Gogglebox

"Just because he's missed one bedtime story, does not mean he's going to be illiterate."

 

Words of wisdom from Mr W this evening to assuage my guilt (shut me up) about the fact that I had allowed Dexter to watch Thomas 'the mother-chuffing Tank Engine' on my iPad in bed. As the boy's eyes goggled tiredly in his head, emulating his rail-riding heroes, he refused his nightly story - even from his beloved daddy.

 

Whilst I am keen that this is not a pattern we fall into on a regular basis, it did get me thinking about the often controversial issue of children and screen time - specifically television.

 

I LOVE television and I have a very low threshold of intellect and taste when it comes to my viewing pleasure. Soaps, 'talent' shows, reality and countdown programmes are up there with my top televisual choices. To be honest, shameful as it is to admit, I struggle with anything that contains, you know, an actual story - much to the bemusement and frustration of my husband. The only programmes we have truly 'watched' together (i.e. I have put down my phone/iPad to concentrate) are the BBC's 'Sherlock' and the Anglo-French remake of 'The Bridge' - 'The Tunnel'. To me, television is entirely a matter of personal taste: my personal taste is distinctly trashy.

 

My love affair with the idiot's lantern began at an early age. Every Saturday, I would be in my pyjamas until at least twelve, glued to 'Going Live', 'Number 73' or whatever programme du jour was filtering into our living room. As a very young child, I distinctly remember that Emily was most certainly not alone in her love of Bagpuss. However, I always was (and still am) a voracious reader; I'm an English teacher for goodness sake! I also like to think that my social skills have not suffered as a result of my choice to engage in what must be the nation's favourite pastime. I LOVE to chat and am certainly not shy or withdrawn.

 

Dexter has a communication and language delay. A very late talker, whilst he is making oodles of progress, he is still 'behind' with his social skills and chatting. I constantly doubt myself as a parent and I've struggled with the slightly different journey we've had with our boy. Saying that, I've never had an issue with him watching television. He loves cBeebies, most of which in my humble opinion, has educational value. And yes, we are going through a MASSIVE 'Thomas the Tank Engine' phase at the moment which includes the programmes, the films, the books and the model trains themselves. He is obsessed.

 

On our day off today, Dexter and I spent two hours at soft play, visited the toy shop where he was treated to a model Henry, which then allowed me to bribe him to sit in the shopping trolley clutching his latest acquisition whilst we had a tantrum-free time in Waitrose doing the weekly shop.

 

On returning home, the boy proudly declared that he loved Henry and was very keen to get into his playroom to introduce the small green engine to Thomas and Gordon. He then happily spent the afternoon playing with his trains; I caught up on the washing (I may have had a brief disco nap on the sofa). Listening in on and joining in with his train play, it was obvious that Dexter's language and imaginative play have come on in leaps and bounds. It was television that introduced him to Thomas.

 

After a quiet afternoon, a tea that included several types of fruit and a packet of crisps, a bathed and chilled-out boy sat in bed watching the Thomas movie while I caught up on some work emails and some lesson planning. That's my reality; that's our reality. And to me, that's the essence of my train of thought (pardon the pun). Life is all about balance and moderation. Yes, my boy watches telly, but he also goes to the park, does jigsaws, plays with trains and averages three bedtime stories a night. Mr W is right: no books this evening does not constitute a parenting fail.

 

Perhaps I'm afraid of being judged for my attitude to little ones and screens. If parents and carers choose to have a different view, that isn't for me to judge either.

 

After  posting this, having listened to the radio for an hour whilst writing, I'll be turning this screen off and heading for a hot bath. There's nothing on television that interests me this evening and I've got a great novel on the go that I'm desperate to finish...

This post seems to offer a rather tenuous reason to wheel out this picture of the one and only time I have actually appeared ON the television!

 



 

Living in a box: an anniversary

Last Wednesday marked the one year anniversary of our move from my beloved Brighton to the new-build 'box'. My mum keeps telling me off for using 'box' pejoratively; I'm actually using it fondly! I do see our house as a big beige box, but also as a space that we've already put our mark on and a place in which we still feel excited about future projects.

