A letter to Morrisons - releasing my inner snob

Dear Morrisons,

I am very concerned about the outcome of the recent refurbishment of your Whitley store in Reading. I appreciate that it takes a while for a consumer to learn how to navigate a new store layout but I had particular difficultly today. Every isle had been reorganised making it incredibly hard to locate salt and sugar laden children's snacks. While desperately searching for a week's worth of “ready meals” I staggered upon a sight to behold: a verdant array of foliage complete with a metallic sculpture releasing dry ice. Was it a Halloween promotion? The set from Gorillas in The Mist? I was waiting for Sigorny Weaver to pop out with a silverback when suddenly it dawned on me – this is the new salad section. The fancy metal contraption surrounding the mini rainforest was not pumping out solid carbod dioxide, as I had first assumed, but WATER VAPOUR to keep the produce fresh. The biodiversity was quite bewildering. It contained fresh herbs, salad leaves and dark leafy green vegetables (with magnesium, iron, vitamins and antioxidants) that could be used for preparing a healthy meal. With all due respect I believe you have misunderstood your clientèle. I doubt that the residents of South Reading require raw ingredients with which to cook and it tests my credence to think that they would know what to do with samphire (yes, samphire!). If I had wanted a stripy spherical aubergine I would have chosen to shop at Waitrose in Caversham.

Yours disappointedly,

Gemma

PS I was, however, impressed with the Wines, Beers and Spirits section which now seems to take up the majority of the store and is filled with a wide enough selection of alcopops to keep the local school kids happy. And I eagerly await a Christmas Buy One Get Two Free promotion for Tanqueray.

Are You A Nutter? My musings for Mental Health Awareness Week...

There is no doubting that at its worst psychiatric illness is distressing, debilitating and mentally, emotionally and physically disabling. It can even be life threatening. I will never forget a radio interview with a father of small children whose wife suffered from such severe postnatal depression that one morning she walked onto the motor way in her dressing gown.

The Downs of Depression

I have a hunch that some people are just more prone to mental illness than others – it is the way our brains are wired. We can probably put it down to our neurophysiology or lack or serotonin or something. Some people are more likely than others to find themselves on the event horizon of a giant black hole of despair. And it can be a dark and lonely place. It's not always that great for the people around them either.

Many people are functioning depressives. They get up every morning and usher the kids to school. They may have a quick cry in the shower (this hides the tears and the red face) but they then “pull themselves together” and get on with it. They have successful jobs, they form strong and loving relationships. Hey, they are even good fun at parties. They are not the Marvin the Paranoid Android stereotype. Yes, sometimes they are paranoid, “over sensitive”, insecure, sad and vulnerable but they are so good at hiding any evidence of mental illness that you are shocked and surprised when they “come out”. You probably sit next to one at work. Or maybe they are your boss, your kid's teacher or your son in law.

Why we need nutters

But what is brilliant and inspiring about these people is that they are great to have around. They truly enhance your life. My friends and acquaintances include depressives, obsessive compulsives, self harmers, people with anxiety issues, phobias and eating disorders and biopolar bears (sorry, I couldn’t help that one!). I am not in any way trying to belittle them or underestimate the severity of the challenges they face. Quite the opposite: it takes strength and courage to find yourself at the bottom of a psychological slurry pit and to single handedly drag yourself out. If you have felt pain and anguish you are more likely to recognise it in others. The nutters are often the sensitive, emotionally switched on ones who ooze empathy for others. They are often kind and extremely compassionate. They give good hugs. Being a nutter can make you a better friend, lover and parent.

Are you a nutter? I am, proudly

Mullered Mums - the real reason why Mummy's on the Wine

Dear Jenny,

Your blog post “Mummies (and Daddies) who drink” touched a bit of an raw (intoxicated?) nerve because I am one of those boozy mummies you are aiming it at:

http://hitchyourwagon.wordpress.com/2012/07/24/mommies-and-daddies-who-drink/

I liked it. I think I agree and disagree in equal measure (make mine a double...). So here is my considered response to it, as promised.

Is booziness part of our cultural heritage or a worrying upward trend?

