October 2007

PostingAttachment parenting: a sticky business

iStock000003541963XSmall_Small.jpg We are having phone trouble. It's none of the usual suspects. I'm afraid I blame a pair of well-meaning New Age parenting gurus for the problem.

A while ago I bought a book on babies by a California paediatrician and his wife. They've got eight children themselves. I reckoned they must know what they're talking about. They looked like nice people on the cover shot. Their philosophy is called 'attachment parenting'. Heard of it? Hugely popular in the US, less so in the UK.

Amongst other things, 'attachment parenting' involves: breastfeeding on demand, 'co-sleeping' with your infant, avoiding mechanical devices such as prams, rockers or bouncy chairs, 'wearing' your baby in a sling and, of course, natural birth. Being a bit of an old hippie at heart myself, I loved these ideas. I just couldn't quite translate them all into reality.

The authors never argue, but offer 'loving reminders' to each other. They write wistfully about a custom in Rwanda of not letting the baby touch the ground for the first six months of their life. Instead the local women carry their babies with them at all times, wrapped up in a cunning arrangement of knotted fabric. These women are so close to their babies they don't use nappies. They can just sense when the child needs to go.

The writers suggest that if a mother can't breastfeed, the baby's grandmother might consider re-lactating. Breastfeeding's so important, you see. I've mentioned this a couple of times to Granny, never with much success. She tends to clutch at her bosom and look affronted.

I did my best to follow their advice, and managed some of it. Beanie went in a sling, but I couldn't carry her for long without hurting my back. I breastfed. The one area where I followed their advice to the letter was their advice to invest in a cordless phone. To prevent accidents. Apparently a little-known danger to toddlers is mum wandering off to answer the phone. Or so they say.

When Beanie was born, Va-vay dutifully went off to buy cordless phones - after a 'loving reminder' from me. Eighteen months later, we spend half our lives hunting for the wretched things that Beanie has reallocated somewhere - pillow, toy basket, knitting box, or the rubbish bin. Even if we phone ourselves to find out where they are, they won't necessarily ring. No juice left. Mobiles aren't so reliable either these days. Beanie's fond of sucking on them. Helps her teeth.

Last week I gave Va-vay another 'loving reminder'. To buy us a conventional, corded phone. 

Posted 31 October 2007 22:09 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Breastfeeding Childcare Daughter Domestic chaos Husband Parenting gurus Toys

PostingDoes age matter?

cevennes_hills.jpg Does age matter when it comes to making friends with other mums?

Does it make any difference if you're the oldest or youngest mum in the post-natal group?

Do people forget about age differences because they've got the - arguably stronger - common bond of looking after their new babies?

I'd count myself friends with other mums of various different ages - probably with a few more of them closer to my age.

I'd be interested to know about readers' experiences of whether age played a part in their post-natal support network.

As you might have guessed, I'm working on a section of Fashionably Late that requires some field research into what it's like for mums setting up social networks after they've had a baby. Any comments much appreciated and I would of course change people's names before putting anything into the book. As I've said before, two signed copies go to people whose comments are included.

Posted 30 October 2007 18:10 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Fashionably Late - the book Friends Older mother

PostingGet your hankies out

brenda779_Small.jpgTragic story over at Alpha Mummy about a man advertising on-line to give his baby daughter away. A post on Postaroo.com by a man claiming to live in Nashville seeks to give away his baby girl Brenda for free “to your loving home”. The man claims he's been a single parent since losing his wife in an accident and that since a nanny is effectively bringing the little girl up at the moment, she'd be better with a 'proper' family than in his care. Sad, sad, sad - if true. Makes me come over all Mary Poppins and wish I could march over to their place with a magic umbrella, sing and dance on the chimney tops and put things to rights for them. I imagine whoever the US equivalent of health visitors are will have something to say on the subject too. Then again, he might be joking. Not very funny though.

Posted 30 October 2007 17:24 | Number of comments: 0 | Comments

Childcare Dads

PostingOops, let's do it again

31GqolZUH5LAA115_Small.jpgLynne Spears, mother of beleaguered pop princess Britney, is to write a book about 'her role as a showbiz family matriarch' Bit cheeky, when she and Britney weren't speaking to each other until recently. But hey, that's showbiz, or at least my limited experience of it.