I can't decide if it feels like less than a year or if it feels like we've been here for ever. I do not miss Brighton one bit. I still ADORE the city by the sea and we visit a lot (far more time is spent on the pier nowadays - grim), but we moved to make life easier. And it is.

In the spirit of one of my favourite television genres - the ubiquitous and frankly cheap countdown programme - here's my current top ten reasons why the box really is a gift (see what I've done there?...)

1. Our own path, front door, letter box and hallway. You house dwellers may snigger at how easily pleased I am, but after years of living in a flat in a converted house containing five properties, I LOVE receiving our own junk mail and not having to walk past the latest pile of random tut that's been left out by other residents.

2. A 'playroom': a rather grandiose term for the funny little room on the front of the house that even the developers didn't know how to market with a positive spin. It is home to basically all of Dexter's toys and his precious train tracks and it's Ikea storage heaven for his piles of jigsaws, games, cars, etc. The boy loves to play in there and it means his bedroom stays pretty tidy as it's just used for sleeping.

3. The kitchen: our main room on the ground floor. This is my domain - not in a 1950s sort of way, but more a 'heart of the home' way. I love having a big kitchen table to work at, dump things on and have family meals together. I was brought up in a family that valued eating together. I have been told on more than one occasion by parents of delightful students I teach that their only 'secret' to good parenting is eating (and talking) together. I am still perennially faddy when it comes to food projects, so it's not about the daily creation of gourmet feasts, but just the sitting down together. Breakfast nearly always involves all of us together at the table and it just feels right to start the day that way. The kitchen is also home to a television, radio and ancient sofa. As it's right next door to the playroom and downstairs loo, I've little need for the rest of the house until bedtime!

4. Outside space. Our garden is tiny and frankly, after the wet weather we've had, is really not looking its best. We need to start to sort it out. Regardless, with the onset of spring and its longer days and warmer temperatures, I am still not over the novelty of opening the patio doors in the kitchen onto our own little haven. Plus, the front of the house looks onto a small meadow and the children's park, so there's a lovely sense of space and green.

5. A twenty minute commute: does this need any further elaboration?

6. Three toilets: I'm not showing off. Multiple loos seem to be mandatory in any new-build, irrespective of size or budget. One on each floor is great for lazy folk like us, guests in the house and will undoubtedly be invaluable when I finally attempt full-on potty training with the boy...

7. A sense of community: people chat, folk smile, we know neighbours' names! This is nice.

8. Being slightly out in the sticks makes us more pro-active about getting out and about. We have to drive to most major places, but that does mean we are more likely to plan ahead for visits and outings. Sometimes, having Brighton on our doorstep meant that ironically, we didn't always embrace all it had to offer, or we'd walk into town and do the same old things. Here, we're more inclined to go for a walk in the forest or to a neighbouring village, particularly if there is a tearoom to be found.

9. A blank canvas: a new-build literally doesn't even have toilet roll holders (there's three to buy, remember) and so it is great fun having to think of themes, schemes and colours for each room.

10. Space for guests: whether it's just for a cuppa on the way home from work, a Friday night curry and sleepover, weekend lunch, or my entire family for a week - the quirky layout of our tall, higgledy-piggledy house comes into its own. The box is at its best when its full of family and/or friends. And that, after all, is what makes a house a home.

With tangerine trees and marmalade skies...

 

There's a bit of an orange thing going on in 'the box'. I am putting this down to being a child of the seventies. I guess you could say I've got an orange crush; I'm definitely sweet on it...

 

Having it all?

 

As a *coughs* thirty-something, working mother, I often find myself asking that age-old question: can we really have it all? What does that even mean? When I'm getting a bit ranty about equality and feminism with my A Level classes, I see myself as a strong and strident professional role model. I choose to go to work, I read to my child every night and occasionally I even cook.

 

When I'm on my knees and a bit knackered, I curse those darn women who chucked themselves under regal racehorses. I have to go to work or we wouldn't be able to pay the mortgage. Four nights out of seven, the bedtime story is the only quality time I will have had with my boy. And the reality of my prowess in the kitchen is that I'm very good at opening packets and pricking holes in plastic lids: I heat.

