The Mum Reviews

Being a body confident parent and the #PledgeToBeReal campaign

I was bullied a lot growing up and it was usually by other girls, and it was usually related to looks. One experience that’s stayed with me was when I was about 13 years old and I started to sprout some breasts. I probably did go from a relatively flat chest to an attractive B-cup at quite a fast rate. Some of my peers took exception to this.

A group of 3 girls started teasing me, saying I was stuffing my bra and that what was in there couldn’t possibly be for real. They forced me to go to the toilets and take off my bra to prove I hadn’t stuffed it. Then they threw toilet roll on the floor themselves and pretended that they found it in my bra, so I couldn’t win, despite my innocence.

When I reflect on that hurtful day now, I realise how ridiculous it was that such young girls were obsessed about the size of each others’ breasts. This sort of awareness could only have been propagated by the media to which we’d been exposed. We were girls about to be women, and we worried about living up to certain standards of supposed femininity from a very early age.

Looking back on pictures of my young self now, I think about how I wasted so much of that time worrying about how I looked. I sometimes come across old pictures of myself and think that I looked pretty good, but I didn’t realise it at the time. I loved teen magazines, and they – along with my peers who’d also been looking at those magazines and comparing themselves and others to the hotties on music video television – led me to believe the following about myself:

I had too much hair. I was obsessed with perfect depilation, particularly on my legs, and worried endlessly about the shape of my eyebrows.
My hair never fell perfectly across my shoulders like the cartoon princess hair I craved.
My skin was not smooth and flawless enough. Why didn’t it look silky like the skin of the girl on the cover of the magazine?
My skin was too pale. Cue endless tanning and no doubt sun damage today as a result.
My lips were too fat. My friends thought their lips were too thin. Who cares about lip shape really?
My stomach was not flat enough. I was perfectly thin when I was young but I didn’t think my skin should fold at all when I sat down.

Get real!

I realise now that my worry was created by the false expectations about beauty that surrounded me. That is why I’m writing this post in support of the Be Real Body Image Pledge. It’s a national movement, supported by Dove UK, which is campaigning for the advertising, fashion, music and media industries to show more reality and diversity.

Current technology and the propagation of sharing selfies on social media is putting more pressure than ever on people to look a certain way. A recent study commissioned by Dove showed that when this leads to low body-esteem, it can also lead to opting out of important life activities such as seeing family or leaving the house. The study also showed that 80% of UK females wish the media did a better job of realistically portraying women in all their authentic beauty and diversity.

The pledge asks organisations that sign up to attempt to reflect diversity and reality in their advertising, and focus on promoting health and well-being.

Making a difference as a body confident parent

Being a mum of two boys who is (ahem) approaching middle age, remaining body confident is still a challenge at times. Having children changes your body forever, and I am still learning to accept aspects of it that are new to me. I still have to ignore messages in the media telling me that I need to be a certain shape which may not be a realistic goal for me. As I age, I’m also trying to ignore messages telling me I should worry about gray hairs and fine lines. Someday the wrinkles will be everywhere and I’ll wish I’d appreciated my only fine-lined face while I still had it.

And I know my sons will be getting messages too about how both women and men should look. It is my job to try and show them how to interpret these. So here is what I think I can do as a parent to support the Be Real Body Image Pledge:

I will let my sons see me feeling happy and confident in my own skin. I will not point out my physical flaws (as I perceive them) aloud.
I will not comment negatively on the way other people look. If you don’t have anything nice to say…
I will support brands and media outlets that portray realistic body images.
When they are old enough to understand, I will talk with them about how what they see in the media is not always a full portrayal of reality.
I will teach them to respect their own bodies and the bodies of others.

I’m not saying it’s easy or straightforward, but as with many things, awareness of what needs to change is the first step towards changing things.

Standards of beauty have changed throughout history, and we can choose to see the beauty in the everyday, rather than getting increasingly obsessed with fantastic, technology-enhanced images. We can learn to focus on health, activity, kindness and community, rather than a pleasing angle that would be more attractive in a piece of architecture than on a human being. If our children are presented with true beauty to which they can realistically aspire, we can have greater hopes for them to have a healthier future.

I created this post as a competition entry in support of Dove and the Be Real Body Image Pledge. You can show support for this campaign by using the hashtag #PledgeToBeReal on social media.

I didn’t know blogging could change the world

Last weekend I attended Mumsnet’s Blogfest 2016. It was my first blogging conference, and I was a massive noob as I’ve only been blogging for about 4 months. I attended thinking I was going to learn how to grow and promote my blog. But I left with something much more important – a renewed sense of purpose.

Before I began blogging, I didn’t really know what it was all about. I thought people just wrote diaries about their daily lives and didn’t mind if strangers read them. I started my blog to offer advice about how to plan successful days out and holidays with young children in tow. I was going to keep it impersonal and apolitical, but my plans changed very early on.

I soon learned about the amazing community of parenting bloggers. These were intelligent, talented people who were writing about things for which they cared deeply. Parenting is not a walk in the park, and they were honestly sharing their achievements and failures in a way that could make others feel not so alone.

They were writing about important issues such as coping with miscarriages. They were removing the stigma from PND and other mental health issues by sharing their stories and coping strategies. They were standing up for others – both those like themselves and those who were different. They were campaigning for equal rights for all.

The other bloggers changed my goals for my blog and I started writing about issues I cared about too.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised to find that Blogfest was not just about beautiful photography and great SEO. It was about how blogging can make a difference.

We are living in a time when politics are making people feel uncertain about the future of the world. One of the drawbacks of social media is that it can filter out alternative voices, making it easier for people to only see what they want to. We’re living in a world where the truth belongs to whoever is powerful enough to propagate their version of it.

In such a world, bloggers have a surprising amount of power and responsibility. We are in a privileged position because we have the resources to publish our views and the skills to communicate them effectively.

That gives us the opportunity to campaign for what is right. We can speak up when others might fall silent. We can speak truth to power.

Blogfest was about so much more than monetizing your blog or increasing your pageviews. It was about a beautiful community of women and men who, unusually compared to so many other professions, support each other more often than they compete with each other. Who defend each other’s right to speak even when they disagree.

