Chasing the ducky boat

Posted on November 19, 2012 by katese11

 

So, I took a week off blogging as part of my social media holiday. I was considering a “wot I did on my holidays” post but it really was too dull for words. The short version is that Roo contracted a virus which made his tummy a little….err…unpredictable and kept him at home most of the week. I won’t dwell on it. We’re still home. But at least I have the internet back.

We did manage to get out for one afternoon, to do something we’ve been meaning to do for ages. This will require some preparation on the parents’ part – if you do it just off the cuff, it might be a bit rubbish. This activity is called “chasing the ducky boat”.

(No, that’s just a duck)

You know the ducky boat. Some people call it “London Duck Tours” but they don’t spend all day in conversation with a 3-year-old. It’s a ducky boat. But get this – it’s also a ducky car. We often see it out and about in Central London and if we’re lucky we’ll get stuck next to one in a traffic jam, so that Roo can wave manically at the passengers. Sometimes they wave back. So, try telling Reuben that the ducky boat and ducky car are the same thing? He just won’t believe you. It seems like crazy talk. To be fair, I never believed it until I saw it for myself. So, that’s the preparation you need to do – get the preschooler obsessed with spotting the ducky boat on both the river and the road and then tell him these wild stories about cars that can drive on water.

The ducky boat/car is more properly known as a ducky amphibious vehicle. You remember the episode of Top Gear where they try and cross the Channel in cars? Well, just like that. But a bit less rubbish. And a lot less Richard Hammond, though I see here that David Tennant has been in the vicinity of one, which is even more exciting. Anyhoo, it’s a car that goes in the water. And I was determined to prove it to Roo.

We wandered off down the South Bank towards sunny Vauxhall and took the Thames Path just by the Tower Of Ultimate Evil (so called because both Jeffrey Archer and Peter Stringfellow live there). If you follow the path round, you end up next to a slipway between “Charity Towers” and “That big sinister building with lots of CCTV cameras that featured heavily in the recent James Bond film”. That is the ideal vantage point for watching the ducky boat splash in. Five minutes past the hour is about the right time too. We only had enough time for Roo to get minorly restless before we spotted it coming over Vauxhall Bridge. And then it turned into the slipway. Do you want the action shots? OK, as you asked so nicely.

READY:

STEADY:

SPLISH!

Well, that was exciting! How to top that? A trip to Tesco Metro at Vauxhall station didn’t quite do it, so we walked back through Spring Gardens and looked at the pretty autumn leaves:

And then to Peddlar’s Park, where we found more autumn leaves and a squirrel. Can you see it?

It’s a bit like the squirrel version of “Where’s Wally?” isn’t it? Well, Roo was fascinated by it and chased it around the park before it escaped up a tree. He decided it was off to bed, so stood at the base of the tree and serenaded it with his very own “squirrel lullaby”. It went something like this: “Go to sleep squirrel, go to sleep squirrel”.

I know. He’s a genius. Just like his Mama.

And that was it for excitement for the day. I’ll leave you with a picture of Eva cause, yknow, she’s cute and she’d never been on a swing before. Awwww…

Posted in Just wandering.... | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

A Social Media Holiday

Posted on November 11, 2012 by katese11

No, not a fun, facebook-themed trip away, but rather a break from all social media. For a week. Reckon I can do it? Nah, me neither….but see you on the other side!

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

An Evening in A&E

Posted on November 11, 2012 by katese11

In my last post, I promised to tell you about what we did on our Friday night. We had a rocking family trip out. To A&E! I told you it was fun!

So, Reuben fell off something at nursery. He says a plank, but no-one really knows. He split his lip. That was all fine. Later, he said that he was feeling dizzy and sick and he couldn’t lift his arms. That was all not OK. We phoned NHS Direct and on their advice went to A&E at St Thomas’.

And so began the waiting. The system wasn’t immediately obvious to start with, but once we found the ticket machine behind a wall, we took a ticket. And waited. It was like Argos in Hell. I’ve been to Argos in Peckham on Christmas Eve, so I know what the Hell branch would look like. A lot like a Central London A&E on a Friday night.

We had ticket 250. The 2 desks behind us were displaying numbers 248 and 249 but there was no-one behind either desk. Someone came back. Hooray! They saw someone else. Boo! What number ticket could these people have that could possibly be between 249 and 250? Were there fractions?

Eventually, we were seen. It had been half an hour and Reuben had been jumping about, failing to look ill in the slightest. As soon as we were sitting down though, he pulled it out of the bag “I feel so dizzy. I feel sick”. All the time I was trying to talk to the nice lady. But at least we were registering. What? You thought we saw a doctor after half an hour? Noooo…this was just to say we were here and to gain access to the paeds section.

Once we were through the doors, things got a little better. There were toys! And a playhouse! But there were also other children and Reuben was not in a sharing mood. Luckily for him, some of them were actually ill and didn’t bother fighting back when he snatched toys. Don’t worry, he still got into trouble for snatching, head injury or no head injury.

By now, it was 9ish and Roo and all the other children were up past their bedtimes. Ever tried running an evening creche? Don’t bother – they were all on a knife-edge, permanantly close to meltdown. It was surreal. There was a small girl being sick, another with a bloodied ear and of course a schoolboy who’d broken his arm on a trampoline. There’s always one.

Then, we were seen again! By a very lovely nurse this time, who took Roo’s temperature and tried to get some sense out of him as to what had happened. “Is he delirious?” “No, he’s always like this”. She had pictures in her cubicle, and a pot of bubbles which Nathan blew for Roo to catch while Eva shrieked in delight. Once again, Reuben was not acting as ill as he could have been. Then it was back to the waiting room to wait for the doctor.