Lynne's publisher specialises in Christian books, which could make it tricky when dealing with some aspects of Britney's life. But, more importantly, the news has made me wonder if I haven't missed a trick or two with Beanie's granny.

After all, if Lynne can turn out 'Pop Culture Mom: A Real Story of Fame and Family in a Tabloid World' and there's a new publishing trend for Granny Memoirs, perhaps Beanie's granny could be prised away from her Sudoko and gently encouraged to write a book. Okay, we're not very glamorous or well-known but we could work round that, surely?

And, okay, there might be less rock 'n' roll here than in the Spears household (well, none at all) but I can see it now: "The Biscuit Memoirs:  A Real Story of  Confectionery and Crime in the Food Aisle at Waitrose."

There might be some shocking revelations: how Granny allows Beanie to play inside the dishwasher, in defiance of parental edicts on the subject. How she's trained Beanie to empty out the contents of every handbag within fifty paces. How the two of them have bonded over their dental problems - while Granny's new false teeth are giving her trouble, Beanie's new (real) incisors are having difficulty coming in. Oh, the possibilities are endless....

Posted 29 October 2007 17:30 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Books Daughter Granny

PostingSharing a Shell

7pm: Before putting Beanie to bed, I read to her about the adventures of Blob, Crab and Brush - "three friends, sharing a shell". She listens with her customary eager, almost rapt attention, while fingering the glittery pictures and pointing at the seagulls wheeling overhead. I close the book and lower Beanie gently into her cot.

"Wwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh."

She allows herself the briefest of pauses.

"Wwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh."

To our dismay, she throws Mr Bear overboard in fury. When she does this, we know we're in real trouble. For where Mr Bear goes, Beanie goes too. Or, at least, in this case, would like to go.

Va-vay and I exchange looks of horror.

"She's not normally like this," I say despairingly, telling him what he already knows.

"What do you suggest we do?" he asks, putting down his briefcase for the first time since he got through the door from work and looking, momentarily, defeated.

"Leave her for a bit? See if she settles?"

"Into what?"

A warning that would have them running for the air-raid shelters in seconds is 'what'. A sonic assault on our ear-drums that would have Health and Safety round in a trice if it happened in the workplace. Try as I might, I feel a familiar mixture of sorrow, love, sympathy - and irritation.

"Better go and change out of my work clothes," says Va-vay, in a tone of forced jollity that alerts me to how tired and strained he really is.

At Beanie HQ the bombs could be dropping any minute. National emergency. Briefly, I wonder what the neighbours must think.

Prepare supper while trying not to listen to daughter-turned-police-siren wailing.

Take it in turns to ask each other: "Is it wrong to leave her to cry like this?"

Abandon plan to 'let her settle'. Impulsively climb into Beanie's cot to help her sleep. She is delighted at this unusual turn of events. But refuses to settle. After her eyes close, admittedly against her will, I attempt to clamber out again, waking her in the process. Drat. Admit temporary defeat and regroup in kitchen, carrying through a triumphant and flushed Beanie in her sleep bag.

Administer milk, calpol and teething gel.

9pm: Grinning with delight, Beanie, propped up between her parents, settles down to watch Spooks. Shield her eyes from scenes of torture, shooting, kidnap and bubonic plague. It doesn't leave much left over. Beanie remains scarily indifferent throughout, except for shooting the odd delighted glance towards me and Va-vay.

"Are you a little scamp?" Va-vay asks her fondly.

10pm: Grumbling but no longer shrieking, even Beanie has to concede the time has come to sleep. With little more than a token protest, for even an 18-month-old has her pride to consider, she puts her thumb in her mouth, clutches Mr Bear to her and curls up on her front for some long-overdue kip.

Midnight: Did I mention sleep? Between now and 2am Va-vay and I try, in no particular order: leaving her magic lantern on for reassurance/rocking/cuddling her/reading to her/sitting by her cot/singing in a way that put me in mind of this.

