family life Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

Technology at the dinner table.

Anna — Mon, 02 Oct 2017 12:49:32 +0000

“My child is not going to have electrical devices at the dinner table” We’ve all been there right? Sitting in a pub or restaurant with our small bundle of delight who is more than happy with cuddles and maybe a rattle. Across the way we see a four year old, head firmly in a phone or tablet and we put our judgey pants on. Fast forward three years and it’s your child sat there with the technology in his little mitts whilst someone over there puts their judgey pants on. Aoife was always happy with a book or some colouring so tech at the table wasn’t an issue with her. If we are having an impromptu meal out she is happy to sit and chat or play eye-spy. Seth on the other hand. Well. If we’re prepared he will play with his vehicles or whatever but if we have forgotten his trucks he will not sit still. He doesn’t do conversation or games, he will climb all over the place, try to get away and refuse to sit nicely. Unless a phone comes out. It used to be that looking at photos was enough to placate him but not any more. Now it has to be YouTube or Cbeebies. I am torn because on the one hand if it keeps the child from getting bored so they don’t disturb others then fine. Should it be the automatic go to? If the child is old enough to reason with then shouldn’t we be aiming for conversation? I still hold the romantic notion that meal time is sacred family time. A time to sit down with no distractions and catch up, talk about what’s going on in our lives and for us, a meal at home is just that. A meal out holds slightly different rules though. It’s still a lovely time to catch up but other people are sharing your space and deserve to have a meal in peace too. If letting your child play on a phone until the meal arrives ensures that they aren’t running around causing mayhem then that’s OK. Isn’t it? What about when they child is old enough to know better? Old enough to sit and have conversation without kicking off because they are bored? Should technology at the table be OK then? When Rory and I were in London a few weeks ago, we were in a restaurant and a family walked in. Mum, Dad and daughters who were maybe 12-14. They all sat at their table. The dad then went to sit at a different table. He was face timing or something and ate his meal away from his family. At the table the Mum was on her phone with her headphones in and checking out Facebook and the two girls were on their phones. Their meal arrived. They didn’t put their phones down to eat. They ate with one hand and held their phones with the other. Watching one of them trying to eat a BBQ chicken wing propped on a fork was a delight. I was mildly impressed at the skills. The only speaking was one daughter showing the other something on her phone. It seemed really sad that having gone out to enjoy a meal as a family they may as well have all gone out separately. *Grandma alert* We didn’t have this issue when I was a child. Is that because the mobile phone hadn’t been invented or because we weren’t taken out to eat as much? Did we just behave better in the olden days? I can’t decide if my issue is more with technology at the dinner table or the lost art of communication at meal time. Has one led directly to the other? Obviously taking photos to Instagram our meals isn’t included in this debate…

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The hardest thing about being a parent..IMO

Anna — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 21:29:49 +0000

Order is restored! Or at least something resembling order is restored. Aoife is back at school, Rory is back at work and Seth is watching Toy Story 2 back to back whilst dressed as Buzz Lightyear. Standard. Having been a lazy bum and taking a couple of weeks away from blogging and shameless self promotion I’m a bit tired so I decided to ease myself back into it gently and go for a Top Ten. Here’s the Top Ten things I found hardest about becoming a parent, or more specifically a Mummy for that’s what I am. Child Birth Yes, I know this is obvious but I didn’t read past week 33 in my ‘How to be pregnant’ book. It wasn’t all “oh my gosh, I peed myself…no wait my waters broke”…*scream like a banshee*….baby after 30 mins. It took days, neither child was in a hurry. It was painful, I sparkled, I cried, I was rude to the midwife, it was undignified, it was exhausting! Shitty Nappies Again yes, I’d HEARD about them but nothing. NOTHING can prepare you for an explosive, up the back, out the sides shitty nappy. The one where you have to hold legs in the air, cut baby out of the vest and wipe all at the same time.It’s on their hands, it’s on their feet, at least it’s not on….no way, how did it get there? IT’S ON THEIR HEAD. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE. Not laughing at ‘not good’ behaviour Obviously the biting and wall drawing isn’t a laughing matter, but the sass. Well, as much as I don’t admit it to Aoife, it’s HILARIOUS. Like the time Rory asked her to pick something up, she replied “Give me a minute woman”. Or the time I put her on the naughty step and took away her treats. “Will I still have food & water?” “Yes” “Oh I’ll be fine then”. Sometimes you just have to walk away and laugh. Without them knowing of course. Sneezing Coughing, laughing, crying, sparkling, running, dancing, jumping. All not just hard, almost impossible! Appreciating the things that are important to them Instead of being a destroyer of dreams and imagination, you have to appreciate every leaf/pine cone/stone/receipt placed into your bag because it’s “really beautiful” or “magic” or “stone”. It’s so hard to not point out your dismay at your handbag or pocket being full of snotty tissues and detritus. Being a parent ALL THE TIME. It’s nonstop! Even if you get some time away you think about them and talk about them. If you don’t think about them then you think how you should take it easy as you’re going to have to go home and be up with them in the night. If you have the kind of children that sleep through then you’re still thinking about looking after them with a hangover. The parenting just doesn’t stop! Finding a babysitter. When you announce you’re pregnant with your first child all your friends will tell you how excited they are and how they’ll babysit. LIES. As soon as baby arrives it becomes “I’ll babysit when they sleep through” then “I’ll take them to the pub at 18”. It’s not like the Babysitter Club books I read as a child!! Guilt Mummy Guilt/Daddy Guilt, call it what you want. It’s intense! Before children I didn’t do guilt but childbirth brings this whole new emotion. Every decision you make leads to a feeling of guilt. Everything you say leads to a feeling of guilt. Every time you leave them, every time you don’t. Every time you tell them off, every time you don’t. “I am too hard on them, I’m too soft on them, I’m abandoning them , I mollycoddle them” OH MY GOSH. I will also put crying in here. I have cried so much more in the last 6 years than I ever did in my previous 32! I have even cried at Four Weddings and CSI. Dealing with your body and mind It changes so much, at first it feels like it’s not your own. It gets big, it starts to behave differently. If you’re breast feeding it can feel like it’s completely someone else’s. It gets fatter due to ‘baby weight’, loneliness, sadness, boredom, habit. Your mind can be vicious, making you question everything. Making you paranoid. Making you feel bad about you and your parenting. Mix the two together and it’s a pretty rough time. I’d love to say you deal with it like this….but I still don’t have an answer. Baby groups/School playgrounds URGH. All these other Mummy’s just being amazing, looking fantastic and coping. They breastfeed so well, they look amazing, their children behave, some of them have actual jobs as well as being a mum. Their children love Baby Einstein and only listen to Beethoven, in fact, give Sebastian a toy piano and he can compose a tune, HE’S ONLY 8 MONTHS OLD! They never look harassed and have never dropped the F-Bomb in front of their children. When you’re tired, feeling fat and lonely THIS is one of the hardest things, this leads me to Pretending OK, I know I said Top Ten but I don’t like to conform. Being a parent is pretending all the time. We pretend we’re coping, we pretend we know what we’re doing, we pretend we’re happy with our smock dress, we pretend we’re not comparing ourselves to every other parent we see, we pretend every single minute of parenting is a breeze. It’s a tough act to keep up. We should all probably drop the pretending and then my Top Ten would be a legit Top Ten. Aside from all that, this parenting lark is a piece of cake.

