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.

Officially a Toddler

For four days now I have been treading very carefully. Listening carefully. Watching carefully. And waiting, with baited breath, for the inevitable to happen. The transformation should occur any day now. It's only a matter of time.

Big Tot and I talk about it constantly. We watch and we wait and I tell him that his own transformation occurred early. He insists this is because he eats up his vegetables (yellow pepper only) and does regular exercise (bum-wiggling) but I suggest it may just be because he was born with the temperament of an angry wasp. His progression from baby to toddler was monumental, as I remember from the black eye he gave me on the morning of his 2nd birthday.

The Terrible Twos

But Little Tot seems to be stumbling aimlessly into Toddlerdom rather than using the confident strides of his older brother. His 2nd birthday party came and went and although he was utterly dismayed by the parcels and cards shoved in his face, and appalled by the prospect of sharing his toys with guests at his party his preferred coping mechanism was 'Retreat and Regroup'. Regrouping with me, of course. For snotty kisses and teary cuddles.

And I'm not going to lie. Little Tot is more than partial to flinging himself on the floor in protest at having to leave the park / not being bought every toy he desires / being put back into bed for the forty-seventh time. But the flinging and the crying and the screaming seem to be over pretty quickly. Now there are two questions that spring to mind here. Are the tantrums truly shorter than the ones I observed in his brother or have I simply adjusted my tantrum-o-meter levels in order to cope this time round?

Little Tot is at that awkward age when he is slightly too young for The Cool Rule Book but old enough to understand most of my instructions. So I thought I'd give the naughty spot a pop. And, inevitably, the time came round when Little Tot bashed Big Tot hard on the head with a toy, not once but twice (with a very clear warning in between) and so I led him to the famous green plastic stool in the corner of our living room. "Hitting your brother was very wrong and now I want you stay here until I come to get you."

The famous Naughty Spot

On that note I quickly ushered Big Tot into the kitchen and briefed him on our game plan. "Ok, your brother is probably going to get off the naughty spot lots of times now because we've never done it before and he doesn't really understand what he has to do."

"Not like me Mummy."

"No, not like you."

"Yes, because I've been on there lots of times before haven't I? How many times do you think? Maybe ten? Maybe thirty? Maybe three billion squillion?"

"Sweetheart, that's not the point right now. What I'm trying to tell you is that you have a very important job to do . . . "

"Ooh, what is it? Do I have to wash the car? Can I wash the car? I think it needs washing because there's a big massive huge bird poo down the side and . . "

"No, no, no, it's nothing to do with bird poos or cars! I need you to not talk to your brother. Not look at him. Not play with him. Not say anything to him at all ok?"

"Oh, is that all? That's easy. That's boring. Then can I do a better job after that? Then can I get the bird poo off the car? And Mummy?"

"Yes? What?"

"What's my brother doing now?"

"Oh God! I don't know!" And with Big Tot's annoyingly sensible prompting I dashed back through to the living room, just knowing I'd see a very vacant naughty spot and probably a trail of destruction in its wake. Broken toys. Torn up books. Decapitated teddies.

But there he was. Bottom lip still trembling. Still sitting, very obediently, on the naughty spot. Well have you ever?

My quick mental calculations told me that the time spent discussing bird poo with Big Tot in the kitchen probably added up to the required two minutes that Little Tot needed to be detained. So I knelt in front of him, explained again why he was there and said I'd like a kiss and a cuddle and for him to say sorry. I waited for a slap in the face, a screaming fit or the hurling of the naughty step at my head (all of which I have experienced with Big Tot, by the way) but instead he threw himself into my arms, smeared snot all over my lips (which I like to assume was a kiss) and squeaked "'Orry" in Big Tot's general direction.

After that we were all exhausted and it was time for a bit of CBeebies. Oh how I regularly thank the universe for Mr Bloom and his band of root vegetables.

Mr Bloom, you are a godsend

So now that Little Tot is officially a toddler, I guess I need to prepare myself for anything he throws at me. I am safe in the knowledge that I can handle tantrums of a wild and unruly nature thanks to the previous efforts of his big brother. But will I be able to handle the wobbling of that adorable bottom lip? Only time will tell.

Go well,

Abi



To find out how The Cool Rule Book or the rest of the Cool Rule range can help you and your toddler, visit www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

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Olympic-Stylee

It's here folks. It's finally here. No, no, not the Olympics. You may think Michelle Obama is travelling to the UK for this Friday's opening ceremony. And she may think so too, but she hasn't yet heard about The Cool Rule Company and when she does she might just rethink her schedule.

I mean the build-up's been second to none. A whole year of dramatic events. Let's take a re-cap:

• Highly-strung three-year old (Big Tot) spins his tantrums into whole new orbit when his baby brother (Little Tot) comes along

• In a final act of desperation the exhausted, exasperated parents involve Big Tot in making a scrapbook of rules, consequences and photos of his world

• Said scrapbook adapts nickname of 'The Cool Rule Book' and becomes Big Tot's favourite thing (apart from Super Mario)

• Exhausted, exasperated parents become slightly less so

• Said scrapbook becomes aid to celebrate everything Big Tot can do well and a tool to help him learn what else is expected of him

• Said scrapbook attracts 'oohs' and 'aahs' from other equally exhausted parents

• Feeling all entrepreneurial, slightly-less-exhausted-mum shamelessly wrings dry all of the business support offered by local enterprise agency

• Wringing-dry of babysitting favours also occurs

• Blogging begins

• Business planning begins

• Slightly-less-exhausted-mum creates prototypes for other tots and runs a trial across the country

• Highly dramatised logo saga begins

• Trial gets outstanding results and indicates slightly-less-exhausted-mum should really take this idea to market

• Business planning nearly kills slightly-less-exhausted-mum (who is now exhausted again)

• Highly dramatised logo saga ends with very cool logo (energy restored)

• Overdraft is feeling the strain but slightly-less-exhausted-mum ignores it

• Business planning finished

• Website launched to the world

• Celebratory hot chocolate / wine / anything consumable to hand

And there we have it. The Cool Rule Company is officially up and running (Olympic-stylee) and ready for business.

The Cool Rule Book is my first flagship product. It is a gorgeous, glossy little book and it can transform the life you lead with your toddler. Honestly. It's that good.

It includes twenty-seven rules written with love and humour as well as spaces for your own personal rules. When you add photos of things your child will recognise, it becomes all the more meaningful. The categories cover all aspects of a child's life before school and are followed up by spaces for your own consequences of what happens when your child follows or breaks the rules.

The website tells you loads more (www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk) and you can have a wee peep at some of the pages. It comes as a Standard Pack (with a special guide for the parents to get the most out of the book) or as a Bumper Pack (with the special guide as well as everything else you need to get started).

May I say you've been most patient over the last few months, as I have point-blank refused to reveal what my business venture has been all about. But now you know. And I hope you keep up with the Cool Rule Antics as they develop. And develop they will my friends. Develop they will.

Go Well,

Abi