Nursery

PostingSummer holiday

Earlier this week two-year-old daughter went on her first proper trip anywhere without me or her dad. I wanted so much to be cool about this; after all, in the scale of things, the trip wasn't that big a deal. I used to hate feeling smothered by my well-meaning - but over-protective - parents.

DSCF2644_Small.JPGAs trips go, this looked pretty innocuous. Beanie's nursery was hiring a bus to take all the children to a seaside town about thirty miles away from where we live. The most hazardous part of the expedition would involve a journey along the nearby motorway in a mini-van, but the driver was the same man who drives all the toddlers to swimming every week. The town in question is a bastion of stone villas, cafes and golf courses, interspersed with hotels that host conferences and weddings.

But this was her first parent-free jaunt - and I couldn't help worrying. (The picture above is of Beanie at the seaside earlier this year - under the watchful gaze of her father.)

The nursery staff were excited about the trip for days beforehand. So much so that voicing my terrors to them seemed a bit rude. They're always kind and cheery with me, Beanie, her granny and her dad. Beanie loves it there - and I wasn't keen to say anything that might rock the boat. Like questioning their ability to look after her for a single day.

"I'm a bit nervous," I finally confessed to one of the nursery assistants last week.

"Why's that? What is it you're worried about," she asked kindly.

I gulped. Might as well be honest "I'm worried you're going to lose her," I replied. I should stop reading the news, all those stories about missing children just frighten me.

She laughed. In a nice way.

"We've got strict staff/child ratios," she said. "And we've been doing this trip for years. It's well organised. We're not going to lose her. We've not lost one yet. Don't worry about that."

I believed what she said. But, even so, spent most of the night beforehand unable to sleep. On the one hand, I didn't want Beanie to miss out on the fun of a seaside trip. And on the other? I couldn't get over my fear of some mishap. I just didn't know what to do for the best.

Eventually I decided I'd tell the staff she couldn't go - no shame in that. They'd understand. What with the pregnancy (five weeks to go, by the way) and everything.

The morning of the expedition dawned. I was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, pelvic pain, pregnancy weariness and (although I didn't know it at the time) a kidney infection. My husband brought me a cup of tea in bed.

"So, have you made your mind up?" he asked me. "Is she going or not? You'll need to ring nursery and let them know."

I rang nursery, where the woman who answered the phone sounded giddy and excited, making me feel churlish not to enter into the spirit of things.

"If Beanie doesn't go on the trip, will there be anyone left in the nursery to look after her?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry, there won't be. We're closing the nursery until 4.30pm," she said.

"Well, in that case," I started, trying to keep panic out of my voice, thinking of the work deadlines stacking up ahead of me, the midwives' advice to go to hospital for an emergency check-up, the stomach pains that could be signs of early labour (but thankfully weren't). "Well, in that case," I repeated. "I guess she'd better go."

I'd love to say I let Beanie go because I got over my nerves. But, truth be told, in the end, it was expediency that won out.

When she returned later that day, with sand in her shoes, socks and trousers, tired and happy, she looked puzzled as to why I hugged her so tightly.

Posted 04 June 2008 23:21 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Daughter Nursery Work vs mothering

PostingBaboushka

Definitions of an 'older mum' can vary wildly, not just from one country to another, but from region to region, family to family. What's old in one person's eyes can be positively youthful in someone else's. Thanks again to all who commented on Tuesday's posting and reminded me of this.

750pxRussianMatroshkanobg_Small.jpgHere's another good example. Apparently even today, in Russia, women tend to have babies before the age of 25, and women older than this are categorised by maternity units as 'elderly', or whatever the Russian is for 'over the hill'.  Dread to think what they'd make of new mums in their 40s. Stalin probably rounded them up and sent them to the Siberian salt mines in disgrace for pressing their withered ovaries into service one last time. Personally I blame all those matrioshka dolls they have. Such temptation to see if there's another little one waiting to emerge.

I discovered about Russian ideas on maternal age in Oliver James' book Affluenza, in which he explores why so many more people fixate on what they haven't got and seek to be someone they're not.

Not obviously a book where I expected to come across definitions of an 'older' mum. But maternal age is relevant here, insists James. He says he mentions childbearing age in Russia, because Russian women 'do not yet define their worth through paid work'. Many of them do work, but their primary focus remains on being mothers. Hence fewer of the tensions between work and family experienced by so many of their counterparts in Western Europe.

James lays the blame for some of our social ills at the door of poor childcare. His biggest bugbear is putting young children into nurseries before they're ready and even argues that our culture's restless dissatisfaction and obsession with 'having' rather than 'being'  is a byproduct of inadequate early child care that makes us insecure and needy.