9:45PM, or bedtime+2.5hrs. Roo munching chocolate after severely flagging, Eva feeding after a big wibble, still waiting…..

At 10ish, Reuben had a major meltdown. Nathan took Eva, and Roo curled up in my lap sobbing “I want to go home. I want my bed”. I think it’s fair to say we were all feeling the same by that point. We’d spent a long time in a small, full waiting room and Roo badly needed some time out. So I suggested we go into the playhouse together,  which we did. Roo made us some imaginary beans on toast, and we watching Finding Nemo on the imaginary TV.

And just like that, he had his second wind! Well, more like a fourth or fifth wind by this point. He started charging around the waiting room, gathering the toys up into the playhouse and putting out pretend fires with his fire engine. Eva hadn’t slept all evening, so I paced up and down past the cubicles with her in the sling, trying to get her to sleep. No luck. Roo joined us, and hopped on the leaves on the floor until….we were called!

The doctor looked Roo over, which he loved cause it was just like Dr Ranj on CBeebies. He wriggled and roared like a lion when asked to, hopped on and off the bed and generally behaved like a child that had no need of an A&E department. After three hours in aforementioned department. Unsurprisingly, the doctor said he was fine but that we’d been right to bring him, Phew! I’ve been brought up to respect doctors and so have a fear of Wasting Doctors’ Time, but she agreed that a 3-year-old with a head injury and dizziness needed checking. Then she prescribed a litre tub of ice-cream for me and Nathan, with sides of crisps and beer. Or maybe we prescribed those ourselves…..

So, a fun place to spend an evening. There are lots of things around the place to try and keep children entertained, but three hours with two small children in a small room is always gonna be a tough one. Thanks to the doctors and nurses who saw us – you were all lovely. We’ll see you next time he falls off something…

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A post-baby social life

Posted on November 10, 2012 by katese11

It’s Saturday Night. I’m blogging this from a groovy Soho bar, where I’m sipping cocktails so trendy that no-one has ever heard of them, and later I may shoot some tequila off David Tennant’s chest.

I took that too far, didn’t I? You got me. I’m at home, watching Alex James and Phil Daniels face off against the Cheeky Girls on “Pointless Celebrities”. Thrilling stuff. But that’s OK, because we have already been out partying today. A real party with champagne, posh cake and fireworks. It just so happens that it was a 3-year-old’s birthday party but that’s besides the point. It was Konditor & Cook cake! The point is that we have a baby and a preschooler and we’ve been to a party today. And you don’t yet know what I did on my Friday night, but it’s a blog post in the making and trust me, it was rocking.  This, my friends, is a post-baby social life.

I don’t want to sound like I’m showing off. But I’m a passionate believer in the importance of having a social life after having kids. I know I’ve mentioned this before, in the context of boozin’ with a baby (well, kinda) and also breastfeeding out and about, but hey let’s expand on this. I feel like unleashing some poorly-researched Pop Psychology on your asses.

In case you didn’t gauge this from the last paragraph, I am not a qualified psychologist. Heck, I’m barely qualified to be a mother. But I am a girl With The Internet and that means I can say what I like and you can choose to read or not. So, lumbering in with my postnatal size 40 feet, I’m going to tackle Postnatal Depression. See, I have a theory.

I might be wrong. But I believe Postnatal Depression is a separate thing to depression. As far as I (and Google) know, PND is hormonal and therefore biological. It’s something that happens to some women after birth and no-one exactly knows why. But I believe that a lot of women who are diagnosed with PND are actually just depressed, and it’s a result of circumstances rather than hormones.

What circumstances? Maybe feeling like they have no contact with the outside world, maybe feeling like their world has completely changed and their old life is sunk without trace, maybe feeling that their identity is tied up in being a Mother, whereas before they actually had a career and Did Things and now everyone judges them on how well they do this mothering thing when it’s really hard to do, especially at first. Maybe the breastfeeding support was so rubbish that they just gave up and now feel like they’ve failed at mothering before they’ve even begun and it’s just another thing that all these judgers are judging them on. Any of these sound familiar? I’m sure most experts would lump them all in together as PND and I know there’s a lot of crossover. But this big mass of things can be unpicked into individual issues. And individually, these things are solvable. Let’s go through it bit-by-bit. And I’m going to drop this weird third-person thing if that’s OK. Let’s go straight to second.

So,  feeling like your world has changed? It’s true. Having a baby does turn your life inside-out like nothing else.. Your sudden sole responsibility for this tiny thing is a shock to the system that no number of antenatal classes will prepare you for.  But that’s where contact with the outside world comes in. If you meet other shell-shocked mothers, you will soon realise that you are not alone. True,there are things you can’t do just after having a baby. I’m not suggesting you ditch the baby and go out dancing at a week postpartum. Well, unless you feel like it. But there’s a lot you can do with a baby in tow. And anyone who says you shouldn’t or couldn’t isn’t worth listening to.

Here’s a shocking fact for you. In half a year of having Eva, I’ve only ever left her to go to Tesco and once to go to Bravissimo. She is the archetypal product of Attached Parenting – a “clingy” Mumma’s Girl. But dya know what? I don’t mind too much. When Reuben was Eva’s age, I was desperate to go back to work, but this time I don’t mind having her with me around the clock. She’s an easier baby. Whether that’s because of AP or just a co-incidence, we’ll never know. But for now she goes where I go and that’s OK. Why? Because it doesn’t stop me doing anything I actually want to do. Do I want to go clubbing? Nah, can’t be arsed. We only decided to have kids when we realised we were getting to old for all that. Do I want to go out drinking all night? No, I still have Reuben to deal with tomorrow and that’s not easy on no sleep. Oh, and I am a total lightweight since having Roo even when not breastfeeding.

