Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Activities

Champagne by candle light

Every birthday should have an element of surprise about it; this year mine involved a power failure and drinking champagne by candle light. The lights went out as we were having pre-dinner drinks, leaving us reliant on good old-fashioned candle light. Thank goodness for the current middle-class obsession with candles - finally useful as well as pretty.

In a macabre way, it later felt right to be wandering the Georgian streets of Edinburgh without electric street lights. A chance to re-live the authentic 1820s experience. At least, that was until we tried to cross the Queensferry Road, one of the city's main arteries, without the help of traffic lights or pedestrian crossings. Cars were swerving around in the darkness, none of the drivers sure what was happening. Some people had their torches out, which they shone in our faces, Gestapo-style. All I had in my bag was money and lipstick. I became horribly aware how easy it would be to get mugged in the darkness.

Contractors are still ploughing up central Edinburgh to make way for a controversial tram system; the city has been in chaos for months as the scheme drags on, it's possible the power failure is connected to that work. Still, perhaps Monday evening means I finally have cause to be grateful to the tram project; it was magic sipping champagne in the semi-darkness. Macabre. But magic.

Posted 11 November 2009 10:30 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Activities Fun Husband

Have your cake

I was stood at the kitchen table, wearing one of Beanie's aprons, when the treacle tin exploded. I had warmed the treacle in the oven's bottom shelf, as instructed, so it would mix more easily into the flour, sugar, fat, spices and fruit. Unfortunately, after putting the treacle inside the oven, I forgot all about it and left it too long. By the time we needed treacle, the tin was so hot I had to use gloves to remove it from the oven. I carried it over to the table and put it down. It was then I made my big mistake; using a fork I prised the lid open. Hot, black gloop spurted out like lava from a volcano, bubbling up uncontrollably over the oven gloves, the table and the cake mixture. The explosion left a layer of caramelised tarmac over the recipe, preserving it like a relic from the Cretaceous Period. A sticky, sweet-smelling relic.

Despite this set-back, making the Christmas cake (well, two of them, actually, as we made an extra one for Granny) was a delight; the flat was filled all weekend with that evocative smell of baking fruit, nutmeg and cinnamon. The cakes are now packed away tightly in tins, wrapped in layers of grease-proof paper to marinate for three months. The plan is to feed them with brandy at intervals before December 25, dripping alcohol in via holes made by knitting needles. Cake-making: an honourable exception to the evil of premature Christmas preparations, worth braving exploding treacle tins for any day.

Posted 05 October 2009 10:34 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Activities Food Fun Granny Home Likes/Dislikes

Tepee or not Tepee

It wasn't until we were sat on the lawn underneath one of the rowan trees at Kiltyrie Farmhouse, by the shores of Loch Tay, that I had a chance to think about the twists and turns that led us there. We were meant to be staying up the road in a wooden tepee ('hut', in the words of one of my more candid friends). We dithered: some evenings we were all set for tepee adventure, others, not so much. About three days before the scheduled weekend, I rang to see if we could still cancel. No, we were too late for an automatic refund, if they managed to re-sell the hut/tepee we could have our money back. I asked them to do their utmost to find a taker, then rang back on Friday afternoon, rain beating at the windows; no-one else was interested in the 'Ben Nevis'.

The next day, less than half a mile from home, by now bathed in sunshine, these guys were playing on the radio. "Just phone and check they still have the tepee for us, would you? Just to be absolutely sure," I said. Va-vay rang, asked and went quiet. "Okay. Yes, yes, no, absolutely you did the right thing."

"They've sold it? The tepee?"

"I'm afraid so," said Va-vay.

"They hadn't sold it when I rang yesterday afternoon."

"Well, they have now."

"What shall we do?"

"Let me phone tourist information in Killin."

At Kiltyrie Farmhouse, the owner, Jane, served us tea and home-made lemon cake on the lawn. Walking books lined the sitting room. There was a noticeable - and, lest you are unfamiliar with my taste, welcome - absence of chintz. Beanie enjoyed making the acquaintance of the chickens who lived in their Eglu ('Look, Mummy, they've got a wee house'). The next day we breakfasted off their eggs. We played tag around the apple trees, which were dropping their fruit, admired Jane's vegetable garden, where she grows leeks, parsnips and potatos, scrambled up the hill behind the house, climbed until we could see the loch spread out far below us. Rowan berries glinted red in the autumn sunshine.

It was then I remembered a piece of Scots folklore; ancient Highlanders revered rowans for their mystical powers; druids made their staffs from rowan wood; witches used the branches for dowsing and charms. Many Scots, even today, still wish on rowan wood and use it as a talisman for protection. And I knew what it was that drew us here.

Posted 23 September 2009 19:14 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Activities Dilemmas Fun Holidays

Travel bag

We came on our French holiday with Keycamp without a car - unusual for this sort of holiday - after catching the Edinburgh-Poitiers flight. That has not stopped us getting about - we are just using other modes of transport. Tonight we surveyed our collection of buggies, cycles and assorted travelling paraphernalia parked outside our mobile home. Here is an inventory:

1. One brand-new Maclaren buggy (black and grey), brought from home. Excellent for city streets. Disastrous in sandy conditions.

2. Two all-terrain buggies, standard Keycamp issue (small hire fee). Fixed front wheel. Can be dragged across sand dunes, rather like Scott hauling his sledge acoss Antarctica. Except weather here rather better.

3. One infant car seat. From home; for taxis.

4. One booster seat. Doubles as toy. Also from home.

5. One bicycle. Hired from Keycamp. For visiting beach, pine forests, supermarket, restaurants and countryside.

6. One bicycle with Hoppelopnikon* attached. Also hired from Keycamp.

*A Hoppelopnikon is a trailer where small children can be stowed and towed. In fact, it should probably be named a 'Stow N Tow' - except that Button sees the whole contraption as an affront to her peace and happiness. So, for her, it should probably be named 'Instrument of Cruel and Unusual Torture'. That said, by the end of today, Button was warming to being towed along: Beanie likes it very much; she said it was 'like being in a wee house.'

7. One red wheelbarrow-type contraption for hauling small children, bags and shopping. Would do Santa Claus proud.

Posted 09 July 2009 12:44 | Number of comments: 7 | Comments

Activities Fun Holidays Out and about

French holiday

We are on holiday in the northern Vendee in France, on a twelve-day break given to us by Keycamp. Va-vay has bought Beanie a sunhat from the local Hyper U and, although I shouldn't brag, I can't help thinking how pretty she is, with her blonde curls waving from under the brim of her new hat, as she runs up the track to our mobile home, carrying a stick of bread in her arms.

'Here you go, Mummy,' she tells me, clambering up the steps of our decking. The bread is almost as tall as Beanie, but she wrestles it up onto the table. She clambers up for a cuddle on my knee then turns and looks at her father. They have been planning a surprise.

'Are you going to tell Mummy what you asked for in the shop, Beanie?' he asks her. She puts on her serious look; pauses to deliberate a moment, then forms her mouth into an 'Oh' shape. Her father and I wait for a word to emerge. Beanie's younger sister Button looks up from where she is sat banging a pine cone on the decking, then goes back to her game. 'Oon baguette,' says Beanie.

