What Have I Done?

I've done something very wrong. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was wrong, I tell you. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I'm afraid I may have equipped my son with a terrifying weapon. Honestly, my three-year-old son now brandishes a weapon which is known to have devastating consequences for those who come face-to-face with it. And I mean literally face to face.

And while we're on the subject, how do toddlers do it? How do they convince us poor, trusting, devoted mothers to allow them to get away with such evil sorcery? Now, in the cold light of day, I can't believe I've had a part in this. I never imagined I'd be capable of such a thing.

But the truth is there to see, and it is clear that Little Tot could not have achieved such weaponry without the help of an adult peer. So I'm giving myself up now. There's no point in denying it. This is my confession.

If you're familiar with my blog posts and the capers of Big and Little Tot, then you may well be aware that they've both been guilty, in the past, of distracting me with their unfathomably long, thick eyelashes. For example, I might be on the cusp of giving them some ever-so-crucial, life-changing gem of wisdom about the merits of wearing a zipped-up coat in the winter, or not pouring orange juice onto cereal when, bam! There they are, curving away against the glorious brow, fluttering effortlessly into an eternal portal of cuteness, complemented by an endearing pout and I am rendered helpless. My well-intentioned life-changing gem of wisdom blown out of the water by a totally unfair physical attribute.

Their dad has them too, so you can imagine not much gets done around here.

Anyway, on this particular day, I was sitting at the table with my boys whilst they ate their favourite supper of milk, fruit and biscuits (okay, I have to force the fruit onto their plates but let's not go into that). Little Tot was looking at me with his huge, almond-shaped brown eyes and having a rare moment of quiet whilst chomping on his biscuit. We had a beautiful moment of stillness together, whilst looking deeply into each other's eyes and I thought I might melt onto the kitchen floor. Big Tot was being quiet too, which really is a rare phenomenon - the biscuits must have been good on this particular night.

So in this rare, melting, chomping-biscuits type moment, Little Tot started batting his eyes. Slowly, gently, purposefully. And, as you can imagine, this meant his eyelashes were batting too. I mean properly batting. Like he was flirting or something. No, actually, like he'd been flirting for many-a-year and was some kind of Master Practitioner at the craft.

I couldn't help myself. "Sweetheart, you do that to any woman and you will get anything you want. Like, straight away."

He stopped the batting for a moment and went back to that intense, pre-batting stare and I watched that information settle slowly into his toddler psyche. "Really Mummy? Anything I want?" Then, make no mistake about it, he started batting again. And somehow his lashes seemed even curvier, more voluptuous, his eyes even more innocent, more charming and hypnotic than before! What had I done?

Of course, Big Tot had to have his penny's worth. "Can I do it too Mummy? Look, watch me, I can do it better than him!" I watched Big Tot. Now don't get me wrong, he is a stunningly handsome boy. But when it comes to eyelash-batting, he's not going to win any trophies any time soon. It looked more like a bad bout of a misplaced contact lens, startlingly accompanied by a psycho-stare to alarm even the likes of Al Pacino in Scarface.

So what could I say? "Of course you can sweetheart, you both have beautiful eyelashes."

And since then, I've witnessed Little Tot unleash his weapon at the most opportune of moments. Right before his booster injection at the clinic in a bid to win himself multiple lollies from the pretty nurse. At the unsuspecting librarian to ensure he didn't get told off for the library book which was returned with a chewed-off corner. In the queue at Tesco when we needed to pay for a pint of milk and the old lady in front of us had an over-flowing trolley (actually, that was quite useful). And I'm now getting reports from his childminder and nursery teacher that he is wielding his weapon in a variety of educational / play settings. I ask again, what have I done?

Advice for us all, I think

Big Tot, on the other hand, is going around petrifying the town with his interpretation of the craft. I think I might encourage him to start wearing sunglasses when we go out. Like, whatever the weather.

So as well as a confession, this is my formal, preemptive apology to all of the otherwise strong, independent women out there who might sometime in the future, buckle under the pressure of Little Tot's eyelash batting. I am guilty.

With smiles,

Abi
xxx



To find out how Abi leads a happy, contented life with the Tots, take a look at the Cool Rule Book and a the whole range of Cool Rule products at thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Sign up to the Cool Rule newsletter here, a little pearl of parenting wisdom just once a month

Follow The Cool Rule Company on Facebook and Twitter

Ruling the New Roost

If a man's house is his castle, then what is it to a toddler? A play area? An open-all-hours restaurant? A place in which to emotionally manipulate grown-ups and terrorise siblings without the side-effect of causing public disarray?

So what happens then, when you take that house away and replace it with another one? Well, we've not even had three weeks in our new house and I can tell you that toddlers have absolutely no problem finding their feet in a new domain. In fact, they can quite possibly do it quicker than any other person in the household, regardless of age, gender or life experience on this planet.

Moving home is a breeze for toddlers

Little Tot informed me quite some time ago that he would be taking charge of things as soon as we moved. "In new house I have big room." He warned me over a slice of toast one morning. "I have it on my own. I have all of house. On my own."

I should have known there and then. But instead I smiled at him and, admittedly, was unwittingly drawn in by the curl of his eyelash, the curve of his rosy cheek (why do they have to make toddlers so damn cute?), "Really sweetheart? And what are you going to do in the new house. Play with all your lovely toys?"

"No." And then he actually tutted. "I boss. Boss of you and new house."

I didn't have a chance to reflect on the eeriness of this statement because Big Tot, who was also chomping toast, flung himself into a typically passionate rant against this notion. Then more toast was required and that was that. Little did I know that I was being warned of what was to come.

Now that I'm here and slowly unpacking boxes and drilling holes in walls (or patiently waiting for the hubby to drill holes in walls), I can appreciate Little Tot's ownership methods. And I'm certain, that if you spent just one hour in our home (totally ignoring his cuteness and inability to wield a biro correctly) you would be convinced that it was Little Tot's name on the rental agreement.

Let's take a look at his methods:

• You cannot climb up the stairs before him. You must wait at the bottom until he has reached the top, at which point he will shout, "Ok, you can come up now!" 

• You cannot climb down the stairs before him. You must wait at the top until he has reached the bottom, at which point he will shout, "Ok, you can come down now!" (NB: Our last house was a bungalow)

 

• At mealtimes, everybody except Little Tot must stand around the table and wait until he decides where he will sit, and only then can everybody else choose their place. Placemats are a whole separate saga.

