How to have a free Easter (if you have BAGS of time)


I’m not going to do it. Tempting as it might be. I could just leave these pictures to speak for themselves and if I did, what would they say? Something like, “What, these old Easter celebrations? I just flung them together, no big deal, with a baby on my hip, because grace and ease just come naturally to me, you see. My baby? She’s one of those self-cleaning, silent ones. My toddler? Just likes to entertain himself – quietly, in an educational and mess-free manner – while I get on with the crafting that just flows from my creative mind out into the world like raindrops on rose and whiskers on kittens…”

There are quite a few parenting blogs like that, aren’t there? Mostly American, mind. At best they make me feel a bit deflated, at worst pretty stabby. You?

Anyway, setting aside the question of whether their lives are really like that or whether these women are surfing on a wave of prozac and temazepan or whether it’s all a complete fantasy - it should be obvious by now that graceful ease is just… not me.

So instead, this blog post comes with a big health warning: if you do not have a week off, with lots of extra people to grapple with the baby and the toddler for you, and a father-in-law with superhuman powers of patience and helpfulness, and at least two nieces on hand who are more creative and sensible than you and remember things like the need to boil the egg shells in order to avoid giving all the children salmonella… If you DON’T have those things then DO NOT, whatever you do, attempt to blow ten chicken eggs and five quail eggs, paint them in different designs, varnish them, fill them with sherbet and sweets and then plug them with a chocolate stopper. And then, DEFINITELY do not use any remaining downtime to construct one Spring Crown from chicken wire and seasonal blossom and  then another from card and staples. Just step away from the kitchen, get in the car, drive to the garage and buy some mini eggs. Believe me, £4.99 is a small price to pay for your sanity, marriage and the preservation of all your kitchen utensils.

If the above DOES apply to you, however, then read on. You’ll find you actually get a weird kick out of it. And the kick will hang about for way longer than the sugar rush from a petrol station easter egg. And it’ll turn out to be a better use of your time than most of the things you usually do (even the marathon reruns of Grand Designs).





photo 2

Funnelling sherbet and little sweets into the blown, painted eggs, after knocking a sizeable hole in their tops. After this, we melted some milk chocolate to a thickish consistency and blobbed it over the top of the holes before sticking them into the fridge so the chocolate solidified and plugged the hole.


Start of the egg hunt…


Following the daffs…


Woah! The chickens laid a golden egg!



Hidden dragons eggs (sherbet-filled quail eggs covered in colourful glitter)




Egg folk having a chat in the shrubbery (get the Mr Printables free template here)


Found you!


… then cracked you in half and ate you.


And the final crown…


For an easter breakfast.

That’s all folks! Except for one final thought…

We bought the sweets and sherbet. The eggs were free, but only because we were staying with the in-laws and they have their own chickens. If we’d had to buy those, and buy in new paints for the eggs too, would this really have been any cheaper than buying ordinary easter eggs? Honestly, I think probably not. But it was nice, either way, that the eggs didn’t come branded with some famous cartoon character. It was a welcome respite from a world COMPLETELY dominated by Fireman Sam (yup, the obsession endures…) And I got some real satisfaction from doing it. I’m still a long way from a Domestic Goddess, but I’m beginning to see the appeal. In small doses. And thankfully, Easter only comes once a year….

No make-up selfie. On live, prime time TV

Screen Shot 2014-04-13 at 10.17

So a few days ago, I was in the bathroom, mascara wand in hand, looking in the mirror. I had ten minutes before being patched into a live TV interview – the glossy presenters in a Chicago TV studio and me on Skype in my bedroom, angling the laptop to cut out the litter of baby grows, bottles and nappies on the bed behind.

And that’s when I thought: sod it. I’m tiiiiiired. Why should I spend the next few, precious, quiet moments painting my face when I could be collecting my thoughts and drinking tea?

I’d been thinking, too, about how this wee girl – who has already started following me around the room with her big eyes – is only a few wobbly steps away from absorbing the way I present myself to the world – the moments when I worry about what comes out of my mouth and those when I panic over what’s slicked onto my lips.

And, of course, I’d been spending quite a lot of time on Facebook looking at my friends’ no-makeup selfies for breast cancer awareness. And thinking about a very precious woman who is just recovering and whose example I need Frida to grow up absorbing and admiring. And so… I put the make-up bag down and drank tea. And when the countdown began and we went live on prime time TV, in front of millions of Americans eating their breakfast, I had not a scrap of make-up on.

You can watch the results here.

And afterwards? Honestly, I felt a bit… underwhelmed. It isn’t a desperately heroic act, is it? Doing what you do anyway, just… doing it without mascara, lippy or cover-up? I hadn’t, really, made a stand for the sisterhood, since no one knew, or cared, except for me. But I did feel, somehow, Iike I’d made a stand for myself. And, crucially, had time to have a cup of tea. And both those small things felt really, pretty good.

