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

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Missing sanity

Delia's Christmas army

It is a rite of passage that almost every woman will experience at some point in her life. Not quite as life-changing as first boyfriend, first job, first baby. But cooking your first Christmas dinner for extended family must surely still count as one of life's turning points, something that leaves you changed in all kinds of ways, just as you're not the same person after a broken heart, or a month travelling in India or or a stint working with the homeless. Christmas dinners can change a woman.

It has finally come round to my turn to cross this milestone. Thinking preparation might be key to handling this transition, in an attempt to make things easy for myself, I persuaded Granny to give me a copy of Delia's Happy Christmas as an early Christmas present. What a mistake. An aspirational book setting out standards of culinary perfection that only a professional cook and full-time masochist could achieve, it has put the fear of Christmases past, present and future into me. I am as Scrooge, terrified before the ghost of Jacob Marley at mistakes too late to rectify. Why did I not start on my puddings in October? Where can I find juniper berries at this late hour? What is 'sauce flour'? What is the difference between 'silver or gold standard' muffin cases and the ordinary ones? Do other people know about this stuff, or am I alone in my ignorance?

Before reading this book, I thought turkey curry was just a joke from the pages of Bridget Jones, that nobody could actually make such a thing. But no, wrong again. Delia actually features something called an English Colonial Curry with Turkey. She suggests (well, more like orders) that you serve it on December 29, as part of her Gant Plan-style, project management approach to celebrating the birth of Christ. She has detailed and difficult menu plans for eight days. The D-Day landings could not have been planned with more military precision than Delia directs into Christmas menus.

"Christmas lasts for eight days," warns Delia. "Be prepared!" For those tempted to buy mince pies and Christmas pudding on-line from supermarkets, there is the inevitable reminder that home cooking not only tastes so much better, it's cheaper. Delia has costed out comparisons between shop-bought and home-made Christmas staples that show how much money you'll save making stuff yourself. Interestingly, though, she does not factor in the £25 cost of her book, which would buy you the short-cut to quite a few shop-made mince pies. Or even a temporary respite from the onslaught in the form of a take-away.

Reading the book I felt not just worried for my own pathetic attempts at Christmas - but also for Delia herself. Delia's Happy Christmas makes it sound as if Delia is released from the kitchen just once during her two-week festive ordeal - for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve - before being reshackled to the Aga. What a drilling of pickling, freezing, cutting, peeling, grinding, marinating, chopping and basting takes place in these pages! I felt exhausted just reading about the relentless grind. No wonder that in her recommended lists for Christmas shopping she suggests, under the heading "General Non-Food Shopping" that you buy 'Hangover Remedy'. You may need something to cushion the pain should you forget to buy any of the cornichons, sweetened chestnut puree, shredded suet and fine capers Delia also recommends as essential Christmas fare. In fairness, this is a beautiful book, with lovely illustrations and lots of ideas for making nice meals for family and friends. There are lots of good ideas for a vegetarian Christmas, which I plan to adopt. Also, I must confess that, like millions of others, I rely heavily on some of Delia's other cooking books, which have never let me down on timing, ingredients etc. But oh, for the days when a satsuma was the height of Christmas sophistication.

Posted 10 December 2009 13:57 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Domestic chaos Etiquette Food Fun Missing sanity

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: 8 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Missing sanity Pelvic girdle pain/SPD

Unruly regulations

Here's a book that sounds like required reading for every parent of a young child. Playing it Safe by Alan Pearce, published by those clever people at The Friday Project, is a collection of all the silly health and safety stories from the press. There are gems about taps that limit the temperature in your bath, a ban on palm trees in Torbay (sharp leaves - ouch!) and the school that stopped children playing football in case they got hurt. There are even warnings on the back cover about the book itself - "Beware of paper cuts".