My heart swells with pride. Yesterday Beanie said 'Bonjour' to a little girl the same age as her whom she met at the swimming pool complex here at the La Yole parc. She has managed a few other French words since we arrived at Poitiers Airport last Wednesday and walked off the plane into the sweltering heat of French summertime. So far her vocabulary is mostly food-based. It runs to 'Au revoir', 'Merci', 'jus de pommes' and 'brioche' - the latter a speciality of the Vendee.

We got up late this morning - 9.30am, which is late for us - after a late dinner out here on the decking; listening to Coldplay's sweetly plangent music on the CD player. Beanie was in such ecstasy at being allowed to stay up late she agreed - for once - to eat all her cheesy pasta that I cooked up in the mobile home kitchen.

Of course, even though we are on holiday, some things never change. Later that morning Beanie is talking to Mr Bear. 'It's alright, but be careful and don't fall off,' she says to him, in a stern yet loving manner. He is perched precariously on the door handle of our mobile home - where Beanie herself has placed him. When it comes to Mr Bear, Beanie speaks only in English.

Posted 06 July 2009 15:40 | Number of comments: 7 | Comments

Activities Fun Holidays

Darkest before dawn - Moon Walk II

Moon Walk organisers warned us there would be hills aplenty in our night's walking. And we were barely out of the pink tented village (pictured left) at Inverleith Park, where the Moon Walk started this year, before we were climbing a street called East Fettes Avenue, a road notorious for both length and gradient.

One of my biggest fears beforehand was that I wouldn't be able to keep up with my sister, Auntie 'Ona, and her pals. But despite the hills, we quickly settled into a pace that felt right for all of us. By the time we turned into the West End, the heart of Edinburgh's commercial district, the butterflies in my stomach were settling down too.

I'm not sure which was the strangest part of the experience - walking on the roads (not pavements), walking at night-time, or walking in a feathered bra adorned with sequins (photographic evidence above left). Perhaps what was really strangest was just walking anywhere at all without a buggy.

Speaking of buggies, all the months of pushing the girls about town in the tank must have done me more good than I realised, because the tiredness didn't kick in until we had passed Edinburgh Castle, all lit up in pink for the Moon Walk, and we were at the foot of a large local hill called Arthur's Seat.

For anyone who doesn't know Edinburgh, Arthur's Seat is an outcrop of desolate volcanic rock that dominates the Edinburgh skyline and is often the first sight for anyone approaching the city. It is lovely to see when driving home, but not so great to climb in the dark with a dodgy pelvis. The organisers had done their best by fixing special flood lighting to cheer the place up, and there were dozens of volunteers about to ensure safety, but the darkness was still eery.

Then on the way down, at about 2am, we heard the first blackbird singing of the day. Our spirits lifted. The night was nearly over and the hardest part of the walk done. We walked on, then as we turned a corner, the most wonderful - and unexpected - sight greeted us. It was urban Edinburgh. Many of us laughed in relief to see the city's spires and lights spread out in front of us. "Keep going, girls, you've nearly done eight miles," called out one of the volunteers.

There's still time if you feel like supporting me -

The last five miles to follow soon....

Posted 25 June 2009 20:50 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Activities Fun Health Pelvic girdle pain/SPD

Moon Walk - part one

If I'm being honest, I had serious doubts about whether I'd manage the thirteen miles for the Half Moon, but a combination of adrenalin, friendship, group solidarity and pasta got me over the finish line in Inverleith Park at 4.27am on Sunday. I staggered home at 5am and have only stopped sleeping since then to phone friends and family, take hot baths and gorge on yet more carbohydrates. We arrived at the giant pink fluorescent tent about 9pm the night before, checked out the loos, got temporary tattoos, took photos and feasted on the pasta the organisers had provided for all the walkers. We sat on the tent floor and arranged our decorated bras while a band called Swing Cats played. A doctor from a local hospital here in Edinburgh told us how the money raised is going to build a second operating theatre and rebuild the breast cancer ward there. She was crying as she spoke. Then we all stood up, linked hands and had a minute's silence while we thought about loved ones affected by breast cancer. Tears were pouring down many people's faces. The mood lightened when an aerobics instructor got on stage and had us all - all ten thousand of us, men as well as women, young and old - dancing and warming up.

Hundreds of Edinburgh residents came out onto the streets to cheer us on. A thousand volunteers stayed up all night to keep us all going, waiting on street corners to encourage us and give us bottles of water. Paramedics were driving about on quad bikes. The police held up traffic for us. Drivers tooted their horns. My sister was high-fiving people on the pavement who'd come to cheer us on.

A night to remember.

Further write-ups to follow.... when I've recovered sufficiently.

Posted 22 June 2009 21:25 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Friends Health Pelvic girdle pain/SPD

On safari

Husband Va-vay leaves tea in my favourite mug by my bedside, kisses me goodbye and heads out to work. He has even loaded the dishwasher and set it running before leaving. It's Monday morning and I am missing him after a weekend of dinners and fun. Some hours later, the girls and I finally manage to leave the flat. We're having a day out at the local zoo. We succeed in boarding a 26 bus, no mean feat given Edinburgh's draconian transport rules that stipulate drivers allow only one unfolded buggy on board their buses at any time. I have never known a driver agree to bend this rule, despite the most piteous pleading imaginable, so suspect they must enforce it on pain of the most terrible consequences. This unfolded buggy rule is one of those regulations that sounds meaningless. But it's more than a technicality. Please just believe me when I say that it can make a parent's life hell. Our side-by-side double buggy is too unwieldy to fold, so there have been many times when I've waited in the Edinburgh rain with the girls for a bus, then been turned away by the driver because there's already an unfolded buggy on board and have had to wait for the next bus to come along. Any Edinburgh parent could recount similar experiences. However, this morning I get lucky, we're the only buggy at the bus-stop and there are no buggies already on the bus, that's our green light to get on board and we head out through the city centre into the suburbs and Edinburgh Zoo, where we clamber aboard something called the Hilltop Safari (pictured). This bus does daily half-hour tours of the zoo. It's good for several reasons - Beanie loves the novelty and seeing all the animals, we find out more about what we're seeing from the guide, plus it spares Beanie from the climb and me from the effort of pushing the Panzer tank that doubles as their buggy. The guide makes no comment on the size of the tank, or its snowplough-shaped prow, but then I reflect that zoo workers must be used to transporting scary wild animals - this is small beer - and he stows it away in the back of the bus. I'm warming to this experience more by the minute. Edinburgh transport rules do not apply here - the bus is full of buggies, all in their full, unfolded glory, and their occupants. We pull away and the guide begins his spiel. "To your left you'll see the white-naped cranes, one of the several endangered species you'll find here at the zoo. High up in that tree you can see one of the females. She is what we call here a high-demand female." The adults on the bus laugh politely, though of course the children miss the joke. Unbidden, an image of Va-vay enters my mind. In it, he is looking at me with quizically raised eyebrows and an affectionate but distinctly wry smile. Quite suddenly, I no longer miss him as much as I did.

