The Silent Parent

How odd. This is what I thought during the lead up to February's half-term holiday. There was no sense of dread, no sweaty palms, no saving of pennies to spend on absurdly overpriced comics or loud, garish soft play centres. I was actually quite looking forward to it. Big Tot and Little Tot are getting on so well together at the moment and after a mostly lovely Christmas break I thought to myself, I can bloody well do this. And I can enjoy it too.

The hubby was absent and off in the land of work as per usual, so I accepted my lot, closed my eyes, and started my visions of merriment. I envisaged enthusiastic beach exploring. Energetic nature walks. Imaginative storybook sessions. Hilarious games of hide and seek. Nothing could stop us. We were going to have fun, fun, fun.

Surely, this is how it would be?

Or maybe not.

Two days before break-up and the dizzy spells started. One day before break-up and a tickly cough had me demented. The day of break-up and there was a headache, earache, sore limbs and a sadly depleted attitude to the whole idea of any type of school holiday. As Big Tot's teacher handed him over to me at 3.15pm that day there was a look exchanged between us. We knew we were in completely different worlds she and I. She was sauntering off to relaxation, quiet and calm. I was trudging into sickly despair. And my kids were leading the way.

And just when I thought I could add no more symptoms to my list, you'll never guess what happened.

I lost my voice.

This has never happened to me before. I woke up the first day of the holidays and knew something was wrong but it wasn't until Big Tot walked into the bedroom grumpily demanding the iPad that I realised what had happened.

I had a good cough (owch). And a splutter (owch again). And I did my best to arrange my mouth into a shape that would surely make a noise and answer Big Tot with some cunning reason why iPads were not suitable for this time in the morning. It didn't happen. And he took the iPad.

While I was brewing a coffee and Big Tot was catapulting Angry Birds, I imagined what this meant for us. How could we explore on the beach if I couldn't scald Little Tot for eating seaweed? How could we have imaginative storybook sessions which lacked a storyteller? And never mind that, how could we even perform our basic daily tasks with a mother who couldn't use her best bossy voice?

Just then Big Tot realised something was amiss.

"Mummy? Why are you quiet?"

I tried. I did. But my answer was just a croak. So instead I crouched down to look my son in the eyes, gestured at my throat and did a kind of magic vanishing flourish with my hands, hoping he'd tune into me with some kind of awesome mother-son connection.

"Your neck is going to explode? Cool."

Okay then.

An hour later and Big Tot realised no neck-exploding was going to occur. So with some further gestures and my best attempt at a whisper he finally got it. He remembered his teacher losing her voice before Christmas and helpfully informed me that she found it again so I really didn't have to worry.

And that's when I got my mojo (if not my voice or my good health) back. Voice or no voice these holidays were not going away and if Big Tot's teacher could teach a class of thirty children without the power of words then surely I could manage my own children in the same fashion.


Eye contact was the real lesson of the week. Just crouching down, being on their level, and looking at them with whatever emotion I was trying to convey was powerful stuff. I always thought I did that anyway but now I will be very mindful to do it even more.

We did a bit of doodling, Big Tot and I. Mainly when I just couldn't answer his questions with the power of mime and dance. And let's not forget that this boy asks a lot of questions. "Why can't I stand on the dinner table? Where is my Super Mario hat? Why can't I play on the iPad for a thirty-seventh time?"

My genius artwork

And after a while, I realised that this child doesn't always need an answer. I realised that after a while he just forgets what he's asking and swiftly moves on to something else. Suddenly the reason why wood is brown isn't so intriguing. And the crucial need to know whether Batman lets Robin have annual leave is not so paramount. This came as a massive relief to me. Now I am freed from being the all-seeing, the all-knowing. A burden that was, if I'm honest, pretty hard to bear.

Little Tot was pretty considerate in that he didn't really care if I spoke to him or not, as long as I was there to climb all over, be covered in drool, have toys pushed in my face and have unwanted food chucked in my general direction. He got stern looks for the food-chucking but the rest was endurable.

And, at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, I have to say that The Cool Rule Book was a bit of a lifesaver. I could use it to point out when Big Tot was not performing up to his usual standard of teeth-brushing / toy-sharing / dinner-eating and, more importantly, when he did something wonderful, I could point at the reward section at the back, we'd exchange a knowing smile and then trot into his room to stick balls in his happy jar. And not even a word uttered.