He objects to mums leaving young children in nurseries or with childminders, arguing this causes long-term behavioural problems for the children in question, who find it difficult to form relationships and tend to base their sense of worth on external factors (exam grades, size and location of house, trendy gadgets). The problem with 'affluenza' is its many sufferers are never satisfied, no matter how much they achieve or own,  leaving them with an unquenchable sense of emptiness. Since Beanie, aged 17 months, goes to nursery twice a week, you can imagine how I felt when I read that.

Here is James on the evils of day care for young children: "The message from research is clear: under three a child is best off with one person, the same one every day and one who is responsive."

However, he's not unsympathetic to mothers: "The great problem [with being a mother] is the lack of status it attracts and our having been brainwashed into believing that only paid work is admirable. Unfortunately it will be rare that anyone other than your partners will give you the credit you deserve. But in its absence, remember this: however much you were raised to be a prize-hunter, intrinsic pleasure is far better for your emotional well-being. It may not seem so very often, but the authenticity, vivacity and playfulness of small children is hugely rewarding, a much greater boon than any number of promotions or pay rises."

So there we go.

Posted 20 September 2007 13:19 | Number of comments: 17 | Comments

Older mother Childcare Nursery Parenting gurus

PostingKindergarten cop

Good news following my posting earlier this month about security at The Bean's nursery. As I mentioned before, the nursery took immediate action when I spoke to them. That same evening they reminded each parent individually to ensure they shut the security doors behind them.

They also got a locksmith out a few days later to check one door in particular was closing properly.

And they stationed the largest of the male nursery staff at the door at going-home time. Poor chap. Not exactly bouncer material. But good to see him there, the Arnold Schwarzenegger of Edinburgh nurseries.

In short, I'm impressed with how they've responded.

The best news of all is that following suggestions from The Good Woman and others (oops, sorry, just been pointed out to me it's Iota, thanks Good Woman), I've persuaded the nursery to install a new self-closing door. When I wrote to the owner suggesting this, she replied saying she understood I was protective of my daughter, that her grandchildren were at the nursery too, and she'd buy a new door as we suggested. She didn't once imply that I was silly in my fears, even though that's what I partly suspect myself.

Before I had The Bean, I would have thought all this security was complete paranoia. In some ways I still do. But it's a relief to know there's a good system in place.

Thanks to everyone who commented with suggestions. It was good and helpful feedback.

Posted 31 July 2007 14:58 | Number of comments: 18 | Comments

Nursery

PostingThin 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!

Posted 10 July 2007 11:34 | Number of comments: 18 | Comments

Daughter Dilemmas Husband Miscarriage Missing sanity Nursery

PostingAll in good time

Set in stone My husband and I cannot agree on what “leaving in good time” means. Last week was our  first parents’ evening at nursery – a momentous event in our small household. We built up to this for days beforehand. Somehow we still ended up half-running through Edinburgh’s early evening drizzle, sans umbrella. We arrived dishevelled, damp and out of breath.

When I'm not blaming my husband for our poor time management,  I blame poor Granny. After she arrived to babysit for our big night, an hour slid by. We rifled through cupboards filled with small plastic containers, tidied away toys. I produced breadsticks, cereal bars, potted apple puree; lifted down boxes of formula. Made cups of tea; relocated the remotes, chatted, got daughter to bed, and there we were, time to go. Another ten minutes vanished looking for glasses, applying lipstick, brushing hair, smoothing on “product”. Whoosh.

Jack and I clattered downstairs, giddy with the freedom of a rare night out. Then we looked at his watch, and panicked.

“We should have left earlier,” I began.

“I was ready a good half hour before you,” he said, in a mild way.

“No, you weren’t,” I retorted, knowing what he said was true.

“I think you'll find I was. I was waiting for you but didn't say anything as I didn't want to rush you.”

"You should have said something!" I blustered.

We began half-running/half-walking along Edinburgh's cobbled lanes, skeetering in our haste over treacherous, uneven stones lying sleek and smooth with rain. Every so often Edinburgh Council erects huge tents over the road, digs up these cobbles, cleans them and replaces them to make road surfaces smoother. Within months they revert to the default of their old uneven ways, set, as it where, in stone. The butterflies in my stomach refused to settle. Not a product in the world could have stopped my hair frizzing.

We could have driven, but decided lack of both parking skills and spaces might make it quicker on foot.

“You can slow down. We’ve got a good ten minutes to get there,” my husband tried to persuade me.

“No! We can’t be late. We’ve got to keep going, it'll take at least ten minutes to get there,” I insisted.