So as I look forward to continuing my blog, I will try not to obsess over stats or which brands I’m working with. I will focus on whether the things I’m saying will make a difference. I’ll add my voice to the many who are challenging dominant narratives. I will not be silent when I see injustice. And if that helps just one person feel less alone, or makes just one person reevaluate their thinking, then that makes it all worthwhile.

I’m going to leave you with this YouTube video that they played during the campaigning session at Blogfest. It was a speech from Obama during his 2008 presidential campaign, about how one voice can effect change. The speech may be 8 years old, but I’m more fired up and ready to go than ever.

Knowing the side effects of hormonal birth control could save your life

The birth control pill has been in widespread use since the 1960s and has been incredibly beneficial for both women and men. The ability to choose when to have children (for the most part), and avoid unwanted pregnancies is extremely valuable. So by no means is this post “anti-pill”.

However, two stories in the news recently have brought the side effects of birth control pills to the forefront. The first was a Danish study that showed a clear link between hormonal contraceptives and depression. While “mood changes” have been listed as a side effect of the pill for many years, this was the first large-scale study to investigate just how much the pill could affect women’s moods.

At the same time, a recent study into the side effects of a male birth control injection was cut short “due to side effects, particularly depression and other mood disorders“. So this may be oversimplifying things a bit, but it seems that it was simply unacceptable for male test subjects to experience the sort of mood effects from hormonal contraception that women have been experiencing for years.

My personal experience of hormonal contraceptives

My personal experience with hormonal contraception has been unpleasant at times. When I was 18, I started taking the injectable contraceptive, Depo Provera. It was sold to me as an excellent choice because I just needed a jab in my rear end once every 3 months. It was 99% effective and I wouldn’t have to remember to take it every day like a pill.

Although I’m sure I would have seen a leaflet listing the side effects, no one pointed them out to me. But I experienced just about all of them. Before starting the Depo shots, I was effortlessly thin. After starting it, I gained about 20 pounds which I have never been able to lose. I had headaches, extreme mood swings and completely lost my sex drive. No wonder it’s 99% effective … I didn’t feel like having sex!

Later, I switched to the combined pill. I was able to cope with this much better and mostly felt normal on it. However, when I stopped taking it years later in order to try for my first baby, I experienced a massive improvement in my general wellbeing. The sporadic feelings of dissatisfaction and insecurity that had plagued me for years suddenly disappeared, and I found it easier to lose weight.

After my second son, my GP encouraged me to take the mini-pill because I could be on it while breastfeeding. During the time I was on this pill, I had to seek treatment for postnatal depression, and when I forgot to refill my mini-pill prescription, my depression lifted.

Over the years, I have never been taken seriously by health professionals when I’ve mentioned how profoundly various types of hormonal birth control had been affecting me. The attitude has always been that all of these things were worth coping with in order to prevent pregnancy.

The side effects are not as rare as they say

I decided to ask some other female bloggers whether they had experienced bad side effects from the pill, and was surprised how many of them had, within a relatively small sample group (the Facebook group I asked contains just over 1000 people, not all of them women). Here are some of the comments I received:

I had increasingly bad side effects from the combined pill, which culminated in me being admitted as an emergency as I was suffering with a hemiplegic migraine. It was a very frightening experience as my whole left side went numb, my left cheek drooped and I had very bad light sensitivity. After undergoing extensive tests, including an MRI, CT contrast, etc., they determined it was the combined pill that was the cause, and immediately stopped me from taking it. I’ve since been told that hemiplegic migraines are a precursor to stroke, so I was incredibly lucky!

– Nathalie from The Intolerant Gourmand

I went on the pill; it gave me horrific mood swings – I mean like I could be laughing like it was the funniest thing going, and within 30 seconds be bawling my eyes out. It was genuinely a bit scary, like verbal diarrhoea, but rather than being that excited positive spewing, it was like horrible, hateful stuff that most of the time wasn’t even true, but just my brain having a freak out.

– Hannah from Han Plans

I had one which made me want to kill myself – right out of the blue. They put me on anti-depressants and then worked out it was the pill. Even though they knew it was the pill, it still flags up on my file: “depression”.

– Alice from Seaside Housewife

I haven’t been able to take the pill since I was 18 due to it making my depression worse.

– Lisa from Hollybobbs

I had to come off the combined pill because I had such a bad migraine one day I couldn’t feel my left side, and they suspected it was actually a TIA/mini stroke or if not, I was actually very close to having one. At that point I had been taking it for 5 years. I switched immediately to Cerazette (progesterone only) and was told that I must never take oestrogen again. I came off the pill altogether after I got married and it was a revelation – suddenly I felt “normal” – I hadn’t realised how different it had made me feel being on the pill because I’d taken it for such a long time. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, and what had changed, but I knew I felt better in myself, like a fog had lifted. I will never ever go back on it, or any other hormonal contraceptives.

– Sarah from Arthurwears

I had to come off the combined contraceptive pill (Microgynon) because of the side effects. I had zero sex drive (making it pointless for me to take the pill anyway!) and put on weight, but worst of all was it gave me severe suicidal thoughts. Within days of coming off it I was back to normal again, but it was a horrendous experience.

– Maddy from The Speed Bump

So are you saying I shouldn’t take the pill?

Absolutely not. As I mentioned earlier, the pill has improved people’s lives massively, and if you are not experiencing any health problems while on the pill, then keep on taking it!

However, I do not think there is enough awareness of the side effects of hormonal birth control, so I am writing this to urge you to read that leaflet and talk to your doctor if you think your contraceptive is causing problems for you. Different forms of birth control can have different side effects, but here are a few things to look out for:

If you are having migraines or any severe headaches, particularly if you are using the combined pill, be sure to remind your doctor that you are on the pill. The combined pill can cause strokes.
If you are feeling continual low mood or depression, it could be worth trying to go off the pill for a short time. You should also talk to your doctor, but I’ve found that doctors won’t be quick to consider the pill as a cause of depression.
Hormonal contraception can also contribute to weight gain and changes in your sex drive.

Please note that I am not a medical professional and you should always speak to your doctor, and always use alternative contraception, such as condoms, if you’re not on the pill.

