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

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

Bring on the Whys

I'm finally there. I thought I might have bypassed it. I thought I might have tiptoed quietly enough past it. I thought that perhaps, with a focused, concentrated, maniacal determination I might have defied the very thing that all other parents in the history of parenting have been unable to defy. I thought I might have escaped that infamous, infantile stage of  . . . "Why?".

And, ironically, I ask myself why? Why did I think I might get away without having to answer all of the questions my child might have about the world? And more importantly, why would I want to?

To be honest, I thought Big Tot was so fascinated and consumed in his own existence that asking why wouldn't ever occur to him. He rules the world you see. Oh, didn't you know? Yes, my son is in charge of everything. From what direction we should be walking down the street to which colour spoon he (and everyone else) should eat their yoghurt with. He seems so sure of his position as Almighty Ruler and King of the Cosmos that I couldn't imagine him asking how something works or - God forbid - for somebody else's opinion.

But nope. Today he has wanted to know why over and over again. (NB: This is a heavily edited version of events)

Why No. 1
Why are men coming to our house today? Why do they need to put special material in the loft? Why does the house need to be warm? Why is it one of our needs as a human being?

Why No. 2
Why should I eat all my lunch? Why do I need to be strong? Why do I need to be a big man? Why do I need to live a long, happy life?

Why No. 3
Why was it mini-olympics at nursery today? Why did I do really well? Why did we all get medals? Why do we need to feel special?

Why No. 4 (my personal favourite)
Why are you coming in the bathroom? Why do you need to wipe my bottom? Why did I only need two wipes when I've done such a big poo poo?

The parenting experts tell us toddlers ask why because their minds are expanding quickly, they're starting to understand cause and effect, and want to engage you in conversation. That's all fantastic stuff. They also recommend that you note down their more challenging questions and go and research the answer together. So does that mean that after the toilet incident we should have dashed to the laptop and Googled 'Two Wipe Poos'?

Maybe not. I must admit though, I do love this stage. It can be tedious and sometimes exhausting. But it can also be energising, fascinating and massively amusing. Who else, other than your own child, could take you through all of those feelings in one day? In one hour? Or sometimes in just a few minutes?

Who else could ask me, just the other day with eyes as big as saucers, as blue and clear as a spring sky, "Why are you taking me to a Mummies' Business Club? Why are you being a Tronapenur?"?

So in my head I'm saying this: "Why? So I can safely pop you into the conveniently provided toddler play session, have a chat with other entrepreneurs who are mums, network, share ideas, progress my business, discover new avenues (not to mention have a cup of tea in peace) whilst taking steps towards building a successful, international, web-based business which will potentially finance an overseas property and secure the future of you and your brother as well as your dad's and my retirement."

In real life I'm saying this: "Why? Because there are cakes there. Because being a Tronapenur is fun." Oh lordy. What would the parenting experts say?


Oh who bloody cares? Big Tot and I are having fun with this one. Bring on the whys, that's what I say. My answers aren't always sensible or even credible. Sometimes I turn the why round on him and get the most amazing answers which inevitably lift my day and my spirit (e.g. "because that's why my poo poo was a clean one because Spongebob Squarepants was in my belly and cleaned it first. That's why.").

My hubby and I are getting into it too. We've had late-night philosophical discussions about why asking why is so controversial, so fascinating, such a potentially enlightening thing to do. Think about your average conversation. How much would it change if you asked 'why'? How much more would you find about the person you're engaging with and how would it change their view of you?

Of course, it's probably best done with a smile on your face and a genuinely interested tone. Try to avoid looks of disgust and incredulous gasps if you can. Don't take your cue from a toddler here. A whining 'why?' does not invite an interesting answer from anyone. Including a parent.

And I'm fully aware the whys will get more challenging. More difficult. And perhaps sometimes upsetting for Big Tot. But I'm armed with an open mind and a full heart and I will do my best to answer him. And failing that, I've always got the other Mummy Tronapenurs to give me their expert advice over a cake and a cuppa.

Go well everyone (and don't forget to sometimes ask 'why?')

Abi


Anyone interested in the 'Mumpreneur' sessions, based at Steel House in Consett, call Anne or Gillian on 01207 585802 or visit www.dida.co.uk

Planet Birthday

I have just been to the most amazing place. A place where all other obligations and concerns are set aside. Discarded entirely actually. A place where housework does not matter, work is a thing of the past and you can give yourself up to one single, gripping and head-spinningly addictive focus. I took a trip to Planet Birthday.

Not my birthday. That involved a humble hot chocolate with five marshmallows and quiet musings about my existence. But the birthdays of my two sons, Big Tot and Little Tot, which are conveniently distanced exactly two weeks apart.

Little Tot was first, his being the landmark first birthday and so plenty of inward congratulations to myself about keeping him alive for an entire year. And then was Big Tot's definitive fourth birthday. And that's when I realised I was inhabiting a different planet.

For about four months now I have been using his intense desire for a Super Mario birthday party as an anchor to evoke good behaviour and ultimately get what I want out of him. I believe it's called blackmail. Shame on me. For as the event drew nearer I worked out that I had to deliver. And deliver good if I was going to use that ever-popular parental strategy again.

I didn't willingly go to this other planet. But got sucked in by the sheer amount of consumer choice of Mario-related paraphernalia and also totally entangled in my own creative tendency to think up elaborate and potentially ridiculous schemes. Oooh, we could make Mario cupcakes. We could all wear bushy Mario moustaches. We could build a Mario Kart out of discarded wrapping paper. We could wear dungarees, wave plungers and spanners and run around shooting "Wahoo, Mario time!" at each other.

Or not. I told myself I must get this in perspective. I must consider the financial implications. I must remember the minute scale of my house in relation to the number of children invited. And I must, above all else, get the cake right.

Which is precisely why I decided to get someone else to make it.

Cue my mate Claire who runs a marvellous business called Magic Mummies. She works as a kind of undercover agent, discreetly supplying mums with things they haven't got time to do so they can 'spend less time juggling and more time with the people who really matter'. Or in my case, more time making a 'Pin the Moustache on the Mario' game and blatantly ignoring any real work I had to do.

And because I simply cannot keep my mouth shut, I did not pass her work off as my own. Actually, I was so excited by her business that I couldn't resist using the beautifully adorned (and blooming delicious) Super Mario cake as a means to publicise what she does. She even sourced the Mario figures we stuck on top of the cake and made sure that it was definitely chocolate (requested by the birthday boy) but not too rich or filling for a toddler's tummy. Job done.

So thanks Claire. And thanks to Big Tot and Little Tot for whisking me off to Planet Birthday for a few weeks. The giggles, the balloons, the sticky fingers and the moustaches have all been a beautiful distraction from every day life but sadly I must now return. With a view to visiting again in about a year from now.

Now it's back to being a Magic Mummy myself. Magically interweaving taking care of the family  with being an up and coming, 'one-to-watch' entrepreneur with a hell of a business about to be launched.

And just to dangle a seductive little carrot for you all, you might have noticed the funky little logo at the top of the page. Yes, that's it folks. The final logo for my (slowly) emerging business. Cool or what?

Go well,

Abi

If you want to take advantage of Claire's tremendous secret service, visit www.magicmummies.co.uk