Posted 15 June 2009 18:34 | Number of comments: 5 | Comments

Activities Buses Daughters Edinburgh Fun Home Husband Out and about Paradoxes

Scottish childhood

The weekend got off to a good start when a Friday afternoon meet-up with Erica from Littlemummy re-introduced me to one of the treats of my Edinburgh childhood, ice cream from Luca's. Then on Saturday we had another blast from the past, when Va-vay, Button, Beanie, a friend and I visited the local school fair, the kind of event I loved as a child. Living a grown-up journalist's life in London meant I had to pretend to be too sophisticated for such simple pleasures. I missed out. Bagpipe players stood in the school playground wearing their Highland costume, arranged in circular formation, with the arms and legs of the pipes waving at visitors like friendly animals cavorting in the sunshine. This politician opened the event. People queued around the garden for the burgers, attracted by the smell of meat grilling on the barbeque. Delicious Polish dumplings were cooking at another stall. Kids jumped up and down on the bouncy castle. There was a tombola, a raffle and a cake stall. I bought a slab of home-made carrot cake and a second-hand Charlie and Lola book for 10 pence. Beanie had some more ice cream, on a roll after her Luca's trip the day before. The queue for face-painting was too long for us, but luckily someone had sent us these rather good face-paints just that morning, so we painted Beanie up as a butterfly later at home. Of course, no Scottish childhood is complete without its weather-related challenges. Mid-way through the afternoon we experienced the proto-typical Scottish experience of sheltering from unexpected rain under an awning, sipping tea from polystyrene cups for warmth. As we huddled there, shivering in inadequate clothing, feeling the rain slither down our backs, the tea tasted like nothing so much as the ambrosial nectar of the gods. Heaven.

Posted 08 June 2009 11:59 | Number of comments: 5 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Fun

Herbs of the Highlands

A weekly evening class at our local botanical gardens has become my equivalent of Tom's Midnight Garden. Herbs of the Highlands is a chance to visit the place after official closing time, and experience an alternative reality to the diurnal grind. When the lawns, paths and glasshouses have emptied of buggies and their noisy occupants, we get the place to ourselves to wander through the wilder sections of the garden, where we can discover Scotland's bio-medicinal heritage. We've already made antiseptic bath milk by grinding up pine needles in a pestle and mortar with powdered milk, drunk hawthorn tea to celebrate Beltane and donned gloves to gather nettles for a health-giving herbal infusion. This week we were making alcoholic tinctures, one with heather, the other with blueberries. We decanted handfuls of heather flowers and dried blueberries into jam jars filled with.... a leading Swedish brand of vodka. Bet no-one realised that was part of Scottish Highland heritage.

Posted 08 May 2009 18:28 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh

"Eglantine, Eglantine...."

After promising to post at least once a week, I've been most remiss in failing to hit my stated target. Apologies. I'm not yet back at (paid) work but, as many of you would know, life spent looking after two small children is busy (I've written this before, haven't I?) - and also, let's be honest here, more fun than messing about in the blogosphere. Am stealing a few moments to write this as both girls watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks - only the eighteenth such viewing in two weeks. This is a quick round-up post. Beanie has started ballet lessons and I am extremely proud. Va-vay is singing again - mostly snatches from Beanie's DVDs, a sample being "Eglantine, Eglantine, my how you shine!" We have joined Edinburgh Zoo - a year's family membership costs a stiff £110, but since we've already been there three times in just one week, and an individual visit costs close to £30, it's not looking like bad value. Button finds her elder sister vastly entertaining and does everything in her ability to copy Beanie's escapades. Just as soon as Button can get that second arm out she'll be crawling. We have embraced soft play. The dreaded Nipper 360 Out and About buggy - I went for the side-by-side model in the end, not the stacking Phil and Ted version, which might, hard to be sure, but might have been a mistake - is finally proving more biddable. I've overcome my faulty spatial dynamics chip (the same one that gives me problems with parking, though on the plus side this means I have met several nice neighbours who park the car for me) to judge door width and manoeuvre the buggy's vast girth. We trundle over with the beast of burden to the Botanics most days. We still help fuel the brisk trade in babycinos and dinosaur boxes in local cafes. The washing basket has magically acquired the ability to reproduce on its own. Hourly. I am doing a few botanical courses that I'm enjoying. All ordinary stuff - but I'm loving it. Well, okay, maybe not the washing, but the rest of it. I'm going to be helping the Pelvic Partnership, a charity that helps women with pregnancy-related pelvic girdle pain, with generating press coverage. On a less positive note, training for June's Moon Walk has faltered, since most evenings I'm good for nothing but supper and bed. All normal, I know. But since I've started collecting sponsorship money for the walk, I have no excuse for this kind of loafing about and plan to start pounding the Edinburgh pavements again at the end of this week. Some kind readers have already generously given money for the cause - many thanks again to you all. The event aims to raise money to support women with breast cancer and fund research into treatment. I know money is tight for lots of people right now, but if anyone can spare a few pounds for this worthy cause it'd be much appreciated. You can donate on-line here.

Two readers each won a copy of Instructions Not Included, Charlotte Moerman's book about bringing up her three small boys. They are Kate Stewart Roper and Avril Davidson.

Okay, and on that note I can hear from the TV that Eglantine, Mr Brown and the children have despatched the Nazis back to Germany with the help of family solidarity, Walt Disney and a few magic spells. My signal to close here.

Posted 04 May 2009 11:43 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Activities Daughters Edinburgh Fun Out and about Pelvic girdle pain/SPD

Softly, softly

It's hard to resist the siren lure of 'soft play' centres when you are the parent of an under-three. They offer cheap and accessible entertainment. They tire your child out. Thus ensuring he or she will sleep well later that evening. Unlike real parks, there are no dogs. They sell skinny decaff lattes. You can go even when it's raining. What's to argue with? But, not being a big fan of a) communal playgrounds b) grubby PVC c) foam wadding d) crowds of other children (too potentially scary) or e) primary colours, I held out for some time against these places. Plus, from what I'd seen of toddlers 'interacting' (big infant buzz word) with each other, I suspected the play might not be all that 'soft'. However, last week I - finally - became a convert to these pre-schooler Meccas. A friend persuaded me and my two daughters to join her and her child at this Edinburgh variant on the theme. For the modest sum of £3, elder daughter was able to clamber at will for an hour around ramps, tunnels, netting, steps and mock fairy castle, grinning her delight at me as she did so. It was nice to feel I was doing something right after a disappointing trip involving fish that I posted about the other week. Parents are not only discouraged at this particular soft play place from staying with their children in the play area, they are forbidden from doing so. I had expected the hands-off approach to be difficult. In practice, it was liberating. And daughter's enjoyment appeared in no way diminished for not having me fussing round her. This rule has the benefit that it left her younger sister Button and I free to sit at the tables adjacent to the play area, watching as Beanie giggled, scrambled and raced around the rigging. I have tried soft play once before, at this place, where I was forced to crouch next to something called a 'ball pit' (exactly what the description says, no more, no less) while breastfeeding Button, with cracked nipples, and attempting to preserve a fragile facade of competence and good humour as I prevented an older child (whose mother would have had little trouble securing employment as a barge woman) from pushing Beanie down some steps. A wretched experience. It also had the disadvantage that its clientele could - theoretically at least - escape from their carers at any time if you weren't sufficiently vigilant (it's probably no coincidence that when I say 'vigilant' I'm borrowing a word more commonly used in the vocabulary of people who fight against terrorism). Whereas last week's place had a gate and security system that meant it felt safe to relax, enjoy one of the above-mentioned lattes and let Beanie get on with it. My friend, who is savvier in these matters than me, took a look round when we arrived and said: "Good. No trouble-makers today." So, obviously, as her comment implies, there can be difficulties, but we didn't experience any last week. If it wasn't for being stuck at home for so many months, semi-immobile with pelvic joint pain in pregnancy, we'd probably be fully signed-up fans of soft play by now. Give us a few more months, and we doubtless will have put that right.