Here are some links to NHS information about different types of hormonal birth control:

Have you had issues with the side effects of contraception? Leave your story in the comments.

Emergency services and wee funnels – my rubbish weekend

If you read my recent “soft play and fails” post, you will know that I had a slightly annoying Friday last week. You will also know that said rubbish day culminated in my toddler being sick all over one of my friends. What you don’t know is that vomit was only the beginning.

The worst thing about my 1yo’s bug that night (besides the usual feelings of worry about him) was the fact that I currently have no washing machine. You can imagine the “joy” of dealing with pukey clothes without being able to just bung them in the machine. I didn’t deal with them. I hid them in a far corner of the bit of my house which is being renovated, in the hope that the plaster dust would neutralise the smell until I could find a launderette.

I can’t say Friday night was pleasant, but we survived it. By midnight, poor little 1yo was finally able to keep down some water and we all gratefully went to bed.

Saturday was sort of alright. We went to IKEA and I discovered I could put my 4yo in the basket of the trolley with his tablet. This enabled me to look at candles and unnecessary soft furnishings in peace, instead of spending the whole time stopping him from forging a path of destruction through the kitchen displays. I even think the children actually went to sleep nicely in the evening.

But cue 3am and my poor little 1yo started crying in an unusual way. I ran to his bedroom to discover he was burning up. I took his temperature and it was nearly 40 degrees celsius. I gave him some baby ibuprofen (we were out of baby paracetamol), brought him into our bedroom for a cuddle, and stripped him down a bit. Then we noticed that his breathing was a bit fast as well. I decided to call 111 (for the non-Brits, this is a 24-hour health advice line you can call for non-emergencies).

After the usual assessment, the advisor on the phone told me he was calling an ambulance. Okay. That’s serious shit. My adrenaline kicked in. Best put some clothes on, I thought.

I put some Peppa Pig on Netflix for my 1yo while I waited with him for the ambulance. My husband stood with the door open as advised by 111, to make sure the paramedic could find the house. The paramedic soon turned up and was very reassuring while she did a series of tests on 1yo to assess his condition. Based on these tests, she offered to drive us to hospital.

It wasn’t a full-sized ambulance. It was smaller and called an Emergency Response Unit or something like that. The back of it was sort of like the back of a Black Cab. We strapped 1yo into his own chair – he always prefers to have his own chair – and I sat in another. Husband stayed home to look after the 4yo.

Our local hospital has a paediatric A&E and this allowed us to be processed through triage very quickly. The nurse brought us to a bed and presented me with a sort of test tube with a funnel attached to it. “We’ll need to get a urine sample,” she said.

I said, “Uuuhhh, how do I get that then?”

“You should take off his nappy, put this waterproof pad underneath him, hold the funnel nearby, and wait.”

Me: “Right. Okay.”

I felt a heavy weight of responsibility. I had been given a urine sample obtaining job. I wished to succeed at this. Never mind I also had the responsibility of keeping a sick baby mildly content whilst waiting an unpredictable amount of time to see a doctor.

Luckily, we’d brought my best friend: the tablet. And the hospital had brilliant WiFi. Streaming CBeebies saved my sanity on this night. Thank you, tablet. Thank you, hospital WiFi. Thank you, CBeebies. Never say I’m not grateful for small favours.

So now you can picture me:

Holding the tablet at a comfortable viewing angle for the 1yo (which was an uncomfortable angle for my arm).
Simultaneously holding my head upright in a way that would keep me from nodding off in utter exhaustion (the head bobbing slowly down and then shooting back up again in another bid for wakefulness).
And watching LIKE A HAWK for the anticipated wee sample.
Constantly re-adjusting the funnel to ensure ideal placement for the catching of a sudden wee.

In the end, we waited 3 hours to be seen by a doctor. I spent that entire 3 hours waiting for my son to wee in the funnel. That’s right: I spent 3 hours staring at my son’s junk, hoping for a wee. Well, how else could you spend the wee hours of a Sunday morning (maybe be dancing in a club? I wouldn’t know).

When the doctor finally came, he diagnosed tonsillitis and sent us home with some penicillin. We never did get that urine sample.

While I was waiting for husband to collect us from hospital, I gave my son his first dose of the penicillin from a syringe. At first he took it eagerly as he loves the flavour of Calpol. But then he made the incredible grimace. This was the precursor to a later disaster.

When we got home I was allowed to go for a nap while husband looked after the children. I was awoken when he tried to give my son the next dose of his penicillin. He screamed and screamed and refused to take it. When my husband finally got it in, 1yo promptly puked it back up.

I was enlisted to have a go at administering another dose. Let’s just say I failed.

Hours passed and my son refused to eat or drink anything. My husband popped out to the shops, and while he was gone, 1yo laid down on the sofa and just went to sleep. I looked closely at him and I thought he’d gone a bit blue around his nose and mouth. In hindsight I was probably imagining it.

Suddenly, my heart started pumping at a mile a minute. It felt as though it was going to leap out of my chest. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I called 999. This was the first time I’d ever called 999 (or 911, when I lived in the USA) in my life.

The woman on the phone was very kind and talked me down from what was apparently a panic attack. I’d never had one before.

When my husband got home, we agreed that my son should go back to A&E because he wouldn’t drink anything and we couldn’t get the medicine into him. Why are children always sick on Sundays?

They were very nice at A&E and they gave us special rehydrating solution and then the doctor eventually came and gave him an extra check. She said he was fine and then had the nurse help us learn the best way to pin him down and trick him into opening his mouth so we could syringe the medicine in. It seems cruel, but the doctor said if we couldn’t give him the meds then he’d need to stay in hospital for a whole week to get them via a drip.

Perhaps we didn’t need to go to A&E the second time, but you hear so many horror stories about misdiagnosed children. It was a “better safe than sorry” situation. And the doctor and nurses were completely understanding and incredibly helpful.

We went home again and I can’t say giving 1yo the medicine got any easier. But by the end of the day, you could tell it and the rehydration solution was taking effect, and he started taking an interest in his toys again.

He’s now perfectly fine, even though we’re still wrestling him to get the drugs in. Luckily, he is also back at nursery and they skillfully administer some of the doses.