So what do we do? Well, I have a whole other post brewing on me and Eva’s adventures while Roo’s at preschool, so I won’t spoiler that too much. But when Roo’s around we do pretty much what we did before Eva was born – we go to playgroups, we go to the park, we go to the cafe and eat cake, we go to museums…you get the drift.  We go to parties that start at 2PM. We attend childless friends’ birthday lunches and picnics but not dinners. We go to weddings and leave early.

But mainly it’s parks and playgroups and stuff. We’ve been blessed with some good parent-friends to do this kinda stuff with, but finding those friends has sometimes taken effort. It’s meant going to playgroups where I haven’t known anyone, meeting strangers from the internet (in public places, obv), accepting invitations from people even when I’ve been feeling shy and tempted to stay home and watch Project Runway. Second time round, it’s easier cause you already have some of those people in place and if you’re lucky, they may be sprouting second children too. But in London, people move away all the time and you have to start again.

You may be reading all this and thinking I’m being patronising and obvious – “just go out and make some friends, it’ll be fine”. Sorry if I come across that way. I know it isn’t always easy. It just helps so much to have other people around who know what you’re going through. Even if they’re virtual ones. If you’re in any way considering weaning your baby in a baby-led way, visit this forum. It’s saved my sanity many times and I’ve even made real-life friends there. Whatever our parents’ generation may think, there is nothing sad about making friends on the internet. It’s just the 21st century way. You’re reading this, so I assume you’re at least slightly internet-savvy.

But what about those lonely early days when you don’t know a single soul with a baby? It still pays to go out. When Roo was tiny and kept us up all night, I would take him to Tesco every day in the knowledge that going for a walk would send him to sleep. I just needed to see that life carried on outside the confines of our house. Later on, we got a lodger, which handily provided me with some adult company when Nathan was at work (she was a student, we’ve had various others since). Roo and I would sling up and go and meet working friends in their lunchbreaks. Sometimes we even met Nathan if we were desperate. We went to baby cinema on our own (more on that in another post). Even now, whenever I feel myself skirting round the edge of despair (and every mother gets close to that sometimes), I get out of the house. Doesn’t matter where. Doesn’t matter if I end up buying Roo junk food at the newsagent as an incentive for walking there. It’s just good to get out.

Of course, this is all strictly voluntary. It’s what works for me, and I would be the last person to force someone to go out who wasn’t ready or didn’t want to. In fact, I rarely force anyone to do anything (unless it’s Nathan). Don’t call me Gina Ford. But I’m here to say you CAN do it. It may take some military planning. It may involve some parenting fails. Trust me, I will have done them all before you. But there are solutions to every fail. In London you’re never far from some shops, so if your baby poos through every outfit you have with you, you can buy some more (or put her in her brother’s t-shirt as a dress). You can buy nappies out and about if you’ve forgotten those. It will be OK. If you encounter a flight of steps you can’t get the buggy up, someone will help. Eventually. If you encounter a rude bus driver who tuts as you try and manoevure your pram, punch them in the face.

No, scrub that last bit. TfL WILL prosecute. Maybe just read my guides to bus etiquette and getting around London so you’re prepared. Feel free to ask me a question if any of it seems daunting.

I’ve rambled on a lot already. And I haven’t even talked about how to establish your post-baby identity or what to do if you’re struggling with breastfeeding/struggling with your feeling about having given up breastfeeding. But those aren’t my areas of expertise. Trips out with one or more child are my area of expertise. And getting out and about will help you feel like more of a person again, honest. It’s never going to be the same as doing a job you’re really good at and having a team of people jump to your every command, but it will give you something else in your life other than just feed-burp-change-feed-burp-change. It can be feed in Starbucks-drink Starbucks-burp in Piccadilly Circus-change on the steps of Eros next to a tramp. Or whatever suits you.

And on  the last point, take this home with you. You are great. Whatever milk (or gin) you’ve put in that baby’s mouth, it still loves you. It’ll REALLY love you if it’s drunk.

Hang on, scrub that. Again. The point was, your baby loves you and that makes you awesome. Pull on those Wonderwoman pants and step out of the door. You are slowly but surely getting your life back.

Posted in What I suppose you'd call "tips"....? | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

A Simple Guide to Bus Etiquette

Posted on November 7, 2012 by katese11

Cause some people out there need it. I’ve touched on it before (here and here), but it seems like some of the 7 million Londoners are still unsure about it. Let’s go:

1) Whoever gets to the bus stop first gets on the bus first. That’s easy enough to understand, hey? But wait! This is a double edged sword, for….

2) Whoever gets on the bus first has to push their buggy past the pole so that the other person can fit theirs in. That means facing the window, not lengthways on. Diagonal is acceptable if you have a monster buggy and/or a potty attached to the handlebars.

3) To establish the correct buggy-order, we may need to communicate a little bit about who’s getting off first. Only a bit. Don’t feel like we have to talk all the way. I have facebook to check, after all.

4) If we establish we’re getting off at the same stop (woo! that’s a coincidence my Grandmother would be proud of), don’t feel like you have to wait for the bus to come to a complete standstill before even moving out of the seat. Here’s a GCSE-type maths question – if my buggy’s behind your buggy and I’m behind you and you only move you and your buggy at the stop, how much time does that give me to get off the bus myself? That’s right, minus forty-seven.

5) A seat next to the buggy spot would be nice, if there is one. If you’re in any way old, pregnant or disabled, I don’t expect you to move. But if you’re sitting on the outside seat, it’s nice to at least let someone past to sit down (yes, YOU! grumpy old Greek man! Who can walk perfectly well.)

