In Search of Supernanny

Please forgive me if I need to prop up my aching feet. Or if I need to rapidly replenish my hydration levels. Big Tot might be feeling the strain too because he's been my loyal companion on this epic journey. I didn't realise the two of us we were capable of travelling such a distance or bearing such a heavy load. And the journey, although long and winding and perilous and tough, is not yet finished.

So, just to recap, we started our adventure in the humblest of places, our living room. It was Saturday morning, the only time of the week when Mummy gets the monopoly on the telly. Supernanny was on. My absolute favourite. I'd set up my little arrangement of cushions, a cuppa, the remote and explicitly warned the Tots that Mummy was not to be relied on for anything for the next hour. Ironic that the only time I spend  ignoring my children is when I'm avidly watching a parenting guru, but such is life.

Big Tot and I had spent the first ten minutes having our usual argument about why Pokemon was strangely vacant from this morning's viewing. And I had the subtitles flashing away so I could at least read what was going on even if I couldn't hear it. And that's when inspiration struck me. I needed Supernanny's help.

And not in the way you might imagine. I wasn't yet desperate enough to make the emergency plea for Supernanny's parenting expertise as I could shamelessly swindle that off the telly. I needed her words. Her trusted, expert, dependable words. I needed her to endorse the Cool Rule Book.

Now I know my gorgeous, photo book creation is the answer to every parent's dreams. And the parents who've already bought it know that too. But the people who have not bought it, and have a rather demanding yet very wonderful toddler at home, need to know it too, don't they?

And that's where Supernanny could help. Or Jo Frost as she is more formally known. If only I could send her a copy of the Cool Rule Book, then surely she would be happy to emblazon it with some kind of statement of total admiration. Something along the lines of 'every family needs one'. Not too much to ask, is it?

Anyway, that's how the journey started. I leapt up from my cushioned arrangement, fuelled by my motivation to find Supernanny. Big Tot got carried away with it all ("I'm going to win! I'm going to find Supernanny before you!") and we began travelling the globe via the magic of the internet.

Was she in England doing her extreme parental guidance? No! Was she in Beverly Hills where oddly enough she seems to have an agent? No! Did her Twitter fan page have any idea? No! Did her website give anything away? Of course not! Where the flip was she?

And that's when we stopped for snacks. Refueling was important.

Did her Facebook page even belong to her? It appeared not! Hang on, what was that? That flashy pop-up type thing which Big Tot insisted might be a new season of Angry Birds. That was no angry bird. That was Jo Frost herself insisting that I come along to her brand new show which was - wait for it - live! Oh yes, we wanted to go, we wanted to go. Big Tot was going to take his plastic motorbike and I was going the take the Cool Rule Book and it was going to be a perfect end to a perfect adventure. Where was it?

Oh, er . . . Australia.

And that's when we stopped for more snacks. And more or less put the whole journey on hold.  No point bothering her Down Under now, was there? Surely it could wait until she returned. Now I just have to figure out where, exactly, she will return to.

And can you believe Little Tot missed out on all of this? He'd been on an adventure with far crazier heights and more extreme thrills than we could have imagined. Because scaling furniture is exciting stuff when you're fifteen months old. Maybe next time we'll join him.

But I'm not giving up on Supernanny. Not that easily.

Go well everyone,

Abi


Find out how brilliant The Cool Rule Book is before Supernanny does at www.thecoolrulecompany.co.uk and celebrate happy living with your little one today!

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

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

Leap of Faith

Ask me what I did last week. Go on, ask me.

Well, by my standards (and please consider at what level these might be) I did something overwhelmingly exhilarating. It involved a dip into the good old overdraft. It involved my reluctant hubby. And it involved an athletic leap of faith.

Over the past month or two I have been spending a large amount of time on the internet, a.) looking for tickets to see Derren Brown's latest show, 'Svengali' and b.) kicking myself that I did not know about the show before it bloody well sold out. Clearly I am not the number one fan I thought I was.

And if psychological illusions aren't really your thing you might not even know who Derren Brown is. Or maybe you do and you don't think much of him. Well I do think much of him. And I think the stuff he gets up to is mind-twistingly beguiling. In fact, I can often be found of an evening (my laptop pulsing in the corner with work that really should be getting done now the Tots are in bed) glued to the telly where I've come across a channel which is thoughtfully repeating a Derren Brown programme.

So why the flip didn't I know he had a show coming up? The prices of tickets on eBay were clearly surpassing my (imaginary) budget so the chance of a night out was not looking good. No babysitter. No money. No tickets.

