If you wanted to find me as a child, all you had to do was look in the nearest corner and I’d be more than likely sat in it with my nose buried in a book.
I had loads of favourites, from Enid to Blyton, to Roald Dahl, to Judy Blume.
Which is why, when on having kids of my own, I suddenly had an excuse to re-buy all my favourites from my childhood. Not for me, you understand.
For the KIDS.
The Tiger Who Came to Tea, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar were added to the already bulging bookcase, among others.
It’s easy to introduce the classics when the children are small, and to incorporate them into the bedtime routine so that they become firm favourites of theirs as well.
What about when they become older though, and decide to choose their own books? It’s not so easy then.
I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve tried to encourage a bit of Enid Blyton adventure to my boys.
OK, they’ll probably deem Malory Towers too ‘girly’, that’s fair enough. I know they won’t harbour secret dreams of sitting round the swimming pool at midnight with a load of mouldy old girls eating sardines out of the tin and swigging ginger beer.
You’d think they’d be receptive to a bit of the Famous Five though. Kids going off camping and having adventures by themselves for the entire week?
Gunmen following them, ruffians chasing them etc.
It’s exciting, isn’t it?!
Nope. They didn’t get further than the first page because they read the words “Dick” and Fanny” for names and started rolling around the floor in hysterics.
Give. Me. STRENGTH.
With the eldest though, he’s started reading David Walliam’s books and the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series.
He absolutely loves them and asks for more.
So, do you know what I have realised? It doesn’t matter what they’re into bookwise, as long as they’re actually READING.
I’d rather he was reading his own books and building his own memories than not reading at all.
Bring on the books.
It’s getting nearer to Easter, so today we decided to make some Easter themed cupcakes with Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck.
Yes, I know it’s not Easter for more than a month yet as it’s in late April this year, but as it’s the first of March today a certain ‘spring has sprung’ vibe descended.
Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit and her other creation, Jemima Puddleduck brings a certain countryside, nature feel to the start of spring and make pretty cupcakes.
So today, we’ve been baking.
We got the cupcake cases all ready:
and weighed out our ingredients.
4oz self raising flour
4oz caster sugar
which we then whizzed up in a bowl until light and fluffy and all ingredients were combined.
Then we placed them in the oven, gas mark 4, or 180 celcius if using an electric oven, and waited approx 20 – 25 minutes.
When they came out, we iced them and stuck our little toppers on…..
so this is what the end result looked like!
Wonder how long they’ll last….
I don’t know what’s happened to this week, but so far it’s been a week that Mr Bump would be proud of.
Not just any old accidents. No. They’re straight out of the comic books or a Mr Bean sketch.
The eldest has been sent home from school early today as he managed to knee himself in the eye while doing a roly poly. Whaaaaaaa??!!
He’s fine, by the way. If not a little bit of a div.
As for me, I decided to clear out the cupboards at the beginning of the week.
We now have sparkly clean, streamlined cupboards with everything in its place.
My foot, however, is half normal colour and half blue and black due to a full bottle of Calpol medicine falling from the topmost shelf, where they’re kept out of reach right onto my poor tootsies.
Never let one of those fall on your toes.
I think the expletive “SON OF A NUTCRACKER!” (thanks to the Elf film for that one ) slipped out of my mouth.
I like original family friendly ‘swear words.’
Fffffiddlesticks and Shhhhhabba being others.
It’s more fun that way.
Then my mum visited today, and managed to get her little finger bent back in the bathroom door as she was opening it. Again, whaaa?!
It’s all gone crackers.
Let’s hope that’s it for accidents now, daft or not.
Keeping all fingers crossed that the smallest and the husband manage not to pick up the clumsy bug. (if said fingers are not too busy being stuck behind bathroom doors, that is.)
What’s the daftest accident you’ve had? Take my mind off my purple foot…
It’s that time of year again where I get down on my hands and knees and plead at your feet for a few votes in the Mad Blog Awards which is now up and running for 2014.
Blimey, it only seems like yesterday since the last lot of awards!
If you enjoy reading this blog (or even if you don’t and think I witter on far too much :-D) please consider voting for me in any categories you think fit me (Best Writer, or schooldays/ family days for example.)
Last year I did extremely well and got all the way through to the final round of voting. Thank you!
This year I’d love to go ALLLL the way (oo-er) so if you are feeling generous there’s a great big “Nominate Me!” badge over there —– to the right hand side of this post.
I’m nothing if not subtle.
So, why not grab a cup of tea, coffee, or whatever and have a sit down and read through my blog posts. If you like what you see, please vote.
If you don’t, well heck have a vote anyway.