Of course I caved.  Ground to a halt. Wheezed.

“We should slow down. I don’t want to be all out of breath when we get there. I want to make a good impression. What will all the other parents think if we arrive like this?” I preached to my converted husband.

"Why do you care so much what other people think?" he asked.

I had no answer.

The grown-ups had reclaimed nursery for the evening. Someone showed us into a large room with drinks set out next to the Wendy House. We demisted our glasses. Under the felt-tipped airplane with pictures of children's heads pasted to the seats stood one mother. Over by the window stood another. That made four of us in the room. A nursery assistant brought us our drinks. Grimaced.

"Nice weather, isn't it? The other parents'll be along shortly I expect. Must have got held up by the weather."

Posted 06 June 2007 11:00 | Number of comments: 5 | Comments

Angst Car Dilemmas Domestic chaos Etiquette Husband Mistakes Nursery

PostingFeminine mistakes

An article on the excellent News for Parents site reports that an American writer has stirred up controversy with a book arguing that mothers who don't work could be risking their financial security, as well as their happiness.

In The Feminine Mistake, Vanity Fair journalist Leslie Bennetts warns stay-at-home mums that their decision to give up economic self-sufficiency and rely on their partner could have disastrous consequences.

The book's title's an ironic nod to fellow American writer Betty Friedan's 1963 book The Feminine Mystique, the groundbreaking work credited with launching the feminist movement. The book attacked the idea a husband and children were all a woman needed for fulfillment.

The latest book's stirred up a hornet's nest in the US, where according to poor Bennetts, stay-at-home mums are "burning up the blogosphere denouncing me". Last time I checked there were no fewer than 68 heated reviews of the book on Amazon alone, most of them huffy and defensive, all defending the writer's personal choices on working or not working.

Bennetts, herself a working mum, insists she only wants to alert women to dangers in giving up work to rely on a partner's income, like divorce, or a husband losing his job. My fellow blogger Omega Mum over at 3kidsnojob can tell you all about the latter scenario in her entertaining account of what happens when a husband loses his job, in their case through no fault of his own.

Bennetts also says that women who take career breaks planning to get back to work once the kids are ready should know they will take a huge salary hit - and might not get back to the same level at all. And there's also the sense of self-worth that women can gain outside the home. Plus pension entitlement. I'll see what she says about part-time work-at-home mums, and let you know about that.

The report was mostly manna to my web-weary eyes after a sorry day filling up the depleted Mother at Large household coffers. But why do I need a US author I've never even met to validate my parenting choices? Why do I need to read this to feel okay about how I arrange my life? Am I the only mother who needs approval from a book I've not yet read for choosing to work? I'd like to see a time when women can make career decisions without reference to a battery of parenting experts. Then again, maybe most women already do.

Posted 30 May 2007 22:44 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Angst Childcare Dilemmas Home working Nursery Work Work vs mothering Parenting gurus

PostingChoosing a nursery

Apparently a chain of London nurseries is promising guaranteed happiness for children or giving parents their money back. After children have been there six weeks it will measure their happiness using a series of 'observational  methods'.

It's a clever marketing wheeze to exploit parental guilt for leaving their children in nurseries in the first place to go to work, although why we should feel guilty for doing this has never been entirely clear to me.

Anyway, it started me thinking about what we can expect from nurseries and how to choose one. I'm no expert on any of this stuff, but these are my thoughts.

Beware the sycophants

One nursery kept talking in its marketing material about "your VILP". VILP? Very Important Little Person. Oh, for goodness' sake.

Watch staff when they're out and about in your area

I don't mean go all weird and spy on them! But I was really impressed by staff from the nursery we eventually chose, because they came across as professional and courteous in the street, whenever I bumped into them. 

Location, location, location

Ideally your nursery is near you, and en route to work

Visible, involved owner?

Ideally with long-term plans to be involved. Most nurseries do a good job, but like any other business they've no doubt attracted their share of charlatans.



Realistic, sane staff

It makes me nervous when people promise the earth, the moon and stars.

Check out what the inspectors think

The Care Commission has good nursery and pre-school reports available to anyone online that will tell you a lot.

Ask around

Find out its informal reputation from other parents



Spend time there

If they have a problem with you wanting to hang out there for a little while, that's worth knowing in itself.

Instinct

Is this a place you'd like to spend time yourself?

Posted 25 May 2007 10:57 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Childcare Nursery Work vs mothering Guilt

PostingCutting her teeth

My daughter is teething and I am in crisis. Could she not have picked a better time to grow new teeth? Unstoppable, they are erupting from her swollen gums like jagged icebergs in films where baddies have tampered with the earth's climate, destroyed its natural balance and caused chaos in the Arctic Circle. What little was left of my natural balance has gone too, Titanic to the trauma of her teeth.