I’d even had enough time left over to make a donation to Cancer Research UK. And even though my pasty, blotchy, imperfect face will remain on YouTube forever to haunt me and reinforce the American population’s belief that all Brits have wonky teeth and bad eyebrows, I’m absolutely certain that I made the right choice. Tea slurping over make-up slapping, every time.

You can make a donation here, if you fancy.

Frida: my life of late (aged nearly 5 months)


Watching: my reflection in a (pretty smeary) bin. Can’t get enough of it. Reminds me of that hideously over-repeated Oscar Wilde quote: we’re all in the gutter, but some of us are gazing at the stars. Well I spend a lot of time staring at that reflection and I can tell you: it’s the face of a star. Now please someone get me out of this filthy kitchen.

[Side note: I do this staring while listening to Radio 3 because my mother says if you're going to listen to classical music it might as well be the real stuff and not the tinny version on kids' toys that sounds as though the whole orchestra sucked on a helium balloon and makes her ears bleed. Apparently.]


Playing with: this (very particular) piece of cardboard. And no other. NO OTHER WILL DO. Wot? I like all the holes.


Gazing at: the Spring flowers for the first time. Woah… They’re blowing my tiny mind.


Feeling: the grass on my toes. Not altogether sure about this stuff. It’s very… green. Sometimes in a nice way, sometimes in an EXTREMELY alarming way.


Chilling: with my head in the blossom. If you weren’t aware, chilling is best done in the daytime. NEVER at night. And even in the day, best do it with your eyes open in case they get the wrong idea. You can have that one for free. From a top expert.


Wearing: New nappies! Get in. After what feels like a lifetime – in my case, in fact, an actual lifetime – some proper shopping was finally done in this house. There was an offer on the Little Lambs Facebook page – 10 reusable nappies for £50.

Seemingly, there are regular sales on this page which are so good that, coupled with our local council’s subsidy for the purchase of real nappies for the discerning baby, persuaded my mother to actually open her wallet. I KNOW. Although since the subsidy will pay for all these nappies, it doesn’t count. Apparently. Whatever. I was looking at my reflection when she was explaining. But for what it’s worth, you can find your local council’s subsidy policy here. Yawn.


Playing: here and…


here. Oh yeah. We got all the mod-cons here. And you thought babies didn’t do sarcasm.


And finally, chewing on: this poxy giraffe. My mother went into a tailspin and baked biscuits to swap it with some other panicked looking unkempt woman with delightful offspring. Like that would stop the wailing and the gnashing of teeth. The wailing and the gnashing of teeth is my THING. My signature look. Like I said, I’m a star darling.

[An aside: my mother would, however, dearly like your advice on free solutions to The Teething Problem. Otherwise known as "hell" and other less polite phrases she mutters into her glass of wine when she thinks I'm asleep (see my entry on 'chilling'). So if you do have any advice, perhaps you could supply it? I find her vain hope rather touching, in a naive sort of way...]

7 free ways to stop strops and save your sanity on car journeys


You know those lists about the most traumatic events in life? Moving house, death divorce… With every passing public holiday it is becoming increasingly clear to me that whoever wrote them has never travelled in a car with kids for more than two hours on a bank holiday.

This year (and, who am I kidding, probably every year henceforth until they leave home/we win the lottery/we find a way to monetise them that doesn’t involve having to give birth twice more for the sole purpose of creating the world’s shortest and creepiest barbershop quartet) we’ll be holidaying in the UK. To Norfolk and the parents-in-law for Easter, to a friend’s aunt’s place in Devon in the summer.

So the news that 96% of parents have at some point been unable to concentrate on the job in hand – i.e driving, actually keeping everyone on the road and, crucially, alive – because of the noise their kids are making doesn’t surprise me. The figure comes from a survey by called Driven to Distraction. And while I admire their optimistic attempt to pun their way out of a sombre situation, if you’re likely to spend every holiday for the next eighteen years staring at a bumper sticker somewhere on the M25, it’s not the sort of reading that leaves you whistling ‘we’re all going on a summer holiday’.

They are at least decent enough to leave you with some strategies for tackling the worst offenders – take regular breaks to avoid car sickness, or take handheld devices away from the particularly puke-prone child as they exacerbate motion sickness.

And, apparently, handing kids a tablet computer or handheld device is now almost twice as popular as the old-time car classic I Spy. I know, I know. Uggg. But desperate times call for desperate measures and I’m not averse to using iPad hypnosis in moments of need. There are some good apps for toddlers that you can download for free, too.

I’ve been thinking, though, of other free ways to distract kids in cars. So here, in time for Easter, are my favourites. Tried and tested by the shortest attention span ever held by a three year old.