 

• Upon leaving the house to go somewhere fun (like Ikea or, erm, well . . .  Ikea) we must all go through the front gate which is held open and then closed immediately again by Little Tot. This is not done in a gracious, gentlemanly way. It is more like herding sheep. Naughty sheep.

 

• You must seem pleased when random children keep appearing in the house expecting to be fed, entertained etc. This is because Little Tot has thought it appropriate to yell over the front gate "Hey, neighbours! Do you want to come to my new house? Come on in!"

 

• You must understand that lights can and will be switched on regardless of it being broad daylight outside because, of course, the zombies might come.

How does he even know what a zombie is?

Now that, my friends, is how to rule the roost.

It is a good thing, however, that I am the queen of rule-making and I have the trusty Cool Rule Book to fall back on. Honestly, when I first created it all those years ago, I had no idea how handy it would be during a house move. Result.

Although there may not be any specific rules detailing the repelling of zombies, there is plenty in there about caring for others, sensible mealtimes and listening to Mummy and Daddy. Consistency is key with toddlers but when you're moving house, it's hard to keep anything consistent because change is all around. The Cool Rule Book has really helped me to keep all those important elements of day-to-day life the same for Little Tot. And Big Tot too, because although he's six now, he still loves his Cool Rules.

You've gotta love it

So all that's left to do is give the hubby a Cool Rule Book with a nice big section on the drilling of holes in walls.

Go well,

Abi


To see the Cool Rule Book yourself, and the rest of Abi's fantastic range of positive parenting products, visit thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

And now we have a brilliant 'Tips' page on our website. New toddler parenting tips every month with an edge of humour and total realism!

You can also follow The Cool Rule Company on Twitter or Facebook and our newsletter is worth signing up to for brilliant offers and a bit of parenting magic each month.

All Change

It's all change here in the Cool Rule household.

After two years of balancing parenthood with self-employment I've gone and got myself a 'proper job'.

And it's not just any job either. It's the one I wanted. The one I finally worked out that I wanted after pondering over and applying for many other jobs and imagining myself in an abundance of different lifestyles ranging from top positions with ridiculously high salaries to more humble work with rather insulting salaries.

It's not that I don't adore running The Cool Rule Company (or Kelebek Art, my little arty sideline). It's just that now it's all sorted and ticking along nicely, I wanted something else. I wanted something I could turn up to each day and know I was guaranteed to get paid, hence guaranteeing the mortgage people don't send the Heavies round. Because let's face it, as a busy Mum, one cannot fit the Heavies into a complex schedule of averting tantrums, wiping dirty bots and engaging in regular existential musings.

The Heavies would have to wait

Now don't get me wrong here. Self employment rocks. I've been self employed pretty much since I left university about a hundred years ago, and I bloody love it. But now I'm a Mum and have Tots to think about, the need to have an income that doesn't come in fits and starts suddenly looks very appealing. BC (Before Children) I was quite up for spending a whole project fee on a killer pair of jeans then living on rice for the rest of the month, but for some reason you're not allowed to do that as a parent. Sad, isn't it?

So anyway I must have spent a good couple of months applying for jobs in the sector I spent ten years in BC: arts management. All was looking good. I managed to write personal statements that weren't too poncy, got my references sorted and my CV was rocking up pretty well. But then there was a big, vacuous silence and I figured I had to reassess.

Now what? What was this silence telling me?

Well, it was telling me a.) it's blinking hard to get a job these days, especially in the arts sector since it's been slashed to within an inch of its life by our wonderful coalition government and b.) wasn't that just a teensy bit of relief I was feeling? Yes, it was definitely relief. And not just relief that I didn't have to go to a job interview for the first time in fourteen years, but relief that I wasn't going back to what I used to do. I just couldn't see it happening.

So being into meditation and all that jazz, I did a bit of tuning in and spacing out and finally got a hold on what was going on. It suddenly seemed blatantly obvious to me that if there was a theme running through all of my work with The Cool Rule Company and Kelebek Art, then that theme was wellbeing.

Wellbeing a plenty

The Cool Rule Book and all of the other Cool Rule products are aimed at living in the moment with your child, enjoying every unfolding moment and relaxing into the tumultuous rhythms of parenthood so that everybody benefits.

Kelebek Art provides bespoke artwork that is focused on inspiring and touching people. I like to think that everything I create has an undercurrent of healing and happiness.

And then, of course, there was my own wellbeing to consider, which would be pretty much torn to shreds if a new job didn't allow for time with the legendary Tots.

So wellbeing was key.

And because the universe is very crafty when it wants to be, a couple of ships came in for little old me.

I was offered an admin position at a company I've been banging on the door of for quite some time now. Living Mindfully provides courses in Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction and helps people weave meditation and mindfulness practices into their everyday life to improve their mental health and wellbeing. Having been wowed by one of their courses myself, I simply couldn't pass up the chance to see how this company works on a ground-level. And with future opportunities to train in mindfulness teaching methods, I was chomping at the bit.

Aren't they lucky to have me?

And if that wasn't brilliant enough, I've also been contracted to work on a local Arts on Prescription programme, teaching art to adults with mental health issues. And oh how I love these workshops. Unlike the millions of workshops I've taught in schools and youth venues, these people are willing, enthusiastic, unlikely to swear at me, and getting so much out of it, it is truly astounding.

So it's welcome to the world of 'proper' work for me. And, because everything has its flip side, it's welcome to the world of 'utter chaos in the household'. For the three days a week that I'm out proper working, and the hubby is home doing the childcare thing, pandemonium seemingly unfolds. Upon crossing the threshold of my lovely little home, I am so far repeatedly amazed by the way in which furniture can be rearranged, toys can be entangled, fruit peel can be adorning appliances and clothes can be twisted into disturbing formations. I feel like I've walked into Tracy Emin's latest.

I guess things aren't quite this bad . . .

Whilst Emin is sadly absent, the hubby looks up from his iPad cheerfully and smiles to see me home and the Tots practically rugby tackle me into full-on floor-hugs. And, in the ways of mindfulness, I decide to surrender to the sweetness of the moment and accept the mess.