My daugher has a nursery "key worker", a competent and kindly young woman who looks about 23 and is childless. It was she who told me that my daughter must be teething, an idea that had not occurred to me. "That'll be her off her food with her molars coming in," she informed me, as if it were obvious. I nodded in agreement to pretend this was indeed obvious.

Four tiny teeth hovering at gum level have destroyed our domestic tranquillity. At bed time last night she rattled the bars of her cot, screaming and roaring like a caged animal. Only an hour and a half and two spoons of Calpol later did we settle her to sleep last night. Someone has recommended frozen celery for teething babies to chew on. "But you have to mind out for the stringy bits," she told me. Presumably in case they stick in her sparkling new teeth.

My daughter and I do not much ressemble one another in many respects, something my husband tries gallantly to pretend is not the case. I am brunette and she is fair, like him. This is mostly a blessing for her, especially as I have bad teeth that an orthodentist once pronounced incurable. With that in mind, I am not much comforted by my husband's attempts to console me about the domestic confusion.  "Look," he told me. "Her teeth are coming in at the same angle as yours."

Posted 24 May 2007 13:47 | Number of comments: 0 | Comments

Daughter Husband Domestic chaos Nursery Dilemmas

PostingJob for life

Apparently if the typical stay-at-home mother were paid for her work, she'd earn the annual equivalent of £70,000, at least according to a set of so-called "compensation experts" based in the US. Unfortunately, the survey doesn't make clear who's going to fork out the moolah for all our hard work. Government? Husband? Children? Will our kids add this to their student loans? But still, it's nice to know we have some earning power left, even if it is mostly theoretical. I first read about this at Manic Mama.

My main objection to this survey, produced by Salary.com, is that I think they've missed quite a few important activities from their list of maternal roles, which falls far short of covering the full job spec. So I've listed a few additional roles they might want to consider next time they're doing the survey.

This is their list of jobs making up the £70,000 salary: 1. Housekeeper 2. Cook 3. Psychologist 4. Day care centre teacher 5. Laundry machine operator 6. Van driver 7. Facilities manager 8. Janitor 9. Computer operator 10. Chief executive officer (though try telling that one to Dad).

And here are the ones I think they missed. Apologies for some of them being so medieval. Please let me know your thoughts on any others that should be on the list.

1. Nightwatchperson   Okay, gone is the lantern or candle of yesteryear, replaced by more up-to-date equivalents, like the Tomy baby monitor. And it's more dressing gown than big caped cloak and boots. But there's still the same lonely, cold pacing around after midnight, to check that all's well, investigating cries in the night. And what about some extra money for unsociable hours, I'd like to know?

2. Dancer/Singer   Before having my daughter I considered myself a fairly shy and inhibited person, except when drunk. Now I never drink but will sing, dance and cavort almost anywhere if I reckon there's a chance it'll make my daughter stop crying. "Old McDonald had a farm, ey-ay-ey-ay-oh!!!"

3. PR Officer   "You'll never guess what our beautiful daughter did at nursery today! She pulled herself up to standing using just a shoebox for balance!" I almost have to stop myself from issuing a press release. And unlike many esteemed PRs, I actually, really, truly believe in how marvellous this all is....

4. Health and Safety Officer   Detaching Mr Bear's pink nightcap, lest my daughter swallow it, nagging long-suffering husband to nail bookshelves to the wall, covering sockets, hiding toilet cleaner, keeping daughter away from dishwasher and oven, begging kind neighbours not to paint their front door while we're around...

5. Journalist   I've filled notebooks with detailed accounts of my daughter's exploits that I plan to keep for posterity.

6. Nutritionist   Poor performance appraisal here. People brandish Annabel Karmel books at me all the time, and I do my best, but follow her recipes in vain. Actually, I spend ages agonising over my daughter's food intake, still currently limited to apple puree, porridge and bread sticks, because I know it can't be that healthy. Her dad persuaded her tonight to add banana, raspberries and raisins to the list, which she did grudgingly. Anything I cook is a big no-no. Last week I had my head in my hands at suppertime, crying, I felt such a failure for cooking up this food she instantly rejects. She throws it at me, or on the floor.

7. Speech therapist   Daughter: "Haahlaahla" Me: "That's brilliant! Let's say it again." Daughter: "Laaaaaaa" Abrupt stop. Me: "Look, the little monkey in the book is saying 'Hug'. Isn't that clever? Let's try and say 'Huuuuuuuug'." I could go on.