Posted 23 March 2009 23:42 | Number of comments: 5 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Missing sanity Pelvic girdle pain/SPD

In the deep

As regular readers will know, I love being a mother. Having two small daughters has brought immense fun and joy into my life. I've never been happier than when larking about with the family at home, messing about in the kitchen, pretending to be airplanes or some such nonsense. But this blog serves many purposes. One of which is an opportunity to vent. So I want to talk about one of the more frustrating aspects of parenting. This is something worse than being accidentally head-butted by a toddler. Even when they catch you bang on that sensitive part of your face, just above your top lip. It's harder - even - than getting yourself and two small children out of the house. Before lunchtime. It's more wearing on your nerves - gasp - than listening to 'controlled' crying and not rushing in to pick up the baby. All of these ordeals exact a terrible toll on parents. But none can compete in terms of sheer anguish with my greatest bugbear. The disappointing 'family day out'.

Expectations at the weekend were high - in retrospect, dangerously high - as elder daughter Beanie and I set off across the water from Edinburgh to this place. It is one of this country's top tourist attractions. The website showed amazing displays of fish. Beautiful, multi-coloured fish. Fish with names worthy of them. Like French Angel Fish, Domino Damsel and Green Chromis. Yellow Saffin Tang and Zebra Lyretail Angel. They come from all over the world, these fish.

The place is meant to be fun. I have heard only Good Things about it from my comrades-in arms. Namely, other parents. I was excited. So was daughter. She picked out for the occasion her best and favourite handbag, from Cath Kidston - a gift from one of her godmothers. And filled it with provisions worthy of a North Sea mariner. Raisins. Ham sandwiches. A banana. Then repeated to me from her car seat eyrie: "And we are going to have a treat?"

Daughter did not like the place. Did not like the trains whistling overhead on the Forth Rail Bridge at the entrance. Did not like the wind roaring in off the Firth of Forth. Did not like the hand driers in the toilets (possibly because reminiscent of above-mentioned wind). Did not like the crowds of other children. Did not like the fish. Did not like handling the starfish or sea urchin at the demonstration.

She did - with some reluctance - consent to walking on a travellator (like the ones you get in airports) through the underwater tunnel. Sharks circled overhead. Pretty cool, huh? And she liked the ice cream in the cafe. But overall, our expedition - not a great success. It turns out, however, this was neither my fault - nor Beanie's. Nor any fault of the place itself. Next day daughter began complaining of a sore throat. "Mummy, my tummy hurts". She must have been feeling grotty with the lurgy when we were on our day out. But didn't say. For fear of missing out on her treat. Poor Beanie.

Posted 17 March 2009 23:20 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Activities

In Praise of.... Baby Yoga

This week, in the first of a series of postings on activities for mums and babies, I'm writing about baby yoga, which I've been discovering with youngest daughter Button, now nearly seven months. I did consider baby yoga with her elder sister Beanie, back when she was tiny, around three years ago. But by the time I got my act together to enrol, Beanie had started crawling. Which - sadly - ruled us both out. What stopped me trying to sign up sooner was that I wasn't sure if the yoga was for me. Or the baby. It all sounded silly, and I feared it would be full of Professional Mummies whose children had names like Tarquin and Arabella, who did everything perfectly. And I couldn't understand how a baby could do yoga. My only excuse for being so dizzy is I was suffering that "alien from another planet" feeling women tend to get after having their first child. It pains me to say so, but I had reached my limit in terms of ability to tackle anything new. And one of my literary heroes takes a dig at baby yoga in his Scotland Street books, which added to my hesitancy and embarrassment.

Now I know more about what's involved, it seems a shame I didn't do yoga with Beanie. Focussed one-to-one time with your baby is enormously enjoyable. It might sound a little sad to say the classes have helped me play better with Button; you tend to think that playing with a baby should be one of those instinctual, intuitive things that mothers (and fathers) just know how to do, but the truth is that many of these skills are learned behaviours. It's been great to learn new rhymes, activities and songs for very young babies, and I'm singing to Button a lot at home. Her face lights up when I burst into song (this being one of the fantastic things about having very young children, they are so uncritical and don't notice a little thing like being out of tune). As a second child, Button doesn't get that much undivided attention, so it's especially good to have some time - just her and me - to do something special.

I'd say that one of the key benefits to baby yoga is that, unlike many of the activities aimed at the under-ones, it's fun for both parent and child. The poses, as you would expect, are much gentler than in mainstream adult yoga. Mothers and babies share a mat together, where the mums do some poses while holding their babies, (and, amusingly enough, simultaneously singing a ditty to the tune of "What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?"). Then the mums do a few more poses on their own, leaning on hands and knees, looking down onto baby underneath on the mat. At the class I attend (I guess the same is true at other classes around the UK) the poses are chosen specifically to help with typical problem areas affecting new parents - such as sore wrists (from lifting), tight neck and shoulders (feeding), stretched tummy muscles, stress and tension (no need to explain those, I'm sure). The teacher encourages us to do arm movements to help prevent blocked ducts or mastitis. No sightings as yet of any dads at the class but I can't see any reason why a father couldn't go along too, (though he'd have to be the type that doesn't embarrass easily).

When it comes to baby's turn, mums move baby's arms and legs gently so baby can do some yoga too, helping baby to bend their knees up to their chests and open their arms out wide, then close them again. Of course, I simplify, but that should give you an idea. I'd never have dared try yoga with Button on my own before this class. In fact it wouldn't even have occurred to me to try, though I've done yoga for many years. But she loved it, giggling and cooing her appreciation at me, and now we do little bits of yoga on her changing mat at home. The other babies seemed to be enjoying themselves too. There's something about the intense focus of being with your baby - no need to worry about housework/cooking/nursery run - that I'm loving. I hesitate to use that expression "quality time" - but the classes do make me feel better about the fact Button, a younger child, will never get as much attention as Beanie did when she first arrived.

Baby yoga has also turned out to be a much more serene experience than you might expect in a roomful of small babies. An incense stick is usually burning and for the last couple of weeks - in Edinburgh's chilly February weather, note - the same butterfly has been flapping at the stained glass windows in the upstairs room of a church where the class takes place. The guided meditation at the end of each session works better some weeks than others, for obvious reasons, but, perhaps surprisingly, I always come away from the class refreshed and energised, even on the weeks when Button finds it harder to settle, which can be stressful.