So there you have it. My crap weekend. Why did I bother telling you? Partly just to vent. Partly to say you shouldn’t feel embarrassed to use emergency services and the NHS if you feel you need them. And mostly so you can laugh at the image of me obsessively holding a wee funnel for 3 hours.

A day out of soft play and fails

I had a very bad day last Friday. It wasn’t terrible. Nobody died and my life did not change forever. It was just one of those days when everything goes wrong enough to leave you wanting to collapse in a heap long before the day is over. And it was a long, long day, full of many parenting fails. So I’m going to moan about it on my blog, because I’m pretty sure that’s one of the things that blogs are for.

We are having renovations on our house, and I shouldn’t complain about that because it will be brilliant when it’s finished. When it’s finished.

This day was the day when they were tearing out everything in one room in the house and replacing the electricity fuse board. This meant that there would be constant drilling and hammering along with NO electricity. We are also living with an incomplete kitchen and kitchen utensils spread around everywhere. Last week, it took me half an hour to microwave some spaghetti hoops and make some toast.

Of course all this would be going on during half-term, so I had two kids who would need feeding and entertaining all day. I decided I’d be best off leaving the house completely and decided to go to Bluewater (a large shopping mall). It has soft play, food, and if I needed any supplies for the kids I would probably be able to buy them.

Fail Number 1

I left the house thinking that the pushchair was in the boot of the car. It was not. Luckily I discovered this before the entire 40 minute drive to Bluewater. I returned to the house to pick it up. The builders made fun of me.

Fail Number 2

We arrived at Bluewater without incident and made a beeline for the soft play. It’s actually brilliant because you can pay £5.50/child for unlimited play all day, and you can pop in and out as much as you like. It’s not very big, but I find that’s a good thing when you have 2 kids to keep track of. Apparently, it’s a pop up shop, so I’m not sure how long it will be there.

After approximately 10 minutes of soft play, my children got told off for throwing all of the ball pit balls out of the ball pit. After 5 more minutes, they both started crying and lying on the ground whilst kicking their legs around in the air. I decided they must be hungry.

While I was putting 1yo into his buggy, 4yo disappeared. Then I saw him through the window of the soft play standing by the lift with his fingers in a place they were likely to be pinched if the lift door opened. Either that, or the doors would open and he would bugger off to another floor of the shopping centre. I started banging on the window and shouting hysterically for him to come back RIGHT NOW. He did not appear to hear or take notice.

One of the lovely ladies who ran the soft play managed to catch my naughty 4yo and return him to me. I thanked her and tried to make an extremely quick exit in my embarrassment for shouting like a banshee. Another of the ladies kindly said I should be sure to come back to get my money’s worth out of the soft play.

Fail Number 3

I decided to take the boys to Jamie’s Italian because I’d heard that kids eat free during half-term. This was indeed true (but only 1 per adult so I could only get 1 of the kids free). I was very impressed by the kid’s menu there. It was full of variety and healthy choices and made a lovely change to the chicken nugget and burger-based menus I’m used to. Unfortunately, as usual, the kids still didn’t eat it. I enjoyed mine though. Only marginally a fail.

Fail Number 4

1yo did a poo in his nappy. I took him to the very posh refurbished nappy changing rooms at Bluewater. I opened the massive heavy rucksack full of supplies that I’d brought with me. It did not contain any nappies or nappy sacks. I went to Boots to buy some. This is why I chose to go to the mall.

Fail Number 5

Nappy successfully changed, I decided to brave the soft play again. The lady there was very kind again and told me that she understood why I was shouting and would have been more cross if I wasn’t bothered that my son had run off. Very kind of her. While we were talking, 1yo tried to climb over instead of under one of those soft play roller things. He fell on his head. He was fine though.

Fail Number 6

The soft play also lets you rent out push along cars that your kids could “drive” through the mall. It was £7 for 3 hours. I didn’t think I was likely to push a miniature Range Rover around for 3 hours, but my kids really wanted to go on one. I rented a double car. They sat in it and it was a bit narrow for the two of them. Cue pushing and whining and mild bruising.

I did quite well pushing the (very heavy) Range Rover car for about 4o minutes. We stopped for a donut. Then each of the children got out and walked part of the way. When I was almost back to the soft play, I realised that neither of them had any shoes on. I’d left them somewhere at the soft play.

My children had been walking around the mall with no shoes. And I thought people had just been staring at the glittery miniature Range Rover.

Fail Number 7

We went back to the soft play, returned the underused car, and played a bit more. Until 1yo started acting like he’d found some stray amphetamines and repeatedly tried to fall on his head on purpose whilst giggling hysterically. It was time to go home.

I had planned to visit a friend that evening and we were going to order a delivery pizza for us all to enjoy as a treat.

The pizza turned up about half an hour later than expected, so my kids were shouting with (what I assumed was) hunger by the time we finally sat down to eat. 4yo ate nicely but 1yo absolutely refused to touch a bite. He cried and cried until I gave up and put him on the floor to play.

He wandered round for a bit, then walked up to my friend and vomited on her leg and all over the floor near where her baby was playing.

Thus ends Part 1 of the most shit weekend in recent times. Tune into my next post, where things get even shitter.

Kidzania London: Great educational fun for kids

This half-term I took my 4-year-old to Kidzania London. This unique attraction at Westfield in Shepherd’s Bush is a whole city entirely run by kids. It has shops, food outlets, emergency services, and more. The aim is that kids get to try out real-life jobs in a fun, hands-on way.

How it works

Kidzania has around 60 different role-playing experiences, set out in the format of a sort of miniature city. Upon entry, kids are given 50 “KidZos”, which is fake money. Some of the roleplaying experiences cost KidZos to play, and other experiences earn KidZos.

Each of the experiences is completely kids-only. Parents cannot even go inside the rooms where the children do the different activities – they have to watch through the window! Or, if your children are 7+ years old, you can leave them to do it on their own, and either relax in Kidzania’s parents’ lounge, or go shopping in Westfield. Kids wear RFID bracelets and the whole place is secured so older children are safe enjoying it on their own.