I say 'required reading' for parents of young children because since Beanie arrived 18 months ago I know I could benefit from a reality check on the difference between responsible parenting and crazed health-and-safety lunacy. I'm not proud. I can admit when I need help.

I write this as a mother whose cream sitting room is now accessorised with grey lagging pipes and gaffer tape, strapped to every conceivable surface where Beanie might hurt herself.

Before Beanie arrived I too used to find health and safety silliness amusing, just like this book does. Yes, I was hip once. Really. Oh, how I laughed to myself at childproof locks, 'corner protection devices' and over-protective parents. You know the type, the ones who won't let their kids eat uncooked cake mixture - raw eggs/salmonella, 'Ooh, dangerous!' - and freak out in pregnancy about unpasteurised cheeses and eating a mouthful of peanuts (so risky with potential nut allergies).

Then when Beanie arrived all that changed. The world turned overnight into a dangerous and frightening place. Husband and I began to take seriously some of the things Playing it Safe is mocking. We don't see the funny side in turning down the central water thermostat (if only we could find it) to lower bath water temperature. Our sense of humour (and proportion) has run dry.

On Beanie's first night at home husband and I were in such a state of panic we became alarmed our new wardrobe might emit toxic glue fumes that would harm her.

"She's wheezing!" husband announced in panic about his daughter at about 3.30am. We lost the plot so badly we ended up all sleeping in another room, far from the offending wardrobe and any risk of pollution. It was one of the worst nights of my life, yet was meant to have been one of the best.

In our defence, sleep deprivation did play a part in the madness.

Even so, a copy of Playing It Safe might remind us that it's possible to get through life safely without following every nutty regulation dreamt up by jobs' worth bureacrats. Or inventing ones of our own, for that matter.

I plan to place a copy in the bathroom. Where I often plant reading material I want my husband to see.

Somewhere close to where I imagine the water thermostat might be.

Posted 09 October 2007 16:58 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Childcare Domestic chaos Home Kit Missing sanity Perfectionism Safety Books

Clean-up operation

We're thinking of hiring a cleaner. This could be a bigger decision than we realised.

Leafing through Yellow Pages this morning, I stumbled on one firm offering an unusual range of services. Under the slogan: "Life Maid Easy offers you the chance to reclaim your life." This is what they offer: cleaning, ironing, window cleaning. So far, so normal.

And... wait for it: Life Style Management.

I've heard about powerful cleaning agents, but this is going too far. And you know the really sad thing? I was almost tempted to call these enterprising people and see what they could offer.

Posted 07 September 2007 12:54 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Domestic chaos Home Missing sanity Work at Home Mum

Monkey business

We all know that breast is best, but really, you can take a good idea too far, as I think you'll agree this picture proves. This Indian lady, a government worker, has treated Buru, her pet monkey, as her third child, since her woodcutter husband found him half-starved as a baby under a nearby tree after a storm. "Yes, I breastfeed him. He is my son," Namita Das told BBC News. "I did not have a son. God has given me one." According to the BBC, Buru generally stays at home, but can sometimes be seen climbing on neighbours' rooves, stealing bananas. Blimey! And I thought I got some funny looks for breastfeeding Beanie until she was a year old.

Posted 03 September 2007 16:36 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Breastfeeding Missing sanity News

Mum-upmanship

Cover ill Ever worried about 'mum-upmanship' at mum-and-baby coffee mornings? Thought there was something wrong with you for fretting you had little in common with the other mums? Had 'knickers made of barbed wire' tugging at your post-natal stitches?

If so, help is at hand. A small and entertaining book, Staying Sane, by Kathy Miller, (Portico Books, £6.99), has 99 suggestions to stop yourself going mad when you become a mother. Including tackling mum-upmanship and painful underwear.

There are lots of great tips on keeping it together through your child's babyhood and toddler years that struck a chord with me.

These are some of my favourites:

1. When motherhood seems intolerable, remind yourself quite how much you disliked being a childless singleton.

2. Just because you have a child doesn't mean you have to make instant friends with everyone from your nearest Mums and Babies group.