6) (This one’s for Roo) If there’s a sinister looking man sitting next to the buggies with two phones, don’t repeatedly ask me “Why that man got two phones? You got one phone? Why he got two?”. I don’t know, Roo. Maybe he’s a drug dealer. Or he’s having an affair. Or he just likes having more than one phone  but please stop asking.

7) If you see someone look slightly unsteady (maybe they have a baby tied to them and a load of bags, or maybe they’re just using both hands to text and so not holding on…or maybe all three), it’s fine to extend a hand to steady them. When they regain balance (and have finished writing that text), feel free to take your hand back off their elbow. No really, thanks but…the moment’s over. Thanks again.

8) Are you a serial killer? The bus is not the place to share that information. Save it for Jeremy Kyle.

9) Do you feel like you’re about to be sick? The bus is not the place for that. Maybe that one’s more specific to the night bus….

10) (This one’s for me). I understand how confused you get by new things, Kate. I know it’s hard for you now that your contactless debit card stops your Oyster card from beeping, so you have to take it out of the purse in order to beep it. But an H&M gift card is never going to work. Even if you’re only going as far as Vauxhall, they just won’t take it. Keep working on it and you’ll get there.

So, I hope this has cleared up some confusion. All the nuts and bolts of just how you get that darn buggy onto the bus in the first place are covered in my previous post, here, but it’s nice to have a reminder now and then. Happy travels!
(For anyone who’s wondering, yes I DO feel better for getting that off my chest. Thanks for asking).

Posted in Rants | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Brunswick Park – 01/11/12

Posted on November 6, 2012 by katese11

Last week had a theme running through it. Friday saw us mooching around the Brunswick Centre, prior to our trip to Coram’s. Thursday was a jaunt to Camberwell to Brunswick Park. Who is this Mr Brunswick who’s splattered his name all over London? Or is it a Mrs Brunswick? Even “Brunswick Park” isn’t unique within the M25 – there’s a whole area of Barnet with the same name. Sadly, extensive research (aka Google) has failed to find the answers. Go on internetters….enlighten me!

We were back in Camberwell to see Roo’s friend Rufus, after our visit to Lucas Gardens a few weeks back. Lucas Gardens was a bit of a nostalgia trip for me, being right next to the flat we lived in as newlyweds. Brunswick Park, on the other side of Peckham Rd, was a complete unknown. Despite being a large park a few minutes’ walk away from our flat, we never went there.I guess that’s what life before kids was like – not so much hanging around parks in the winter.

But that was then, this is now. Once again, Roo and Ru had cabin fever, so slightly-chilly-park it was! And it was a perfectly nice park – a large grassy bit, tennis and basketball courts and – of course – a playground, with swings, two climbing frames and one of those inexplicable yellow spheres on a pole. Once again, I ask the internet – what are they? There were kids throwing things at it, so it could be a thing to throw stuff at. But that doesn’t narrow it down – this being Camberwell, it would be easier to make a list of things that kids didn’t throw stuff at.

A nice park then, if unremarkable. Apparently there will be a cafe coming soon, hopefully one in view of the playground so Rufus’ Mum and I can sit in the warm with our babies while the crazy boys run around. There is also apparently an albino squirrel called Boris who lives in the park, but I didn’t spot him. Maybe next time.

What is remarkable is that this was the birthplace of the “Zoom, zoom, zoom” game, now famous in countless homes around South London. OK, countable homes – ours, Rufus’, Roo’s friend Ayla’s. Three homes, I guess. It was created by Rufus’ Mum and it goes something like this – take the popular preschool song “Zoom, zoom, zoom, we’re going to the moon”. Replace “moon” with any other noun (e.g carrot). Giggle insanely. Repeat. It sounds simple but…well, it is. But the children went crazy for it. And we play it most days when Roo needs a quick pick-me-up. So there’s a tip for you right there!

VERDICT: A nice green park, not the most exciting but fine for a hour’s entertainment

More details here (official website)

Posted in Token attempts at fresh air (parks) | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Children’s fireworks in Corams Fields – 02/11/12

Posted on November 2, 2012 by katese11

If I told you that the words “parenting genius” had been applied to this day out, would that be raising your expectations to an unmanageable level? If I told you that those same words had been used with a question mark, would that be more the level you’ve come to expect from this blog? Good. Now read on…
Fireworks! Oooh! Aaah! Exciting! I like fireworks. I’ve made an effort to go and see them most years since we’ve been in London. 2007 was a year when we made more effort than usual. We were homeless at the time, having sold our Camberwell flat and not quite bought our current house. So we were crashing in a friend’s spare room in Stockwell. One Friday we’d been due to exchange but once again it had fallen through. I chose to deal with this by going to Primark straight from work and buying huge armfuls of clothes. Nathan dealt with it by going to the pub and drinking huge amounts of whiskey. I was on the bus home, round about Victoria when I got a call from Nathan’s phone from a man called Dave.

Dave told me to go to Southend with him and Paul, the IT technician from Nathan’s office. I didn’t know Dave. Neither did Nathan. But Nathan knew Paul and Paul knew Dave and Paul and Dave had persuaded Nathan to go to Southend with them. I had nothing better to do, so I jumped off at Victoria, went to a shop that sold boy clothes so I could add them to my Primark stash, hopped on the tube to Fenchurch St and bought myself an Angry Whopper. Then we all went to Southend for the night.

In case you needed this realllllly spelling out, this was before we had kids.

So we woke up in Southend the next morning, got the train back to London to go back to Stockwell to change, then to Finchley Central for my Uncle’s 60th birthday party, then to Battersea Park for a pre-arranged fireworks date with friends from church. Don’t ask me how or why we did all that, but we did. Here we are at the fireworks:

That is not just a picture, it’s an EPICture.