In terms of cost, if you book a block of four classes, each session works out at £7.50, which I think represents good value. Some of the mums from the class go for lunch after each session so there's the chance to socialise afterwards too. I haven't noticed any competitive mothering at the classes (no mention whatsoever of size of house, husbands' chosen career/golf handicap/motor vehicle) and it feels like a safe, supportive environment.

If I had to think of disadvantages, I'd say the 11am start time can be an issue, as it clashes with Button's nap time - and presumably that of many other babies - so she's often tired in the class. As I mentioned earlier, this class has a built-in expiry date, since it doesn't take babies who have started to crawl. I've managed to forget all the timings for landmarks like crawling, but think it must be about nine months - is that right? So we'll only have two more months of baby yoga, before Button's outgrown it. Something that I view as an advantage - the fact the classes are only for mums and babies - could be a disadvantage, if you have a toddler you want to bring along with you.

For me, overall, though, I'd say baby yoga has been a big success. I'd recommend it with enthusiasm.

Posted 15 February 2009 17:41 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Activities Button Edinburgh Fun

A bit much

Despite this week's snow, Button and I went along as usual on Thursday to our weekly exercise class in the park with a bunch of other people, the mothers wrapped in Gortex and fleece, the babies barely visible from under their layers of blankets, snowsuits and hand-knitted hats. At one point in the class we were lying - admittedly on our waterproof mats - on the remains of snow from earlier in the week. It's hardcore - but great fun and I've come to take the class for granted as a great way to get some much-needed exercise. A few mothers running round a park with their buggies no longer seems like anything out of the ordinary to me. Others, it transpires, aren't yet quite so comfortable with the concept.

As I mentioned in a previous posting, there's normally no shortage of comments from passers-by - chiefly dog-walkers, allotment-owners, old ladies and other parents - as we struggle past, cheered on by our trainer. But up until recently all of the comments have been good-humoured. That was until this Thursday, when we were unlucky enough to bump into a crowd of kids from the local secondary school out on their lunch break. What they shouted out to us did not fall into the 'good-humoured' category.

Do I phone the head of the school in question - the little charmers had uniforms that made them identifiable - and let him or her know that male pupils are making a nuisance of themselves by harrassing - albeit in feeble fashion - mothers and babies? I'm not under any illusions about how unfit I've become in pregnancy, but it seems a bit much to have teenage hoodlums providing a running critique of my physical failings. Or do I just rise above the situation and let it go? Yes, I may have already answered my own question.

Posted 06 February 2009 20:35 | Number of comments: 5 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh

Coming soon to a park near you....

Have joined a local exercise class that gets a group of new mums running round the park pushing their babies in buggies as they go. There's nothing like that shared sense of us all experiencing the same pelvic sagginess that the classes are designed to correct. In full formation we make quite a sight. As you might imagine, there's no shortage of comments from passers-by, almost all supportive, if also amused. "Holidays are over, girls," shouted one old lady to us, giggling as we trundled past. Another shook her head as she saw us, turned to her dog, then said: "You couldn't make this up." Someone else yelled over: "Well done!" and I wanted to hug her. New daughter (blog name yet to be decided) was delighted with the entertainment provided and grinned her appreciation at me from her cocoon. When all the mothers lay down on their waterproof mats for floor exercises she became a little fretful, obviously worried the power-walkers had taken mummy hostage, since I was out of sight to her up in the buggy. But she settled again quickly when I took her down from her buggy onto the picnic blanket with me. This is one of the areas where a class like this scores so highly - you can combine it with childcare, no need to arrange babysitting or beg a partner to watch the baby. It's obviously weather-dependent and classes are sometimes rained off (though the instructor was saying they'd been out in Edinburgh's January snow a week earlier) but people get round cold weather by running in gloves, hats, thermals and even leg-warmers. Theoretically, I could save money by running around the park on my own with daughter and buggy and get the same benefits, but I wouldn't have the nerve to do it alone and, in any case, it's more fun with other people. Edinburgh park-goers - you have been warned.

Posted 14 January 2009 16:55 | Number of comments: 7 | Comments

Activities Mother Edinburgh Fun Out and about

Edinburgh Book Festival appearance

Nicola Morgan, head of the Society of Authors in Scotland, and the Edinburgh International Book Festival have asked me to do a writer's workshop at the festival in August on blogging, social networking and books. Wonderful news, but I did feel honour-bound to point out that following the collapse of The Friday Project I don't currently have a book contract. I didn't want them to take me under false pretences. Were they sure they still wanted me? Not a problem, said the organisers. They already knew all about my publisher going bust (very sorry, sure something good would come of it) and could I please talk a bit to the audience about my experiences with The Friday Project? Well, fine. I can do that. Only other snag is that I'm due to give birth just six weeks earlier. But my friend Vanessa has offered to look after the baby in the refreshment tent while I do the workshop. So looks like we're in business. Anyone in Edinburgh in August, do please come along if you get the chance. I'll do my best to make it informative and fun.

Posted 20 April 2008 13:04 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Activities Blogging Books Fashionably Late - the book Out and about

Easter break

So, our Easter break in the Scottish Borders. First, the good bits: daffodils, teashops, time with husband and child, ruined abbeys, Easter eggs (Beanie's egg is pictured left) and cherry cake. Plus I managed to drive us there and back - a big deal for me, as I must be one of the most timid drivers in Scotland. And the bad bits? Freak weather conditions: hailstorms and snow. Va-vay and I arguing about the route. And about my driving. And - worst bit - a group of fifty 10-year-old boys invading our youth hostel on Saturday night, banging on the door of our family room, rattling the door handle and shouting at us, forcing Va-vay, Beanie and me to flee in terror to a local hotel at 9pm. Though in a way, moving to the hotel was one of the good bits, because it (unlike the hostel) had central heating, lavender toiletries, coal fires, wood panelling, good cheer, tranquillity, attentive but unobtrusive staff, ensuite bathrooms, a television and top-notch bedding. I will never take any of these for granted again. Not after Schoolboy Saturday. And yesterday, Va-vay came home bearing a new piece of geekery - a Sat Nav system for the car to avoid further map-reading arguments. He has already had hours of fun programming it and is now talking excitedly about future trips. I should have known the way to win him round to driving was via technology. I had best get back to my (paid) work to find funds to pay for it all.

Posted 25 March 2008 12:08 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Activities Car Holidays

Chasing butterflies

At the weekend I took Beanie to a place called Butterfly World, on the outskirts of Edinburgh, the city where we live. She has been talking about it ever since. Oh, that feeling of being able to do something that made her happy. Wonderful. Butterflies (Beanie calls them 'flies') fluttered overhead in an old greenhouse converted into a sort of tropical paradise. Followed us, pirouetted, swooped out of nowhere. Beanie stumbled towards them, hands held out in greeting. Trays of oranges hung from the ceiling. Butterfly nosh?

We threw money in a wishing well, inspected carp, goldfish and a catfish, eyed up iguanas, looked at terrapins and had a quick look at the reptile and creepy crawly section in a room at the back. Being there made my skin crawl. But Beanie and I both loved Butterfly World. Something alarmed me, though, as I bought my ticket. Sellotaped to the counter was an advert. It read: "For sale. A large python. £40 ono. Friendly and easy to manage."