She falls asleep again. When she wakes later, somewhere in the chaos of the night, we skip all the above steps and bring her into bed with us. She quietens immediately, and seems happy to be sharing with us. Or maybe it's the long night that has finally worn her out. Whatever it is, after a brief, but unedifying struggle between  me and Va-vay over the duvet, we all - finally - drift off to sleep. As I fall into sleep, comfortably aware of the sound of her breathing next to me, I hear Va-vay's deep voice saying from the other side of the bed:

"Three friends, sharing a shell."

Nobody stirs. Peace, at last.

Posted 26 October 2007 01:22 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Angst Books Daughter Domestic chaos Home Husband Sleep

PostingMy husband is NOT a twat

51AwEY1z0kLAA240_Small.jpgAn attractive, hard-bound copy of My Boyfriend is a Twat has just thudded through the letter box. The cover describes it as "a guide to recognising, dealing and living with an utter twat." Hope nobody is trying to tell me and Va-vay something. Might have to hide it before he gets home. Certainly must never allow it in the bathroom, where he does most of his reading, or he'll accuse me of leaving it there as a deliberate insult to him.

1.18pm - UPDATE - Va-vay has just emailed me. "Re: 'My husband is NOT a twat'. I should hope not!!" Oh dear. Am in disgrace.

Posted 25 October 2007 13:02 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Books Husband

PostingVote on your 'Treasured Places'

DP029255.jpgThose 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.

DP029258.jpgVoters 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.

800700.jpgThe 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

PostingFirst year of motherhood tests us all

For most new mothers the year after having their first baby turns out to be the loneliest in their lives, according to a survey from Tesco and Mother and Baby magazine. Cut off from families, friends and work colleagues, almost half of new mums feel 'lonely and isolated'. Nine out of ten miss the social life they enjoyed before the baby arrived and around two-thirds 'feel cut off from normal life'. Only around a quarter lived in the same town as their parents.

The Mail quotes Elena Dalrymple, editor of Mother and Baby, saying: "Leaving work and having a baby is a huge physical and emotional adjustment for women. Friends without babies drift off, grandparents live miles away, neighbours are barely on nodding terms, other mums you bump into at the shops aren't your type and the social life you once knew has ground to a halt."

My experience was quite the opposite: I found myself meeting all sorts of new people when Beanie arrived and have been extremely fortunate in making friends with other mums from our ante-natal class and other groups. It's not over-stating things to say they've been a life-line in some difficult times.

Having a child also meant I got to know some of our neighbours. We used to have a little cafe at the end of our street and before it closed would gather there for coffee and a chat, without having to make any arrangement beforehand. We'd just wander in and chat to whoever was there. Having a child has helped me feel part of a community. It's been great.

On the downside, I've inevitably met people with whom I had little in common except having a child at the same time - but that's hardly surprising. Some of the mums-and-babies events have had their excruciating side.
 
Sample conversation:

  • "Which school are you thinking of for Beanie?" Beanie being two or three months old at the time of questioning. Mind you, I am also guilty of this line of questioning. Schooling is an Edinburgh obsession. Perhaps also elsewhere?

  • "My little Fionulla's been sleeping through the night since she was ten weeks. We have to wake her in the morning." GRRRRRrrrrrrr.....

  • "Surely you feed her 100% organic! Don't you know what goes into pesticides?"
  • "Ranulph's such an active little boy. Girls are so much more passive, aren't they?" On hearing this, a little girl called Arabella (nine months) clouted poor Ranulph (her junior, at six months, and not so very active after all) round the ear. Sins of the parents and all that... 
  • "Was that a shop-bought cake I spotted?"

These days I don't see as much of Ranulph and his doting mum. But many of us mums who had babies around the same time still enjoy meeting up. Perhaps if I hadn't seen this survey published next to a story about how successful, beautiful women can't find boyfriends, (not something I've ever noticed) it wouldn't have made me think of a comment by Julie Burchill that some newspapers can't bear the idea that there might be a woman somewhere in the world who is - terrible thought! - enjoying herself. 

Posted 23 October 2007 13:25 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Childcare Domestic chaos Edinburgh Friends Out and about

PostingIt's all comparative

September07024_Small.JPG I'm working on the first chapter of Fashionably Late. This section of the book is about who makes the grade as an 'older' mum these days. Officially, any woman over thirty five is honoured with the title. But, unofficially, I suspect the goalposts have shifted somewhere north of around forty. The health professionals don't seem to get too worried these days until women are closer to forty five.