Luckily, the fireworks at Battersea Park were epic too. Not so luckily, the admission prices were even epic-er, so we’ve never been back. This year it was a tenner!

The next year, we went back to our old favourite, Brockwell Park. They were pretty good, as ever. Afterwards, we walked up Denmark Hill and back to Camberwell and a curry at Indiaaaaaah. I toyed with my curry and toyed with the idea of telling people I was pregnant. I didn’t. It was still quite new news at that point.

The year after that, our lives had been turned upside down, so we didn’t bother. Then, in 2010, it was Clapham Common, as Lambeth were too tight to put on more than one show. No buses were to be found at Oval, but a friend of ours was so we walked all the way to Clapham with Roo in the buggy, a metal rucksack carrier on my back and painful new boots. The fireworks were alright – a little “budget” that year. We went to get the bus home and whooped as we squeezed on to the first one outta there. We weren’t still whooping when we were still at Clapham Common half an hour later. Walking is definitely the way to get home from fireworks in London.

All of which brings us slightly raggedly onto the fireworks at Coram’s Fields today. My friend (C’s Mum) and I had deftly avoided transport problems on the way in by arriving at Coram’s six hours before the fireworks were due to start. And staying there. There are a host of reasons why we did this, but the upshot was we spent a full day at Coram’s and hung on for the fireworks at 5:30pm. It was quite surreal, playing on the aerial runway as it got darker and darker and having tea at Kipferl, the Austrian cafe in the corner. Some would say that planning to spend seven hours in a playground when it’s approximately seven degrees outside is madness. Others would say it’s “parenting genius”. Or if you want to be exactly exact “parenting genius?”

So, this is how you spend a full day at Coram’s. Arrive around 10:30. Visit Waitrose and pick up lunch and snacks. Meet friends. Run around in circles going “aaaaahhhhhhh” (mainly Roo and C doing this, not the mothers or babies). Take 3-year-olds to toilet. Eat picnic lunch at 12:00. Play on the aerial runway. Round around in circles again. Get friend to buy your hot chocolate because your extremities are beginning to ice over. Take 3-year-olds to toilet. Eat fruit. Rain starts at 14:00 – hastily bundle children into cafe for star biscuits and pineapple juice. Wonder why they both chose pineapple juice when neither of them have ever shown interest in pineapple juice before. Feed babies. Rain stops. Chase after boys as they run in very big circles around the whole playground. Take 3-year-olds to toilet. Back to the cafe at 16:00 for boys’ dinner (sausages and a hunk of bread, plus ketchup). Feed babies again. Chase after boys again. Notice it’s getting dark. Take 3-year-olds to toilet. Find a spot and wait for fireworks. Buy glowsticks.

Or something like that. I forget. There was some feeding, a lot of boys eating and going to the toilets, a lot of playing and one nappy change (not for Eva, sadly. Poor girl). As it got darker and more crowded, I got steadily more paranoid about losing one of the boys as they ran about. There were a LOT of people there, and a lot of small children. So we bundled them into their pushchairs and at 17:25 we were positioned and ready.

So, what should happen next….Eva waking up and demanding a feed? Seems unlikely. But unlikely as it seems, that’s what happened! So I sat in the mud at the base of a tree and fed her quickly while those extremities froze again. She finished just in time for the countdown and then WHIZZ! BOOM! BANG! SHANG-A-LANG! The fireworks were off!

We rapidly changed spot as most of them seemed to be behind a tree, but once we moved, the boys just stared in rapt awe at them. They weren’t the most spectacular fireworks ever, but they were pretty good and definitely enough to impress a pair of 3-year-olds. Eva screamed throughout, maybe because of the bangs or maybe cause she felt her feed had been unfairly truncated. I took her off to check her nappy but it seemed clean enough so sorry, still no fresh nappy for you Eva.

The display lasted 20 minutes or so, and there was a small wait to get out. Once we got through the gates the crowds dispersed a bit and we dived straight down Lambs Conduit St. We had vaguely thought about getting a bus, but there were people everywhere so we just decided to walk to Waterloo where C’s Mum could get a train and I could pick up a bus. It was a nice walk, not as far as I’d expected and pretty bracing. I was still wearing four layers and a baby who was also in four layers so by the time I got on the bus I had a face like a small radiator. I think people were staring. I didn’t care too much. I had taken my boy to the fireworks and that’s what mattered. He woke up briefly when we got him home and put him to bed, to murmur something to Nathan about how much he liked fireworks. And that makes it all worthwhile. Didn’t even have to go to Southend.

VERDICT: A nice early start, which makes it easier for small children and an impressive enough display.

More details here (official website)

Posted in Creating precious childhood memories or something (days out) | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Croydon with a toddler

Posted on October 31, 2012 by katese11

Well, a preschooler really. But let’s ignore that particular Inconvenient Truth.

So, we went back to Beanies, Croydon today. Last time I visited, it was with a  3-week-old baby and no Reuben. It was lovely and mellow and peaceful. This time, the 3-week-old had turned into a 6-month-old and I had the 40-month-old in tow as well. And it was half-term. Not quite so mellow and peaceful then!

First off, I need to get one thing crystal-clear. There are still no lifts at Vauxhall. Still just a big corridor. And the posters declaring that lifts are coming in “Summer 2012” have conveniently disappeared. Maybe because Summer 2012 never materialised, the lifts never needed to materialise either. So it was the old haul-buggy-up-steps-while-Reuben-trails-behind routine, until some nice lady took pity on us. I considered going buggy-free, but was pretty sure that Roo would need a nap at some point, and I didn’t fancy carrying him and Eva and the changing stuff. I considered not taking so much changing stuff, but that would have been a mistake too. More on that later.