Each admission to Kidzania is for 4 hours, and their website expects you to do around 4-6 roleplaying activities in that time. We actually managed to wedge in 7 activities despite a bit of queueing, so I was very happy with that.

The best way to explain exactly what it’s like is to write a little bit about each activity my son did. This of course will only offer a taste of what’s on offer.

Aviation Academy

We made a beeline for this because my son was rather keen on the notion of being an airline pilot. He went into the room himself with a group of other kids and they dressed him up in a cute little pilot uniform.

Inside the room I could see (through the parent viewing window), that they had a fully simulated plane cockpit. My son thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Paper recycling

My son has a thing about recycling – not entirely sure why – but I thought he would enjoy learning about paper recycling. He went into the room on his own and the teacher there showed him how they mash up old paper, soak it and then form it into new sheets of paper. He got a piece of handmade paper to take home.

Ice cream factory

This was sponsored by Wall’s and the kids got to make a mini milk. They had miniature versions of the machines in the factory and my boy seemed to enjoy it. He got given a badge to take home.

Smoothie making

Same concept as the ice cream, but with smoothies, sponsored by Innocent. This one had a good layout and I could see everything that my son got involved in. He really enjoyed trying some of the fruit and then making a machine work, which spat out a smoothie drink box that he got to keep and drink.

Fire & Rescue unit

This was the absolute highlight. We had to queue for a while – and if I went again I would go to this first thing to beat the crowd – but it was so worth it. First, the kids watch a video about fire safety and what firefighters do. They get to wear cute little firefighter uniforms.

Then, they ride a miniature fire engine across the city to where there is a model hotel “on fire”. They have toy fire hoses that squirt real water and they all get to help put out the fire. The whole scene was really cool because the city also has Ambulance and Police experiences. So all of the emergency services turn up to play different roles and help with the fire at the hotel.

City tour bus

Not really as hands-on as the rest of things. You basically just ride a miniature tour bus (much like the fire engine) around the whole city. You know, on a tour! But my son obviously loved it because BUSES.

Textile recycling

I already mentioned about his love of recycling. The textile version of it looked really fun because the kids got to use tablets to sort the clothes for recycling as if they were working in the factory. They also sorted some real clothes by hand and learned all sorts of things about the process. He was given one of those rubber wristbands to take home – which is one of his favourite ever things – he has a growing collection of them from wherever we go!

What I liked about it

I think Kidzania is a very fun place for kids. I saw children of all ages there, really getting involved and loving the feeling that they were in charge and doing “grownup” tasks. It had a great Disneyworld sort of atmosphere that made you feel as if you were immersed in an alternative world. However, the kids were all learning about real-world professions and getting an insight into how the world works generally. I think this was immensely beneficial for my 4yo, as he is just on the cusp of having a deeper understanding of the world and things like this steer him in the right direction.

The notion of spending and earning money is useful – although my son was a little too young to care about that bit. I looked after the money for him and if I hadn’t, it would have been lost for sure! However, I think the roleplaying itself and putting kids in control was even more useful than the training of tiny capitalists. Learning and trying out new skills filled my son with confidence. It was also helpful for me as a parent to step back and let him get on with it. I was prevented from hovering and helping him when he didn’t really need help (as I’m sometimes wont to do).

Without exception, all of the staff there that ran the different sessions were amazing. The staff are all DBS checked, but beyond that, I don’t know what their training was. But these people managed groups of 6 to 8 children of varying ages almost effortlessly, and with great fun and humour. My son is known to challenge authority figures but he behaved beautifully for these people.

It was also lovely that some of the experiences gave a small token, like the wristband or the badge. Very nice to get souvenirs that don’t cost extra!

Some points for consideration

The child admission is £32 during school holidays, and £29.50 off-peak. I think that this is fairly good value, especially if you have an older child who you can leave to go around on their own. That amounts to fairly cheap babysitting! Also, that sort of price is in the usual range for any theme park or attraction in the London area, and Kidzania is definitely as much fun for kids as any of them.

However, I’m less keen on the £16.50 adult admission price. Kidzania has a parents’ lounge where you can go and drink coffee and use the wifi. If I could have done this, I wouldn’t have minded the admission price. But as I had a child under 7, I had to follow him around everywhere. It was pretty hard work standing outside all of the venues while my son enjoyed himself. I think there should be a cheaper price for the parents of under-7s.

On the upside, this place would be perfect for catching up with a mum friend. You could bring your kids and chatter away without interruption while the kids do their activities!

Another thing to consider is the food situation. The website says that you can’t bring your own food, but this wasn’t policed. There were many people blatantly picnicking, and in the end I envied them. The only food outlets were a coffee shop, a crepe trolley, a “diner” and a GBK fast food counter.

We didn’t go to the diner because the seating inside looked odd. Children were sitting down at little bars and there seemed to be no place for the adults to sit. I wanted to sit down and enjoy lunch with my son, so we chose GBK, which had more tables (but not enough, I should note).

Unfortunately, the GBK burger was one of the worst I’ve ever had! It featured 2 dry overcooked patties, presented wrapped in paper with no plate or basket – only a tray – to put it on. And it was very expensive. I paid £21 for two burgers (one child-sized), one fries and two drinks.

I would urge Kidzania to assess their food outlet options and also to “legalise” picnicking. If you are planning to visit, perhaps you’d like to avoid visiting at a time when you would need lunch – I certainly can’t tell you to break the anti-picnic rules.

The verdict

I think Kidzania is definitely worth a visit if you are looking for a unique, immersive and educational attraction for your kids. It’s great for ages 4 and up – and even better for ages 7+ because the kids can go round and let their parents relax.

The Kidzo money that they earn is also good anytime. So if you don’t earn enough on your first visit to buy anything at the Kidzo store, you can save it up and use it next time.

Disclosure: I received 2 admission tickets in return for this review, but I retain editorial honesty.

How to become something you never thought you would be

Does anyone else remember being about 18 years old (or even younger) and thinking they had the world all figured out?

Did anyone else think they were complete at that stage? “I’m an adult now and this is who I am.”

Maybe it was just me. But boy was I wrong. Now I’m in my ~~late~~ 30s, I’m finally starting to realise that I’m becoming a new person all the time – that I’m not complete and that it’s never too late to become something you never thought you would be.