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Sweet child o’ mine.

Anna — Mon, 12 Dec 2016 13:41:18 +0000

In 2010 I was pregnant, I would have told you that if my child were a girl she wouldn’t always wear pink, if it were a boy he wouldn’t always wear blue. I would have told you that my child would always show good manners. My child wouldn’t have a snot encrusted face. My child wouldn’t have massive public meltdowns. My child and I would have an amazing, love fuelled relationship. My child and I would do many different activities every day. My child wouldn’t watch TV. My child would never be mean. My child would never act spoilt. My child would be a kind child who recognised that they were blessed with a loving family and a lovely life. Here I am six years down the line. Mine is the child who likes to lay down in the middle of the street, maybe even eating stones. Mine is the child who scooched along the floor on his back and got stuck under a clothes rail in Primark. Mine is the child trying to hold the hands of strangers to take them home. Mine is the child constantly looking for a means of escape. Mine is the child telling me how unfair I am because her pillows are all wrong. Mine is the child kicking the bath because we had the audacity to ask her to have a shower. Mine is the child who threw the biscuit across the playground because I bought the wrong one. Mine is the child who looks like their wardrobe exploded at them. Mine is the child eating yogurt covered raisins from the wet floor. Mine is the child who speaks to me in a way I would never dream of speaking to my parents even at this age. Mine is the child walking away from me when I ask for a hand. Mine is the child wearing clothes inappropriate for the season. Mine is the with pasta sauce in their hair at least I hope it’s pasta sauce. Mine is the child who doesn’t stop all day, every day. Until we need to be somewhere then he barely starts. Mine is the child who bites in anger. Mine is the child who walks under my feet so I trip up in public, usually in front of people. Mine is the child who ignores what I say in public leading me to talk in that low, whisper type voice that means business but is still dutifully ignored. Mine is the child having a tantrum because I have no snacks left. Mine is the child who makes other people look up from what they’re doing to see what the commotion is about. I am the mum often looking harassed. I am the mum, sometimes exhausted even though her children should be sleeping through. I am the mum who often wants the earth to open up and swallow her. I am the mum who tries hard to placate her children and make sure they don’t spoil your day. I am the mum who constantly reminds her children not to be mean. I am the mum who tries to encourage her children to have manners and be respectful to others. I am the mum who can feel your judgemental glare. I am the mum who sometimes feels like she isn’t coping at all. I am the mum who sometimes looks like she is letting her children run wild but is actually carefully selecting her battles. I am the mum who sometimes hurries home so she doesn’t cry in public. I am the mum who sometimes feels alone. Mine is the child who smothers me with kisses and cuddles. Mine is the child who tells me I’m the best mummy ever. Mine is the child who tells me they’re sorry they were naughty. Mine is the child who declares family time is the best time. Mine is the child who is still learning how life works. Mine is the child who makes my heart swell with pride simply by existing. I am the mum who forgets childhood is short and lets what others think bother her too much. I am the mum blessed with two beautiful, funny, clever, fiercely independent children. I am the mum lucky enough to snuggle up with her children and watch Mickey Mouse for the 50th time in a day. I am the mum who cries laughing at the funny things her children do. I am the mum who, probably, wouldn’t change a thing. Mine may be the child who often behaves in ways I swore they never would but I am the mum who now realises that childhood isn’t for practising to be a grown up. Mine are also the children who can’t stand still long enough to have a photo taken together.

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