When parenting is childsplay

I am a modern parent.

My children are not colour-coded in blue and pink. I take great pains to make sure that everyone does dancing, everyone does roughplay and everyone reads a lot of books.

Even better, when Little Man proudly displayed his red-painted toenails and silver-painted fingernails to family and friends, no one batted an eyelid.

So, when Little Lady adopted (stole) a new Spiderman toy from her big brother I was secretly delighted. It's a small little figurine, with the added feature of a spiderweb-emblazoned backpack with a working grappling hook.*

She played with that toy the whole way to creche that day, then picked him up and played with him again the whole way home. Listening to her pooting the "bad guys" and shouting "pow pow!" every bit as loud as her brother did my heart good. Clearly, I rock at gender-neutral parenting. I should give classes or something. Perhaps there's even a medal...

And then we got home. Having divested herself of her coat and wellies, Little Lady resumed her play, for a few minutes. Suddenly, a shocked voice could be heard declaring "Spiderman! Why are you still wearing your coat? We are INSIDE now and you have to take it off THIS MINUTE!". After she'd taken his coat (backpack) off, she sat him down for some tea and toast.

While I struggled not to laugh within earshot, I realised that actually this was the success that I've been hoping for. A little girl who's not afraid to run, and shout, and save the day, but also a little girl who's not ashamed of the fact that sometimes, she just wants to play at being a Mammy.


*Incidentally, I have no idea why Spiderman needs a grappling hook. Tobey Maguire had already made Spiderman my least favourite superhero, but he's really fallen in my estimation now...

From baby steps to giant steps

Being a parent is a tough job. Some days, I think you'd have to be crazy to sign up for it.
I'm not complaining about the sleepless nights, the terrible twos, the fevers and worries. Oh no. TV, books, stand-up comedians - the whole world prepares us for that. But really, the difficulty in parenting is that even when you do it right, when everything goes according to plan, it's bloody heartbreaking.

When you have a baby, the first few weeks are a sweet-smelling haze of unusual hours, nappies, feeds, cuddles and secret smiles shared with your partner about the magical being you have created. About six weeks in, you get your first 'First'. That smile. The one you're certain wasn't wind. Baby has reached a milestone, and you bask in the pride of the moment.

Soon, you're excitedly waiting for signs of a first tooth. With Little Man, we waited ten and a half months for a tooth! The eventual arrival was greeted with celebrations of the highest order. Once again, our clever boy had achieved a wondrous thing, a step towards being a proper person.

There are first sounds, first words, first tentative steps. Each one a moment that you look forward to, that you cherish.

And then it hits you. Those perfect pearly teeth mean no more gummy smiles. When they're older, the changes are bigger and faster than you expect. Dressing themselves, using the toilet, saying 'please' and 'thank you' without being prompted. Each of these is a sign that you have done your job well. As a parent, you have created and nurtured a person who can survive in the big wide world, a person who will be liked and accepted in that world. A person who each day is growing further away from you.

Pride and heartbreak have a strange symbiotic relationship for a mother. Our job is to make our children independent of us. We shoulder this burden, we know it from the moment we feel the first flutters in the womb, those are the first strainings towards autonomy. We just know that the journey is what we've got to look forward to. That all of those firsts, and seconds, along the way are ours to enjoy and encourage.

But sometimes, a step towards the future feels too big, too sudden, too unexpected. My Little Lady had her first haircut at the weekend. She has a layered bob now, with a side fringe. She looks gorgeous - like a proper Little Lady indeed. Somehow, it makes me want to cry. Those blonde-tinged curls, that unruly mess of hair, that was the hair of my baby. She's two-and-a-half now. Of course, I knew she wasn't really a baby anymore. In fact, she loves nothing more than to mind babies herself! Little Mammy would probably be a better name for her. But those curls, they made her mine, my tiny baby who needs me more than anything in the world. And now, they are discarded on the barber's floor. And my Little Lady is a little girl. Not even really a toddler anymore.

So, I'm feeling slightly in shock. Amazed at where the last two-and-a-half years have gone - where the last four years have gone since her big brother was still nestled safely inside me. But with the tears sparkling in my eyes, I'm still smiling. Because they have been the best four years ever. Because that serious Little Man and kind-hearted Little Lady are just as I would like them to be. Funny, charming and strong, alternating between fierce independence and a desperate need for affection. I know that if we continue to do our job right as parents, our children won't need us around anymore, but if we do it really, really right, they'll still want us around. For now, I'm going to keep enjoying the journey, and for every secret tear I shed when I feel them moving from my reach, there are a hundred kisses, a thousand smiles and a million memories that make it all worthwhile.

The unbearable lightness of being... a redhead.

You’ve pretty much all seen my red hair, my new cropped style. Most people complimented it. I really liked how it looked myself actually, unexpectedly.

But, my red hair was not long for this world. Why? Well, it just didn’t feel like 'me'.

Having met numerous new people since Shave or Dye, I found myself telling them about it. Trying to 'explain' my red hair. It took a while before it clicked with me what the problem was. I was trying to let them down gently.

My red hair was cool, it was funky, exciting even. I am none of those things. This was a rather depressing realisation, and at first I kept my hair red, thinking perhaps it would boost my self esteem or something.

But I was still self-conscious. Everywhere I went, I felt like a fraud. That at any moment I could be found out, and ridiculed.

Finally, the answer came to me. I don’t WANT to be cool. I’ve been desperately uncool for thirty years and now is not the time to change. I have no idea how one becomes funky, but it seems like it would take a lot of effort. Exciting? That’s a day when you get three loads of washing dry, right?

So, I am once again a brunette. It’s still not my natural colour, but it’s closer, and I’ll get my natural colour back in time.  