However, being a massive believer that positive thoughts attract positive things, and having an amateur but irrevocably enthusiastic interest in Derren's very own mind tricks, I decided to give it a go. I focused my mind. I pictured the scene. Tickets in my hand. Drinks before the show. The awesome curiousity I feel as he performs. And, to hell with it, these are only thoughts after all, what I say as I meet him backstage.

Tickets. Drinks. Awe. Backstage. Tickets. Drinks. Awe. Backstage.

And it only went and bloody well happened. Thanks to a gorgeous daughter of a friend who babysat the Tots, and thanks to a hard-working hubby who was doubtful of my visualisation techniques, it only went and bloody well happened.

The show was marvellous. I mean really marvellous. Derren did request at the beginning that nobody tell anybody else the content of the show. That we should keep it a secret so as not to spoil it for anyone else who might be attending. This was a clever trick in itself. It made us feel special. Part of a secret club. It drew us together as an audience and gave us a special bond with Derren. What a clever man. That, my friends, is how you get an audience on your side.

So no juicy details about the show. But I will tell you that hanging around the stage door afterwards had its rewards. And the drizzle was a blessing in disguise as we got pulled indoors a few people at a time to see the man himself. I got into a little chat with him about NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) and was also tempted to ask him to recommend a few techniques to mind-warp and thus calm an unruly four-year-old, or hypnotise a baby into sleeping through the night. But I bit my tongue. Maybe that's a conversation for the next time.

A few days later when I was flicking through my uber-glossy 'Svengali' programme, I came across a DB quote that resonated with me. And the resonation had nothing to do with psychological illusions or mind trickery. It had to do with parenting. Of course it did. That's what I do now. And here it is:

"I am often dishonest in my techniques but I'm always honest about my dishonesty."

Parents. You know what I mean.

Have fun. Go well.

Abi

Party On Dad

Why the nation was avidly watching The Voice, Britain's Got Talent or a heady, back-to-back, Sky Plussed version of both last Saturday night I do not understand. For there was a heated finale playing out in my own living room worthy of any slickly choreographed light show or swaying gospel backing choir. The. Final. Logo. Decision.

Yes, I did it. After going through a whole block of Post-Its and bullying anyone within spitting distance to give me an opinion I finally went ahead and formed an opinion of my own. After all, it's me who's got to be happy looking at it several years ahead when my business has dramatically morphed into a multi-million dollar empire. It's me who's got to slap it on everything related to my professional identity. And I am happy with it. I am excited about it. It is the only logo candidate that made me actually feel something. Whether a logo should do that or not is potentially a thesis all in itself but, being a girl who follows her heart, I have done just that.

So now is about the time I should be publishing it to the world, isn't it? And while we're on with it, why not actually tell people what my business is all about? Erm, well, no, actually. And there are two reasons for this:

1.) I am going to apply for a Trademark for my logo so nobody can nick it, meaning publishing it before that point, to all you good people, whilst I trust you all implicitly, would be rather dumb.

and . . .

2.) When I'm ready to go I want to be really ready to go with all whistles and bells and frills and cherries on top and a slickly choreographed light show and a swaying gospel backing choir etc etc. Considering I have yet to print a business card or buy a domain name, all of this may have to wait a few weeks / months.

Oh, and there's a number 3.)

3.) Big Tot and Little Tot don't appear to be going away.

Not that I'd ever, ever want them to, of course. But the fact remains that they are a wonderfully permanent fixture in my life and I must learn to mould my professional life around my domestic pursuits. Mummy first and dynamic entrepreneur second. I am not the first busy, run-ragged, rapdily-ageing parent to do this and I will undoubtedly be the last. And thank goodness because some of the most fantastic business ideas have been born out of the inspirational role of being a ma or a pa.

And whilst we're on the topic I'll raise a glass to my own inspirational pa who passed away last September. What a man. It would have been his birthday today so I'm celebrating with a whisky and diet coke (he was a single malt kind of guy and would not be amused by my cheap, uneducated palette). He was a whizz with graphic design and I could do with some kind of divine communication right now to get a few hints and tips on all my business-related design conundrums. Although I'm sure he's much too busy partying on up there with Steve (Jobs), Jimmy (Stewart), Duke (Ellington) John (Lennon) and Marilyn (Monroe, of course) to engage in any immaculate communication with me. Exactly how it should be.

So I will just be happy that I've inherited his eye for design and carry on as I have been. A whole lot of parenting, a healthy dash of marriage, a drop of business planning and a good slosh of being my Dad's daughter.

Go well,

Abi