Silent rewards

We did end up spending most of the week at home simply because within the confines of our little bungalow I could make the whole silence thing work. As my voice worked back to a whisper, we ventured out to see a few friends, and as the whisper turned into a voice we did, after all, end up in a loud, garish soft play centre. What the hell. It did the the job and, do you know what? the Tots didn't ask me for a thing the whole time they were there.

That's my boys.

Go well,

Abi



To find out more about The Cool Rule Book and all the other fantastic parenting products the Tots have inspired, visit thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Back to Bad Hair Corners

Not quite sure how to start my first blog post of 2013. Shall I speak of the multitudinous empty chocolate wrappers haunting my memory and - more importantly -  my hips? Or of the insanely colourful and annoyingly noisy large plastic toys which now adorn every aspect of my home? Or, perhaps, of the tax return aching to be done in time to avoid an evil late-filing penalty? No, I shall tell you I had a wonderfully warm and cosy Christmas followed by a simple, at-home New Year. All was well. All is well. And things are looking good for 2013.

Big Tot was back at school today. Thank. The. Lord. And the teachers, of course.

I must admit, we have had a lovely time together over the festive season. We have indulged in 'Despicable Me' to the point of being able to quote 97% of the script. We've joyfully snubbed the chocolate laws of our household. And we've invented a game called 'Christmas pile-on' which generally involves holding Mummy down and decorating her with all available festive trimmings from our 75p tree.

Our favourite moment in Despicable Me

And we've also had a few surprise circumstances which left me with a challenge or two to endure. Lack of car to name but one (the Punto shunned its MOT requirements, the cheeky, obstinate little thing). Lack of hubby to name but another (he's holding down two jobs, bless him, both with many, many extra festive hours). So for the most part, I've been house-bound and child-bound and looking, always, for ways to see the bright side.

Luckily, I have two partners in crime when it comes to optimism-seeking. It may not always appear so. For I am fully aware of what percentage of my time is spent avoiding or enduring or helplessly observing tantrums. Little Tot is nearly twenty months old now and rapidly approaching that unique point in his life when he is not just allowed but expected to be terrible. And let's not forget he is learning from the Master. Big Tot still refuses to relinquish the Crown but is astoundingly generous when it comes to teaching the ways of the tantrum.

But despite all of that, my Tots know how to shine a big old light on the dark moments. Or even just the busy, stressed, not-in-the-moment moments. Just the other day I was stepping / tripping through the living room / toy apocalypse, striving to put a wash on, tidy up, cook dinner, run a bath, change a DVD, scrape up play dough, wipe off snot etc etc and Big Tot shouted a question at me. I tried one of my non-committal nods and hoped he'd back off but, hey, I should know by now he has no concept of how to politely treat impolite grown-ups. And he shouted the same question again.

"Why does it?"

I stopped, washing basket in-hand, Little Tot at-leg and asked with a sigh, "Why does what, do what sweetie?"

"Why does that toy say 'Back to bad hair corners'?"

"I have no idea sweetie. Now I have to go and . . . "

"Mummy! Whyyeeeee?"

"Sweetheart, I have to go and put this washing in the machine and then I will come and see you . . . "

"But whyeeeeee? Why does it say 'Back to bad hair corners'?"

By this time Little Tot had wrestled down the washing basket and was frolicking in his own dirty clothes. Big Tot was wide-eyed and earnest and giving me his full on I-want-an-answer-right-now-or-I'm-going-to-tell-everyone-what-a-crap-mummy-you-are attitude. And it's during these times I know there is no turning back. I choose to invest in the moment. I choose to dive entirely into Big Tot's world and treat it with the importance he so constantly works to convince me of. So I knelt down, rearranged my face into a look of eager curiosity and I listened.

"Now, what are you asking me. Please ask me again."

"Why does that toy say . . . 'Back. To. Bad. Hair. Cornerrrrrs'?" I tried to ignore that he was - at four years old - employing that tone of voice usually reserved for teenagers who want to imply their parents are the most stupid beings ever to inhabit the earth.

I looked down his pointed finger and across the room, to the offending toy. And that's when, with a rising surge of laughter and an inexplicable, immediate need to hug my son, it clicked. It was a talking, Fisher Price Batmobile.

I walked over to it, picked it up and returned it to Big Tot. He gingerly pressed the cute mini Batman to a resounding, clarifying, growling voice: "Back to Bat Headquarters."

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how a child can bring you back to the moment.


Have fun in 2013!