It's worth it.

Go well,

Abi

To find out about the brilliant range of Cool Rule products for parents and toddlers, just visit thecoolrulecompany.co.uk 

Sign up for The Cool Rule Company newsletter, a monthly slice of parenting magic here.

Find beautiful, bespoke collage artworks at affordable prices at facebook.com/kelebekartbyabi

Discover the brilliant work of Living Mindfully at livingmindfully.co.uk

Find out about Derwentside's fantastic Arts on Prescription course at leisureworks.net/event/294/colour-your-life-open-art-studio

Where Does the Time Go?

I don't know about you, but since I became a parent, I spend virtually every day spouting dramatic, over-emphasised cliches. And I fully know they're cliches. Like, as I'm saying them. But that just makes me mean them all the more. It's very distressing.

Let me share with you some of my favourites:

• Because I said so
• Let's just wait and see
• You're going to break your neck
• Would you jump off a cliff if your friends told you to?
• How many times do I have to tell you?

Those naughty cliches just slip out . . .

Painful, aren't they? But the ones that really stand out for me are the ones I say to other people about my kids. Things like 'They're growing up so fast' and 'Where does the time go?' and I find they're all related to how undeniably quickly my children are growing up.

Like most parents, I can see the exquisite beauty in watching my children grow. Seeing Big Tot climb all the way up to the top of a tree without my assistance makes every tantrum he's ever thrown at me utterly worthwhile. And knowing that Little Tot can charm man, woman or beast with his pleases and thank yous and fluttering eyelashes is enough to make any mother proud. But why do they have to do it all so damn quickly?

Next week Little Tot will be three years old. Three. I mean, that means I probably have to throw out that cute stripey babygrow now.

And then a mere two weeks later, Big Tot will be six. Six I tell you! What am I supposed to do with a six year old?

At least I'm being distracted by the planning of the birthday parties. I'm sorry, did I say 'distracted'? Let's change that to 'demented'. Despite their combined total of just nine years on this planet, my Tots seem to have got the entire birthday party situation sussed. Even the not-yet-three-year-old is demanding a Batman theme and cupcakes and games and appears to be inviting half of the townsfolk to his party with his aforementioned impeccable manners / eyelashes combo.

Will I be able to create something like this?

And Big Tot? Well, despite firm warnings from me not to go telling everyone at school about his party on account of the fact that we could only ask six children from his class because he has twenty seven friends from outside of school already coming (yes, twenty seven), he went bounding into school that day, brandishing a fistful of invitations and shouting, "Everybody, I've got the invitations for my party! It's going to be brilliant! Come and see!" What else could I do but hide my head in my hands and keen softly?

But I have to admit, there is a part of me that loves all of this. I like the idea of an old-fashioned at-home party as opposed to a stint at the local soft play centre. I like the thought of playing host to a group of energetic young things and giving them fun things to do and see and eat. As long as the sun shines so we can use the garden. As long as some of the parents stick around to help. As long as there's enough cake. As long as there's no fighting or crying or vomiting. I mean, is that unreasonable?

Probably.

Go well,

Abi

To find out about Abi's brilliant range of happy living products for parents and toddlers, just visit thecoolrulecompany.co.uk.

Follow The Cool Rule Company's shennanigans on Facebook and Twitter too! 

The Game is On

I've got a new project people. The game, as they say, is on.

As we all know, I often have my head so deep into the sands of motherhood, that I rarely notice what else might be going on in the world. How can I possibly know what's trending on Twitter when I am so busy rescuing toys from the seemingly endless crevices in my house or discussing the merits of Super Mario's moustache?

So when it was my birthday last weekend, and my brother handed me a hastily wrapped cookbook by somebody called Jack Monroe, I wasn't surprised when he said, "Haven't you heard of her? She's got a blog. Everybody's read it."

So then I did a bit of research (i.e. flicked through said cookbook in front of astounded brother) and found out that Jack Monroe, better known as 'A Girl Called Jack' may have just answered my prayers

The girl herself

Like virtually everybody in 'Austerity Britain' right now, my family is living on a pretty tight budget. The Cool Rule Empire is yet to dominate the world so we live on a combination of the hubby's wages as a part-time waiter and tax credits. My hubby, who is Turkish, hasn't seen his family in nearly three years because no matter what we do, no matter how much we cut back, there's never enough money left over to save for a trip to Turkey. This may not seem like a big deal. But imagine not being able to go and visit your mum who has a life-threatening heart condition or your elderly dad who suffers from a serious hernia. Not fun.

And even putting that aside, whilst I know we're not actually, literally poverty stricken, we do struggle daily. We don't eat meat. We don't buy alcohol. We don't go out. We don't have holidays. We don't have Sky TV. We don't buy lattes. We don't do a lot of the things that are the classic money-wasters. Every time a school holiday looms before me, I am caught in an emotional battle with myself. How will I entertain the Tots with no budget this time? How can I make staying at home every single day seem like raucous fun this time?

And on top of all that, I could really do without worrying about feeding them too. There are only so many times you can offer a child peanut butter sandwiches without feeling as if your soul is being dragged down.

Delicious and cheap!

And that's why, when I read the introduction to Jack Monroe's cookbook, I thanked my lucky stars.

Jack is a single mum to a Small Boy, was unemployed for a year, and living on benefits. With her excruciating food budget of £10 a week, she somehow found a way to cook healthy, nutritious food using simple ingredients. She blogged about her experiences, posted her recipes online and further down the line came a book deal. That's the book I hold in my hands now.

You can read loads about Jack and her experience of poverty all over the internet. She now campaigns against modern poverty, speaks in parliament and is an ambassador for Oxfam and the Child Poverty Action Group.

The women's a gem. And why? Because her experience speaks to so many people. I think she's amazing for being so honest about those heart-rending times she went through. And even more amazing for turning it into something positive and inspirational.

(And let's not forget that she's introduced me to white chocolate tea bread and the brilliant Penny Pizzas totally rocked the Tots' world. Like I said, the woman's a gem.)

The white chocolate tea bread did it for me

So I'm taking a leaf out of her book and trying to be honest too. Although I'm told at countless marketing workshops that it's important to project an image of success for your business, I must remember that my business came about as a result of absolute honesty in the first place. The Cool Rule Book was born because of the honest needs of my toddler son and grew into what it is today because of the very real needs of toddlers and their parents. So I can't throw that honesty away. It's what makes me who I am and my business will always be operated that way too.

