Fridge, I love thee

Oh, Fridge. I've always taken you for granted. I've used you many times a day, without ever really thinking of your worth. I've covered you in tacky magnets, without taking a moment to gaze upon you with appreciation. I've even felt the rage at you, when you've made weird humming noises in the middle of night when I've been desperate for sleep after a midnight feed. 

Now, I know you might be confused by my sudden adoration. You might even ask yourself what you've done differently today. Surely, you wonder, haven't I just stood in the corner minding my own business like usual? No, you haven't done anything differently. I've just read the section of Modern Mothercraft about how to keep milk cool.

According to Modern Mothercraft, milk can be kept cool by cutting a kerosene tin in half. Then, "in this place an unglazed brick with sufficient cold water to cover it." The last step is to put the tin in a cold place, and place the milk jug inside. If it can't be put in a cold place, the book suggests under a tree outside.

Fridge, I am so glad I have you. If it wasn't for you, I would be trying to source a kerosene tin, then figuring out how to cut it in half. How does one even cut a tin in half? I don't even know that, such is my uselessness. Let alone trying to find out what an unglazed brick is. I'm hoping that the red squiggly 'this is a spelling mistake' line that appears underneath 'unglazed' every time I type it means that the word is now so dated, I shouldn't be ashamed of not knowing what it is.

Fridge, I promise to appreciate you from now on. I'm so glad to have you in my life, unlike the poor women in 1945. Otherwise my milk would always be warm. As would my Coke Zero, which you know I open you much more often for. And that, would quite simply, be unbearable.

Goodbye, toys. Hello, gadgets?

The lovely locally-owned toy shop in my suburb is closing. It's such a shame; over the years I have spent many a happy hour browsing its shelves. When pregnant with my first, it was where I bought the sort of cute-but-impractical toys that only someone without children would buy, and when he was a newborn, it was where I obsessively analysed every baby toy trying to decide what a 6-week old needed to reach his full potential. Over the past four years I've bought bikes, toy cars, gifts for family, board games and even a tin with a photo of a cat on it. The owners recognised me, and I them, making the toy shop feel like an essential part of our community. 

I visited this morning to see what stock was left and to say goodbye, and while there had a long talk to the owner about the shop's closure. Was people buying toys online the problem? I wondered. Was it the ability to buy cheap goods elsewhere?

No, she replied. Apparently, even some online toy stores are going under, unable to sell enough toys to stay afloat. The problem is that children are playing with toys less than they used to. The problem, she said, is that as soon as children hit school age (if not earlier), they are more likely to get gadgets for gifts instead, and more likely to entertain themselves in front of a screen than with a toy.

I could wax lyrical about how terrible that is on a number of levels, but what I would say isn't new. Most people already know, on an abstract level at least, how much children who are too connected to screens are missing out on in terms of fine motor skills, cognitive development and attention span. I know that the amount my kids watch tv isn't ideal, but all of that knowledge doesn't stop me reaching for the remote when the dinner needs cooking, I'm tired or the kids won't stop fighting. 

Instead, all I will say is that the idea that children are playing with fewer toys is sad, and has made me resolve to limit my children's screen time a little more. Starting today! 

Living life behind a camera phone

I read recently that the Queen has complained that no-one looks her in the eye anymore. Apparently, whenever she does public engagements, most people grab for their phones and fumble around in order to video her, take a photograph of her, or try and take a selfie with her in the background. In doing so, she grumbles, people aren't actually looking at her any more. Not in the eye, anyway. Just through their phones. 

Now, my first thought when reading this was of course I'd try and take a selfie with the Queen if I had half the chance. Even if I looked terrible in the selfie, or the Queen was half obscured by a hat or corgi, I'd still love having the photo. I'd probably even make it my profile pic on Facebook, so all of my friends could marvel at my selfie-taking prowess. I would share the photo with everyone who wanted to see it, and probably plenty more who couldn't care less and just feign politeness before calling me a show-off behind my back. 

On second thought, though, I think it's sad that people don't look the Queen in the eye anymore, and that an experience with meeting Her Majesty is just one of many things now experienced from behind a camera phone. I realised that while I haven't rubbed shoulders with any royals recently, I too am guilty of trying so hard to record things for future reminiscing that I've missed out on actual real, fun moments while trying to record them, especially with my children. Just the other week I was at a baby class with my girl, and she looked so cute while playing with the toys, I just had to take a photo. Trying to get the perfect shot, I took at least a dozen. Thing is, none of them came out well. So not only did I miss out on actually playing with her, but the only thing I have to remember the event by is a series of blurry photos that I'll probably delete anyway. Plus, I have hundreds and hundreds of photos of her. I didn't need a few more to add to the file. I should have given her my full attention instead. I should have looked her in the eye, rather than via a small screen.

Of course I will keep taking photos of my children. I love photos, and unlike many, I still print them out and put them in albums like it's 1999 again. I'll just take them a little more sparingly. After all, in 1999, I took about 150 photos, and that's more than enough to remember the people and places that defined that year. I don't actually need the close to 100 that I've taken over the last month alone. We have much better quality photos now digital cameras have been invented, but just because you can take a trillion without having to pay to get a film developed, doesn't mean we should. I'll also have to think of the Queen every now and then, and make sure that I'm still looking people in the eye. Especially my children. After all, they are only small once, and it would be a shame to have all of these photos of them, when the photos came at the expense of lovely moments. 

If my day were a children's TV episode

It's funny what lengths I can go to in order to amuse myself on days when 95% of my human interactions are with people under the age of three. Today was a fairly average day. It rained.  I cooked, and cleaned the toilet. I somehow lost my baby's hat. My toddler and I played a lengthy game of 'Traffic Jam', and I read both children some That's Not My books. Nothing remarkable. But, for no other reason than to amuse myself, I had fun thinking about what would have happened if my day were an episode of children's TV. Here goes.

Peppa Pig

My children would have loved the rain, and it would have been difficult persuading them to stay away from the many muddy puddles around our house. Ms Rabbit would have been the carer in my son's nursery, the shopkeeper I talked to, as well as the driver of every form of public transport that I saw as I was out and about. If my day were an episode of Peppa Pig, I probably would have thought I was losing my mind due to seeing Ms Rabbit everywhere. Either that, or taken out a restraining order against her. 

Dora the Explorer

The hat I lost would have wandered to some far-off and exotic locale, its destination described by a singing map. My children and I would have crossed bridges and rivers to find it, and would eventually have reunited it with my baby's head. We would have then sung "We Did It!" while dancing. Now I think about it, I wish my day had been a Dora episode. At least then, I'd still have the hat.