8. Stylist   It's not as easy as it looks to achieve that casually thrown together boho-chic look for the under-twos. Especially when the under-two in question is determined to shed socks, shoes and cardi wherever she can, before regurgitating Annabel's rejected gloop onto her top.

9. Entertainments Officer   Playgroup, nursery, "playdates" - urgh, terrible expression, park. It all takes organisation, you know, even if the babies and toddlers mostly ignore one another at these various social events, except to "borrow" each other's toys.

10. Nurse   Bathing gunky eyes in salt water, kissing scratches better, clearing up sick, administering Calpol. Oh, I forgot, nurses are like stay-at-home mothers, another largely disempowered social group, being (mainly) female carers on a low wage.

Posted 20 May 2007 20:11 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Daughter Food Husband Language Nursery Play Playgroup Safety Work

PostingHome working for parents: the plus side

In my posting yesterday on the drawbacks to being a Work at Home Mum, or WAHM, I promised another missive today on the joys of a life spent fettered to a keyboard in the spare bedroom/playroom/study, while pretending to be a carefree "have-it-all" mum, with perfect work/life balance.

Now today's come around and I regret to have to say I can hardly think of any benefits to being a WAHM. But having scratched what's left of my braincells after a year's breastfeeding, I've managed to think of a few upsides.

No colleagues

At first this was a plus and I enjoyed my own company. Now I'm a seasoned WAHM and idealise any office where I've ever worked, however poisonous the politics were, remembering only the cheerful banter, not the nastier sides.

Flexibility in hours

Easier to knock off work early on a sunny day when I fancy taking my daughter to the park. When she was sent home from nursery with a sticky eye it was easy for me to walk over there and pick her up. Major plus for parents of young children. Some mornings I take her in to nursery closer to lunchtime, and then pick her up before teatime.

Master and commander (sort of)

I feel more in control of my own destiny, working for myself, and enjoy the freedom it brings. I can explore ideas and projects that interest me, without checking in with anyone else first.

Fitting work in around children

If things have gone haywire during the day, with our daughter sick at home or similar, I can make up the lost hours in the evening here at home.

Commuting time

For all my moaning about lack of company in the working day, I never enjoyed being shoe-horned into the London Tube every morning on the way to work, squashed in with  dozens of other people. Even I, moaner that I am, have to admit it's not much of a trek from bedroom to spare room.

Ability to work from anywhere with broadband connection

Well, theoretically, although it's strange how so much of work still comes down to talking with real, live human beings, even now. But being self-employed and working from home meant I was able to escape London two years ago to come back to Edinburgh. We're now debating a possible next move to France. If my husband didn't have such good IT skills, I doubt I'd be so sanguine on this point.

Getting more done at home/fewer interruptions?

Arguable point. A friend has a theory that people get more done working from home than they would in offices, because so much time there is taken up with meetings. Hah - but what about tea breaks?

Climbing the laundry mountain

Taking little breaks to work on the laundry leaves me still feeling quite smug and virtuous afterwards, almost as if I'd stayed at my desk and done the work I was meant to be doing, instead of frippering away the minutes on anything I could manage to justify to myself.



Some weeks you can take on more work, others less

When K was unwell a few weeks ago and she couldn't go to nursery, I was able to rearrange my work to look after her.

Posted 09 May 2007 01:39 | Number of comments: 4 | Comments

Breastfeeding Daughter Husband Nursery Pregnancy Work Home working

PostingMore on childcare options... today, Granny to the rescue

As I mentioned in an earlier posting, apparently "have-it-all" mums are shunning nurseries that could damage their children's development and staying home to look after their kids. Ideally, of course, some newspapers would rather we women spent our entire reproductive years pregnant and/or barefoot in the kitchen.

Given we live in a less-than-ideal world, in which many of us do some sort of balancing act between work and family, while trying our utmost to do the best for our children, I've decided to write some more about the childcare options available to working mums, or at least my personal experience of them.

Today, Granny to the rescue.

Granny often looks after my daughter one or two days a week while I work, sometimes at home, other times in an office. The arrangement generally works well for all concerned, with big benefits all round. My daughter also goes to nursery twice weekly.

Things to know about childcare from Granny

1. Parenting takes stamina - lots of it - and grandparents tire easily

Granny would never admit this, but she is shattered by the end of a day chasing after her beloved grandaughter. I only found out how bad it was when I rang her one evening around 8.30pm after she'd gone home from a day looking after K, only for my father to tell me she'd gone to bed "early". I felt terrible.

