pulled the ride over on top of both of them,” I corrected her.
Funnily enough this seemed to go completely over her head.
And when some other concerned people came over to ask what had happened, she confidently informed them: “They just ran into each other.” Double grrrr.
I was quite close to making a formal “breaking news” announcement about what had really happened, complete with corroborating evidence from three or four other witnesses who saw it too.
But it’s just not the done thing to make a fuss about that kind of behaviour in a toddler group setting, is it? Even when it’s the same terrible tots causing the trouble every time.
Shame really.
It would be quite nice to involve the police and make the little monkeys appear in court and get a hefty fine or whatever for bad behaviour.
Forget naughty steps. Let’s have a bit of proper discipline, eh?

A difficult relationship

I’ve lived with him for four years now and our relationship has hit a desperately rocky phase.
Oh, he has his good points. He’s good looking, cool, suave and sophisticated - I’m the envy of many of my friends, in fact.
But sometimes his behaviour is so cruel and despicable towards me, the kids, our neighbours - I just can’t bear the torment any more.
I think the time has finally come to admit it.
I hate my cat.
Honestly, he’s a complete git and I’m starting to wonder what is the point of him living in the Bad Mutha household at all.
He never gives any of us any affection - slinking away if you so much as try to give him a friendly pat.
If he deigns to come and join us as we relax in the living room in the evening, he won’t sit on my knee like cats are supposed to. He’ll trot off on his own to some remote corner, then start randomly clawing at the furniture or carpet until he annoys us so much we have to chuck him outside.
We had to withdraw his cat flap privileges several months ago because he kept bringing mice into the house.
Live mice.
Who then escaped and set up home in various other parts of our ground floor. One managed to live quite happily inside the sub woofer speaker underneath the telly for quite some weeks. Which was odd.
So now the cat is only allowed free access to the conservatory.
And that’s where he mainly prefers to stay now, the antisocial little lowlife.
The thing is, DD2, who is 17 months absolutely adores him.
She screams with delight whenever he comes inside to eat his food and tries to give him a kiss.
One of the first words she uttered was: “Cat!”
He repaid her last night by scratching her face.
Evil little tosser.
So what do I do?
I couldn’t bring myself to drop him off at the RSPCA - the guilt would be too much for me.
And much as he deserves throwing in the local pond, animal cruelty just isn’t Bad Mutha’s style.
My only hope is that he wanders off and finds some little old lady to move in with.
Or maybe you know someone who’s looking for a cruel, annoying, unfriendly, unlovable, selfish, not very clever, fairly violent pet to take care of?
Thought not.

Get active - or else!

As I write this, DD1 is less than a week into her new life at secondary school.
And the moaning has already started.
The first couple of days she positively skipped down the road to join the big boys and girls at the local comp.
Then last night she came home with a face like a wet weekend in Warsop.
Apparently, she’s been told that she HAS to do six-weeks worth of “out of hours” exercise in her first year.
That is, she has no choice but to “give up” at least six lunch breaks or an hour after school to do something active - like basketball, football, rugby or, shudder, cheerleading.
DD1 thinks this is a gross imposition on her - and frankly, I can’t say I blame her.
Obviously it’s an attempt to encourage kids to do more exercise - which I haven’t got a problem with.
But telling her she “has to” do it seems ludicrously heavy handed.
Even if DD1 was fat, which she ain’t (quite the opposite actually) I really can’t see how giving her six weeks worth of compulsory extra exercise is going to particularly help.
Surely it’s better to provide a bit of motivational support so that kids WANT to do the activities - rather than forcing them into it like a bunch of resentful prisoners.
As it happens, the school have now succeeded in ruining what should have been a really memorable week for DD1 and her mates.
Yeah, I know, maybe she should count herself lucky she hasn’t got other things to worry about. Yadda yadda yadda.
It’s just... well... I could never stand PE either.
All those hideous cross country runs and hockey matches in the rain and dreary gym sessions.
Just the thought of it is enough to make me want to slit my wrists.
My solution was simple though.
Skive off after registration with my best mate and watch Monty Python videos at her house. Ah, Helen Wilkinson - where are you now?
So there you go. After just a few days at a new secondary school, I’m already seriously thinking of encouraging my daughter to skive off.
Isn’t modern education a wonderful thing?

Boys' clothing is just baaaaad!

Why are clothes and accessories for little boys so utterly minging?
It’s not just the obsession with skulls and crossbones and military gubbins, although that’s worrying enough.
It’s all the horrible little slogans that seem oh-so-innocent, yet have such a negative impact.
The other day, I went into McKays in Ilkeston for a new bib for DD2.
At 17 months, she’s decided she is old enough to spoon her dinner into her mouth herself. This is a horribly messy affair, requiring industrial strength protection for her clothing (and my floors and walls, actually).
Anyway, I was delighted to find a suitably large and effective looking bib complete with sleeves in McKays.
It was all pink and lovely and had the slogan “Little Princess” emblazoned on the front.
Aaah.
Then I nipped round to the other side of the display and saw the exact same bib, only this was aimed at boys (obviously, because it was blue).
Only the slogan on the lads’ version was “Naughty Little Monkey.”
Now why does it automatically transpire that the boy will be “naughty” while the girl will be a “princess”?
If any of my offspring were boys, I would be writing a letter to my MP or the PM or Fern Britton or someone to protest about this blatant negative labelling.
And when you think about it, how many times have you seen similar scenes in other shops?
The girls’ clothes all have slogans about puppies and princesses and fairies and angels.
While the boys’ are all cheeky and naughty and monster and trouble.
It’s outrageous.
Call me unreasonable, but I don’t see why children’s clothing designers are so obsessed with having slogans of any sort.
What’s the matter with a nice plain frock or a simple blue tee-shirt anyway? Aren’t they “edgy” enough for modern tots?
So... what’s the worst slogan you’ve seen on a children’s tee-shirt…?