Posted 11 March 2008 14:07 | Number of comments: 9 | Comments

Activities Daughters Edinburgh Out and about

Weekend, or, what if you die?

Shedworking, one of my favourite sites, is running a theatre review I wrote for them about a production of Walden, a one-man show from Magnetic North about a man who flees civilisation to live in isolation in a hut in the woods. It was great fun going to the theatre (they even gave me a complimentary press ticket, something I haven't enjoyed in years) and because I went on my own I chatted to other people in the audience afterwards. Nothing to do with late parenting, but a mini-highlight of the weekend.

Somewhat closer to home, Va-vay, Beanie and I went to our local Home Birth Support Group at the weekend. Beanie was entranced when a pregnant lady stuck her tongue out at her (in a friendly way) - and revealed a rather splendid tongue piercing. I knew I needed the Support Group after I told a friend last week I was planning a home birth and he said: "What if you die?" Huh. It's one thing for me to criticise the NHS, but I don't like it when other people do. The Support Group nodded and smiled when I recounted all this, before bursting into tears, and said they hear this kind of thing a lot. They said that statistically home births are safer than hospitals. That people who are negative about you having a home birth are often just worried for you. Beanie beamed as I sat cross-legged on the floor, weeping, then made friends with a small boy wearing a T-Shirt saying "Born at Home". Although not yet two years old herself, Beanie loves pointing out "babies" she sees out and about, saying the word "baby" in great excitement, as if the child in question belongs to a different generation from herself. When in fact there's an age gap of twelve months between them. She spent the rest of the event cuddling the "baby". His mum was there too. Alive and well.

Other News

A friend is organising a fertility afternoon at the Aditi Yoga Centre in Edinburgh on Sunday 2 March from two till five. This is a chance to hear expert speakers on how to improve the chances of becoming pregnant, maintaining a healthy pregnancy and much more. Topics covered include acupuncture, chinese herbal medicine, homeopathy, mind and the body, natural ovulatory cycle, nutrition and yoga. Open to all. Donation £5 per person.

Posted 04 February 2008 11:01 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Activities Angst Childbirth Daughters Dilemmas Friends Fun Health Home birth Out and about Pregnancy

Underwater

Although only 14 weeks pregnant, I'm already 'showing'. My midwife Lorna said it was the muscles 'remembering' from last time. That is the charitable interpretation. The uncharitable one is that ever since my health visitor told me last summer to stop dieting if I wanted to conceive again, I have denied myself nothing. Working at home I snack away all day. I'm so embarrassed by how big I've got that I don't even like admitting to my due date - because people assume I'm further along than I am and look surprised when I say it's still six months away. Last night I found some aqua-natal classes at the local pool. I think it's time to sign up for those classes. First though I plan to buy a maternity swimsuit. My only current swimsuit ('cozzie' as we say in Scotland) was bought for our honeymoon and has special stomach-clinching panels. Don't want baby to be uncomfortable.

Posted 14 January 2008 17:31 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Activities New baby

Twelfth night

Woke at 6.15am today, gripped by worry about something that seemed all-consuming at the time but that twelve hours later I cannot exactly remember. Might have been due to over-tiredness following a jaunt yesterday to 'the west coast' of Scotland, an epic journey for the three of us, since I've hardly left my bedroom in the past three months. People in Edinburgh refer to the 'west coast' in a way that makes the place sound like California - and just about as far away. That is misleading. For anybody not familiar with 'Glesgie', my sense is that parallels with Los Angeles are limited. Unless you get red-faced old men on the bus coming up to you in LA, speaking to you in incomprehensible accents, pawing at your child's pram and scaring the wits out of you.

The gentleman in question struck up a conversation with us from the other side of a bus. It was hard to tell if he was friendly, pissed, mad or a danger, because I couldn't understand half of what he said due to his accent, so I kept my head down and tried to ignore him, but this snatch came through: "Och, ah remember whit it wiz like maself, bringing up a wean," he told us. "Ah had a bairn oaff an Englishwoman. Ah wisnae there, like, ye ken, but I saw whit it wiz like fair her." Great - hands-on parenting from dad. As we were on a bus, attempts at escape seemed futile. I did consider jumping off but didn't know where we were, so decided to sit tight. When he got 'oaff' at the same stop as us and insisted on helping with the pram despite us repeatedly saying 'thank you' and 'goodbye' (I might be Scottish but can be so very English) I thought we'd never shake him, but he slunk off eventually as two policemen hove into view.

However, overall it was a good trip, we saw stuffed animals (Va-vay, being an animal-lover, flinched at the sight of them, but Beanie and I didn't let it put us off), Grayson Perry pots, and I taught Va-vay (an Englishman) how to pronounce Sauchiehall (as in the name of the city's main shopping street). The best bit? We came home happier than ever to be Burghers (as in Edinburgh), not Weegies, as denizens of each city are supposed to call themselves.

Later on at home that evening I want to know why Va-vay and I react so differently to 'incidents' like the one with Bus Man:

"I just feel annoyed someone's bothering us," says Va-vay. "Whereas you feel threatened. That's why you think about it for days afterwards. I don't think about it again after it's happened."

"Really? You really don't think about it for ages and ages after?"

"No, I really don't, I just forget about it," he says, looking surprised, before turning over and going to sleep.

"Errr... could you tell me how that works?" I ask, thinking that no way does he deserve to go to sleep while I lie there imagining all the 'what ifs'.

"No, I can't," he says. "Because you're female. And you wouldn't get it."

If I ever get the chance to come back in another life, I want to come back as a man.

Posted 06 January 2008 19:27 | Number of comments: 15 | Comments

Activities Angst

Take to the hills

Edinburgh residents reading this will know about the beauty of the Pentland Hills that surround the city to the south, guarding it in a semi-circle of heather, hill, reservoir and woodland that gives views stretching over the town to the sea beyond. It is easy to forget Edinburgh is a coastal town, coming to a halt at the water's edge, perhaps because the weather does so little to encourage a trip to the seaside. Yet out on the hills, the city looks like an island or peninsula, lapped by water.

Before we bought a car earlier this year, we had limited means of getting out to the hills. On one occasion we resorted to taking a taxi to the start of a walk, dressed in walking boots, fleeces and gaiters (buses didn't go there). It reminded me of a journalist who boasted he had to take a taxi to the front line of a war somewhere in Africa. I forget where exactly. Hope he was still able to claim on expenses.

Now we have the noble beast, we drove out to Harlaw Reservoir under our own steam. I still find driving stressful, almost a year after buying the car, but there doesn't seem much alternative if we're to go anywhere interesting.

We waited inside the car until all the dogs barking and milling about the carpark had moved on. I'm useless with dogs. Beanie used to love them; now I fear I've passed my phobias onto her. She gets nervous too.

Beanie travelled in a backpack carried by her father. We managed a full circuit of the reservoir, overseen by the charred hulk of Black Hill (501m), whose blackened slopes are the result of 'muirburn'.