Us Brits pride ourselves (rightly or wrongly) as a nation of beeraholics. But is our very high alcohol consumption not a relatively modern phenomenon? My parents love to drink, but when I was a kid it was reserved for Friday nights and celebrations simply because they couldn’t afford to over imbibe. The government is increasingly worried about the societal effects of binge drinking and the health consequences of the affluent middle class's love of Malbec. Is this interference of the Nanny State or should we all sit back and take stock a little? When I was a barmaid in the late 1990s a large glass of wine was 175ml and a small was 125ml. Fifteen years later it is 250ml and 175ml respectively. A single shot has risen from 25ml to 35ml and the average pint of bitter is 4.5-5% compared to the 3.2% kinds I used to serve. Despite inflation it is still possible to buy a bottle of wine for £4.50, the same price we paid for the bottles we sneaked into formal dinners at Uni in 1996. So it is easy for just a couple of drinks to tip you into the “binge” category. The quaffing habits once reserved for the upper class connoisseurs of Claret are available to us all. The average mum's shopping list now contains milk, bread and Merlot. Compared to our grandparents we have higher disposable incomes, more restaurant meals, post work socials and girly nights out. We drink because we can.

But as your blog pointed out there is a far darker side to our drinking culture. We live in a society of double standards: we are correctly appalled by the alleged abuse of young girls at the hands of a TV star (you know who I mean) yet young women are objectified on Page 3. Within just a few years of the smoking ban nicotine addicts have become pariahs yet the effects of alcohol consumption cost the NHS dearly – just ask an A and E nurse or a liver specialist. It would be a serious disciplinary offence/dismissal to turn up to work coked up (unless you work for the London Stock Exchange) or to shoot up in the loos at the office. Yet functional alcoholics are ubiquitous. We all know one. I have never worked anywhere where there wasn't one.

My confessions...

But alcohol is our national drug of choice. And bloody gorgeous it is too. I love a good bottle of red wine or strong G and T on a hot day and I have a particular penchant for Real Ale (the Northern kind with a decent head). I am not over weight, I am active, I eat above my quota of fruit and veg, I never cook with salt, I don't smoke, do drugs or practice extreme sports. But I do drink too much. I often consume above my measly 14 units week. My gorgeous book club friends (or as it has now been renamed: Wine Club) have to witness the verbal carnage that is me after a bottle of wine. I am outspoken at the best of times but my ethanol induced loquaciousness (OK, ranting) sometimes gets me into trouble. But I have never put my kids in harm's way because of alcohol, I do not drink and drive and they do not witness me "drunk" - I would like to think I have grown out that anyway. But I do think that I was a danger to myself and others when in charge of a car in the fugg of severe sleep deprivation and post natal depression that was associated with the first months of their lives.

Lighten up?

I do think that, even as a self confessed Anglophile, maybe you need to develop a better understanding of our British sense of humour and take the ramblings and twitterings of some of us mums with a bucket full of salt (and maybe a stiff gin). Tweeting “I.NEED.A.GIN.ALREADY.” at 9am, as I did this morning, does not actually mean I would ever drink at this time (not least because midday hangovers are killers. Joke!). And if you follow tweeters with profiles that include #gin then what do you expect?! I really doubt that many mums are doing the school run half cut.

The real reason Mummy is On the Wine

Maybe the “pass me the bottle” or “is it Wine O' Clock yet?” type posts are just amusing. Or maybe they reflect some deeper issues. The parents posting them are often well educated, successful, well traveled, well read and affluent. But are we products of our own success? Yes, we have it easy compared to our grandparents and our choices and opportunities are vast compared to theirs. We spent our carefree twenties traveling, skiing, crossing the Zambezi on an elephant, being perpetual students etc, etc. We then hit our 30s and traded in mini trips to Rome for stressful jobs, crippling mortgage payments, juggling childcare with work, ill parents, relationship breakdowns and the relentlessness, sleep deprivation and exhaustion that is family life. We are extremely lucky to live in our modern era but it does also provide some new and different challenges. So don't mind us if we occasionally lose ourselves in the oblivion found at the bottom of a Hendrick's bottle.

In addition to this, motherhood seems to be fetishised – we are lead to believe that it will be the most fulfilling, rewarding and amazing thing we will ever do. Which it is. On Saturdays. For all the other days of the week we are bored, tired, stressed, pissed off and frustrated at having relinquished our careers, financial independence, sanity and status in society for a couple of ectoparasites that will shove us in a care home as soon as we stop being useful to them. So sodding hell, pass me that bloody bottle of Bordeaux.

By admitting to “needing a glass of wine” to strangers on a social networking site maybe what we are actually saying is “I am having a tough time, I feel isolated, I feel judged, I would really like my partner to acknowledge that rearing kids is the toughest thing I will ever do and actually I would quite like some performance management...and some targets... and a reward for meeting them. Oh f*ck it just get me a drink”.

Hope some of this makes sense,

Love Gems xx

PS If you ever want to buy me a pint sometime...

Toddler Science

Toddler Science

It seems that try as I may I can not escape the fact that I was once, in a former life (the one of lie ins and perusing the Sunday papers), a science teacher. My poor three year old twins already know the difference between breathing and respiration and I once caught them arguing over whether a picture of a nondescript amphibian was a salamander or a newt. The teaching I do now is altogether different- really just a form of damage limitation/ prevention of death. But science is truly all around us. Hang out in my house with a couple of toddlers and you will learn a lot*. Michael Gove eat your heart out.**

*If I could be bothered it would be amusing to cross reference this to QCA standards but quite frankly I can't be arsed, especially as OFSTED doesn't visit Stay at Home Mums. Thank f*ck.

**If anyone can come up with some rhyming slang for Michael Gove that are as superbly appropriate as the obvious that springs into mind for Jeremy Hunt then please let me know. Better still send it to David Cameron as he now has a Twitter account (and a public relations officer than needs retraining).

Biology

Paleaontology: this should be on the National Curriculum as dinosaurs are an obsession of any child under 10. It also adequately explains the “baby brain” phenomenon – if you can accurately identify 200 species of long extinct animals and easily distinguish between a Styracosaurus and an Avimimus then there is little thought space left for any thing else (other than picking socks off the floor).

Physiology: it is possible to sneeze twice but the third time is to be avoided whenever possible. Pelvic floor? On a good day mine is more of a mezzanine.

Drugs education: Dear Children - Stimulants (specifically caffeine) must be administered to Mummy in the morning before she will acknowledge your existence or respond in any meaningful way. Dear Long Suffering Husband – Ethanol (preferably in gin/real ale/Rioja) must be administered to Wonderful Wife by 7.02pm before she will acknowledge your existence or respond in any meaningful way. Note Bene “respond” does not mean “have sex with”. That would require a vasectomy (and for you to pick your socks off the floor and put them INTO THE WASHING BASKET).

Physics

Pendular motion (no, not my boobs without a bra): Honey, if you stand in front of the swing it will smack you in the head.

First law of thermodynamics: energy can be neither created nor destroyed it is simply transferred directly from parent to toddler.

Second Law of thermodynamics: you know, that stuff to do with entropy that I never quite understood. Well I do now, as does Long Suffering Husband when he returns home at 6.30pm to two toddlers rampaging around the bomb site formally known as Our Home. From order to increasing disorder...

Newton's Third Law of Motion: action and reaction are equal and opposite. Action = Irritant #1. Reaction = Irritant #2. Apply for situations involving pushing, hitting, biting, throwing, “sharing” and “taking tuns”.

Chemistry

Oxidation: No Son, you can't play with your tape measure in the bath it will go rusty (this is not a euphemism for any other type of “playing” that may continue throughout life).

Structure and Bonding: forget the covalent and ionic type, the strongest bond in the universe is that formed between Weetabix and any surface e.g. ceilings, walls, floors, skin, hair (especially hair). There is a directly proportional correlation between the strength of the bond and the speed with which Weetabix hit said surface.

Twin Truths Part Two

I have to confess, for good or bad, that my life in the past few years has pretty much been defined by being a twin mum. It is the most profound, challenging, knackering and rewarding thing that I will ever do. And it gives me something to moan about, which is always useful.

The Ups

If you have had twins you can pretty much do anything. The skills it teaches (as with all parenting, but with an added bit of chaos thrown in) are vast. You have never truly multi-tasked unless you have counseled a friend through a relationship break up via speaker phone, simultaneously changing two nappies and paying your credit card bill or expressed milk through a industrial sized double breast pump while calming two screaming babies with your feet. But by far the greatest thing about being a parent of multiples is the smug superiority you feel over The Others. When parents of twins get together we do tend to bemoan parents of singletons. You see it is the only way we can get through the long days and even longer nights.

The downs

Now don't get me wrong, I do honestly believe that child rearing (regardless of the number of children you have) is incredibly difficult and us parents are frequently too harsh on ourselves (and too judgmental of others). But I am sure that many twin parents will agree that it is not unusual to experience the bizarre opinion that having two babies at the same time is only a little bit harder than having one. My scrumptiously yummy mummy friend Lady J of The Mount (ooh, I like that - sounds like she should have a side line in erotic fiction) provides a succinct response: when you have bathed, dressed, fed and cuddled your ONE baby to sleep take off its romper suit and do it all over again. Actually she would never cuddle a baby to sleep - that is a luxury for parents of singletons. 

Is it twice as hard to have twins? Decide for yourself:

The risks: Compared to parents of singletons you are significantly more likely to suffer from a plethora of medical complications, including pre-eclampsia, obstetric cholestasis, gestational diabetes and postpartum haemorrhage. More than half of twins are born prematurely (and around 10% before 32 weeks) and in approximately 50% of twin births at least one baby will spend time in a special care baby unit. Statistically, the parents of twins are also more likely to suffer from post natal depression, financial difficulties and relationship break downs.

Pregnancy: You soon begin to resemble a barrage balloon; a one woman, two foetus, waddling freak show. Here is a conversation about me when I was 6 months pregnant and walking up the stairs (a miracle in itself):

Colleague #1 “Wow, you don't even look pregnant from behind”

Colleague #2 “But you do from space”

Birth: I concede that the BOGOF deal may sound ideal, but contemplate a twin birth a little longer. while most women endure agonising pain and are handed a baby as a reward we have to endure agonising pain, a baby who is whisked off to NICU and then attempt to push out another child who, after months of being squashed, has decided to go for an upside down swim. Trust me, there are places you do not want obstetricians' arms to reach. They may as well have gone up there with a head torch and a rope. I once met a poor woman who delivered one baby vaginally and two hours later had c section for the second. Isn't this the mediaeval definition of being drawn and quartered? They probably had to suture her legs back on.

Night feeds: our early record of feeds is chilling. Each baby took one hour to change, feed and wind. Each needed to feed every two hours. Do the maths.

Breast feeding: Damn and curse those women who sit in coffee shops drinking a skinny lattes and reading novels with their surreptitiously placed infant suckling sweetly under a fashionably draped pashmina. To breast feed twins you need to be sat on a 4 seater sofa, stripped to the waist and surrounded by so many cushions that a queue forms outside thinking a new Ikea has opened.

Crying: twice as much and twice as loud. “Do they wake each other up” Are you stupid?

Weaning: twice as much pureed pumpkin smeared onto twice as many skin surfaces and into twice as many orifices that, significantly, are not buccal cavities. Twice as much washing.

crawling and walking: tag teams marauding in opposite directions, a multitude of opportunities to strangle themselves on their sibling's reins and a double buggy so heavy that you are invited to join the Olympic power lifting team. Trips to the park require 20 pages of risk assessment and the twin parent needs valium/gin/rioja after having to smile sweetly at the mum with her 1 year old and (sleeping) baby who claims "it's just like having twins". 

Toilet training: twice as much sh*t. Twice as much washing.

Illness: having to decide which of your sick kids is the sickest, as exemplified by one of my many norovirus experiences in which I prioritised explosive green diarrhoea over projectile lumpy vomit. It was the death knell for the carpet.

Bathtime: a daily opportunity for drowning.

Parenting blunders and unconditional love: you never have the opportunity to learn from your mistakes, you just make them in duplicate safe in the knowledge that your twins will always love each other more than they love you.

Parents of twins: twice as brilliant? You bet we are. 

 

Post Script: I don't want to say this too loudly but, if I am totally honest, being a parent of twins is the most amazing privilege :)