How we define ourselves depends not just on the medical definitions, of course, but also on personal circumstance. If a woman's mother and sisters had their babies before they were 28, she might consider herself 'old' to be having a child at only 34. If anybody reading this has been in that kind of situation, I'd love to hear from them and perhaps interview them.

More generally, I'm interested in what readers of this blog define as 'old' - and why - when it comes to having children. As I suggested above, some people base their ideas of 'old' on whether they're doing things later than their friends or family. I didn't think too much about my age (38) when I had Beanie, until I got to the post-natal meet-up and realised I was the oldest person in the room, barring the health visitor running the group. Other people go by the statistics for the national average (29 years old for first-time mums).

How do you define what it means to be an 'older' mum?

Please leave a comment or get in touch with me via email as I'm keen to know your views.

Two signed copies of the book go to every interviewee.

PS: I include this picture to prove that no mother, whatever her age, is ever too old to ride with her child on a flying teapot. Lacking in good sense or proper decorum, perhaps. But that, as they say, is another matter. You might be able to notice poor Beanie cowering in fear under my right arm.

Posted 22 October 2007 15:44 | Number of comments: 15 | Comments

Fashionably Late - the book Older mother Work at Home Mum

PostingSaving face

"It is indeed not easy for any man to write upon literature or common life so as not to make himself known to those with whom he familiarly converses, and who are acquainted with his track of study, his favourite topicks, his peculiar notions, and his habitual phrases." Johnson: Addison (Lives of the Poets)

When I started this site back in March I wanted to be anonymous. I used made-up names for my husband and daughter and told nobody except close family I was writing a blog. The blogosphere (not that I even knew the term then) was unknown. And therefore scary.  A few people had warned about something called 'cyber-stalkers'. Even though I suspected any self-respecting cyber-stalker would have more interesting targets than me, I didn't fancy the thought of one pitching up as Beanie drank her babycinos.

200pxSamuelJohnsonbyJoshuaReynolds_Small.jpgIn the months since March, I've started to make friends with some of the lovely people I've met through the blog. The blogosphere's no longer such a frightening place. I'm so much more confident about blogging, I've even put my photo up on the site and now use my real name when replying to comments. My entire family and a wide circle of friends know about the blog. Anyway, if Dr Johnson (pictured) is right in what he says, these things get known about regardless of whether a writer wishes to remain anonymous. Or not.

But as anonymity's fallen by the wayside, I'm finding it harder to write about some of the things that the blog has helped me with in the past - notably, miscarriage and pregnancy - and am beginning to self-censor. Petite Anglaise has an interesting posting on the same subject in which she writes about having less room for manoeuvre now her identity's widely known.

I'd love to write more about my attempts to get pregnant again following my miscarriage in May. Suffice to say, 'being on stand-by' has taken on a whole new meaning for Va-vay, while an element of spontaneity has gone from proceedings. You have to laugh. Or at least exchange wry glances. Procreation - as opposed to recreation. It can be business-like. Ovulation test sticks have featured in my dreams.

I should say at this point that I have never been especially secretive. And after I had Beanie I lost most of my few remaining inhibitions and started discussing with near-strangers issues like stress incontinence, depth of vaginal tears, their impact on 'marital relations', and periods. Childbirth seems to have that effect on women. Or maybe it's looking after a newborn. It's liberating.

But I still feel a residual embarrassment at sharing on the web what are, after all, fairly personal and intimate details of my life. Sometimes I think I'm writing here only for my blog friends. But as I see visitor numbers creep up, I think, "Jeepers! I could be sharing details of my menstrual cycle with anybody who stumbles on this site!"

And I come over all reserved and uptight. I don't know the answer on this one. When I had the miscarriage in May, it was cathartic to write about it here on the site and wonderful to get support from other women. Somehow I was able to share about what had happened in a way I couldn't in 'real' life, except with a couple of people. It's easier to write about these things, than talk about them, because it feels slightly unreal.