We spotted greylag and pink-footed geese, that roost in the Pentlands in winter-time (living in Greenland the rest of the year, greylag geese see Edinburgh as the equivalent of a winter holiday in the Caribbean or Florida), sheep, horses and some cows. Beanie greeted them all, except the geese, with the word: 'bear'.

On our return to the car we realised we'd lost one of Beanie's shoes somewhere on our walk. If anyone reading this spots a girl's shoe (size 4.5) out by Harlaw reservoir, please drop me a line.

Posted 30 December 2007 22:52 | Number of comments: 0 | Comments

Activities Car Daughters Out and about

Vote on your 'Treasured Places'

Those of you who live here in Scotland might be interested in Treasured Places, a free on-line poll to choose the country's favourite historical image. It's run by the Royal Commission on Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland , a heritage organisation that documents Scotland's past, and voting remains open until Thursday (25 Oct). The Commission is staging the vote to celebrate its 100th anniversary next year.

Voters can choose from a hundred pictures that range from shots of the Dean Bridge, Edinburgh (top left) to Craigievar Castle, Aberdeenshire (middle left), Drum Castle, also in Aberdeenshire, (bottom left) and Elgin Cathedral in Moray. There are some gems in there, such as images of the Churchill Barrier at Scapa Flow, Abbotsford House in the Borders, the Bell Rock Lighthouse in Angus, and the Bilsland Crest from the Thistle Chapel in St Giles Cathedral. Or you can nominate your own image.

The top ten images will feature in a major centenary exhibition at the Edinburgh City Art Centre in 2008 and the winner will be celebrated by a poem written by Valerie Gillies. The winner will be announced on Saturday (27 Oct). Lest you wonder about my involvement in the project (and, please, no jokes, thank you all the same, about historical monuments/older mothers, really not in the mood), let's just say one of the organisers is a close relative of someone who comments on this site frequently. Beyond that, my lips are sealed.

Posted 23 October 2007 23:56 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Fun Holidays Out and about Older mother

Jammin'

For years, I aspired to be a domestic goddess. I had all these fantasies about how when I got married I would practise the arts of cooking, knitting, patchwork, pottery, quilting, tapestry, gardening and jam-making.

My future life as wife and mother was so perfect in my singleton imagination. I was going to be the kind of earth mother who made her own organic stock from scratch, could run up a pair of curtains on her machine and had a pasta-maker I used, oh, more than once. Since I only got married at 37, I had a long time to polish up the fantasies, without much of a reality check. Now here I am at the coal face. And I realise how very difficult a job being a good housewife can be. This stuff is tough. Much, much tougher than people acknowledge. But I'm no quitter.

Here is my progress report so far.

1. Cooking

Two or three nights a week I manage a proper home-cooked meal for Va-vay. The rest of the time it's ready meals via M&S. Beanie is refusing to eat anything I cook her. She downs her spoon and bangs on the table for Petit Filou. It's pretty dispiriting. I try not to take it personally.

2. Knitting

Reasonable success here. I've made Beanie a blanket, stuffed hippo and monkey and am half-way through a cardigan for her.

3. Patchwork

Zero progress. Nul points.

4. Pottery

Attended class. Managed to make and glaze large plantpot, of which I am disproportionately proud. I love it. Gave Va-vay evil looks when he suggested re-patriating it to one of his cupboards.

5. Quilting

Thought about going to class. Decided against, on grounds of lack of time.

6. Tapestry

Have stitched in another tulip on a canvas I bought four years ago. My sister came round. Looked at the canvas. Said: "Is there any woman in the world who doesn't have a half-finished tapestry kicking round somewhere in the house?" I don't know. Is there?

7. Gardening

Have applied for an allotment. Estimated waiting time: five years. They are all the rage in Edinburgh after Antonia Swinson wrote her enchanting book about them, You Are What You Grow. Meantime, I have geraniums.

8. Jam-making

Have tried hard here, with mixed results. Two nights ago I made my first attempt at this, after Granny gave me two pounds of plums from her garden. It was all going so well.... then we got to the part where the recipe said to turn the heat up as high as it will go, and then in seconds my beautiful red jam turned into caramelised brown treacle (pictured). Gutting. It's still edible, despite being carbonised.

Other News

I've been lucky enough to get a couple of awards recently.

Lovely Omega Mum at 3kidsnojob, a daily must-read for me, kindly gave me this one:

Many thanks, Omega Mum. There are lots of people I'd like to award it to. I've decided I'd like to pass it on to DJ Kirkby, since her blog Novel with No Name has got me so involved I'm hopping up and down with rage at what's happening to her heroine, a new mother with a less-than-supportive husband.

Lou at the Wonderful World of Anna Gibson was good enough to give me this Nice Matters award. Lou has a young daughter close in age to Beanie and writes about so many experiences I've had as well. Her blog has helped me realise I'm not alone in many of my fears and worries about being a new mum. Many thanks for the award, Lou. Much appreciated.

I'm sorry I couldn't award this to more people. In the end, I've had to choose two, so here goes: I'd like to pass it on to Erica of Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers, because I enjoy her blogging tremendously, she truly is a nice person and we're friends.

I'd also like to give it to Vicky, of Little Legends, the free guide to places for kids in the UK, and Manic Mama, an entertaining mamalogue about life looking after her three little boys.

Posted 12 September 2007 22:16 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Activities Blogging Domestic chaos Food Older mother

Let's fix it

Social conditioning starts young. I learnt this from a cursory ten minutes last night in front of my new favourite TV channel CBeebies. Women can hardly be surprised their menfolk focus on solutions and practicalities, when young boys are encouraged to model themselves on Bob "Let's fix it" the Builder. Bob is a likeable chap and good sort, but includes machines among his friends. I suspect if the government ever got serious about getting more women into IT, it would probably have to tackle gender issues with Bob's TV show first.

Likeable though he is, I wonder if Bob's storing up long-term trouble in relationships with his focus on machines. Will Bob grow up to be a man who'll listen to and empathise with his partner? Poor Bob. He'll probably get into trouble with her by putting on his hard hat and rushing to fix things, all well-meaning and wanting to please. Then she might complain: "You never listen to me! I feel so unheard." And he'll be left feeling all confused. All down to misguided early conditioning. Tragic, really.

As for us girls, could CBeebies not have found us a better inspiration than Uppsy Daisy, the sweet-natured but feisty heroine of In the Night Garden? Iggle Piggle, her great pal, doesn't look old enough to be allowed out with this young lady. If I was his mum, I'd be practising disapproving looks. Doing clever things with her hair and repeating her own name isn't much of a way for Uppsy Daisy to pass the time. I'd get bored. She just skips around the garden and flicks her hair. Electronically. She doesn't get to go in the lovely boat with Iggle Piggle and his red blanket. Also, I was a teeny bit scared of her in the episode where she found out some naughty person had been bold enough to sleep in the motorised bed that follows her everywhere. As Derek Jacobi intoned in the beautiful voice-over: "Only Uppsy Daisy sleeps in Uppsy Daisy's bed." Well, that's us told.