A Girl called Abi wrote this one

So newsflash everyone! The Cool Rule Company hasn't made me millions yet. In fact, the real newsflash is that it's desperately difficult starting and running your own business. I don't care how much the government bleats on about the growth of SMEs, it is bloody hard work. It requires strength, patience, commitment, belief. And not just from you either, but from your partner, your family and your friends. And it requires an extended period of frugality, that goes far beyond what you ever imagined in your business plan.

And here I am now, loving everything The Cool Rule Company stands for, but devastated that I had to sell my late father's beloved camera equipment to pay off my start-up costs. I can't help wondering what he would have thought of that.

But I'm still here with bells on. And am blessed with many amazing things in my life including two Small Boys of my own who never fail to amuse or surprise me. And Jack Monroe's got me on a mission, so I thank her for that. My mission is to get more healthy, delicious food into our systems, and to get that weekly food shop down. And I mean really down. The game, as I said, is on.

Go well,

Abi


You can learn about how to donate to foodbanks at trusselltrust.org/donate

You can find out more about the Child Poverty Action Group at cpag.org.uk/

Browse the brilliant range of Cool Rule products at thecoolrulecompany.co.uk and start happy living with your toddler today. Follow The Cool Rule Company on Facebook and Twitter.

Read Jack Monroe's blog at agirlcalledjack.com/ or follow her on Twitter

Defining Moment from a Mathematical Mum

We all have those utterly defining moments as mothers. You know, those moments when the guilt, the responsibility, the joy, the terror or the absolute unquestionable love smacks us in the face and momentarily takes our breath away. Know the ones I mean? I bet you've got a million to choose from.

Because it's the month of March, the month of International Women's Day (rock on), Mother's Day (chill out) and, let's not forget pancake day (pig out!), I've asked some mums I know and admire to share a defining moment on the Cool Rule blog. I, myself, am usually unashamedly taking advantage of the blogosphere to share my own never-ending defining moments, so I thought it was time to let somebody else have a go.

Today, it's Alison Smith from Mark Stanley Accountants. Now I know Alison personally and she's so utterly approachable, it almost makes accounting fun! She specialises in working with small businesses and contractors but, more importantly, she's also mum to Sam, aged nine, who likes to keep her on her toes. Here's her chucklesome defining moment"


I often think of myself as having three children: my husband, my son and my dog. I love them all dearly, but they do take a lot of looking after! It’s hard to believe that Sam (that’s my son, not the dog) is now nine years old. Although I probably have it easier than most with just one child, life can still be as stressful as anyone else’s.

Having a sense of humour helps me cope with the stresses and pressures at work and at home. Ever since nursery Sam has been described as having a ‘wicked sense of humour’. He definitely takes after his dad in that respect. An example of this occurred last weekend, when we were walking through Chopwell woods with the dog. Sam stubbed his toe on a tree stump, and we were discussing the merits of steel toe cap boots, which daddy wears at work sometimes, when he is on site. Sam, knowing that I work in a relatively risk free zone of my office, tells me that I should get a pair for work, just in case I drop a pencil on my foot!

Alison with quick-witted Sam

 

















This is probably not that funny on paper, but believe me, coming from a nine year old boy in a sarcastic, dead pan tone, it was hilarious! I’m so glad he has a sense of humour, as this will get him through the difficult times, which are inevitably ahead of him. Having a laugh with your family, your friends, even watching TV, can lift your spirits like nothing else!


Aw, thanks Alison . . . we are totally with you on the merits of a sense of humour. An essential part of the parenting toolkit!

If you'd like to check out Alison's brilliant service for small businesses and contractors, just visit:

markstanleyaccountants.co.uk or on facebook.com/pages/Mark-Stanley-Accountants-Ltd/

And to find out how The Cool Rule Company's brilliant range of products can transform the life you share with your child, just visit our website, like us on Facebook or follow us on Twitter! 

Defining Moment from a Marketing Mum

We all have those utterly defining moments as mothers. You know, those moments when the guilt, the responsibility, the joy, the guilt, the terror or the absolute unquestionable love smacks us in the face and momentarily takes our breath away. Know the ones I mean? I bet you've got a million to choose from.

Because it's the month of March, the month of International Women's Day (rock on), Mother's Day (chill out) and, let's not forget pancake day (pig out!), I've asked some mums I know and admire to share a defining moment on the Cool Rule blog. I, myself, am usually unashamedly taking advantage of the blogosphere to share my own never-ending defining moments, so I thought it was time to let somebody else have a go.

Today, it's Maxine Johnston from Maxine Johnston Marketing.What Maxine doesn't know about marketing and promoting small businesses quite simply isn't worth knowing. And, according to her nine-year-old daughter, she's really rather cool too. So let's see what kind of moment makes Maxine step back in awe at the role of being a mum . . .


My name is Maxine and I am mum to my gorgeous nine year old daughter. When Abi kindly asked me if I’d like to write about my defining moment of being a mum, I really couldn’t pick just one so I thought I would chat to you about a defining 'thing' we have in our house. 

Since I can remember music has been a big part of my life. I have been reliably informed by my parents that when I was brought home from the hospital as a baby, I was immediately played some Paul Simon. Since then music has shaped my life in so many ways. Thanks to my parents I have a broad range of tastes when it comes to music and with the exception of jazz (sorry jazz fans!) I will listen to just about anything.

Maxine with her daughter as a toddler

 











I wanted to bring my daughter up with the same ideal and she too will also pretty much listen to anything from Beyonce to BB King.

All my friends and family know I also love to sing and dance to any music that happens to be playing. I feel I have finely honed skills in both singing and dancing (although those closest to me feel these skills possibly need honing some more!). Most nights before bedtime my daughter and I sing and dance without a care in the world, along to carefully chosen tracks belting from You Tube.

The other night we were singing and dancing along to Olly Murs and I looked at her and she looked so unbelievably happy. Like any mum, I had a pile of dishes to do, work emails to answer and we needed to start the daily bedtime routine but none of that even mattered.

I took a moment to realise that I won’t get this time back. Soon she won’t want to sing and dance along with her embarrassing old mum. So for now we are proudly singing and dancing in our household. And we make no apologies for it!