But as the site attracts a bigger readership, and I focus more on my book, I'm starting to feel inhibited. It's not that there's anything particularly saucy or scandalous in what I want to write, but I'd like to write more about this time of wondering if I can have another baby. The worst bit is the uncertainty and not knowing.

Then I think how unfair it would be on Va-vay to write about that. Or what it might be like to go to a dinner party where a new acquaintance is already only too well acquainted with my intimate gynaecological detail, thanks to reading this blog. Hmmm. Tricky one.

Posted 22 October 2007 13:12 | Number of comments: 18 | Comments

Blogging Dilemmas Miscarriage Pregnancy Fashionably Late - the book

PostingSharp exit

Sorry not to have posted in a couple of days, but I've been unwell. It came on in the second half of The Winter's Tale, just as everything in the play was looking so promising. Florizel and Perdita were off to Sicily to escape his disapproving dad, all the unpleasantness in the first half (Leontes, pictured below with Paulina, going mad and accusing poor Hermione of adultery) was in the past and things had taken a turn for the better. We even had good seats, despite finding our £13 tickets for an upper-circle box meant we could see about a quarter of the stage. An usher, summoned by Va-vay, agreed there was no view from our box worth seeing and showed us to the front of the dress circle.

winterstale372_Small.jpgAll was well, until I couldn't help noticing, really noticing the smell of a glass of red wine belonging to the woman next to me. The vapour wafted out of the plastic cup like there was super-strength alcohol in there, making my stomach churn. Someone else's perfume smelt stronger than usual. The theatre was too hot, my head started to spin and I whispered to Va-vay that I wasn't well. We beat a retreat, without seeing the 'statue' of Hermione come to life in the final scene.

The evening finished with me being sick in the car park - spattering my new suede boots purchased in France in the process - while Va-vay paid for our parking ticket. I did get hopeful this sickness might mean I was pregnant, until Va-vay reminded me it was probably the same bug Beanie had earlier in the week. Still, at least we stuck around long enough to see Shakespeare's most famous stage direction: ''Exit, pursued by a bear". Without wanting to snigger. As exits go, not so much less dignified than our own. 

Posted 21 October 2007 20:42 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Blogging Edinburgh Husband Out and about

PostingAll booked up

Midlifer has tagged me in a book meme. Here goes:

Number of books I own: Too many. Despite carting bag-loads to our local charity shop, (we've made up a new verb for this: 'to Bethanise') they reproduce when I'm not looking. Strangely, these days it's often the non-fiction books I keep, while bagging up the novels. I have a bit of a love/hate relationships with books: having grown up in a house full of books I feel uncomfortable without lots of them around, but then I start resenting the space they take up and craving minimalism. Fat chance of that. Our bookshelves are also home to myriad computer books, books with groovy titles like 'XML Primer Plus', 'Developing Windows-Based Applications', 'Red Hat Linux' and 'Designing with Web Standards'. I suspect one of the scary disemvowellers has been at them.

51iyq9fnNYLAA240_Small.jpgLast book I read: Gents, by Warwick Collins (Friday Project) A subtle, almost poetic book whose lyrical tone belies its setting in a large public toilet in London. It tells the story of Ezekial Murphy, a West Indian immigrant, who after a long period of unemployment finds a job as a lavatory attendant. When the local council orders Ez and his co-workers to stop gay men - 'de reptiles' - from using the place for illicit 'cottaging', they do as they are told. But when takings fall, the three men find their jobs on the line, forcing a radical re-think. Sympathetic characters explore issues of sexuality, race and tolerance in a book that's by turns tough and tender. Sensory writing makes Gents attractively evocative of place and people. I didn't expect to be uplifted by a book set in a men's loo, but found Gents both refreshing and readable.

Last book bought:Shadow of the Silk Road, by Colin Thubron (Chatto & Windus) Bought signed copy after hearing Thubron speak at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. 'Hell, I could take Beanie across central Asia in a papoose,' I thought at the time. 'This guy makes it sound so easy.' Yeah, right. But this book encourages me to dream.