Then there's the question of the Pontypine family, who live in a semi with net curtains, which they sometimes twitch, by the foot of a large tree. All ten of them. Is it any wonder we suffer this tyranny for large families, given nightly bombardment by the Pontys and their eight children? Last night Beanie and I counted the Ponty progeny in and out of more flowerpots than I care to remember by cold light of day. What's more, all the Ponty babies are of identical height..... meaning Mrs Pontypine must have given birth to octuplets. Now that's pressure.

Posted 11 September 2007 11:38 | Number of comments: 19 | Comments

Activities Childcare Domestic chaos Fun

L Plates Mum

Reading last week the story of a rise in unjust adoptions, I was taken back to my fears as an L Plates mum when Beanie first arrived and I hadn't a clue how to get from one minute to the next so sat in my flat shaking, wondering what to do next. Terrified the Baby Police (my friendly health visitor) would rumble me, I asked a friend who's a paediatrician if I'd get into trouble for general ineptitude in the matter of caring for a newborn. "No," she told me. "Not unless you're doing drugs or hitting her." Big sigh of relief, since I was guilty of neither crime, though I continued to fear the weekly health clinic weigh-ins when I had to de-robe Beanie and pop her in a set of kitchen scales. It felt like the neo-natal equivalent of annual performance appraisals.

Other News

In the Night Garden

Thanks to Littlemummy, who has a posting on how much her daughter Erin loves this programme, Beanie has discovered In the Night Garden on CBeebies. She's so excited by it, she insists on standing up and swaying furiously while it's on, waving at Iggle Piggle, Uppsy Daisy and their friends in what I take to be ecstasy, though her waves cause me a small pang of heartache, when I think how the characters will never wave back at her and see how unsuspecting she is of this. Her dad and I are pretty taken with In the Night Garden too. Va-vay in particular enjoys repeating the names of the different characters to himself. Sitting eating his veggie dinner a couple of nights ago he said, apropos of nothing in particular: "Tombliboos." Short pause. "Tombliboos." Va-vay, who has a degree in linguistics, is trying to pass his love of In the Night Garden off to me as an interest in the development of infant speech patterns. An interest that has led to him starting to get home earlier from work, in time for the 6.20pm start time. My cup, it runneth over.

Posted 26 August 2007 11:26 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Activities Childcare Daughters Dilemmas Domestic chaos Home Husband News

Prize money

The unthinkable has happened - I've made some money from blogging! And it's all been unintentional. Vicky and Piers at Little Legends, the free service to allow parents to find out what's good in their area and share their views, have given me a £50 joint-first prize for my comments on the site. I'm absolutely delighted, not least because I didn't even realise there was a prize available, and also because I'm now enjoying planning how I'll spend my winnings on a family day out planned around local activities suggested on the Little Legends site. Once the rain stops...

For those who don't already know it, Little Legends is a great way of allowing parents across the UK to share knowledge and ideas about schools, nurseries, activities, days out, classes, clubs, parks, hotels, pubs and cafes. Since it started at the beginning of this year, it's gathered more than 36,000 recommendations.

Despite having three little boys to look after, Vicky still finds time to write an entertaining Little Legends blog about fun things to do as a parent. Do have a look and visit the site. It's a valuable resource for all parents. The more people who contribute to the site, the better it will be!

On the subject of prizes, Flowerpot has kindly given me a Thoughtful Blogger Award. Thank you, Flowerpot. I'd like to pass it on (in no particular order) to Mid-Lifer, Land of Sand, My Wee Scottish Blog, Guineapigmum and Elsie Button. Ladies, you're all a great read.

Posted 11 August 2007 12:15 | Number of comments: 15 | Comments

Activities Out and about Awards Blogging

Fringe benefits

Here's another picture from our weekend out and about enjoying the Edinburgh festival; with The Bean in the foreground on my shoulders. I'll be running pictures most days throughout the various Edinburgh festivals to give you an idea of how much fun the city can be come showtime in August, when it becomes home to the world's largest arts festival.

One of the nicest things about being a parent in Edinburgh at this time of the year is the super-abundance of street theatre to entertain and divert children. On Saturday Beanie and I enjoyed watching a group of about twenty youngsters enact a graceful Oriental dance in Princes Street Gardens, under the stony gaze of Sir Walter Scott. The dance involved some clever stuff with red fans, that made a sound like gun shots as the dancers unfurled them.

Someone from the dance group gave Beanie a show flyer they'd found time to craft into an origami bird. I hate to be a cliche, but because all of this is so new and amazing to her, I find myself enjoying these seemingly simple events with a new appreciation and delight. That said, Beanie wasn't sufficiently overawed by the beauty of her origami bird to desist from chewing the poor creature's head off. But that could have been a sign of her appreciation. It's not always easy to interpret these things.

Later, up in the High Street, she enjoyed sitting on my shoulders to watch a unicyclist, the entire length of his back tattooed with feathery wings, entertain the crowds. Her dad took this picture of her, and has patiently explained to me about three times already this morning how to re-size it for the web. I think I've got it now.

Posted 07 August 2007 11:11 | Number of comments: 9 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Fun Out and about Festival

To Market

Farmers Market Edinburgh Yesterday, for the first time, we went to the Edinburgh Farmers' Market, which takes place every Saturday from 9am to 2pm on Castle Terrace. It's not a bad place to take a young child, though it can be hard to get a buggy through all the legs and there are no specific activities for kids that I could see.

But needless to say, The Bean was in heaven, with lots of people paying her attention, the smell of roasting meat, the holiday atmosphere - and of course the delicious, if rather expensive, food to sample, taste and buy.

We didn't focus on the more brutal side of the market and rushed her past the roast pig splayed out across the width of one entire stall, its snout tilted at an indignant angle, and the bloodied plastic bags of locally-reared ostrich and venison.

For my part, I liked the sense of being out in the countryside, even though the market takes place on the top of a multi-storeyed car park, about as urban a venue as you could imagine. All that locally-grown produce and so many farmers - I could almost smell haystacks in amongst the concrete.

The Bean notched up a couple of firsts - first taste of icecream (strawberry, fat-free) - and first taste of roast lamb, from a stall run by Cairns Farm, based out in the local Pentland Hills where Va-vay and I enjoy walking. She loved both, though I suspect a marginal preference for the ice-cream.

Queueing for my lamb roll, I did have a momentary pang for the poor beast that Beanie and I were to eat, and wondered if we'd maybe even seen the unfortunate lamb in question while on a walk. But then I decided I was being ridiculous and didn't let it bother me too much.

Va-vay, who is far more principled than me, is vegetarian, and made do for his lunch with a hummous sandwich that I thought looked pretty ordinary next to my roasted lamb. But he didn't seem to mind. One of the most annoying things about Va-vay is his saintliness.

One downside to the market is the shortage of benches and tables. We had to perch on the pavement next to a tree to eat our comestibles, as Va-vay likes to call food eaten on the move.

Once we started eating I became anti-social in the extreme to my lunch companions, just grunting mono-syllabically from time to time as I ate my lamb, garnished with both apple and mint and rowan jelly.

Too much chatter gets in the way of savouring every mouthful in peace, you see. As you can probably tell, I don't get out much these days. As we lose the bunker mentality of The Bean's first year, I'm hoping that will change.