One of the hardest things I find at this time is multi-tasking; answering the phone, while juggling a tantrumming toddler on one hip and cutting up an onion with one hand. Anyone with children will tell you – it’s a hard job to occupy a toddler while cooking. Especially if that cooking involves more than just bunging something in the oven.

I experienced a revelation today though. 4pm arrived and there was no sign of the metamorphosis from angel to demon in my beautiful child. She remained happy, calm and content. She occupied herself and didn’t once asked to be lifted up, to “help”, to have “CHOC CHOC!” or for ketchup to be smothered over her uncooked supper.

And it’s all down to one thing.

In a miraculous change from the norm, my two and half year old fell fast asleep on the way home from nursery today. She was totally zonked, to the point where she didn’t even wake up as I carried her from the car to the sofa.

While she slept, I used the time to chuck a couple of loads of washing in the machine and catch up with my emails. But an hour passed and still she didn’t wake. So rather than nap myself (I don’t trust myself to wake up again before the following morning if I do that) I made some no cook play dough, courtesy of The Imagination Tree.

I polished off my Perfect Mother halo and wiped down Frog’s little play table, before placing the play dough, some cookie cutters, cupcake pots and spoons, along with a little teapot on the table.

When my toddler woke, I wasn’t stressed at the thought of dealing with a grumpy child while cooking our evening meal. Instead, I let her gently come to before wandering into the kitchen to discover her little play scene all laid out before her.

For once, I actually felt like a half decent mum. You know, the ones that are actually organised and arrange activities for their kids before they get bored and whingey?

With a gasp of excitement, Frog got to work playing. She made cakes, cut up cookies, talked about the shapes she was making, sang Happy Birthday and pretty much escaped into her own little world for a good half an hour.

It might stick on your shoes and the glitter might need sweeping off the floor, but I’m telling you – play dough is the way to go. I’ll take sticky shoes over a grumpy toddler and burnt supper any day.

***

I’m linking this post up to The Sunday Showcase at Here Come The Girls and Tuesday Tots at Rainy Day Mum.

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“I want book Mummy,” said Frog. Of course she did, it was bedtime. It’s to be expected.

“I want story Mummy,” said my daughter. Again, this is no big revelation. I wasn’t about to read her The Oxford English Dictionary.

“I want Willy Tuppy book Mummy,” stated my toddler, in a matter of fact tone.

Oh.

Alarm bells were ringing. I hadn’t invested in any kind of educational body book yet. She’s only two years old for crying out loud. What was this “Willy Tuppy” book she was so keen on?

“I WANT WILLY TUPPY BOOK NOW MUMMY!” Shouted my beautiful child.

Panic started to set in. I was unfamiliar with this particular story. Was it a favourite we’d read together before? Had I been so tired I’d cast aside any memory of a book about female and male genitalia? I’m sure I wasn’t that exhausted. But…

“Mummy! Listen me! Willy Tuppy book! Now!” She was getting irate.

“I tell you what,” I stalled for time. “Why don’t you go and get me this book you’re so set on.” I smugly congratulated myself on my foresight and quick thinking.

She trotted off, happy in the knowledge she was finally going to get her bedtime wish. The “Willy Tuppy book” was within reach.

And then she handed me a book with these familiar faces on the cover:

Photo credit: Ulleskelf

Of course.

To a toddler “Willy Tuppies” made perfect sense.

The post A case of mistaken identity appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It is a rather confusing phase, involving constant questions about certain body parts. Or a certain body PART, I should say.

While we’ve been down the “what do girls have” and “what do boys have” road before, this time it’s different. This time it’s Every. Single. Hour.

It would seem my two year old is consistently perplexed by the difference between boys and girls, men and women. It’s something that troubles her tiny brain, as she tries to work out if the person standing before her has a “willy” or a “tuppy”.*

This would not be a problem if the question was a silent one in her head. It wouldn’t even be a problem if she whispered the question out loud, to me alone.

But she doesn’t.

What follows is a transcribed version of this afternoon’s dash to the supermarket.

Frog (in car): Mummy? You have tuppy?

Me (also in car, trying to park): Yes poppet. I have a tuppy. Because I am a girl.

Frog (later, in supermarket trolley): Mummy? That man? Man has willy?

Me (perusing the pants aisle, all at 25% off): Hmmmm? Yes – that man has a willy. I think. I mean, I assume so. Because he is a boy.

Frog: Mummy? I have tuppy. I not boy.

**Pause to get round veg and nappy selections, before ending at till*

Frog: Mummy?

Me: In a minute poppet, I just need to sort out the shopping.

Frog: MUMMY?

Me (turning red, in a busy queue full of elderly people): Just a sec. Hang on a minute.

Frog: MUUUUUUUMMY?!!!!

Me: Fine. Yes? What’s up?

Frog: You have tuppy?

I have tuppy?

That man (pointing to old man sorting his shopping next to her) – he have willy?

(At this point there is a pause for breath, before a ten decibel roar.)

I NO LIKE WILLIES! I SCARED OF THE WILLY! HATE WILLY! I LIKE TUPPY!

I can never go back.

_____

*NOTE: “Tuppy” would not be my choice word. But my toddler has gone with it, so who am I to argue?

The post Boys and girls are different. Fact. appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

After a night of pretty constant feeding on the ward and a morning of even more constant screaming, the midwives joked she was going to be a feisty little girl, who’d let the world know what she wanted.

And that’s exactly what she’s become.

Loud, cheeky, often naughty, a massive show-off, bossy and scared of the most random things (lawn-mowers, drills and – occasionally – hoovers) my daughter has also developed into a bit of an entertainer.

Looking at her now, I can’t believe that just a few months ago she couldn’t even stand up on her own.

Diva child.

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