3. When contemplating the desirability of divorce, go to a party. "Chances are you will have your evening spoiled by a self-important oaf whose prejudices, politics or misogyny ensure that when you snuggle up to your husband in bed that night, you thank your lucky stars you ended up with him," writes Miller.

PS - I know this tip is true. It worked a treat for me at my French evening class.

4. "Just because you coped with tricky types at work doesn't mean you should do it now," she warns. "Try to concentrate on women whose company gives you a boost and don't let yourself be undermined by competitive, critical or gossipy women."

5. "Avoid complete paranoia by resolving to consult a medical dictionary as rarely as possible to check up on childhood ailments,"she says. Otherwise you end up catastrophising about all manner of ailments. Same would go for internet, presumably.

The tone is cheery, light-hearted and positive. There are lots of lovely cartoon illustrations by Louise Quirke. Miller doesn't patronise her audience, or preach. As a mother of three young daughters, two of them twins, she plainly knows what she's talking about.

I didn't agree with every suggestion - there was one about wrapping your head in a pashmina I couldn't understand - but overall I liked Staying Sane a lot. It'd be a good gift to any new mother. Along with the valium and ready meals.

Posted 11 July 2007 22:46 | Number of comments: 21 | Comments

Dilemmas Domestic chaos Etiquette Fun Home Missing sanity

Thin line

It's a fine line between diligent parenting and utter lunacy, as Dulwich Mum was saying the other day. The trouble is telling when you've crossed the line. What self-respecting lunatic parent is gifted with self-awareness?

A nasty bout of what could be parental paranoia kicked off yesterday morning. Or then again it might be normal maternal instincts to protect my child. Don't ask me.

It started when I staggered up the hill to take The Bean to nursery. She couldn't be happier at nursery these days, sometimes waving and clapping as we approach.

I wasn't so thrilled, though, at our arrival. My heart started pounding and my knees went shaky at the sight that greeted us. Was I being negligent in leaving The Bean here?

The security gate into the front garden was swinging open, beckoning in anyone from the street. This isn't just a garden gate; it has an intercon and buzzer for access to the inner nursery sanctum.

Big boys and girls - by which I mean pre-schoolers - play in this garden, admittedly watched over by nursery staff. It's about the fourth time in a fortnight I've found it wide open.

I wheeled her through the garden, past the climbing frame, discarded tractors and trikes, to a second security door in the actual nursery buildings. That, too, was wide open.

The nursery insists its biggest defence is that staff never leave the children alone. I can't relax knowing the doors are often left open.

Nursery has been responsive to my concerns. They've put up notices remininding people to shut the doors behind them. And they've promised to get a locksmith to check the latches.

There's not a locksmith in the world can do anything about people who won't shut the door or gate behind them.

So yesterday I explained again to The Bean's key worker why it's maybe not such a good idea to leave the doors open. She said a locksmith was coming out again this week to ensure the doors locked properly.

At times like this, I rejoice in the sheer good fortune of having a husband. This called for reinforcements.

Once on the case, he called the nursery, then rang back with good news. The nursery was planning to remind every parent individually that same evening to shut the security doors.

When I went to pick The Bean up later that day, a nursery sentry stood guard at the garden gate.

The upshot? Relief, but also fear I made a big fuss about nothing. Since the miscarriage I've had heightened fears of all sorts about loss - awake and in dreams. So this might be personal paranoia. Or maybe it's the reaction of any responsible parent.

I'm not alone in these concerns. Caroline Dunford writes amusingly about how she handled similar dilemmas in leaving her little boy, 'The Emperor', at playgroup in her wry and entertaining book How to Survive the Terrible Twos (published by White Ladder Press at £7.99). I've just finished Caroline's book, but fear I may be referring back to it frequently in coming months.

What do you think? Please leave a comment!