It’s quite annoying, this whole Vauxhall situation. It would be a really handy link to nice places in the Surrey-direction (Richmond, Hampton Court etc) but it’s a huge faff to do it solo. Are you listening SWT?? It’s not just the steps up to the platform, it’s the huge gap getting on and off the train. Sort it out, SWT. Assuming someone is listening, that is.

But we got there. Clapham Junction has these magical things that go up and down between platforms and East Croydon has these not-so-magical Big Ramps. Both work. So we got there without any more awkward flights of stairs. And Roo was fascinated by this magical train that ran down the middle of the street. A roadtrain, if you will. Roo’s Mummy was fascinated by the closure of the Last Allders Standing. I wonder when they’ll close the Wimpey?

Anyway, onto Beanies itself. How did the play floor stand up to the challenge of a child who actually wanted to play, rather than a 21-day-old blob? Not bad. I was surprised to see that the entrance fee for over 18-monthers was a fiver. That’s more than the Central(er) London soft plays, and for much less in the way of facilities. The toys weren’t bad at all, but they were on par with Battersea Park one o’clock club, and that’s free. I’m happy to pay a charge, but £5 for non-members is steep for what it is. Eva and her baby pal Oscar were happily both free, so I can mentally divide that fiver by two.

The big advantage of Beanies is that it’s a cafe first, so has quite an extensive menu and a lot of options for kids. The food isn’t amazing, but it’s perfectly nice and they bring it to you on the playfloor. The disadvantage is that there are yet more stairs, so you can’t access the playfloor with a buggy. This wasn’t a problem for us cause we parked it downstairs and Roo walked up the stairs. But Oscar was asleep in his buggy when he turned up, so we had to take food back downstairs. Luckily, Roo was hungry and able to be tempted away from his Stormtrooper mask (see top) for some food. Then he sat in the cafe downstairs and ate for a few minutes before getting bored and wandering off to stack some bumbos. That’s not bad for him. Eva grizzled and grabbed bits out of my salad before dropping them on the floor and grizzling again. If I’d been in a generous mood, I would have put her in one of the many highchairs with her own “picking plate” of little nibbly bits (you can pick and mix your own). I wasn’t feeling generous, for a few reasons. But I might be next time we go!

Of course, peace never lasts for long. Roo had gone to investigate the little shops next to the cafe (two clothes shops, one toy shop) and came staggering back, doing his John Wayne walk. Something had gone wrong. Something in the toilet training department. Not sure how that happened, as he’d already used the teeny child-size loos upstairs. But apparently a carton of apple juice can go through a boy quickly. I got him to the downstairs toilets quickly enough to avoid any mess, and they had a cute sea-creature themed toilet seat to entice him to…err….finish his business. So, points for having toilets everywhere. And sorry if we made any mess. I don’t think we did.

Back upstairs after lunch, and it was Eva’s turn to have an explosion in the bottom area. We were rapidly getting through our spare clothes, but again we got to try out the changing facilities. Eva liked the mobile above the changing mat. It even stopped her wriggling for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Roo was getting himself into trouble in other ways. An irate mother came over while I was feeding Eva and said that she’d had to shout at my son. Never a good start. He’d been trapping her little girl’s fingers in the window of the play house. Still not good. He hadn’t seemed repentant. OK, bad enough to require action. I went over to the the play house, dragged Roo out and asked him to apologise, which he did. He also said it was an accident. The other mother said it wasn’t.

I have to admit I was confused by all this (and poor Eva was confused in the long break in her feed). I would never think that Roo was an angel, but he’s rarely violent or malicious. Boisterous, yes. Snatchy when it comes to toys, yes. But not mean. I went to talk to the older boy that had been sharing the play house to see if he could shed any light on this. He said that they’d been playing “big bad wolf” and the little girl had been trying to blow their house down. So Roo fought her off. I’m sure it all makes sense in his tiny mind. Anyway, we had a small talk about how to treat little girls and how we shouldn’t hurt them even if they’re trying to blow our houses down. Order was resumed.

I say order, I mean he went and played in the gated-off bit with children who were more his size. So they were bashing each other with cushions, but that’s OK because they all agreed to it. I think. I didn’t get them to sign anything.  Meanwhile, Eva played peacefully in the baby-doughnut, with Oscar next to her on the sheep-shaped blanket. They were happy until Roo came and started piling all the toys into the doughnut, saying “I’m collecting my stuff”. Honestly, that boy should not be allowed near babies. Whoops! Then he put the doughnut on his head and charged repeatedly into Oscar’s Mum. It was time to go.

We paid for our food on the way out (must remember to do this!) and Roo begged some carrot cake off me. Turns out it was a pretty crumbly carrot cake, which got us some funny looks as we walked back up towards East Croydon. Or it may have been the strawberry-headed baby sticking out of my coat. Folks outside London do tend to stare at that. Both children were asleep by the time we got onto the train and I had a lovely quiet sit-down, feeling glad that I’d brought the buggy along after all.

VERDICT: A nice place to spend a lunchtime and an afternoon. Be careful that your child doesn’t tread on the smaller ones.

More details here (official site)

Posted in Cake and the finest wines known to humanity (eating out) | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

A WordPress writing challenge – kids in adult-orientated places

Posted on October 22, 2012 by katese11

I never normally let anyone else tell me what to write. But my loyal host-ers WordPress, threw up this writing challenge and I couldn’t resist answering. After all, it’s kinda my area – taking toddlers out of the house and unleashing them onto the wider world, which occasionally involves those places designated as “adult-orientated”.

The actual question is this: “How do you feel about children in adult-oriented places?”