2. Your child can do NO wrong in Granny's eyes

My daughter has filched Granny's OAP bus pass while rifling through her handbag, somehow lost her mobile, and scrunched up precious family photos Granny carries everywhere in her Sudoko book. Does Granny care?

3. Seeing the bond develop between Granny and K - heart-warming

K kicks her legs with delight when she sees Granny coming up the stairs to see her, while Granny's had a new lease of life since K arrived 13 months ago. They get on extremely well and it's been one of the best things about having a child, seeing the bond between them strengthen and grow.

4. K's biscuit consumption increases while Granny is around. So does mine.

Granny believes a little treat now and then never hurt anyone.

5. Like any veteran of terry towelling, Granny believes in 10 or 12 daily nappy changes

Don't suppose it can do any harm. Granny often brings round packs of nappies. "Bulky for you to carry!" she says. "Let me bring these over in the car."

6. Limited interaction for K with other babies - or "tweenies"

But lots of admiration from the other old ladies Granny seems to meet while out and about buying biscuits. Doesn't matter so much to us, because K is with other children at nursery twice weekly.

7. Hard to concentrate while working at home if K and Granny larking about in kitchen, often playing "Let's empty Granny's handbag".

It always sounds like so much fun in the kitchen, I get distracted. Not difficult, admittedly, given my scatter-brain head. Usually, they end up going for a walk. In which they stop off at the shops to buy, guess what? More biscuits.

8. The voice of experience.

In terms of childcare, Granny's been there, done it, and got two adult children to prove it.

Okay, her generation doesn't have our hang-ups about organic food, breastfeeding and Gina Ford. They did things differently, for example parking their babies at the bottom of the garden.

They didn't have post-natal groups for support and company; their men weren't expected to help out like our partners do, and they seem to have spent all day washing nappies years before anyone got extra brownie points for being environmentally friendly with "real" nappies.

But the fact is, Granny knows what she's doing when it comes to looking after a small child.

9. My daughter gets one-to-one attention, all day long, from someone who loves her

Which is both good, and maybe not-so-good, depending on which survey you read at the time.

10. Nursery get exasperated if I keep bothering them to check K's okay.

Whereas Granny and K will happily blow bubbles and coo down the phone, (yes, both of them) whenever I call home. Just as long as it's not on Granny's mobile, (please see No. 2).

11. In a crisis, Granny'll drop everything, even the golf championship match where she's hoping to improve her handicap, and come round to help

When my husband and I were both ill over Christmas (remember the Winter Vomiting Virus?) she helped out - big time.

12. Granny would never expect remuneration for all the work she does

She does it out of love. Err, maybe that's cheesy, but it's kind of how it is.

Posted 05 May 2007 18:25 | Number of comments: 1 | Comments

Breastfeeding Daughter Granny Home Husband Nursery Work

PostingMore benefits to nurseries

More confident around other children

K used to crumple at playgroups if another child tried to take her toys. Strange though this might sound of a one-year-old, she's become more assertive, in a healthy way, and better at standing her ground.

Better at interacting with other children

K's started to enjoy pushing balls around on the floor with some of her friends. She's better aware of other children.

Staff know what they're doing

These women can change a nappy faster than it takes me to think, "Oh, maybe I'd better fill the water jug before we get started."

I forgot to post these earlier. An excellent comment on my earlier posting today Pros and Cons of Nursery Life reminded me of them.

Posted 02 May 2007 19:15 | Number of comments: 0 | Comments

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PostingPros and cons of nursery life

Having spent the last few days fuming at stories about greedy 'have-it-all' mothers repenting their wicked career-minded ways by shunning nurseries and staying home to look after their kids, here are some of my thoughts on the pros and cons of nurseries, based on personal experience.

PROS

Making switch from bottle to breast

It was nursery staff who first persuaded my daughter, then aged 10 months, to take a bottle, something I'd been trying for weeks, with no success. Since then she hasn't looked back. I was beginning to fear I'd be breastfeeding at the school gates. Thanks to that breakthrough, people have now stopped saying things like: "Did you see that programme on extraordinary breastfeeding?"

Healthy balanced diet

At home, K survives on a diet of porridge, apple puree and biscuits. Believe me, it's not for lack of trying on my part. I have my Annabel Karmel cookbook and I'm not afraid to use it. But I cook up spaghetti bolognaise, fish pasta and cauliflower cheese in vain. Even my old stand-by of sweet potato and chicken is out of favour. However, the nursery staff can get her to eat chicken papaya, no less. I've been asking for tips on how they do it.

Keener to walk

Don't know if peer group pressure is altogether a good thing, but it seems to me that since K has seen other children about her age, or a bit older, starting to toddle, she's keener to do the same.

