Seven British children’s writers are in the Top 10 most borrowed Authors in UK libraries. They are:
• (2nd) Daisy Meadows (Rainbow Magic)
• (4th) Jacqueline Wilson
• (5th) Francesca Simon (Horrid Henry)
• (6th) Mick Inkpen
• (7th) Julia Donaldson
• (9th) Lauren Child
• (10th) Terry Deary (Horrible Histories) Read the rest of this entry »
For 80 years, Sudocrem has been friend to every baby’s poor rashed bottom and now Sudocrem Antiseptic Healing Cream is about to become friend to every parent’s social calender!
To celebrate the launch of Sudocrem’s shiny new website www.sudocrem.co.uk and informative social media channels, Sudocrem is launching a Kids do the funniest things competition that is offering the chance to win a 12 month Merlin Family Pass worth almost £400 to the winning mum or dad who shares with us their child’s (under 3) funniest photograph with the story behind it. Read the rest of this entry »
Children are weird. Or perhaps it’s just my child (I blame the Irish gene). I have been changing my fourteen-month-old daughter’s nappy for – you guessed it – fourteen months. Logic dictates that, a year down the line, this daily occurrence would be a ‘wham bam thank you mam’ affair. Sadly, logic and toddler-brain are not two patterns of thought that mix particularly well.
Over the past couple of months I have come to learn that the whole ‘establishing independence’ thing also means that nappy changing is just so last year – in other words; wallowing in excrement is the current toddler trend. Amelia doesn’t always kick up a fuss; as long as I am singing “Old MacDonald” or I have a nappy on my head. Yes… a nappy on my head. Desperate times… Read the rest of this entry »
Disco Hour: Time – 18:00, Date – every day, Place – my home, Participants – me, man and small child. Note: ‘Disco’ is a loose term for ‘any music that makes you wanna get your groove on’ – from Metal and Eighties to Pop and Disco. Disco hour is party hour. Daddy comes home and the jamming starts.
Music is not just a hobby or a pleasure, it’s a lifestyle and so there is always music, of all shapes and sizes, playing in my home. Not that I have anything against silence; I just don’t prefer it. Music, music and more music… is what keeps me sane. Read the rest of this entry »
A book about a crazy dude living on the moon was always going to appeal to my sense of humour. So let me share the love…
Loon on the Moon is a story about a Loon who lives on the Moon (go figure) and is responsible for sucking up all the dreams that leak from children’s ears, which are used to fuel an engine that makes the Moon light up. But what happens when all the dreams dry up? Poor Moon-Loon has to find a way to keep the Moon aglow. And that’s where the adventure starts! Moon-Loon visits the Moptops from Mercury, the Noodles from Neptune, the Vimtingles from Venus, Yoohoos from Uranus, the Sindings from Saturn, the Minimoos from Mars, the Jiffles from Jupiter and the Pollywollyplumpkins from Pluto, for an answer. Can someone help Moon-Loon? Perhaps? Perhaps not? Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Diary, last night I dreamed that my precious Amelia was a changeling. It was too horrific. Some dastardly little troll or elf (or maybe even a fairy) had swapped my little lovely for a horrid little impostor. In my dream, I knew that Impostor Toddler was not my Amelia but no one would believe me (and for once, I was able to empathise with Angelina Jolie)… that is until my husband saw Impostor Toddler standing in a fire grate but not burning. Then he knew something was wrong. Read the rest of this entry »
There are many things I love about breastfeeding. It’s a special bonding time for me and Angelique. It’s time to relax (because there’s not much else you can do at the same time). It also requires absolutely no preparation – no sterilising bottles, no mixing formula, and no worrying about whether there’s still enough formula in the cupboard.
Of course, there are some things I don’t love. Angelique doesn’t have teeth yet but she knows how to bite. Sometimes she has this look on her face that leads me to think she knows she’s about to inflict pain – and doesn’t care one whit. I have, on occasion, been reduced to tears by an unexpected attack. (I then promptly hand the baby to her father and seriously contemplate sending him out for a tin of formula.) Read the rest of this entry »
At my baby shower, I was given a preggy roll by one of my friends. “What is a preggy roll?” you ask. Picture a large banana-shaped pillow. You sleep with one end between your legs, one end under your head, and the curve supporting your belly. It sounds a bit strange, but it’s amazing.
After the first night I used it, I couldn’t believe I’d spent seven months of my pregnancy without it. By that point I was so large and uncomfortable that trying to find a good position to sleep in was an exercise in futility. I’m still not sure how Hubby managed to sleep through my constant tossing and turning. (Probably the same way he sleeps through our daughter’s chattering on the baby monitor in the wee hours of the morning. On weekends he has the night shift, and I have to wake him to go settle the princess back to sleep.) Read the rest of this entry »
THE DESTRUCTOR restlessly awaits orders from Higher Command. Her eyes dart hither and thither as She contemplates Her next move. Finally, from across the house, Higher Command calls for THE DESTRUCTOR. And THE DESTRUCTOR responds with an immediate stampede toward what She knows to be the cajoling voice of impending mess.
As THE DESTRUCTOR hurtles down the passage at warp speed, innocent bystanders are mindlessly obliterated by an ironic whirlwind of single-minded intent. THE DESTRUCTOR leaves a trail of wreckage in Her wake but casualties are of little consequence when the call of Higher Command propels THE DESTRUCTOR forward. Read the rest of this entry »
“She’s practising pointillism” – if ever there was a cryptic answer, this was it. To make sense of this strangeness, I let my logical brain take over (a true rarity) and as I unleashed Sherlock Holmes on the words, two poignant questions emerged: who was ‘practising pointillism’ and why? Here’s what I discovered: the culprit; my fourteen-month old daughter, the reason; it’s fun. Read the rest of this entry »