Dancing is always best when cake is involved

Maxine, we are totally with you on this one. There can never be too much singing and dancing in a household! Maybe we'll put it as a rule in the next edition of The Cool Rule Book!

If you want to speak to Maxine about the marketing needs of your business, just contact her on maxine@maxinejohnstonmarketing.co.uk or on 07582 955 800.

If you'd like to share one of your own defining moments as a mum, just email abi@thecoolrulecompany.co.uk with 100-500 words and one or two photos of you and your children. If you have your own business, I'd be happy to feature information about that too.

And now you can check out The Cool Rule Company's amazing range of happy living products at thecoolrulecompany.co.uk, Like us on Facebook and Follow us on Twitter!

Defining Moment from a Gem of a Mum

We all have those utterly defining moments as mothers. You know, those moments when the guilt, the responsibility, the joy, the guilt, the terror or the absolute unquestionable love smacks us in the face and momentarily takes our breath away. Know the ones I mean? I bet you've got a million to choose from.

Because it's the month of March, the month of International Women's Day (rock on), Mother's Day (chill out) and, let's not forget pancake day (pig out!), I've asked some mums I know and admire to share a defining moment on the Cool Rule blog. I, myself, am usually unashamedly taking advantage of the blogosphere to share my own never-ending defining moments, so I thought it was time to let somebody else have a go.

Today, it's Jacqui Bowley from JBow Jewellery. Jacqui is a diamond. She makes beautiful silver jewellery using crystals and delicate beads as well as bespoke silver prints so you can capture your child's handprint or fingerprint in 99.9% silver. And she's brave too. Not only has she shared her defining moment with us, but also a bit of background so we get a hint of her story too. Here we go:



Having struggled with post-natal depression after having both of my beautiful boys I often worry about the effects that it might have had on them. I especially worry about my eldest son as, bless him, he has watched me struggle with it pretty much all of his life up until about four or five months ago. Thankfully now, with the help of my family and friends, and the incredible, unwavering love I get from my boys, there seems to be light at the end of the tunnel.

Jacqui and her boys

 


















My defining moment (and there are lots to choose from) came one school day morning not too long ago. I don’t really know what happens in our house on a morning. There seems to be some strange shifting of time, or perhaps I just black out somewhere between 8.30 and 8.45am. Because things usually seem to be running along just fine. Plenty of time on the clock. Breakfasting, dressing, teeth brushing and all the rest of the usual morning routine seems to be somehow happening. Then, suddenly, as if some kind of evil time travel trick has occurred, there are only seconds left and if we don’t leave immediately we will be catastrophically late.

So, on this particular morning, running the usual risk of catastrophic lateness, I was telling the boys in as patient a tone as possible, that mummy really prefers not to be late and it would be ever so useful if they could put their shoes on etc etc. And just when I was about to launch into one of my famous lectures on lateness, my eldest, threw back his head, opened his mouth wide and started singing. Really, really singing. He was properly belting it out. I can’t even remember what the song was but it was lovely and loud and tuneful and just so full of expression. It was a real defining moment, plucked straight out of the normality of a typical morning in our home. Stress and worry were as far away from him as they could be and that's when I thought 'Jacqui, look at your son, singing away to his heart's content. You're doing just fine.'



Aw, Jacqui, we love this! And it sounds so familiar too.

If you want to see Jacqui's beautiful work for yourself, check her out on facebook:

facebook.com/JBowjewellery
facebook.com/preciousmomentsinsilver

If you'd like to share one of your own defining moments as a mum, just email abi@thecoolrulecompany.co.uk with 100-500 words and one or two photos of you and your children. If you have your own business, I'd be happy to feature information about that too.

And now you can check out The Cool Rule Company's amazing range of happy living products at thecoolrulecompany.co.uk, Like us on Facebook and Follow us on Twitter!

Doing What They Do

For all of you die-hard Cool Rule Blog followers, you may recall that at least one or two posts here have been dedicated to my starry-eyed expectations for decent photos of my children. The classic, 'Cheesy Peas' post in which a seemingly wonderful gift of a 'mummy makeover and family photo shoot' went disastrously wrong. And then there was the school 'Photo Opportunity' which had me abandoning a perfectly good photo shoot and running for the hills (plus a strong coffee and a stack of custard creams).

So imagine my delight when, on Twitter, a local photographer, despite having read my accounts of photo shoots from Hell, actually offered to visit me and the Tots for the very purpose of getting some 'nice, natural pictures'. Hello? Was she from this planet? Didn't she know both of my children had an in-born-photo-shoot-intolerance-type-thingy from which they would never recover? Clearly she did not.

But then I closed my eyes and imagined all the possibilities. There were my children . . . dancing through fields of cornflowers. Skipping through tall grasses. Flying high on a swing in the afternoon sunshine. Running to hug their mother in the park. I was absolutely certain that once we deducted the use of white photo studio walls and big scary flashes on tripods, my Tots would be modelling material.

And this photographer lady, Simone Rudolphi of SR Projects, seemed to agree. We tweeted and tweeted about the things we could do and finally got together one freezing Sunday December afternoon to see what happened.

Big Tot has me under the thumb as usual

Big Tot, of course, had been briefed about what would be happening that day. He likes to know his schedule and so he had it all planned out. Simone would arrive, Big Tot would befriend her with alarming rapidity. There would be coffee and therefore biscuits which he would monopolise immediately. The camera, which he knew he was not allowed to touch, would become a source of intrigue and unlock his ability to charm Simone until the camera was not only allowed to be touched, but also held and fiddled with. Plus, he would wear his best, smartest clothes, despite having had the phrase 'natural photos' explained to him repeatedly and vehemently.

And all of this unfolded as planned, keeping Big Tot happy and Simone on her toes. We went out for a walk down to the local farm shop and although we had to settle for deserted industrial estates instead of fields of cornflowers, and a grey, murky sky instead of afternoon sunshine, we just got on with things. If this was going to be natural, then we had to go with whatever the world threw at us, didn't we?

Simone did a grand job. She certainly got the measure of Big Tot within about thirty seconds and figured out rather swiftly that Little Tot needs to be given his space. I felt like I was just spending a day with an old friend. She snapped away so that we hardly noticed and never made a big issue of having a camera.

