Nov 22, 2010 0
For you Londoners who are looking for activities in Marylebone, your wishes have been granted. The inimitable Ben, of Oomphalos and Regent’s Park football classes fame, has launched Small Beginnings.
The Small Beginnings website is under construction, but in the meantime, you can contact the Small Beginnings hotline on 07799 760 510 or email smallbeginningsuk@gmail.com to receive the timetable and sign up for classes now!
Sep 5, 2010 0
This post is a guest article from Tamsin Oxford, staff writer at PlayPennies.com, a UK blog for money-conscious parents.
I’m raising a genius. I know you are too. All our children are these amazing sponges, sucking up information at a rate of knots and amazing us with their progress in this world. Most of us are cutting corners and saving money every single day so that we can give them the best possible future.
So what about university/college? This great big walloping expense is looming on all our horizons and, with a bit of forethought and planning, you can gradually save up money to cover all the Uni/College eventualities.
We get thrown all sorts of terrifying figures by the media. £20k to raise a child! Government stealing our benefits! It’s surprising that more of us aren’t hiding under the sofa, quivering in terror at the mere mention of Uni.
Aug 12, 2010 2
Here you are, close to celebrating three years under your belt, my sweet Enlai. And just as I wished for you the moment I first saw you as a tiny dot on a screen, I wish you love. A love that you know and feel.
I wish you more running through sprinklers, rolling down hills, and making sand and snow angels. Perhaps this year I will consider building some sort of stick, leaf and rock repository so that you no longer have to leave behind your park souvenirs.
I wish you more jumping on beds. And I hope you never lose your love of blankets and pillows – lots and lots of pillows.
I wish you more somersaults and the mastering of a cartwheel.
I wish for you to be sincere and for others to be sincere to you. And when you’re with someone, really be with that someone.
Aug 8, 2010 0
Ladies and gentlemen, I have become that mom. We’ve been visiting family in the States for the last few months, and I have become the mom who frequents the McDonald’s drive-thru. The other day, while hollering into the microphone to the invisible McOrderTaker, I found myself asking whether she could throw an Incredible Hulk into our Happy Meal because we already had Spiderman, Iron Man, Human Torch and Wolverine.
When we drove up to the first window to pay, the woman kindly told me that she couldn’t find any Hulks, to which I responded, “Oh, okay, well, how about Silver Surfer or Captain America?” She said to give her a minute to check. Minute up, and neither of these superheroes was available. I told her that we would not actually be wanting the Happy Meal after all because we really don’t want any duplicate superheroes. I left empty-handed. She was probably annoyed. And as we hightailed it out of the driveway, my son let me know he was still hungry. There was no happy in this meal; this non-existent meal turned out to be sad. Very, very sad.
Jul 28, 2010 1
Artwork by Tony Aquino
“Go ahead, share with her, pumpkin,” I told my son as he held his ball while staring at the little girl approaching him, eyeing the ball. He threw it to her and so began a game of catch between them. When she left, another tiny tot barely able to walk came along for his turn of tossing the ball back and forth. As they played, two other kiddos watched, ogling the ball.
What is it about a ball that seems to connect children, and by extension, their respective parents? I’ve seen these spheres of magic lead to parental introductions at playgrounds and parks, and they seem to bring together entire countries as witnessed during the recent World Cup matches. These roundies also seem to serve as peace offerings and aid in reconstruction efforts, through organisations like Operation Soccer Ball and Kick for Nick.
Could the explanation be found in the fact that the sphere and its cousin the circle are considered symbols of unity? Are there sphere conspirators working behind the scenes to assist in our bonding efforts? Are all the balls at Toys R Us and Lillywhites singing a chorus of “come together right now over me” when the doors close and the lights go down?
Jul 4, 2010 2
Warning: What you are about to read may contain offensive, albeit honest, content.
I’ve seen it all over the last three years: turquoise and black what-looked-to-be-satin bikinis, a strawberry and banana patterned pair which had seen better days (the strawberries were pink, not red), purple G-strings, black mesh thongs, and your good ol’ white cotton variety.
I don’t work at Agent Provocateur or Maidenform. I am a mom who takes her little one to playgroups and the park, and these panties are what I have observed on fellow moms while seated in a circle during song time or pushing my son on the swings.
Jun 13, 2010 2
My dad and son in front of:
Doug Wheeler
RM 669, 1969
The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles
When I was seven, my dad was my light. My parents divorced, and he and I ended up living in a small apartment. Our meals alternated between the scrumptious fare on offer at Wienerschnitzel and Winchell’s and while eating chili dogs and chocolate donuts with rainbow sprinkles, we’d listen to Tom Petty, Bob Dylan and Minnie Riperton.
My dad had a way of knowing how to lift my spirits then, just as he does today, and this often involves an element of art. While we lived in the aforementioned apartment, my dad enrolled in an art class at a community college. He came home on one occasion with a sketchbook, and I couldn’t wait to peer inside. For what seemed like hours, I looked at anatomical drawings comparable to da Vinci’s. And when he asked me to be his hand, foot, or ear model, I was honoured. On a separate occasion, he brought home a stack of magazines and asked me to tear out pages of faces I liked. I handed him my selection and was a privileged eyewitness to my dad’s uncanny awareness of the special relationship between charcoal and white paper.
Jun 8, 2010 0
It never occurred to me to not display my son’s masterpieces – and I wholeheartedly believe they are masterpieces – on our walls. Whenever he creates a new one, I ask him if I can hang it on the wall, and he says, “Tac, tac, tac!” This is because I tell him I need him to help me pull pieces of White Tac to put on the back of the masterpieces in order to make them stick to the wall.
We are currently visiting family for an extended period of time, and the first things I thought to pack – before clothes, Calpol, blankie, and favourite books and toys – were the masterpieces. I’m not sure if it was more for me or for him, but I immediately fixed the masterpieces on the walls in my parents’ home. And when my little guy’s cousins came over, he was so happy to share these drawings, paintings, collages, and sticker, cotton wool, stamp and leaf creations with them. He introduced each work of genius, excitedly stumbling over his words while describing the contents. He was so proud, and I was stolzgeschwellt watching and listening to him.
Jun 3, 2010 1
My name is Lisha, and I am an enabler. My son has had an addiction for the past two years and shows no signs of overcoming this obsession. Because he is nearly three years old, one might imagine his addiction involves some sort of sport, imitating animal noises, or having tantrums. In fact, my munchkin is addicted to stickers.
It all started with a sticker book his grandparents gave him when he was nearly a year old. Because it had reusable stickers with those wax-like pages, we wore that book out until it had five of its 40 pages and 2 ½ stickers left. Fearing a sticker meltdown, I bought more stickers and stuck them on the remaining handful of pages as my son slept. Upon waking up, he went straight to the place he always went – his sticker book. He opened it up, smiled from ear to ear, and probably wondered how the sticker fairy was capable of performing such a tremendous feat.
May 16, 2010 1
Confession time. Before I was a mama, I would sometimes “forget” appointments or special events such as engagement parties or birthday dos. The minority of the time, I truly didn’t remember. But the other big fat percentage of time, I gave preference to forty winks, a work deadline, or a hot date.
It appears that such behaviour started backfiring once I became pregnant, and to this day, I am being punished for breaking the Thou Shalt Not Pretend to Forget commandment. I am becoming murky-minded and absent-brained. Or is it absent-minded and murky-brained?