I am a fairly boring person. I like to knit, and read, and sit on the couch watching House and Bones and How I Met Your Mother with my husband. I jump in muddy puddles with my kids, sing nursery rhymes and made-up songs from morning till night (even in the office), and sometimes I mop my way out of the house in the morning.

And, like my natural hair colour, that suits me just fine!

True love, aged three-and-a-half.

So, it appears that Little Man has gotten married. Just like that. I didn't even get to rock an old-fashioned Mother Of The Groom outfit! Now, I know that there are many worried Irish Mammies out there whose little boys are in their mid-thirties and showing no signs of settling down, but as we're still in the mid-threes I thought I had a little bit more time!

There are so many things I wanted to teach him before he was married. How to tie his shoelaces, for one. Perhaps even tell the time. And I know that Hubby hasn't had The Talk with him yet. Still, he knows enough to give regular compliments and daily snuggles. That's a good start to any marriage!

As for Little Man's Little Bride - well, she's a loquacious little cutie-pie. And as adorable as her smile is, it is her perseverance I admire most. Since naming her pet turtle after Little Man aged only two, she's been asking him almost weekly to marry her. With that kind of determination on her side, I imagine she'll have no trouble whatsoever getting him to bring out the bins, or collect her from the hairdresser when it's raining.

They were married in creche, just after snack time, with one teacher as bridesmaid and one as flower girl. I haven't been able to ascertain who exactly performed the ceremony, but I'm told that the vows were simple and elegant; "Hey baby, I think I want to marry you!".

So far, married life seems to be going well for the Little Couple. They now hold hands during story time, and regularly exchange secret smiles during both free-play and dinner time. Let's hope the honeymoon period lasts until at least their fourth birthdays!

The Mathematics of Parenting

Prospective parents are often nervous creatures. They don't really know what to expect for what is, basically, the rest of their lives. Sure, at different stages there will be some certainties - sleepless nights, homework, romantic worries - but what about the day-to-day of it? What is being a parent really like?

That's where I come in. After extensive research (aka things I noticed over the bank holiday weekend) I have broken parenting down into a series of easy-to-comprehend percentages. Once you've got these mastered, it's all plain sailing* from here on in.

Parenting is:

2% wiping things (if you have to ask, you don't want to know)
2% alphabet, colours and counting to ten
3% teaching them manners
4% reading "just one more" bedtime story
4% learning how to pack a tiny bag for every possible eventuality on trips lasting from 10 minutes to 10 days
5% pre-empting hunger
7% making them run around so that they just might be tired at bedtime
10% various snuggles and smooches
63% being able to say "You're right! We do need to go and rescue the baby puppies who are trapped in trouble on the mountain with glitter!" with just the right tone of urgency

See? Easy as pie. Messy pie. That sometimes smells. And makes a lot of noise. But still, pie.


* Definitions of plain sailing may differ from individual to individual. The author accepts no responsibility for any unforeseen carpet stains, trips to the emergency room, or embarrassing questions asked in supermarket queues

It's the little things

So I haven't blogged in a little while. I suppose it's to be expected.
As a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend and an employee, it seems like being a blogger is going to be difficult to fit in.

But that's ok. Sometimes it's enough just to do things, rather than talk about them. And sometimes, like this little post, the little things are fun too.

My darling Little Lady brought me one of those little moments of perfection this week. We were playing. I was the baby and she was the Mammy. And I pretended to cry. So, my gorgeous girl came over to me, threw her arms around me, cocked her head to one side and said 'It's ok baby girl! I know, I know. It's a tough old day.'

So it turns out she does listen to me after all!

Hair today, gone tomorrow! Or yesterday. Or something.

Where to begin??
Perhaps with Dee, the amazing woman who runs Headrush salon in Kilcullen. 

When I walked through that colourful door on Wednesday afternoon, I expected just to have my hair chopped off, dyed a slightly ridiculous colour and to be sent on my way. 

As we all know, Shave or Dye is a very good cause. Rather than running a marathon, or starving myself or staying awake for an improbably length of time, all that was asked of me was to subject myself to mild ridicule in the hopes of raising some much needed funds for the Irish Cancer Society.  

Friends, family members and the amazing Twitizens I've come to know and love all kept up their end of the bargain. Sponsorship came flowing in. I was delighted. 

But no one had reckoned with Dee O'Connor. In one sense, she failed miserably. I have been subjected to no ridicule whatsoever! This was not the plan AT ALL.

I expected to feel self-conscious, a bit stupid. I was prepared to buy headscarves and hairdyes and basically go into hibernation until everything was back to normal. 

I did NOT expect to feel gorgeous, pixie-ish. I was unprepared for the volume of compliments, jealous looks and declarations that I look years younger (woohoo!). All of those wonderful bonuses are down to the talents of one extremely generous hairdresser who gave me time, dye, patience... and a whole new look!

So, although we joked yesterday that we'd missed the point entirely, I think that Dee's work can only be called a huge success!

So where does that leave us? Well, with over €800 sponsorship so far, and a very happy lady. It would be remiss not to mention that Hubby seems fairly impressed too - although I was surprised by his reaction to the intermediate blonde stage as well! There's a pandora's box it's probably best not to open...

And, of course, the kids were keen to give their reactions to Mammy's new look.

Little Man: I like it. It's very pretty. Mammy, when I go to school tomorrow will you get your long black hair back? And you can give your red hair to the sick boys and girls if you want!

Little Lady: No liiiiiike it. No! No! Not nice. Mammy not red hair, Mammy black hair. No liiiiike it. 

Well, you can't please everyone! 

For those of you who missed the live-tweeting yesterday, here are the pictures of the whole event!

Not a bad afternoon's work at all!