Five meaningful books:The New Contented Little Baby Book, by Gina Ford, the book that brought me back from the brink. Cold Comfort Farm, by Stella Gibbons, I'm giggling now even thinking about Flora's battles to reform her relatives, the Starkadders. The History Boys, Alan Bennett - reminds me of a particular time in my own life. The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James - love, deception, betrayal - and Clear Waters Rising, A Mountain Walk Across Europe, Nicholas Crane - for the initial chapters set on the Franco-Spanish border, where I worked for a while as a teenager and later met my husband.

I'd like to tag Omega Mum and Beta Mum.

I've had a couple of awards recently. Thanks to Midlifer for 'Blogging Star', and to Omega Mum for 'You Make Me Smile'.

smile_Small.jpgI'd like to pass 'You Make Me Smile' on to (in no particular order) Beta Mum for her hilarious postings on family life and Iota for her funny and perceptive way of looking at life.

blogstar.jpgThe Blogging Star award goes to 21st Century Mummy, Guineapig Mum and Erica of Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers. 

Posted 18 October 2007 12:24 | Number of comments: 9 | Comments

Awards Books Blogging

PostingDog days

On holiday it seemed that Beanie greeted every slavering cur, half-rabid wolf and barking hound like long-lost friends, crying out 'dug' to them, oblivious to my maternal fears. 'Dug' is a recent addition to her vocabulary, a popular one, but Avignon pavements are narrow; its dogs can be unpredictable.

Imagine, then, her delight when, on a train journey home one day, we happened on a tiny 'dug' nestling in a woman's handbag. Combining as it did two of her greatest loves - 'dugs' and handbags - Beanie could not have been more entranced.

"Dug! Dug! Dug!" she pointed, desperate to ensure that I, too, had noticed this two-for-one miracle, this holy grail of travel accessories, the benchmark by which all other bags will now be judged. "Dug! Dug! Dug!"

"Yes, Beanie. Dog," I told her, a trifle pedantically, it must be confessed, but loving her innocent enthusiasm.

"Can she touch the dog?" I asked its owner in French.

"Ah, no, he has sharp teeth. Likes to bite." The woman made biting gestures.

"Beanie," I whispered to her "The little dog might bite. We'll just look at him for now."

She listened to what I said, clambered back up on my lap and watched the puppy from afar, interjecting every so often: 'dug!' - and then again - 'dug!' until both she and the dog fell asleep.

Posted 16 October 2007 12:06 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Daughter Holidays Likes/Dislikes Out and about

PostingChildren's bookshop opens in Edinburgh

shop_Small.jpgLike all right-thinking people, Va-vay and I love bookshops; maybe it's the thrill of knowing something I find there might change my life, the studious atmosphere, the smell of paper and ink, neat rows and shelves of books. We even went to one (Borders at 120 Charing Cross Road) on a first date together. So we're delighted that Vanessa from Fidra Books is opening a shop specialising in children's books here in Edinburgh, at 219 Brunstfield Place. The shop opens on Saturday 10 November and we can't wait to spend Saturdays there browsing and buying books.

Despite being a City of Literature and home to the annual International Book Festival, Edinburgh suffers from an acute shortage of bookshops, unless you count the many charity shops in Stockbridge that sell second-hand books. Last year's closure of the much-loved Ottakers' store in George Street has left a gap in the lives of book-lovers. So news that Vanessa is opening up her store couldn't be more welcome.

While we were in France we enjoyed visting a children's bookshop in Avignon, where I ended up spending far more money than I really intended on several books, including one about a little girl called Mouflette Papillon and one of the popular Babarpapa titles. Now I'm even more excited about the Fidra bookshop opening.

Fidra Books is an independent Edinburgh-based publisher that specialises in reprinting neglected children's classics by authors including Josephine Pullein-Thompson, Elinor Lyon, KM Peyton and Victoria Walker. Vanessa, a fellow Edinburgh blogger, will also be running her publishing business from the new shop, a bit like Persephone Press does in London.

Vanessa's promised that when Fashionably Late, the book I'm writing about becoming a mum later in life, comes out, she'll have me round to her shop to do a reading for new mums and mums-to-be. I'm still at the stage of roughing out my chapter headings, but that's an incentive to keep me on track if ever I heard one.