 

I've 'lost balance' a bit this week. It's been a while since it happened, but some of those eternally spinning plates have been dropped.

 

You may be wondering where I am going with this post (to be honest, it's quite late - so am I). A photo of some party balloons renders my navel-gazing somewhat incongruous. Let me explain.

 

This morning, we went to a very lovely - and very lively - joint third birthday party. Dexter is currently in a social whirl of 'threenage' celebrations. There was music, dancing, balloons, stars, party food, cake, candles and coffee. After my second hot beverage, I caught my second wind with a plastic flute full of fizz. The boy had a ball.

 

Post-party, we went to the family-friendly pub around the corner from the party venue with two other families: connections forged at the ante-natal class we all attended three years ago. We ate pizza, the mums drank some wine, the toddlers played and the dads paid. Just at the point where our pre-children afternoon would have morphed into papers, pints and the possibility of football on the big screen, we cleared the decks, said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

 

Back at home, there was some telly, some tea, bath time and 'Burglar Bill'. I've drunk lots of herbal tea, done some marking and had a hot bath. Mr W has been tackling the over-flowing washing basket. I hope to be asleep by eleven, ready for the brutal six o'clock alarm call and some more plate-spinning...

 

This weekend, I've pootled, I've partied, I've passed some time in the pub and I've put in the time with my family, my friends and my work. I've re-grouped. I guess you could say in a funny sort of way, I've had it all.

 

Jamie Love - and when 15 minutes is really 35...

Having run out of steam with 'Project Breakfast', I decided a couple of weeks ago that I needed a new food fad. I have no staying power with any sort of project - hence such sporadic blogging - so attempting to cook from the same book for a sustained period of time was always going to be a challenge!

Frankly, just cooking every evening would be a challenge; I'm more your 'heat and eat' kind of girl. Having enjoyed an amazing pasta feast with our lovely friends, Family Knight, shortly after Christmas, I was inspired by Chef Dan's recipe from Jamie Oliver's '30 Minute Meals'. A cynic by nature and a general domestic incompetent, I remained unconvinced that the meals really do take so little time to prepare and cook, so was delighted to discover Jamie's '15 Minute Meals'. For exactly two weeks, every evening meal we ate, came from this book.

The verdict?

Pros

• Every meal I made genuinely tasted good! Obviously, we had favourites, but there wasn't a dud amongst them.
• They seem to be healthy and balanced - which was one of Jamie's objectives. I have never felt like I have eaten such a varied and interesting diet before.
• All recipes are for four people, and generous portions at that.
• They look pretty! Especially if you mimic Jamie's philosophy of platters of food to encourage a 'dig-in and share' approach.
• I really am a terrible cook but nothing was beyond my distinctly limited culinary capabilities.

Cons

• I defy anyone (including Jamie himself) to actually make the meals in 15 minutes! Cheekily, he doesn't count getting your ingredients and equipment out in the time frame and the dishes rely on a significant number of ingredients. I found that if I prepped separately, whilst plonking the toddler in front of 'Peppa Pig', for some of the dishes, the cooking took around 15-20 minutes.
• It was expensive - as I said in my previous comment, you need a lot of ingredients. However, I do think if you used the book regularly, you'd build your store cupboard up and the cost would go down. Also, I stupidly wasn't halving the ingredients when I was only cooking for two people.
• You really need a food processor with a variety of blades. Don't bother with the book if you don't have one or aren't prepared to buy one.
• Be prepared for mess! The kitchen generally looked like a bomb had hit it most evenings. Thank goodness for a dishwasher and a husband who dislikes chaos!
• If you're not a natural cook and you rely on a number of prepared meals throughout the week alongside some actual cooking, cooking only from this book started to feel like a stamina test!

Overall, I will definitely cook from '15 Minute Meals' again. In fact, the dishes are impressive enough that they would make really impressive and satisfying dinner party food. I feel like my little experiment was an enjoyable success that has definitely given me more confidence in the kitchen.

Now that particular fad has finished, I am rather drawn to the lovely Alice Judge-Talbot's brand new website: More Than Paleo. In fact, the chicken for the delicious-looking Sticky Honey Chicken Salad with Sweet Potato and Cashew Nuts, is marinating in the fridge as I type!