I think at my age it’s easy to feel a bit discouraged about your prospects – like it’s getting too late to learn something new or succeed at something you never tried before. But then I need to remind myself of how much I’ve changed since I was 18. Since then I have:

Moved to a whole foreign country and learned to live happily in a different culture
Built a pretty decent career-like thing that I’m not ashamed to talk about at dinner parties (in case I ever go to any).
Grew two humans and learned how to keep them alive.

And those are just the really big things.

At the same time, a fear of failure has all too often kept me from success. I have a history of being a quitter. If anything seemed too hard – or the prospect of success too good to be true – or it seemed that failure was imminent, I would just give up while the giving up was good. It happened with just about every sport or hobby I ever tried. It also happened with a few career choices I pursued in my youth. I was going to be a star of screen or stage but I never even actually tried that.

I’ve told myself I enjoy being a jack of all trades, but really I’m afraid I can’t be the master of any of them. And fear never did me any favours (I have to remind myself when undergoing any medical procedure that fainting does not help). Strictly Ballroom had the best ever mantra:

That’s why this blogging lark has become so important to me. I’m not going to give up on this one. Some weeks it’s hard. I can’t think of anything to write, or nobody is reading what I do write. Some days, being a mum and all, I’m just so tired and I want to stare into space and drink a glass of wine. Today is one of those days.

But I’m going to write instead. Because sometimes the feelings that make me feel like sitting around doing nothing are actually put to better use by writing. I can write it all down and put it to rest.

Writing is one of the things I’ve always loved but was too scared to properly pursue – especially fiction writing. The blog is teaching me that I can write and that writing isn’t always about who is going to read it, or whether I become famous or even recognised at all.

It is also teaching me that it’s never too late to reinvent yourself. I can be a mum, a wife, a friend, a blogger, and a writer. You can finally go and climb that mountain you’ve been looking at, or take steps towards changing your career to the one you really want.

You’re never too old (or too young) or not good enough.

Have you given up on things you loved before? Is there something you always wanted to try?

What is up with Bonfire Night? A guide for foreigners

I recently wrote a post defending Halloween, so it is only fair that I write something about Bonfire Night. I grew up in the USA, and before I moved to the UK, I had never heard of it, and then I found it roundly baffling. Once I got used to the weirdness, I’ve really enjoyed it. It is, however, pretty difficult to explain to my American friends and family.

I remember my first year in England back in 2001, when people started mumbling something about Guy Fawkes and the distant pops of fireworks became a regular occurrence for at least a week. I had a relative visiting from America and we giggled about people saying “Guy Fawkes” in their cute English accents and didn’t really try very hard to understand what it was all about. Something about Christianity and bonfires.

After that, I somehow managed to not really get involved in Bonfire Night for years. I’m not really sure what I was doing, but I was dating someone who wasn’t keen on crowds (a man who was later upgraded to husband and still doesn’t like crowds). I remember him mumbling something once about taking me to London to eat a toffee apple, but it never happened.

So I never actually attended a Bonfire Night celebration until 2009 when we had become regulars at a local pub and it presented another reason for a piss up. I had fun that night. Macho men built massive fires and endangered life and limb lighting fireworks in irresponsible ways. It made me interested in the tradition and what it was all about.

The main occasion for fireworks in the USA is obviously Independence Day (the 4th of July), during which we celebrate getting shot of the British and their stupid red coats. As an American who has set up home back in Britain, I’ve obviously rejected that holiday. I have renounced my independence. But one has to mourn the chance to engage in some nationalistic fervour whilst watching explosions.

So it’s a good thing we have the same thing in Britain! Obviously it’s not about independence – people throughout history have needed independence from Britain, not the other way round. But there is a fair amount of nationalistic fervour.

For any readers who don’t know the story behind Bonfire Night, here is my take on it and the history that led up to it. It is fascinating and super eccentrically British, imho.

Henry VIII was pissed off that he couldn’t conceive a male heir with his wife, plus he fancied having some other wives. So he rejected Catholicism, which wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing, and declared himself head of the Church of England. Then he could totes marry whoever he liked.
Later, Elizabeth I got pretty hard-arsed about it and decreed people MUST attend Church of England services. She executed Catholic priests and whipped and/or imprisoned people practising Catholicism.
Her successor, James I, at first gave Catholics reason to hope for more toleration, but he didn’t deliver on it.
This pissed off a breakaway group of young Catholics, who thought it might help matters by bumping off him and most of parliament – and then installing a Catholic head of state. The Gunpowder Plot was born.
Guy Fawkes was just one of a group of conspirators, but he was the explosives expert. So he’s the one who got caught planting 36 barrels of gunpowder under the Houses of Parliament on 5 November 1605, in the hopes of blowing it sky high.
Poor old Guy and some of his mates were hanged, drawn and quartered for treason.
There then was an actual act of parliament declaring that the 5th of November should be a day of Thanksgiving for, um, the king and parliament not being exploded and stuff.
Part of this celebration is the burning of an effigy upon a bonfire. In early days, this might have been the pope himself, but poor old Guy is the main scapegoat nowadays. So schoolchildren might build a “guy” for burning on the bonfire.
These celebrations also involve fireworks displays and the eating of toffee apples. Although our local party only seems to have sausages.

I just love that it takes me so long to explain why people like to set off fireworks and burn things on 5 November. That deep sense of history is something that is much more pervasive than it is in the comparatively young USA.

So now that we have kids, we love an excuse to go to a local community event (not a piss up), watch some fireworks and buy some overpriced glowsticks. And I’m so happy that I can watch fireworks safe in the knowledge that I’m doing it for relatively defunct nationalistic reasons.

Halloween is not an American import, says the American import

Right, so I’ve got to capitalise on the season and write some seasonal posts. The next seasonal fun in store is Halloween. As I grew up in America, I think I have an unusual perspective on the whole thing.

First I should explain that I’m one of those immigrants who is more British than the British. I have a deep love of my hard-earned crimson passport and I embrace British culture wholeheartedly. I’ve assimilated. I can’t really change my accent, but I can choose to say trousers instead of pants. I know my aubergines from my eggplants and I never, ever talk about fanny packs (mind you, I’ve not even considered wearing one since the early 90s, but I saw a 6th-former wearing one today so maybe they’re back).