CONS

These probably reflect my shortcomings as much as the nursery's, but here goes:

Separation anxiety (mine, not hers)

I haven't quite come to terms yet with my daughter being pushed around the streets of Edinburgh, in the nursery's three-seater buggies, by someone other than me. The thought I might bump into her "out a walk" at lunchtime is wierd.

She's comes home smelling of someone else's perfume.

Disconcerting. I get a bit jealous. But I also take this as a positive, since it means that she must be getting lots of cuddles.

The, err, commercial aspect of childcare...

A nursery worker burst into the baby room yesterday. "Okay, we don't have to do Edward Simmons and Jack McLeod today. They're on holiday till the 17th."

It's painful to be disabused of fantasy everyone loves K as much as me

A couple of the people who look after her at nursery are fond of her. Everyone else is well-disposed. Nobody, strangely, seems aware of how special and wonderful she is.

Picking up bad habits

No long after starting nursery K started sucking thoughtfully on pieces of toast, before allowing them to slither out her mouth and down onto her front, where they linger, transformed into repellant brown slugs. Could never prove it, but suspect it's a lark she first saw at nursery.



Hotbed of germs

Babies pick up every bug going as soon as they start at nursery.

You can't get the days or times you necessarily want

Which seems to contradict the story about all these empty nursery places left vacant by repentant nasty hard career women. In my experience, any decent nursery gets booked up months, even years, ahead.

Posted 02 May 2007 11:04 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Breastfeeding Daughter Nursery Play Pregnancy Work Edinburgh Food

PostingHave it all? Do it all, more like

Another day, another childcare survey that may upset many mothers. "The first evidence of an end to the 'have-it-all' generation of women emerges today," reports The Times, with unmistakable glee in Nurseries feel pinch as mothers stay home.

You can almost hear the unspoken agenda:  "Greedy cows, thinking they can be mums and have paid jobs. This'll show 'em."

The so-called "evidence" of the end to greedy 'have-it-alls' is that almost a quarter of UK nursery places are vacant, as women take up their "right to request" part-time work after having a child.

According to the paper, one reason for the vacancies is that more women are staying at home longer to look after their children themselves, instead of putting them into nursery.

It says another reason is a government report warning that putting children in full-time nursery care can make them anti-social and anxious.

In fact, the real reason so many nursery places are empty has nothing to do with women seeing the light and repenting of their bad mothering. It’s a matter of simple maths. Available nursery places have nearly doubled since 2002, from 424,900 to 725,115, with demand overanticipated.

You could also argue that what the statistics actually tell us is that women don't aspire to "have it all" and never did. Empty nursery places could mean thoughtful employment legislation with more flexible working hours and longer maternity leave is beginning to take effect.

Now we've got the chance to stay at home longer, that's what many of us are doing. Only 7% of children in daycare are now under a year old. Women have, rightly, got better financial support in staying at home to look after their kids, and that's what many of us are choosing to do. We didn't go to work to "have it all”, we did it because our families needed the income.

To go by that phrase "have-it-all", you'd think a bunch of empty-headed fun-seekers in Ibiza had got their come-uppance. Anybody who's actually combined looking after a small child and working knows the lifestyle is far from hedonistic, it's demanding and unforgiving.

As a part-timer, which many working mothers are, you're on the margins, with less responsibility and poorer promotion prospects. Senior part-time jobs are like gold dust in many industries.

Of course, someone screwing up the estimates for nursery place numbers doesn’t make quite such a good story and The Times dwells instead on that government report into the evils of nursery care.

The paper says: "A government evaluation of nurseries found that toddlers spending more than seven hours a day in daycare were more likely to be bossy, tease other children, stamp their feet and get anxious when toys and refreshments were handed round." Hello? Have the authors ever been around small children? Has anyone ever met a toddler who didn’t fit that description?

The worst-behaved child I've ever met spent his first four years glued to the side of his overly doting mother, who honestly couldn't see that he (and she) needed help. This little terror never set foot in a nursery.

Relatives and friends used to avoid this little boy, they were so scared of him. Now he's at school and learning the hard way how to interact with others, with frequent detentions and threats of expulsion. It's a lesson he might have learnt sooner and more easily at nursery, among other people.

Funnily enough, newspapers don’t focus on that side of the story, possibly because it doesn’t have the “feel-bad” factor all mothering stories seem to need.

'Have-it-all' generation, indeed. 'Do-it-all', more like.

Posted 01 May 2007 10:42 | Number of comments: 1 | Comments

Nursery Work

PostingNursery parting such sweet sorrow



Dropped K off at nursery this morning, an event that's become a regular torment for both of us.