My very own poster boys

She told me, as we were walking, that she was intrigued by the natural way people moved, talked and interacted. She was particularly interested in photographing children because of the challenge but also the potential to get that one shot that can show their innocence, their strength and their beauty all in one go. "Children don't have the inhibitions of a grown-up," she said, "They just do what they do."

And there were my two, just doing what they do. Big Tot playing 'Temple Run' all the way down to the farm shop. Little Tot insisting on pushing his Action Men (inexplicably named Dory and Max) along in his buggy. Refusing nose wipes, demanding snacks, jumping in puddles, fighting with sticks. This was the reality of my Sunday and I was glad to have Simone there to capture it.

Action Men enjoying the fresh air

So this is one blog post about a photo shoot that does not end in tears. It actually ended with two very tired Tots, happily munching toast in front of the telly and the central heating cranked up. Oh, and a Mummy having a sneaky cuppa in the kitchen, wondering how to tell the world how fab Simone Rudolphi actually is.

Go well,

Abi


To find put more about Simone Rudolphi and her wonderful photographic services, find her on facebook.com/SRProjects4Photography or follow her on Twitter: SR_Projects

Want to celebrate happy living with your toddler? See Abi's amazing range of Cool Rule products at www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk, join in the fun on Facebook and follow her on Twitter too!

Not What They Seem . . .

Well it seems that it is somehow getting round to that time of year again. Surely it was just yesterday I was having fish finger picnics in the garden and slapping suncream on the Tots' noses at every given opportunity? But remarkably, the nights do appear to be getting darker and the weather annoyingly colder and Little Tot does seem to be staging regular stand-offs in the kitchen about which hat, glove and scarf set he will wear. Winter is upon us.

And we all know what that means. Christmas is coming.

At a massive five years old, Big Tot certainly knows what that means too. Time to write the Christmas list. Time to scrawl in laboured, shaky letters next to ripped-out, glued-on pictures from the Argos catalogue and expect Santa to know exactly what he's on about. Angry Bird costume. Tardis play tent. Robot head. iPad that's not Daddy's. Hah. Good luck with that one, Santa.

But I have been reflecting lately, on the fact that, like many aspects of parenting, the toys that inevitably appear around Christmas time and birthdays often do not live up to expectation. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that some of them have the extraordinary capacity to make family life a living hell. I exaggerate not.

Let's look at the evidence:

Woody from Toy Story
The hubby and I bought a talking Woody doll for Big Tot when he was a wee nipper at just two years old. Fifty precious pounds of our very own money was spent on this beautiful abstract promise that Big Tot would inevitably make life-long buddies with said doll and perhaps live out a life in enchanting parallel with Andy in the Toy Story movie.

What actually occurred was really rather disturbing. Woody, as we all know, has a hat. A cowboy hat. A cowboy hat that Big Tot insisted, nay demanded, should not only be permanently on, but also permanently straight. If the hat tipped even to the tiniest, jauntiest angle, Big Tot would scream. If it came off, Big Tot would scream louder. Now I consider myself to be a very resourceful mother and thought my string-attached-to-hat technique would be a winner. But no. That was an alien component Big Tot was simply not willing to accept which he demonstrated by biting it off.

I think that angle is ever so slightly off

I was tempted on many, many occasions to Super Glue the hat on and be done with it but feared that would induce a swift turnaround in Big Tot's expectations for Woody. They had a complex thing going on and I figured I was best kept out of it.

Luckily, it all came to a gruesome end a year or two later when Little Tot came along and decapitated Woody. Job done.

Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story
Do you see a theme forming here?

Anyway, thinking Buzz Lightyear would be the perfect pal for Woody and perhaps distract Big Tot from the ongoing hat issue, we bought a second-hand Buzz on eBay. All was going well . . . until Buzz dared to bend his arm in a particularly tough duel with a plastic dinosaur. Oh no, no, no, Buzz. Didn't you know? Your arms must remain permanently straight at ALL times.

Right, where's the sellotape?

Buzz didn't know this. Mummy didn't know this. But Big Tot clearly thought the future of the entire world depended on it and went wildly into tantrum land whenever Buzz's poor, tired arm fancied a rest. I rode this storm for THREE MONTHS people, before the sellotape was out and those arms were taped straight good and proper. A woman can only take so much.

Harry Potter's Wand
No, that is not a euphemism.

Big Tot's Harry Potter phase seemed to last forever so surely it would be safe for Santa to bring him a swooshing, light-up wand? Surely?

Such an innocent looking thing

Did you know it doesn't have an actual 'off' switch? Did you know that you have to leave it alone for approximately ten minutes before it stops lighting up intermittently and making that bloody swooshing noise over and over again? And did you further know that a toddler simply CANNOT understand this and that they will just pick it up again and again furiously searching for an 'off' switch without realising that they are exacerbating things by giving it the swooping motion that it damn well wants? This is what you call war.

Postman Pat Motorbike
Postman Pat does not sit straight in it.

Hungry Caterpillar Book
Action figures do not fit through the holes in the pages.

Fireman Sam Ladder
Fireman Sam does not stay on it.

Play Dough
It does not fit in ear hole.

Soldier Action Figure
Back pack does not open

Plastic Rocket
It has a voice that counts down the blast-off when surely the natural order of numbers is 1-2-3-4-5?


So, I think it is plain to see that, where a toddler is concerned, pretty much every toy has the potential to disrupt the happiest of families. I therefore, rest my case.

God only knows what wonders await us this year. What with Big Tot wanting to know the inner workings of everything from Darth Vader's helmet to my actual mind, and Little Tot's tendency to lose, destroy and generally decapitate things, we are in for a treat.

Go well,

Abi


Explore Abi's superb range of happy living products for you and your toddler at thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Follow Abi and The Cool Rule Company on Facebook and Twitter for up-to-the-minute parenting observations and witty little bits of wisdom.

Mummy's Day Off

Imagine this, if you will.

I'd been offered FREE babysitting for a WHOLE night by a VERY GOOD friend which only happens ONCE IN A BLUE MOON (sorry about the capitals, but it is more than warranted on this occasion, I think you'll agree).