Just click on the nominate badge and it will take you to the Mad Awards site where you can register your vote.
Here’s to the Mad Blog Awards and hopefully through to the finals!
It’s not enough that the kids at primary school now have to sit for SAT’s exams in years two and six (that’s aged 6-7 years and 10 -11).
Not enough that your ten year old brings home 2 lots of homework a week. One literacy assignment, and an amount of maths that would make a grown up weep.
It’s not unusual to come home with 10 sides of A4 filled with maths questions.
Last year, when he was in year 5 (aged 9) and just doing the practice SATS, he came home with a couple of exam papers every week. Staggered over a few weeks to do them, but still totalled at least half a dozen.
He’s now got ‘booster’ classes along with every one else in the year which is supposed to be extra tuition and keeps them in school until 4pm doing extra classes twice a week too.
Then, today, it’s announced in the news that it’s being proposed that schools are looking at extending the working school day until 6pm.
Just when are the poor buggers supposed to have some ‘down’ time if they’re out of the door for 8.30am and not home until 6.30pm?!
It’s all very well saying that it will help with childcare for parents, but there’s a world of difference between an after school club which won’t be work based and more play focused, and an extension to the school’s working hours.
It would be a case of get home not much before 7, have your tea (what are they going to have between lunch at 12pm and the home time of 6pm anyway? Do they get a free dinner? They bloody should do. Or are we expected to cough up for another meal?!)
Their after school clubs would be out of the window too. Between them, they have Beavers, Scouts, swimming lessons and football sessions.
Seeing as they all start at 5.30 and 6pm, are we expected to just get rid of them, too?
For crying out loud, they need some time to relax and wind down. Between the ages of 4 and 10, you’re still tiny and you’d be lumped in with this too.
Let them have some childhood instead of a routine of school, tea, bed. Which is what it would basically be.
It would be good from a working point of view for the parents.
NOT at the expense of the well being of our kids, though!
Sitting on the beach with a bucket and spade making sandcastles while mum and dad sit in a deckchair looking on is all part of childhood.
Which is why it’s sad to see in today’s newspapers that a new survey says that one in five people under the age of 35 have never set foot on a UK beach and instead jet off to foreign climes with their powdery beaches and palm trees instead.
How is it possible to get to that age without setting foot on the glorious British coastline?!
It’s all well and good going on holiday abroad, but there’s so much on our doorstep too.
We are a little island after all, so not too far away from the sea wherever you happen to be.
Sitting on the sea front with your fish and chips, or burying your brother or sister’s legs in the sand. Making sandcastles and digging a moat round it. then running down to the sea with your bucket to try and fill it up.
There’s some lovely, picturesque views too.
Looking down over Whitby, and with the Abbey in the distance
Sunning yourself thousands of miles away is fine, but for the rest of the year when you’re not jetting off, remember what’s on our own doorstep and introduce your kids to it…. they’ll love it.
There used to be a time when I went shopping, and bought myself all manner of lovely things.
I’d buy new clothes, maybe a new pair of shoes, and generally just treated myself to some loveliness just because I COULD.
Over the years though, I seem to have lost the ability to be able to shop for myself and if it doesn’t involve buying nice things for small people, my brain just doesn’t seem to compute.
Buy things for YOURSELF?! How does that work then?!
My brain short circuits.
It’s used to buying things like school uniforms, plentiful kids clothes items and toys, and Match Attax cards.
When it’s sent into town to buy things for ME, it doesn’t know what to DO.
It sputters about in a panic.
Today, I thought I’d go for a trip to the nearest big city (as you do) and have a leisurely stroll around all the shops while the two small people are at school.
I had a walk round all the old haunts, re-visiting all my favourite old places, and even managed an enjoyable hour wandering through the designer shopping arcade.
You know, as it’s so much easier to go to the nice, pretty places whilst they’re safely ensconced in school.
If they were with me, they’d only be trying to do knee slides along the length of the shops or trying to play hide and seek behind the prettily dressed mannequins.
I’d be like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, but a lot more scruffy and unkempt and with two feral children in tow.
“I don’t think there’s anything in here for you. Please LEAVE!”
Yes, it’s easier to do the swanky places when they’re filling their head with education and the like.
I went with the intention of buying myself something NICE, godammit.
Something for me, as I don’t ever do that nowadays.
So, what do I come back with? Some nice designer perfume? A swanky new bag? A jewel encrusted mobile phone case?!
I’ve wound up with :
- some slippers
and some foreign goodies
Oh well, I’ve got warm feet and we’re sorted for random chocolatey and sugar highs, at any rates.
Next time I head into town give me a nudge and get me told to buy something more extravagant though!