Scavenger hunt – draw (or steal from google images) pictures of things your kids are likely to be able to spot out of the car window (pylons, articulated lorries, petrol stations, tail backs, AA vehicles… the beautiful scenery that characteristically marks the great British car journey) Put these images onto one sheet of paper for them to tick off as they spot them. The first to tick off all the objects is the winner.

Snacks – these are, of course, essential. But not just any snacks. Pick ones with as little capability as possible to smear, crumble or leave sticky residue. Otherwise your car seat will look like a crime scene for the rest of time.

Avoid the croissant like the plague. The humble carrot stick is your friend, or homemade popcorn. We also make smoothies and stick them in some REVOLUTIONARY reusable ‘ella’s kitchen’ style pouches that we were sent a month or so back (more on this later).

Don’t, whatever you do, present them all at once. Hold them back and whip them out triumphantly one by one as each desperate moment arises.

Drinks – non-spill cups. Not too much sugar – EXTREEEEEEMELY watered down juice if your kid insists he is “too grown up” for water (ahem…) And not too much of ANYTHING if your next service station is over an hour away.

DIY story tapes - when Johnny turned three we got his nearest and dearest to record themselves reading their favourite children’s stories. The CD we put them onto is now a firm car-journey favourite. But for future, particularly tortuous-looking journeys, I’m going to make new ones and simply record them on the voice memo app on my phone.

The cloud game - what shapes can you spot in the sky? Warning: this game has the tendency to get Freudian with cloud-objects becoming increasingly murderous in direct correlation with the length of time spent in a cramped car with your family. On previous journeys of 3 hours and more we have spotted axes, tanks and swords.

Shoebox surprises - the trouble with kids is they simply cannot be trusted not to drop things. And the thing about a) car seats and b) motorway driving and c) cars in general and d) the pitch of toddlers voices is that a) make it impossible for kids to reach the stuff dropped into the inconceivably tiny crevices of c) while b) means you really shouldn’t  help but d) means you’ll probably try nonetheless otherwise you will go crazy at the wheel.

Solution? Take the lid off a shoebox and draw a dolls house/small town/racing track/whatever-landscape your-kid’s-into on the inside. Then supply relevant small toys (mini cars, mini people…) from the kids’ collections at home. The toys are played with inside the box. No spillages. Fewer nervous breakdowns from everyone.

My favourite tactic, though, is sill this, from mumsnet’s advice on travelling with kids:

“Pack EVERYTHING a week before, then get the whole family in the car and set off. At the first argument (around 1 mile away), say to them all ‘Right, if that’s how you’re going to behave, we’re not going.’ Then drive home and unpack!” – StarlightMcKenzie
Any more ideas would be tremendously gratefully received. Especially if they come before Easter. Got any? PLEASE? Thank you…
Thanks very much!



Playing: Nature detective. Not always easy around here, but hey – the challenge makes it fun.


FOUND SOME! No extra points for cigarette butts, sadly.


(Not) sewing: hems – we’re letting them down, ladies. Getting a few months more out of our threads (and still trying to find the time to tidy them up…)


Watching: the washing machine. The twists and turns are keeping her gripped (see what I did there? Like it was a plot? Oh whatever.)


Shaking: an empty Vitamin C tube that I poured a little dry rice into to make a rattle. She loves it. But, if I’m honest, mostly to chew on. Which also has me thinking: weaning. It’s not far off now is it? Can I do it for free? Anyone tried baby led weaning – feeding them proper foods without baby rice, purees or any ‘baby’ products at all? Possible? Practical? Massive faff? Do tell…


Playing: the cloud game. How many shapes can you spot? One, if you’re Johnny. A fire engine. EVERY TIME.


Making: mini scarecrows. Because, as Johnny likes to shout at strangers on buses: “SPRING IS COMING EVERYONE!” And with spring, the vegetables in our patch. And with vegetables, the wee beasties who ate all of them last year. Not this time, beasties, not this time… Quake in your beastie boots. Stanley the Scarecrow is coming for you.


Planting: a sunflower. There’s a festival going on in our neighbourhood at the moment and a lovely lady was sitting in the yard behind our local cafe helping local kids to plant a seed (literally, we do NOT talk in whimsical metaphors here). J chose a sunflower. We have it in the kitchen window now but she had some ace advice for after it blooms and then dies.

Cut the head off and leave it to dry for two weeks. Then shake the seeds out of it. Apparently we’ll get tonnes. Some we can replant, some we can toast and eat, others we can keep for Johnny’s next birthday party and they will make an EXCELLENT party bag – instead of the usual plastic toot, each kid gets a couple of seeds, a little pot and some soil to grow their own. We could even have a party activity of making mini-scarecrows to guard them.

Sunflower seeds. So many possibilities. Who knew? (Don’t answer that…)