And not only that, but I'd totally forgotten about this arrangement until the NIGHT BEFORE (ok, I'll stop now). So imagine my glee when the text arrived from the aforementioned very good friend / guardian angel: 'What time are you bringing the boys tomorrow? I want to take them to the coast.'

The coast? She could take them to the bloody moon for all I cared if it meant I got a whole day and night of lovely quality time and lots and lots of silence in my house. I mean, the silence would be potent. Hell, it would probably be so potent I could bottle it and sell it and make the fortune I've been meaning to make since I lost my career-building capabilities on account of being a full-time mum / slave / nurse / confidante / fixer of Batman toys.

This was good, good, news. So, I set about packing and the Tots took particular delight in filling a couple of rucksacks with 'special' toys to take with them (I'm not sure Woody from Toy Story's decapitated head would be welcome in my friend's household but hey-ho). The next morning we arrived gleefully at my friend's house and the Tots immediately ran off to play / ransack her home. Not before a few snot-laced kisses had been administered to Mummy though, who was off to well and truly paint the town red.

But first there was a fruit scone waiting for me at a local coffee house / gift shop called Bayberry Hollow. It's a place I'd been meaning to go to for weeks but on account of its intricate display of beautiful and breakable objects, I'd been reluctant to drag two unappreciative Tots inside. And as this was MY DAY (sorry, I just can't help myself), I would eat as many scones as humanly possible and peruse beautiful, handcrafted items at an achingly slow, leisurely pace.

Get your laughing gear round that

And I did this with my Mam who (I think) was equally happy to be meeting me somewhere that didn't involve ball pools or soft play apparatus of any kind. Oh how we chatted without interruption! Oh how we did not have to share our scones! Oh how toilet trips belonged only to us! This, I was sure, was the warm-up for a very exciting day.

Then hubby rang me from work to explain, joyously, that he had finished his shift. Now I was sure the gods of babysitting were smiling down on me. The hubby never, ever finishes work before 11pm on a Saturday. But not today baby! Today was ours!

So what did we do? We met at the Metro Centre! Of course we did. Everybody who is familiar with the vastness of the North East's iconic shopping centre will know that it has magical, magnetic powers which force anybody with a millisecond of spare time to gravitate towards it in a zombie-like, credit-card-wielding sort of way. And that was us. In TK Maxx we found each other next to the men's Autumn Collection. I think we fell in love all over again.

Can you feel the gravitational pull?

But it was only a matter of minutes before we found ourselves browsing the toy aisles. What new madness was this? Only hours away from the Tots and I find myself among superhero Busy Books and plush Postman Pats? Erm, not today people.

So we glided out and made our way to the Metro Centre food court.

Perhaps we could grab a spontaneous bite to eat in a non-family-oriented-type place. Who cares if Pizza Express do Fruit Shoots? We laugh in the face of your Fruit Shoots. Give us cocktails, or beer, or wine! We could even go to the cinema to see ANYTHING (!) we wanted. We checked the listings. Because we could.

Disappointingly, there was buggar-all on offer at the cinema. I did not want to pay almost £15 to see a bag of tripe. But we were not deterred for we would dine like tycoons instead. Bring on the caviar!

But then we suddenly (and annoyingly) recalled the internet-banking session we'd had two days before and (even more annoyingly) recalled the sorry state of our overdraft. Bloody 24 hour internet banking. I'd prefer to live in ignorance of my rising debt thank you very much.

That hardly mattered though. We would do something free and wonderful instead. We'd escape the Metro Centre and go for a walk. In the woods. Where there were trees and birdsong and fresh air. Yes. We'd ignore our growling tummies and embrace nature instead. How romantic!

However, upon returning to the car, I realised my stupid little ballet-type shoes were hardly forest-trekking attire and the hubby pointed out that he couldn't get his work trousers dirty as he would need to wear them again the next day (yes, we have an inadequate laundry system). So we just got in the car and drove for a bit.

As we drove along on this glorious, glorious day of quality time for us and only us, it became increasingly obvious that we did not have a bloody clue what to do when faced with a day without our children. There were no noses to wipe. No demands to be met. We were crap at this.

And what do you do when you're suspicious that your life may be sadder than sad? You go to the pub. Wetherspoons to be exact. And you order a big pint of beer and a big plate of food (the cheapness of it all!) and you bloody well get over it.

Sorts your life out

Back at home we made a pact that absolutely no housework of any kind would be done and settled ourselves in front of the telly with a blanket for a Lovefilm-athon. Get in. This was going to be good. I selected 'Bridesmaids' before the hubby could make a peep of protest and felt particularly smug when he seemed to enjoy it really quite a lot. Hah! Girl power!

Unfortunately I fell asleep during the next film and the hubby had to carry me to bed in a way that did not, sadly, resemble any kind of romantic scene. From what he told me, he may as well have been disposing of a body. The sleep was deep and there was drool. Enough said.

The next morning I woke at 7.30am. Bloody typical. I tried to go back to sleep, I really did, but my body clock was having none of it. So, in a determined, last-ditch attempt to relax before the Tots burst back into the domain, I made a cuppa and flicked on Lovefilm. And there it was. The film I had been wanting to watch for months but never had because the hubby refused to watch it on account of it being listed under 'Musicals' . . .

Black Swan.

The dark thriller starring Natalie Portman. Not a musical at all. But about a ballerina who goes a bit mental in her aspirations to perform as the Swan Queen in Swan Lake. Did it even occur to me that this might not be your traditional Sunday morning viewing? Astoundingly, it did not.

Multiple personalities, suicide attempts, self-harming, haunting melodies, hallucinations, obscure body parts, tragic love affairs. By the end of it I was a gibbering wreck. My heart was on the floor.

Don't go it alone

So when Big Tot crashed through the front door I nearly jumped out of my skin. He dashed towards me and I pulled him in like my life depended on it. 'Mummy, Mummy, I've got a Darth Vader now and he's a baddy and he's my best new friend and I missed you but I had a good time and I ate toast.'

Little Tot flung his warm little body at me and smeared me in his signature snot whilst jabbering away in toddler-speak. Oh this was wonderful! My favourite two little people in the world were back and filling the house with laughter and demands and mess and stories. Woo hoo!

And just like that, everything was as it should be.