Long before that, I'm looking forwards to the shop's launch on 10 November, when the doors open for business and Vanessa will be giving away lots of Maisie Mouse gifts to the first customers over the threshold. There will also be the chance for children to meet some of their favourite characters from books in real life.

Oh, and that's Christmas sorted then.

Posted 12 October 2007 14:28 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Blogging Books Edinburgh Festival Fun Out and about

PostingUnruly regulations

safe_Small.jpgHere'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: 12 | Comments

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PostingEdinburgh Mum

One of the lovely things about my holiday was coming home and reading the nice comments so many of you left on the site. Thanks to all who commented while I was away. It made for a great welcome home. Another holiday treat was the chance to catch up on some reading, since I went cold turkey on blogging while we were away and left the laptop at home. One of the books I enjoyed best was Alexander McCall Smith's new book The Careful Use of Compliments, the latest in the Sunday Philosophy Club series. Chosen not (just) because it's set in my native Edinburgh, but for the back-cover promise of material on the challenges of late motherhood.

TheCarefulUseOfCompliments.jpgIt was a surprise to find out that Isabel Dalhousie, the book's wealthy philosopher heroine, has just become a new mum. McCall Smith has always been coy on her exact age, but in previous books in the series, I imagined her to be in her 50s. Past child-bearing age, anyway. I mean, for goodness' sake! She drives a Volvo. A green Volvo. She has a housekeeper, (who does most of the child-rearing). She disapproves of her niece Cat's boyfriends and hassles her to dump them. It sounded like she belonged to a different generation to mine, and, well, I fear I'm at the outer limits of childbearing myself. So I jumped to the wrong conclusion.

At the beginning of Careful Use, McCall Smith drops a bombshell. We discover that Isabel remains disapproving of Cat's choice in men. But she has pinched one of the most attractive of the suitors, Jamie, a man 14 years her junior, for herself. And had a baby with him. A baby that arrives "under the bright lights of the Royal Infirmary." The same place where I had Beanie. Crikey!

Now, let me stress here that I am a huge fan of McCall Smith. In fact I pretty much idolise him. My good friend Iota has even suggested I could be a character in one of his books. But even so, I couldn't help feeling irritated about the (fictional) boyfriend-pinching. Part of the point about Isabel is that she's supposed to agonise with herself about right and wrong. Yet  this is about the one area in her life where she doesn't bother with questioning or guilt about her behaviour. It doesn't even seem to occur to her that it might be wrong to get together with a relative's ex-partner.

Isabel's brush with motherhood comes off badly in the book, too. She gets huffy that the local mums and babies group doesn't welcome her with open arms and blames this on her decision to bottle-feed baby Charlie, after finding breast-feeding 'uncomfortable'.

McCall Smith explains: "She had been a member - briefly - of a mother and baby group in Bruntsfield and she had been given looks of disapproval by one or two of the mothers when she had revealed she was not feeding Charlie herself. Those women knew, she thought; they knew that there could be some very good reaons for it, but they could not help their zeal. And she had felt guilty, although she knew it was irrational to feel guilt for something that one could not help."

This must be testimony to McCall Smith's skills as a writer that I responded to this passage with such annoyance, as if this were real-life. I can't agree that people in mums-and-babies groups would treat Isabel like that because she wasn't breastfeeding. They might have raised an eyebrow after hearing about her copping off with a younger relative's partner. They might have wondered why the housekeeper looked after the baby, rather than Isabel.

They might also have been a bit strange towards her due to sleep deprivation since, unlike Isabel, they didn't have a housekeeper to look after their babies. And they might also have wondered about Isabel's decision to spend her baby's early months investigating fraud in the Edinburgh art world, instead of caring for the little boy. But objecting to her bottle-feeding?

Still, I agreed with McCall Smith on the subject of maternal modes of transport. "The mothers in the expensive four-wheel-drive vehicles were the worst, [Jamie] had decided. Why did they need these fuel-hungry contraptions in their urban lives? To barge their way past other, smaller cars, or to make a statement about who they were and what they had?" Judged against that, Isabel's Volvo doesn't look so bad after all.

Posted 08 October 2007 21:59 | Number of comments: 21 | Comments

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