Abi


Find out how to live in the moment more often with your children AND tackle discipline too!
Just visit www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

Secret Tactics

So the other day I was casually flipping through the family calendar when I realised something that made me very cross. I realised that if you count the days from when Big Tot had his last day at nursery right up to when he starts going to 'big' school he is actually off for seven, not the widely presumed six, weeks for summer.

Seven weeks. That's forty-nine days. And that was enough to make me feel momentarily sick. It was a proper lump-in-the-throat, rapid-heart-beating, fiery cheeks kind of moment. How was I supposed to keep this going for seven weeks? No holidays planned. A dwindling overdraft. Two Tots expecting near miracles from me every single day for forty nine days? How could I find a number for the complaints hotline at the local education authority?

I peered into the living room at the Tots. Big Tot was lying under a blanket on the sofa playing with an electronic alphabet game and making loud, over-enthusiastic vowel sounds. Little Tot was making a dash for it into the garden of delights. Those delights being muck, muck, water and muck. Truth be known, they didn't seem to having such a bad time.

But what about me? Am I having such a bad time? Apart from my reaction to the the six week cover-up scandal, Is my summer really going that badly? Of course it isn't. Here I am, lucky enough to have a huge wedge of quality time to spend with my Tots, and a new business I can weave around full-time kiddy care. Things could be a lot worse.

Honestly speaking though, the summer holidays can be intense. There are times when I truly am out of resources, ideas and that mythical stuff called energy. I have secret tactics though. And they are lovely and life-affirming. Oh yes. My secret tactics totally rock.

And the best thing about these secret tactics is that if you are a parent, you probably do them anyway, without even knowing. But if you can become more aware of them, and practice them regularly, then things really do start to change.

Live In The Moment
You've seen your toddler do it. The total concentration on a snail's slimy movements or the unwavering dedication to the pages of their favourite storybook. Even the screaming meltdown in the sweetie aisle at a supermarket. Toddlers are experts at living in the now. So sometimes I get to it. I could be breathing in the sweet, just-washed scent of Little Tot's hair (even if he's whinging for his supper) or suddenly be in awe of the soft, reassuring grip of Big Tot's hand in mine as we cross a road. I have even mastered mindful nappy-changing. Oh yes. By being so committed to Little Tot and his gorgeous, dimpled bottom no other part of it bothers me. Living in the moment happily discards anything else that might be bothering you.

This too, will pass
I don't know who first coined this phrase, but when I first heard it, and related it to being a parent, it rocked my world. Sometimes it's a beautifully encouraging phrase. My child will stop being such a fussy eater one day. Soon my child will have have their hair washed without sobbing. But it can have a ring of sadness to it too. Perhaps one day my child won't want morning kisses. What if my child decides she doesn't want storytime before bed? But for me, just knowing, without a shadow of a doubt that 'this too, will pass' helps me to focus on the now, indulge in it, be grateful for it and embrace the ever-changing nature of this life we live. And here's hoping the Tots pick that up too.

Sit and smile
I'm loving this one. I read about it in Elizabeth Gilbert's 'Eat Pray Love' where she zips off to Bali, anticipating some mysterious lessons in meditation and actually just gets told to 'sit and smile'. You do run the risk of appearing to be a loon, mind you. As I well know. I have been known to sit and smile whilst Big Tot is having a meltdown on a naughty spot I have created in a supermarket. Or sitting and smiling whilst rocking a screaming Little Tot's buggy in a busy shopping centre. The possibilities are endless and the outcome is that you usually feel at least a teensy bit calmer, or at least able to find a funny side. Can't be bad, can it?

So there's three of my secret tactics. Why not go for a cocktail of them all? It's the only kind of cocktail I seem to be able to get my hands on these days. And I have to admit the high I've got from practicing these beats any Raspberry Mojito anyway.

So, with all of that in mind, I will press on through these summer holidays no matter how many days I may ultimately be faced with. The local Education Authority can breathe easy for now as I shall not be making that complaint after all. Not this year, anyway.

Go well,

Abi

Visit my site to find The Cool Rule Book - a tip top way to celebrate all that is cool with your toddler as well as getting to grips with discipline: www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk

For more on 'living in the now', try 'The Power of Now' by Eckhart Tolle, available on Amazon
For more of 'this too, will pass', try 'The Illuminated Rumi' by Jalal Al-Din Rumi, available on Amazon
For more of 'sitting and smiling', try 'Eat, Pray Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert, available on Amazon