Go well,

Abi



If you want to find out about Abi's brilliant range of happy living products for parents and toddlers, just visit, thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Join the Cool Rule masses on Facebook and on Twitter

Cheesy Peas

I should have listened to my inner-shudder when I first opened the email. It was from my Mam. She was excited. I could tell by the extravagant use of exclamation marks and capital letters. 'Here you are!!!! ENJOY!!!' she beamed brightly across the digital cosmos.

It was a Groupon. But not just any Groupon.  It was a Groupon claiming to be worth two hundred and forty five pounds . 'Family photo shoot with hair and make-up for one person'. And that one person just had to be the mum, didn't it? I couldn't quite picture Big Tot with a bouffant or Little Tot sporting a touch of lippy. Maybe the hubby, with his annoyingly long silken locks would fancy an up-do but I was fairly certain this makeover was aimed at the maternal among us. What normal, every-day mum wouldn't fancy a bit of glamming-up as a welcome break among the drudgery of domesticity?

Look how much fun I could have!

Erm, me.

I have to admit I rarely leave the house without the sacred application of mascara but an actual make-over? Not on my top ten list of things to buy a Groupon for. And when I checked the website of the company generously offering this Groupon my pessimism deepened. Most of the makeovers seemed to feature a basque or two. Some spiky high heels. Some curious choices of 'artistic' lighting. But surely they wouldn't expect me to partake in this? Especially with a grouchy toddler and a child who thinks he owns the world tagging along.

But this was a treat from my Mam and we would cash this Groupon in with total enthusiasm and gratitude. If nothing else, it was a reason to get out of our pyjamas before eleven in the morning (oh yes, we are embracing the summer holidays wholeheartedly) and maybe, just maybe, we'd get proof that we do, sometimes, remain in the same room as a whole family, unequipped with iPads and Nintendo 3DS's.

So, after a heated near-divorce with the satellite navigation system, we finally found the private house where our photo shoot was to take place. We were ushered into a (very) posh reception room by a (very) pretty lady with our many bags of pyjamas, teddies, Mario costumes and plastic swords (can you tell I'd already planned how this photo shoot was going to go?).

Something like this would do nicely

I tried to explain to Big Tot that the hand-carved, soapstone chess pieces may look like toys fit for a five-year-old but were, in fact, 'very dangerous grown-up things that may explode upon the touch of a child', whilst the hubby negotiated with the pretty lady how long the makeover would take and consequently how long he would have to entertain the Tots at the nearby park. "It shouldn't take longer then twenty minutes" was her advice. Ok then. Either I was so beautiful I needed only a miniscule amount of make-up or I was a lost cause. I didn't dwell on which one it might be.

Luckily the pretty lady was actually very good at her job (hence the prettiness, most likely) and she had me spruced up in no time. This did not stop the hubby from returning ten minutes early and demanding to know why my transformation was not yet complete. The second half of my make-over was spent further confirming my suspicion of the exploding grown-up chess pieces and allowing a toddler to shove a mirror literally in my face at every given opportunity.

Now it was time for the actual photo shoot. The Tots were decked out in multi-coloured stripey tops and jeans. The hubby and I in jeans and white T-shirts. Obligatory bare feet, of course. The PJs and costumes were for later, when we'd happily and joyfully change and show what a fun-loving, adapt-to-anything-type family we were.

Big Tot kicked off the proceedings. He was instructed by our entirely pleasant photographer to kneel down, stand up, put hands in pockets, smile and say 'Cheesy Peas!' many, many, many times. He did as he was told but alas the smiles were without soul, without that wicked Big Tot glint that we all know and love. Maybe he'd relax in a minute.

Cheesy Peas - would they make you smile?

Then Little Tot shuffled onto the scene. The photographer went with this, which was good, and the hubby and I looked at our boys with adoring eyes. How natural. How lovely. How in-the-moment. But then Little Tot was given similar instructions on how to sit, stand, lean, smile etc. We didn't panic. Not yet. Yes, Little Tot may only be two years old and may be notorious for never, ever doing anything other than what he damn well wants, but this photographer would be well versed in the world of toddlers, wouldn't he? He would know how to extricate a natural smile, an effortless scene of play and brotherly adoration.

Or not.

As soon as Big Tot got bored and strutted over to me for yet another explanation of why, exactly, he was here, Little Tot flipped out. The flashing lights, the white walls, the lack of actual family in this family photo shoot were freaking him right out. It was tears and tantrums all the way now.

So we all rushed onto the scene. The nearness of his family would sort Little Tot right out and assure him everything was normal and conducive to joy / cheer / anything resembling a smile. But nope. It is true what they say about children tuning in to the stress of their parents. I already knew the hubby was in a storming mood, which cranked up my hysteria a notch or two which, inevitably, gave both Tots a reason to grab, cry, scream, stomp, ask to play on the iPhone etc etc.

My last-ditch attempt was to suggest to the photographer that perhaps we could give the Tots a chance to calm down, get some toys out and just go for some more natural shots. That might be the only way forward now. But he continued to ask us to lean in a bit more, move a hand, smile wider, and shout out 'Cheesy Peas' with ever increasing gusto.

Needless to say we did not unbag the plastic swords or Mario costumes. The pillow-fight-in-pyjamas scene I had developed in my head would sadly have to wait until another day. By the time another family was practically banging down the door of the photo studio to tempt their own luck, Little Tot was past himself and Big Tot had a permanently bad attitude. My own attitude was tested when the photographer suggested we pay one hundred pounds for a CD of appalling photos, and further still when he explained that that 'free' print included in the Groupon would cost £10 to be posted to our home. Or, he added helpfully, we could pick it up from the house in a few weeks. I remembered how close the satellite navigation system had come to being thrown out of the sunroof and politely declined.

So that's why I should have listened to my inner-shudder right at the beginning of this tale. My little family is simply not cut out for photo shoots. Or that particular photographer was simply not cut out for my little family. Truth be known, it was probably a bit of both so, for now, I'll continue to spontaneously snap my boys on the iPhone and allow Mario moustaches all round. It's quite clearly the way forward.

The Tots working the camera as only they know how

But thanks Mam. It really was a lovely thought.

Go well,

Abi
xxx


Check out Abi's amazing range of happy living products for toddlers and parents at www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Follow Abi's up-to-the-minute parental observations and wisdom at facebook.com/thecoolrulecompany and on Twitter, @coolrulecompany.