My first question for the question is, what do you mean by “adult-orientated” (sorry, I’m gonna persist in the anglicized version). Are you asking about whether or not to take your children to seedy alleyways in Soho, so they can look at sex shop facades? Is that a bad thing to do? Guess what Roo’s friend Micah said when she saw this, opposite our church centre in Soho:

“It’s the Team GB flag!”

After which, they pointed at it and repeatedly chanted “Team GB! Team GB!”. I think the adult-orientation of the British Adult Shop went right over their heads. The Britishness didn’t.

But I suspect, that’s not what they mean by “adult”. I suspect they mean pubs, restaurants and onto the murky grey areas of art galleries and museums. I’ve been to a lot of these, with and without my children so I think I know what I think.

But before I get onto that, what do you mean by children? Would I take my 11-year-old niece to places I wouldn’t take my 3-year-old son? Well, yes. It’s a matter of discernment. When Roo was brand new, we used to take him anywhere and everywhere with us. Pubs (in the evening!), restaurants, the Turner Prize – everywhere. He was always welcome in our local, being as how he’d nearly been born there. Besides, he was either feeding or asleep. He went to restaurants with us and, again, he slept. He spent an entire birthday meal in a Turkish restaurant snoozing in his car seat under the table. It was only when he woke up that anyone noticed he was even there. For a little while there, we could pretend we still had some kind of social life.

Then, around 5 months three things started to happen: 1) He lost the ability to sleep through anything, anywhere, 2) he started going to bed in the evenings and getting ratty if he missed his bedtime and 3) he started on solids. The combination of these three things (awake, upset and messy) meant that he wasn’t as welcome as he used to be. One evening, when we were at our local, the Landlord was out and some newbie barmaid was running things. Roo started crying, she chucked us out and the dream was over. Similarly, once he started chucking food about the place, we had to be a bit more selective about where to eat. Not that we ever ate anywhere fancy anyway. Luckily, London is just full of places to eat with a toddler.
I guess what I’m trying to say, is that “children” covers a huge scope – a newborn baby can go anywhere and do anything with you because they will mainly be asleep, an older baby is trickier, a toddler is a darn nightmare in most civilised “adult” situations but as soon as you get to the bribeable stage, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Even now, at the grand age of 3, Reuben is starting to be take-out-able again. Just look how well behaved he is when someone gives him an iPad and free access to Peppa Pig videos on youtube:

As you can tell from the photo, this is a (Sunday) lunch time trip to the pub, rather than a Friday night hard-drinking session. That’s the other thing to consider – it’s all about timing.  If your child is either a) reasonable, b) distractable or c) bribeable with chips and a J20, there’s no reason you shouldn’t taken them out for a Sunday roast. And it would be a very stupid publican who didn’t welcome them, especially in a local pub. If you refuse a large group of local people just because they have a child with them, then you might as well just take a large wad of notes and flush them down your inaccessible toilet. Especially if – as above – your pub has an upstairs room where the children can run around without bothering the grumpy old men.

I realise I’ve talked mainly about pubs here. That’s because I think they are one of the only true grey areas in the “where to take children” spectrum. Nightclubs? No, you don’t. Parks? Yes, you do.  How about museums? Well, some museums may be more entertaining for children than others, but I believe they are welcome in most. Some – like the V&A – have precious and delicate things behind toddler-height ropes. They require a bit more control. But most of the big ones – the Science Museum, Horniman, Natural History Museum and even the Tate Modern – have either kids’ areas or activities designed for kids. That’s a pretty clear indication that they welcome under-18s on their premises.

In other words, things have moved on since the 1950s. Museums are no longer dusty mausoleums. They are interactive, bright and friendly. My very simple rule of thumb is that if they have baby change facilities, it’s fine to take a baby there. That makes sense, no?

And don’t get me started on whether or not you can breastfeed in public spaces.

In answer, then to the original question I’m going to use a classic Danny Wallace answer and say “there are a lot of variables”. What kind of places? What age are these children? What time of day? But basically, as long as you have a certain amount of control of these children you’re dragging around with you then it should be fine. Common sense says if they’re being disruptive somewhere, you deal with that in some way (take them out or -more likely- bribe them to be quiet). Even commoner sense says to take them somewhere that’s child-friendly in the first place. I can think of 100 of these in London.  And you’d be surprised by just how child-friendly some of them are.

Posted in What I suppose you'd call "tips"....? | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

The mobile milk bar – breastfeeding around town

Posted on October 22, 2012 by katese11

(Before WordPress kicks me off – that’s a picture of some ice-cream. What did you think it was?!)

I’m not really one for being contentious on this blog. I’m more about sandpits and stuff. But a few facebook arguments recently have led me to write a post on the “nursing in public” issue. Let’s not dignify this by calling it a debate. There should be no debate. Of course women should be allowed to feed their baby wherever it needs feeding. No-one would ever question the right of a toddler to eat rice cakes in public, would they?

Incidentally, I’m going to call it breastfeeding rather than nursing from now on, if that’s OK. Nursing, to me,  means inserting catheters and changing wound dressings and neither of those should be done on the bus. It’s not hygienic.

Another reason I’m not going to call this a debate is that a debate needs reasoned and intelligent arguments on both sides. What are the reasons against breastfeeding in public that I’ve heard lately? “OMG so gross” (you want gross? You look inside Eva’s nappy Right Now). A woman I know recently got told she shouldn’t feed in public because “no-one wants to see your boobies” and “babies should have bottles”.

It just so happened to be her 4-year-old son that came up with these gems. She just reminded him that he was breastfed, and we all laughed about it. But I’m yet to hear an anti-breastfeeding argument that goes beyond the level of a 4-year-old.