I drink real ale. I drink my tea with milk and would NEVER heat the water for it in a microwave (a popular American pastime). I am good at queuing. I am willing to accept less than impressive customer service because I wouldn’t like to make a fuss. I think baked beans are perfectly acceptable to eat at breakfast time.

But one time of year when I am entirely and unashamedly American is when it comes to Halloween. My childhood memories of getting dressed up and going trick-or-treating are among the best for me. I may have made a few dodgy costume choices as a pre-teen which got me teased at school, but the sweets (you see, I said sweets, not candy) made up for it.

I’ve been shocked over the years to find how resistant some British people can be to aspects of Halloween that they consider to be American imports. A recent Telegraph article quotes survey results stating:

Some people have negative impressions of Halloween, seeing it as an “unwelcome American cultural import” (45 per cent in agreement). Furthermore, not everyone is convinced that “trick or treating” is harmless fun for the kids (33 per cent).

So here is a bit of history to put Halloween in perspective, and an explanation of why people really ought to lighten up and embrace the fun of Halloween.

A Halloween history lesson

Contrary to popular belief, trick or treating is not wholly an American invention, and Halloween has a long provenance in the UK.

Halloween originally comes from the pagan ritual of Samhain. Celts believed that the dead would return to earth on Samhain, and they would wear “costumes made of animal skins to drive away phantom visitors” (History.com), and leave offerings out for roaming spirits.

After Christianity came along, Samhain got replaced by All Souls’ Day, in which people honoured the souls of the dead. Halloween is All Hallows’ Eve and is part of the All Soul’s Day vigil. In the middle ages, part of this festival involved “souling”, in which children and poor adults would dress up and beg for food and money by singing songs and saying prayers on behalf of the dead (Today I Found Out). Sometimes, people would even cross-dress while they prayed for fertile marriages during Hallow Mass.

The “trick” part of Trick or Treat also has more British origins than one might think. You may be familiar with “Mischief Night” in which traditionally young people played pranks and even damaged property on 4 November – the night before Bonfire Night (The Guardian). Leave it to the Americans to take something the British invented, slap a shiny name on it and sell it back.

Trick or treating is safe and fun for kids

Lots of people worry about the safety of Halloween for kids, but with the correct precautions there is no reason to worry about this. No one had more protective and cautious parents than me and I was still allowed to go trick or treating, with my parents when I was very young and with a group of friends as a pre-teen. There were simple rules:

Don’t go to houses that haven’t turned on their lights and added some sort of decorations.
Don’t go inside anyone’s house.
Stick with your friends or a responsible adult.
Don’t eat any sweets until parents have checked the wrappers for structural integrity, stray razor blades and/or poison (urban legend).

I was never allowed, nor was I interested in, performing any “tricks”. As far as I know, almost no actual trick or treaters do this. Adorning houses with toilet paper and throwing eggs are for bored teenagers who will find any excuse.

And kids just love trick or treating. What’s not to like about accumulating sweets? I took my older son out for the first time last year (at age 3), and I’ve rarely seen him quite so excited. He’s been counting down the days until autumn so he can go again.

Plus, I think trick or treating is good for children’s people skills. It takes confidence to knock on someone’s door and present yourself politely to be provided with sweets. When I took my son, I was so proud the way he said “trick or treat” with a smile and always remembered to say thank you.

Halloween is good for the community

I’m lucky enough to live in a little village where people have some semblance of community. We come together to prevent anti-social behaviour that ruins Halloween for everyone, but we can also come together to celebrate it. Besides the grownup fancy dress parties at local pubs, which often raise money for charity, there is a general festive feel on Halloween night in my village.

Not everyone participates, and that is respected, but lots of houses are lit up with jack-o’-lanterns. Some people even make little haunted gardens for people to walk through on the way to the door. The adults enjoy chatting at doors and while they pass each other on the streets.

Some people really resent the notion of being expected to provide sweets to children. No amount of British acculturation can get me to understand why anyone wouldn’t enjoy making children happy with such a simple gesture. I get excited to hear a knock at the door and see their smiling excited faces.

Dressing up is fun and not scary

Children love dressing up and role play anyway, so why not have a whole day that gives them an excuse to enjoy it? Fancy dress fosters imagination and creativity.

The thing that really confuses me is that many British people think you HAVE to dress up as something scary on Halloween, and that not doing so is uniquely American. However, my history lesson above describes a long history of non-scary Halloween outfits.

When I took my son to his school “Pumpkin Party” this year, I saw no less than 10 little skeletons waiting outside. Boring! My son was a completely non-scary fireman. He got to dress up as a hero! And someday, I’d like to think that he’d be perfectly free to dress as a burrito.

So get carving

According to this interesting history of the Jack O’ Lantern, the practice of carving them comes from a rather creepy Irish folktale about a jerk called Stingy Jack. Originally, in Ireland and Scotland, people carved faces into turnips and potatoes to ward off Stingy Jack and his unsavoury mates. When the custom came to England, they used beetroot, which sounds very scary indeed.

Using pumpkins is an American import, but they are clearly more fit for purpose than turnips. But if it makes you feel more British, go ahead and use some other sort of root vegetable. Or even branch out and use an alternative squash.

The point is, Halloween has a long tradition in this country, even though traditions have grown, changed, and been influenced by other cultures. So, turn off your lights, dress normally, and keep your sweets to yourself if you like … but Halloween is just as British as baked beans at breakfast.

How do you feel about Halloween? How do you celebrate it (or not) in your family?

Does your bedtime routine actually work?

The bedtime routine has taken on a sort of magical status in our house in that I dare not depart from it in fear that the kids would not go to sleep. However, I’m starting to wonder if it is as effective as I imagine. Herewith, a dramatisation of a typical evening in our house.

18:00 BST

Mum: It’s bathtime!

4yo: Nooooooo! You need to have a picnic with me and then I need to tidy the picnic away!

Mum: Fine. Drinks imaginary drinks and pretends to eat plastic food. Finished! Now it’s bathtime.