Below are the meals I made from Jamie's book: two from each main section of the book. Jamie's are on the left, in case you were wondering! And this is not a sponsored post, in case you were wondering that too, although I may send Jamie the link...

Hearts and Bottles

There's a beautiful book by the awesome Oliver Jeffers, called 'The Heart and the Bottle', the essence of which is the idea that we have to be connected to our feelings through our emotional 'heart' and, if we try to detach that heart from our very being, we simply cannot feel - at least that's how I interpret it anyway. It reminds me of a story I used to teach called 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart' by J.K. Rowling, although that's a bit more bloody and gruesome: probably not one for the smalls.

Anyway, the reason I am rambling on about these stories (and at risk of slipping into 'teacher-mode') is because at the weekend, I had a really lovely day. My intention is not to be Mrs Smug of Smugsville - if that is how I am coming across, please take comfort from the fact that there were at least three epic toddler tantrums and a not-so-near miss with some dog poo - but more to try and capture a moment. I'm a firm believer in the mantra that 'nothing is permanent', be it good or bad and sometimes, I wish I could take those lovely moments, and a bit like the heart in Jeffers' book, just bottle them.

Instead, I capture them in photographs, albeit, on my trusty iPhone and with no skill whatsoever. However, I'm also making a conscious effort not to stage and fixate on photos, for fear of missing that moment and separating it from my heart.  Saturday afternoon in a gloriously sunny Brighton was the perfect back-drop to some spontaneous snapping, but I also made sure that my heart and soul actually felt and connected to the bright sunshine, the breezy beach, the madness of the pier and the sheer joy on Dexter's face. And my stomach definitely connected to the delicious dinner at Yum Yum Ninja. Now if only I could bottle the taste of their duck pancakes and beef skewers...

A magical morning!

Dexter was three on 13th February. It was a school day, so we indulged in nothing more than some present opening and some caterpillar cake eating.

Before Christmas, I hadn't really planned for him to have a party, but then 'Marco the Magician' got the nursery Christmas party gig. My boy can accurately be described as 'contrary' and it is often hard to tell how he will take to such occasions; he loved it! So that was decided: book the village hall, get the date in Marco's diary and get inviting the guests!

Naturally, I dedicated a whole Pinterest board to some rather grandiose party plans, but when it came down to it, all we needed was: a cute and practical venue; the legend himself; a real bunny rabbit (Mr Marmite, if you please); super-helpful grandparents; copious amounts of beige food; brilliant guests and the birthday boy himself!

If you helped us celebrate, then THANK YOU for schlepping out to 'the sticks': we hope you had a magical time too!

Back to school

I am writing this post on Saturday night. It's late. It's been a gloriously sunny and Spring-like day - incongruous in the depths of Winter. We've done very little today: some chores; a tantrum-filled trot to the park across the road, and I have had my weekly, self-indulgent hour astride a horse, so the buttocks have been toned and the soul nourished. I love weekends; I also love the week.

Whilst the Christmas holiday was a glorious, sparkly, bauble-shaped full-stop in the chaos of real life, I was totally cool with Monday 6th January 2014 rocking up and marking a distinct end to festive frivolity. Don't get me wrong, I HATE getting up early; I LOVE being asleep. Always have, always will. My alarm goes off at a frankly inhumane 6am. I am Queen Reluctant of Inertia-Ville when it comes to physically getting out of bed, but once I'm up, and I've had a cup of tea, I'm okay.

It's bloomin' dark at the moment at 6am, and cold, but I think there's something bear-like and cosy about emerging from a collective slumber and gently stepping into the day via dressing gowns, caffeine and subdued lighting. Or maybe I've simply overdosed on the John Lewis Christmas advert 'bear and hare' advert in the last few weeks.

Like the bear, I'm a creature of habit and routine. I am incredibly fortunate that I really like my job. It was genuinely lovely to see my students again on Monday; by Friday, it was genuinely lovely to think we'd all have two days away from each other. But I think that is what I love about routine: that it's reassuring and comforting - it makes me feel safe. But also, any break from it in the form of weekends and holidays feels special and different, and full of possibility. If only for a short while...