 

So, why should a woman feel free to feed in public? Firstly, her rights are protected by law. So there. Secondly, countries where it’s normal to feed in public (eg in Scandanavia) are the countries where babies are breastfed more and for longer. I think most people would agree that breastfeeding is a good choice for babies. I know that some mothers struggle with breastfeeding and end up formula feeding. We certainly topped Roo up with formula at times. So no judgement if you do formula feed, but I don’t think anyone would argue that enabling women to feel comfortable breastfeeding is anything but a Good Thing.

Back to the fbook arguments – I think what’s really “gross” here is the lack of understanding about how breastfeeding works. One woman said “isn’t it just as easy to express a bottle before you go out?”. Err, no. Expressing is bloody hard work, even for pro breastfeeders. Plus you have to sterlise all the fiddly bits of the pump and the bottles. How could that be as easy as just whipping out a boob?

If you think about it, there’s only one real alternative to feeding in public, and that’s staying at home all the time. With a baby, this seems like a bad idea. By the time you have a toddler as well as a baby, it becomes nigh on impossible. It may just be my disposition, but I can’t think of anything more depressing than being trapped inside a house with a baby all day, every day. I’m sure PND could be mitigated or avoided if new mothers were made to feel more welcome in the outside world. Well, I say I’m sure – I have done no research on this, so it’s just my opinion really. I’m no expert on this, but then “Experts” don’t help. Gina Ford advocates strict routines for mother and baby, which could make you feel guilty about leaving the house at the wrong time. Jo Frost suggests that you shouldn’t take a baby out in the rain (she clearly doesn’t live in Britain). Roo as a baby refused to sleep unless he was out in the buggy, so staying home was just not an option. We pretty quickly learnt to feed in public. The first time I fed Eva in public was in Tesco, at about a week old, but I would have done it sooner if she’d ever been awake on any of our trips out.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that supporting a woman’s right to breastfeed in public is an important step in rebuilding a post-baby social life, which is in itself an important step in avoiding PND. It was for me, at least. Everyone’s different. So, that’s why I think breastfeeding in public should be not just acceptable, but absolutely normal.
Enough of the why, how about the how? I find that nonchalance helps. If you make a big fuss of latching them on, that’s what makes people turn round and look. If you just do it, no-one really cares. Especially on public transport in London, where everyone is absorbed in their own thing and no-one looks at each other. I generally feed Eva as soon as she starts fussing cause I reckon my fellow travellers prefer the noise of slurping to the noise of screaming. But it doesn’t always work that way. If we’re on a short trip I don’t really have time to take my bags off, arrange my clothing and latch her on long enough for a decent feed. So she just has to scream. Those kind of journeys feel a lot longer than ten minutes, and make you appreciate the peace of just reading a book while the baby snuggles up for a feed. And I’m pretty sure that most people I’ve sat next to while feeding have had no idea that we’re doing anything other than cuddling.

Nonchalance works in most situations. I took Eva into work for lunch with a colleague last week, and that was one situation I was unsure about feeding in. I work for a medical research trust, so in theory they should be all about promoting breastfeeding. But in practice? In the end, Eva woke up in the middle of lunch so fussy that I had little choice. So I just asked my colleague a question and kept eye contact while she answered, while sorting out my clothes and putting Eva into place. And bam, done! What most people don’t seem to understand about breastfeeding is that’s it’s only the start and end of the feed where you seen any flesh. The rest of the time, it’s fairly easy to cover up.

There are a few ways to cover up. Some people swear by breastfeeding tops, but I’ve always thought they were a bit overpriced to be able to build a full wardrobe of them. Others use a canvas breastfeeding cover aka “The Hooter Hider” and they come in a variety of pretty patterns. Now that I use a wrap everyday with Eva, I find that does the job pretty well. The kind of tie I use goes around my waist (for tummy coverage) and in a cross across the Feeding Area. So a few minor adjustments, and you’re pretty covered.

That’s the why and the how. Your baby has the when covered…now how about the where?

I’ve breastfed in a LOT of places around London. I mentioned a few of them in this post, but if you missed it, highlights included – Bethnal Green overland station in front of a strange Eastern European man, both Tates, London Zoo, on the 53 going down Old Kent Rd and at least half of the Royal Parks. So, where are the best places for a feed out and about? Here are my top 5:

5) Westfield

Feeding in public can sometimes be stressful for you and your baby when there are a lot of people and noise. Westfield have thought this through and provided little feeding booths with squishy chairs so you and your baby can have some time out.

4) That Place On The Corner

Lots of toys to entertain bigger ones, and very child-friendly.

3) Mamas & Papas

Just like Westfield, Oxford St can be overwhelming for a little one sometimes (and for a grown-up too). A little oasis with a rocking chair and changing facilities

2) Beanies

Comfy sofas, food brought to you and a whole floor of toys for your toddler to play with while you feed. And they can’t escape! Loses points by being in Croydon.

1) Royal Festival Hall

Feeding rooms are all very well, but why not feed while being entertained by a Romanian gypsy band? The Royal Festival Hall is always full  of other mothers breastfeeding, the cafe is nice, the sofas are comfy and  there’s a free concert every lunchtime.

A couple of notes –

Note 1: I talk all the way through this post about breastfeeding a baby. That’s cause I have a baby. If you’re breastfeeding a toddler, just swap the words over in your head.

Note 2: The photo at the top wasn’t taken in public, but it’s the only breastfeeding shot I could find. And yes, she’s dressed as a dinosaur.

Other helpful sites:

NHS advice

Maternity Action on the 2010 Equality Act

Thoughts from the Analytical Armadillo

Posted in Rants | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments