Guest Post: The Living* Dead, by Father Earthly (aka Smellyhippy)

Night of The Living Dead

(* and the Living is touch and go)


Our daughter - Girl Earthly as she is known on these pages - is an insomniac. Our daughter wants to explore this amazing new world and isn't going to let a piffling thing called nighttime get in the way. Our daughter is teething. Our daughter suffers from indigestion, particularly after dark. Our daughter is struggling with separation anxiety. Our daughter is the most effective torture device since the Chinese Water device.


There's only one of those statements I can say with certainty is true. No matter what the genuine reasons for it, my wife and I, in direct contravention of the Geneva Convention, are being systematically reduced to quivering nervous wrecks. Yesterday I confessed to kidnapping Shergar.


Now everybody knows that children cause sleepness nights. After all, it's an all too common theme in all those Hollywood films, depicted in some comedic way as a perfectly attired couple appear at the door of their perfect nursery with perfectly dishevelled hair to show how tired they are. Believe me, it's not just the hair that doesn't get styled - I have to force myself to remember to put on a pair of trousers. I couldn't begin to tell you what style, cloth, or even colour they are. It's only by a process of elimination that I know they're mine - everybody else's would be too small. As to whether they go with the rest of my clothes, I couldn't say. I'm not even sure if I am wearing any other clothes. And I couldn't care less.


The list of things I couldn't care less about includes:

• Whether I'm wearing clothes or not
• Whether I've shaved this week or not
• Whether I smell like a sewer or not
• Being pleasant to people at work
• Work
• Eating healthily
• Eating

These last two are huge for me. I've always had a healthy appetite, and I love to cook. Even now cooking is my escape. I'm an oxymoronical vegetarian Northener, so my dishes tend towards the hearty side - butternut squash lasagne, fagioli e veggie salsiccia, sweet potato, leek & brie pie with roast new potatoes - but these days I'm struggling to care whether I eat tofu & green vegetable green Thai curry with egg noodles and vegetable spring rolls or a Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle. God forbid my wife leaves me and the kids, for I'll go from being just "overweight" to "unable to fit through the bow doors". Importantly, the only thing that keeps me cooking good, wholesome(-ish) meals every night is a desire to see Mama Earthly get some nutrition into her. She's not only got the sleepness nights destroying her body, but Girl Earthly is a most voracious breastfeeder. While this has its benefits, it is also draining Mama Earthly of any vestiges of energy she may have left. And I see it as one of my responsibilities to refuel her every day, and that's not going to happen if I plonk down a hula hoop sandwich and a Mars bar.


Our household has been fractious recently, to say the least, with both of us unable to communicate to the best of our abilities through the fog of debilitating exhaustion. But, despite that, we're still both able to support each other in our basic needs. We are, in essence, each other's pacesetter, taking the strain when one is flagging, egging each other on through one more day (and night!). Sometimes this causes one of us to snap at the other, but our love for each other always wins through. That, and our shared camaraderie facing up to the common enemy!


There's more to it than that though. Helping somebody else, even somebody I'm contractually obligated to help (oh, I'll pay for that comment!), makes me feel good. Therefore, by cooking Mama Earthly a healthy meal I'm also helping myself. So I implore you; if you and your partner are suffering from a demonically light-sleeping offspring, find something, anything, that will assist your partner in their basic needs and stick to it religiously. They'll appreciate it, you'll appreciate it, and in turn baby will appreciate it. No matter how hard it is to find the energy and enthusiasm, you'll all benefit in the end. And if that doesn't convince you, remember this - Life may be excruciatingly painful now, but it will only be multiples worse if your partner slips into a coma brought on by exhaustion!

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Thanks Father Earthly for ending on that backhanded positive note ;) And yes, you are rather wonderful and I would never cope without you.


You can find more of Father Earthly's musings (when he finds a spare moment or so) over on his blog. Do pop by and give him some love and encouragement :)


Plus, don't forget about our fabulous giveaway of gorgeous Green People goodies. Entry closes Friday so get in quick!

Guest Post: Learning to See the Good in Your Difficult Children

We all know parents who idolise their child(ren), believing them to be beyond reproach. Very, very occasionally, those parents are right. Well, possibly - I'm yet to meet one who is. In my experience, it is the children of parents who are able to heap praise while encouraging a sense of "feet on the ground" that are the most well-rounded individuals. But what of those parents who can't see how great their kids really are? How easy is it for a parent to stop fire-fighting and step back to recognise their kids' faults (and more importantly, how to resolve them) and their strengths (and, again, more importantly, how to encourage them)?


I love H (baby Earthly no. 1) to bits. I never thought I would. After all, he was born a he, and at the time I wanted a she. But he turned out to be a very special he, even if he is too like me. Having said that, I am, by far, his worst critic. Maybe it's my paternal ego taking a battering at his lack of desire to walk until he's good and ready - thus causing me to believe that I must invent excuses for his perceived slow progress. More drastically, I've recently been attributing an early onset of "terrible twos" to some of his more "theatrical" reactions. The word No has become very popular with him, as has screaming and pouring tears when he has something taken away (or not given in the first place) that he wants.


It was only once I discussed this with his childminder, and received a most puzzled stare in return, did I get an inkling of the truth. She admitted that he was sometimes possessive but that generally he was "good as gold". H was one of the first children she looked after professionally, and she's obviously very, very fond of him. I left duly admonished, and spent the morning reconsidering my opinion of my son. He is, in fact, a delightful boy - occasionally mischeivous, still learning his way and place in the world, flirtatious, cheeky, beautiful, calm (mostly), and incredibly, incredibly cute. But it took the input of a partial outsider to make me see the whole truth.

I've just finished reading Kate Atkinson's 'Behind The Scenes At The Museum', a darkly-humoured account of the lives and deaths of a family's women. The overarching theme of the book though, is the fragility (or even non-existence) of the bond between a mother and her daughter(s). I know many women who suffer a sense of disconnect with their mother, and I don't have to look very far to find a woman who feels a complete lack of emotional connection with her mother, and who is terrified that, in turn, her daughter will grow up to be as emotionally distant. I, on the other hand, know that this woman is a wonderful mother, and that with the love that she brings to her family she will continue to be a lynch-pin for that family and will enjoy her children's love for many, many years. She just has to learn to listen to my (semi-)outsider's perspective.


So what of those amongst us who belive that our children are the devil incarnate? Back to 'Behind The Scenes At The Museum' - without giving away the "tell", it takes the gentle intervention of an impartial psychiatrist to reveal the truth behind the story of the central character's and her mother's long-standing problems, and from that moment on the relationship between the two becomes not exactly easy, but easier at least. Clearly then, the inference is that we could all pay a shrink to help reconnect us with our "errant" children. And yet, surely psychiatrists should be reserved for helping clinically depressed people, habitual criminals, and American dog-owners looking to resolve their pooches' coprophagia [ed here: I suggest you just look this one up!]? In these days of "intervention" perhaps we should look to our nearest and dearest to provide guidance - people that we trust absolutely to tell us the truth, who we know will challenge our ideas, and whose opinions we trust. In my case, that's Mother Earthly - my wonderful, supportive, kind, caring, incomparable wife. And yet, the fact that she herself got occasionally frustrated at H's antics, made it easier for me to dismiss her protestations that I shouldn't be too hard on the litle chap. It took the confused look of a lady who sees him for 12 hours a week and who never hears me call him "Beast Child" to show me the truth.


The point is, find somebody, be they lover, friend, acquaintance, or some random hippy blogger, anybody, who can make you see that, actually, your difficult child isn't. She's wonderful, beautiful, inevitably cleverer than you, and, with some fair fortune and a continued bond, almostly certainly the one responsible for choosing your retirement home.


Father Earthly


Disclaimer:
Unless you drive down the A49 at 40 miles per hour between the hours of 7am - 7pm, wear burberry, or are Welsh, Smellyhippy (Father Earthly) never intentionally means to insult you. If he has, he's terribly, terribly sorry, and no doubt karma will ensure that his daughter keeps him awake half the night teething, or a hire boater will chip his newly painted narrowboat, or he'll fall over backwards into the Llangollen canal with his bike on top of him, or something.


You can reach Father Earthly on smellyhippy [at] papercat.co.uk

Sacrificing the Self - On Being a Mum

Don't get me wrong. I love being a mum, and I'm not just trying to convince myself of that either. I really wouldn't swap it for anything else - even when I think of our lives Before Kids and just how much TIME and ENERGY we had. Occasionally I find myself fantasising - stepping into an imaginary time machine and zapping myself back to those days filled with empty moments: the peace, the endless stretches of unencumbered time, the (relative) sanity, the personal luxuries... but could I be without my kids? No.


And yet...


Those days when I feel so knackered I could fall asleep in my porridge; when toddler has embarked upon a project of incessant whinging for the day and baby requires being stuck to boob or cuddled all day long; when I'm sick of looking like an extra from the Witches of Eastwick and I'm so hungry I could eat my own leg if only baby wasn't in the way; when my happy-go-lucky childless friends are full of their own egocentric adventures and woes; when on the rare days I get to spend 10 minutes on my appearance I can't even don a nice frock to cheer myself up because it's not breastfeeding-friendly; when all I've done all day is give and give and give of myself and by the time hubby comes home after a hard day at work he feels shunned and unloved because I'm spent; when my brain feels as if it may implode or evolve backwards through lack of intellectual current...


Those days I wonder.

One of the women at my local toddler group told me recently that she felt cheated, lied to. That nobody had warned her what it would be like. At the time I was inclined to think her a little naive, as I'm sure would many others, particularly those without kids. But being totally honest with myself, I feel the same. There is a great yawning gap between knowing in your mind that having children will change your life immeasurably, and experiencing it first hand. Nobody tells you that you will never again have free time, that every millisecond of your precious day will be filled with the needs of others, that even if you get the luxury of a child-free hour or two you are unable to switch off and you can't think of a single thing to say to your partner that doesn't involve talking about the kids. Nobody tells you because you wouldn't believe it; you'd smile indulgently whilst believing yourself a better person, a better parent.


There is just no comparison, no precedent to having children. A friend once told me having a dog was good practice for having a baby. Needless to say he had no prior experience of either. It's nothing like keeping a dog, nor any other animal that I know of. Sure, with a dog you have to think about and attend to its needs from time to time. But for the most part (unless you have a REALLY neurotic dog) he will just be content to lie at your feet/in the corner/ on the sofa and dream of rabbits, whether you're there with him or out shopping.


So sometimes, yes, I do feel cheated. Like I have wholly unknowingly sacrificed the better years of my (and my husband's) life, with no possible redemption. It's as if during that first week of becoming parents, an unseen hand scooped us both up and gently, surreptitiously, placed us down within the confines of a monastery and let it be known that we were to follow the path to sainthood. To give of ourselves completely and utterly and to move beyond the self until the self no longer exists - only our work now speaks of us and who we are, what we have become.


And actually, I'm ok with that. Because it's made (and continues to make) me a better person. Because I've learned to be far less selfish and much more patient. Because I can love unconditionally, even on the days I am tearing my hair out. Because, quite simply, I love them and I love being part of a family.


Balance is the key, and that is the next important lesson for us to learn, as individuals, as a couple, and as a family. It's such a tricky one to get right because the weights on the scales are changing moment to moment, necessitating both saintly patience and calm, a steady hand, a light tread...


Which of course is exactly the opposite of what has been seen in our household this week!

Attachment and the High Need Child

Though we long suspected it, we only really learnt that our first (Harris above, doesn't he look like an angel?!) was extremely high-need once we'd had our second child, and she reacted completely differently to the same treatment. Realising this in retrospect has been incredibly cathartic. But at the time, and as much as we adore him, it was absolute hell. 


Of course we made it more difficult on ourselves by living in a camper at the time, so all those helpful suggestions - like putting them down in their cot and going and sitting in another room, or taking a bath to try and take some time out so you don't lose your rag - really weren't much help! We always say that Harris cried for most of his first year and that's not far from the truth. When he was a baby, people said he must have colic and that it would wear off after 3 months. Well those first 3 months absolutely c-r-a-w-l-e-d by, particularly after Matt went back to work and I was left confined to a camper van with a constantly screaming baby! When he didn't stop at the 3 month mark, and started to drool we surmised he was now teething. 


And after that it is all a blur. We just coped, because you have to, and because, despite everything, you love them and you want to do your very best for them. It's just you're going crazy in the process! People (strangers and friends alike) would helpfully ask "What's wrong with him, have you taken him to the doctor?" And as a first-time mum, I would doubt myself and occasionally wonder if something was horribly wrong with him. But he grew and thrived and started on solids fine and started to interact with other children, and learned to play and all without any sign of illness of any sort. 


18 months on, I have since met many other mums who have experienced something similar and I find great relief in sharing horror stories and finally coming to terms with the kind of child Harris is. Because, as much as well-meaning peeps will have you believe you can impose your own strictures on your child, they fail to remember that we are all born with a personality ready-made. And it just so happens that some come out grumpier than others! A friend recently lent me Secrets Of The Baby Whisperer For Toddlers which notes 5 different types of child temperament: Angel, Textbook, Touchy, Spirited, and Grumpy. The key is to recognise which type your child is, broadly, and tailor your parenting style accordingly. This is important, not just to preserve your sanity, but above all to ensure your child is able to thrive and connect with you and the world at large in the best possible way for her: 

"One child may be "born shy," because she inherits a gene that gives her a low threshold for the unfamiliar, but her parents can help her feel safe and teach her strategies for overcoming her shyness."

Attachment vs Detachment
For me there is simply no alternative to attachment parenting. Like many new parents I had long resolved not to be like my own folks. Not that I had an awful childhood in any way, but nevertheless my parents' resolve to bring us up to be "independent" (as was much the fashion in the 70s and 80s) has left me with lifelong self-confidence issues. Not least because I still don't have a great relationship with them (glossy, surface interaction is fine, but I've learnt not to try and dig deeper). That lack of attachment has carried through into my adult personal life and I still have real problems forming and maintaining relationships. I am incredibly lucky that my husband is similar enough that we can usually (after many years' experience!) work out what to do when we're at cross-purposes with each other.

Detachment, for me, is all wrong. You cannot expect a solitary flower to flourish, all on its own and without help. If through some miracle it survives it is not without scars. Attachment is not about spoiling, but nurturing. Teach your children by example how to love and look after one another, and that will give them the best possible foundation for a happy life.