And it also represents the turning off of the 6am alarm.

Below is Monday morning in really grainy, really poorly lit and edited and really unprepared phone pictures.

Usually in the week, I have to wake Dexter up; he's got the Wayne sleep gene. Post-Christmas, playing with his trains seems to be a new and unhelpfully distracting part of his morning routine.

We always try to chip away at the chores, even at such an early hour. Usually, the washing machine goes on or the dishwasher gets emptied.

I'm Northern; it's life blood.

It really helps if it's overly-priced, reet tasty tea. I put the oven timer on for a 3 minute brew. I am aware I may be mildly obsessive

I aspire to have a morning around the kitchen table that resembles the sunny optimism of a breakfast cereal advert. We're more chimps' tea party. Those tiny hands are shovelling satsumas into his tiny gob. We have to limit the citrus to no more than three per day; the nappies are, well...

I love Radio 2 in the morning. I love listening to Chris Evans. He has the unique ability to be relentlessly, overtly positive without making me want to punch him in the face.

Yep, this is what Mr Wayne wakes up to every morning. Lucky man.

I HATE GETTING OUT OF IT! Did I mention that?

Nursery car park. Radio on, marking some essays and generally ignoring child. Working mummy skillz.

Nursery car park: child wondering why he is being ignored. Working mummy skillz.

Disclaimer: by mid-January, I will be blogging about how exhausted I am, how I hate my job and how the daily grind is really getting me down. Probably.

Project Breakfast on the road...

As a family, Team Wayne struggles to get out of the house before midday on a non-work day. I blame two things: every member of the family's complete love affair with sleep; Mr W's lengthy morning shower routine - most of which is spent cleaning the shower.

Some mornings require an early exit from the house - usually for the most banal of reasons. This was the case this morning, as my car was due its MOT: dullsville. Back in Uckfield for 9.30am, we took Project Breakfast on the road. Dexter was still in his pyjamas (I had changed his nappy) and today's promised bad weather had been given an early morning blue-sky reprieve.

We therefore whiled away an hour or so in the desirable window-seat of 'Hartfields' on the high street. A cute caff with produce on sale too, it does wonderfully strong coffee, offers a selection of cakes and as it turns out, does a pretty mean breakfast too.

This isn't a sponsored post; I think local high streets are an important part of a local community. We should support them, particularly when customer satisfaction is a priority. And we left Hartfields as very satisfied (and full) customers.

Let's just hope my car passes its MOT...

Christmas: the Wayne way.

 

Christmas Eve with lovely friends and mince pies a-plenty.

Lovely friends' lovely playroom: trains have been a definite theme this festive tide.

As we were hosting this year, 'the box' had to look pretty, including for Christmas Day breakfast. Beautiful hand-made runner and napkins courtesy of my talented friend, Jo.

I've been big on twinkly light and festive smells this year.

Christmas Day always starts with: 'Has he been?!'

More trains. More tracks.

Who knew the gift of a pony-print onesie would be so gratefully received?

More great transport-themed gifts, courtesy of one of Dexter's best friends: Becka.

My 6pm rule goes out of the window in the Christmas holidays: fizz for breakfast!

It was lovely for Dexter to have quality time with his grandparents.

I cooked. I prepped for DAYS. It was bloody good. *takes a bow*

Best clothes and party hats for Christmas dinner!

There were five types of veg: daily recommendation in one meal.

'Selfie': word of the year in 2013.

Boxing Day brought beautiful blue skies after a number of wild storms.

Boxing Day also brought Dexter's other set of grandparents and Christmas dinner, part deux.

Their gift was this fab teepee. Dexter's favourite new thing is to snuggle in there with plenty of cushions and the iPad with 'Peppa Pig' on loop. Home cinema, toddler style.

 

His uncle and aunt gave Dexter this magnificent pirate ship. The weather for most of the holidays has been as wet, windy and choppy as a pirate-infested ocean, but aside from the odd bout of cabin fever, we've all had a blast. Hope you did too.

Happy New Year!