Mentioned this trouble to my mother, who spent her early wartime childhood evacuated onto the family farm in Yorkshire. "Whenever the farmers separated a cow and a calf into different fields both of them mooed for days afterwards," she tells me. "Yes, both of them."

She shook her head. In sympathy? confusion? Remembering her own similar experiences? With me? With her own mother? For years I thought myself alone in missing her as a child when work took her away. Now I realise she must have felt the same.

However, unlike the poor cows, my daughter and I have not gone been forced apart forever, at least I hope not. I have every confidence we will be reunited at 5.30pm today, or even earlier, if I can tear myself away from this blog and get through my professional work sooner.

But believe me, when her face crumples and the tears start falling, it feels like we could be on that windswept Yorkshire farm, cruel fate intervening as bluff farmer.

Staff assure me that she soon settles down happily to "floor play" or whatever else they're doing. "She's a cheeky monkey, guilt-tripping you like this!" says one girl, trying, I think, to reassure me. I don't believe her. I think K really prefers to be with me, even if we don't do all the "singing, dancing, music" at home that I read about in her nursery report cards.

We go through a rigmarole of cuddles, putting her down, her crying, then back to more cuddles and so on. After a few rounds like that they promise to call me if she doesn't settle. Furtively, I creep away while her back's turned to examine a dreamcatcher. As I leave, I peer through the window, thinking people will take me for a nutter, to catch a glimpse of her and check she is indeed okay. She's settled fine. Phew.

Nobody else in my entire life has ever wanted to be with me this much. Probably no-one else, save future children, ever will again. Yet I don't really know how to deal with it. Is there something wrong with me that I don't always embrace this, that sometimes this dependance and love is claustrophobic, even oppressive? I'm flattered, touched - but also daunted and guilty.

Why is it that I persist with my professional writing, when I could be 24/7 with someone who so plainly favours me over all others? I doubt myself, wonder so often if I'm doing the right thing, even though I'm only working a  two-day week. Being a modern mum, there's so much pressure to be all things to all people, nurturing earth mother and career woman, both so at odds with each other, and I waste so much of my time missing one whenever I'm doing the other.

So why do I work? Well, the income is useful; also, the sense of continuity with my old life  is reassuring; then there's the thought that in a few years K will be at school and I must keep my links with the adult world of work that I'll need even more then. And finally, most shamefully, sometimes I like to have a break. It's as simple as that. There, I've said it.

Does that make me a bad mother? Sometimes it's nice to tidy the kitchen, and know it won't be messy again in four minutes. It's nice to focus on me, without half or all my mind on another person all the time. It's nice to eat lunch without feeding my beautiful daughter home-made organic gloop she'll probably reject or flick on my new trousers.

And yet, the emptiness is intense as I walk away from nursery towards the car, where her Maxi Cosi throne sits empty and untenanted, bare save for a discarded pink sock. I pick up the sock and bring it home, where it now sits on the table in my otherwise pristine kitchen, awaiting the return of its pair this evening.

Posted 30 April 2007 12:30 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

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Posting"Poo or no poo" and other stories

K's illness drags on. It's nearly a week now. Nursery won't take her until she's done a solid poo, or gone 24 hours with no poo at all. Since poor K doesn't qualify on either count I phone work to tell them I won't be in - the second day in a row. They're understanding, but I work freelance, so this means nada in the bank account and possible loss of credibility and goodwill at a place where I'm still newish.

To make matters worse, K's reached convalescence. When I tried to kiss her this morning she pushed me away. Just one imperious gesture of the hand, not so much as a look in my direction. I was hurt and a nastier part of me thought: "You ungrateful little monster".

I know she's on the mend. While I was making her breakfast, the little monkey reached across the table to where I'd left my breakfast, half-inched a piece of toast and marmalade and wolfed it down, full of beady concentration. It was the gobbling noises that tipped me off. At least she had the grace to look startled when she realised I was onto her.

Nappy changing remains an ordeal for both of us, with her tummy not quite right. I can't handle the stench without retching. But I've worked out a way of doing it. First I open the window wide, to let in Edinburgh's early April weather, and  I assemble all my accoutrements - fragranced nappy sacks, fresh nappy, cotton wool balls, toilet paper, nappy cream, jug of water - on the floor in advance.

Then I take a few practice deep breaths before breathing in for as long as I can and setting to work in earnest. Sometimes, with luck, I can get everything done and cleared away before I need to breathe again. The downside is I'm so dizzy afterwards I sometimes see stars. The upside is that with all the fresh air from the open window I recover in no time at all.

Posted 03 April 2007 12:00 | Number of comments: 0 | Comments

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