4yo: I just need to tidy up the picnic. Very carefully proceeds to put all the plastic food in the plastic picnic basket. Then very … slowly … folds the tiny picnic blanket in a tiny square shape.

Mum: Ok NOW it’s bathtime.

4yo: But but but…

Mum: I will remove pasta from your reward jar! 4yo begins running up the stairs. Hey you, 1yo, it’s bathtime.

1yo: In manner of Churchill Dog Oh no no no no.

Mum picks up 1yo old and carries up stairs as 1yo arches back and impersonates a piece of timber.

18:15 BST

Mum: 4yo, please sit on the toilet.

4yo: I’m too tired.

Mum: The sooner you go to the toilet, the sooner you can go to sleep. Pulls down 4yo pants and places him on toilet. Removes the rest of his clothes in anticipation of bathtime. Hey, 1yo, let’s get you ready for bathtime!

1yo: Oh no no no! 1yo runs away and hides in a corner. Mum picks him up and takes him to his changing mat while he once again impersonates a piece of wood. Removes clothes from 1yo and places him on his potty.

Mum: Hey, 4yo, are you done on the toilet?

4yo: singing whilst remaining on toilet Tomblibooooo Tombli Tombli boooooooo!

Mum: Runs bath. If you’re done on the toilet, you should get off the toilet!

1yo: cackles as he pushes toilet seat aggressively onto 4yo.

4yo: Oooow! Brother hurt my back!

Mum: THEN GET OFF THE TOILET. 4yo gets off the toilet. Now brush your teeth. 4yo brushes teeth and fed up mum wordlessly lifts him up and deposits him into the bath. Ok 1yo, now it’s your turn to brush your teeth.

1yo: Oh no no no no.

Mum picks up 1yo and places him on the stool by the sink. 4yo impersonates jelly and melts down onto the floor. Mum tries to pick up 1yo. 1yo returns to wood impersonation. Mum lays 1yo down on lap and forcibly brushes teeth, then places 1yo in the bath.

4yo: My brother is stealing all the bubbles! Aggressively moves all the bubbles to his side of the bath.

1yo: Screams because he has no f*cking bubbles

Mum: Pours water over both children’s heads. Washes hair and body whilst ignoring screams and protestations.

18:45 BST

Mum: Time to get out of the bath!

1yo: Oh no no no no!

Mum: forcibly removes wood-like toddler from bath, dresses him and leaves him in his bedroom. Ok 4yo, it’s time for you to get out too.

4yo: But I just need to finish making this volcano. Mum watches while 4yo fills a cup with water and then covers it with a flannel.

Mum: Ok, now let’s get out. I’m going to count to three. 1 … 2 …

4yo: In mortal fear of reaching three, opens the drain of the bath and gets out. Runs into bedroom with towel and hides underneath it. I need to be a pillow!

Mum: Pretends to use towel-wrapped 4yo as a pillow (like every night) Wow, this pillow is sooo comfy. Ok now put on your pajamas.

No response. Mum picks up 4yo and applies his pajamas while he ignores her and attempts to build a bus stop out of Duplo bricks.

Right, now play in your room while I get your brother to sleep.

19:00 BST

Mum reads stories to 1yo and actually enjoys this bit, with cuddles and giggles. Then she lets him drink a large quantity of water. Then she sings Twinkle Star and places him into bed with appropriate toys and dummy. Turns musical projection mobile on. Does secret prayer that this bedtime ritual will work tonight.

Mum: Night night, sleep tight, Mummy loves you, see you in the morning. Magical phrase must be repeated exactly the same each night.

19:10 BST

Mum reads no less than 4 stories with 4yo while he offers continual non-stop explanation of all the illustrations. 4yo gets in bed and mum turns the Gro Clock on (VERY IMPORTANT).

Mum: Would you like a song tonight?

4yo: Yes but it has to be a NEW song that you haven’t sung before.

Mum: But I have already sung you all the songs I’ve ever known.

4yo: Fine, then just sing “Summer of ’69” again.

Mum: I got my first real six-string, bought it at the five and dime, played it ’til my fingers bled, was the summer of ’69! Mum continues to do her best Bryan Adams impersonation while 1yo starts crying in the other room. Okay, big boy, time for sleep. Kisses 4yo.

4yo: 4yo kisses Mum precisely 5 times on the cheek in return and then shouts, Weird!!!

Mum: Night night, sleep tight, mummy loves you, see you when your sun comes up. Runs next door and puts 1yo back in bed.

19:30 BST

Mum goes downstairs, cleans up toys, does the washing up, puts a load of washing on, pours a drink and sits down to watch telly and/or blog. She hears a squeaking doorknob and crying. She runs upstairs and puts 1yo back in bed. Goes back downstairs, takes a drink.

19:40 BST

4yo: shouting from his bed I NEED A POO!!

Mum: Shouting back from downstairs THEN JUST GO!!

19:55 BST

4yo: Still on the toilet, singing Tomblibooo, tombli tombli boooooo!

1yo: Waaaaaa! Mummy mummy mummy!

Mum: runs upstairs. 4yo, please get off the toilet. Puts 1yo back in bed. 4yo is still on the toilet. Mum has to physically remove him from the toilet and assist with wiping and hand washing. Puts 4yo back into bed. Then puts 1yo back into bed again.

20:05 BST

Mum goes downstairs and gets in a solid 10 minutes of blogging.

20:15 BST

CRASH BANG! Mum runs upstairs. Toddler has removed all the clothes from his wardrobe and wedged a toy lightsaber behind the radiator. Mum tidies up, puts toddler back in bed, and goes downstairs.

20:30 BST

4yo: Shouting from his bed again Mummmmyyyyy! My covers are all messed up.

Mum: runs upstairs, fixes 4yo’s slightly disarrayed covers. You know, you could fix these yourself.

4yo: I love you mummy.

Mum: I love you too now please please please go to sleep!

1yo: Waaaaaaa! Mum puts 1yo back into bed again.

21:00 BST

All is finally quiet. At last, mum can do some writing, maybe watch Bake Off. She finishes her glass of wine and falls asleep drooling on the sofa.