Bedtime stories - a battle worth fighting?

The bedtime story - a cornerstone of any child's day. There are some who argue that a bedtime story is an important tool in helping your child to develop necessary language skills, like in this article. But then there are others that dispute it and place the importance on the act of speaking and listening rather than on the book or story per se, like this article in The Telegraph. I don't suppose we will ever know if they make any difference at all for sure. 

Anyway, I have a confession to make - I don't read my children a bedtime story. I don't base this behaviour on some sort of learned philosophy where I know better than the experts about this sort of thing. Simply, I just plain can't be bothered. 

Bedtime stories are one more thing to worry about in an already busy bedtime routine. They make me sleepy. I get bored of the same three books over and over again. So shoot me. 

I'm not saying we don't 'do' books. Our house is packed with books. So much, that we don't even bother getting new ones from the library. We read a lot of books. We like all sorts of things, from Maisy Mouse to Harry Potter. 

With the oldest child, we read a bedtime story every single night, but then we had a lot more time and undivided attention. We were a bit more lax with the next child. We did some bedtime stories, but we're not so much of a slave to it. Now, we don't do any bedtime stories at all. We have a slob, watch a bit of telly and then straight to bed. 

The older two children are doing very well at school, particularly in reading, so it's not like they're suffering in that sense. I do feel a bit guilty that we don't read them a story every single night, but then, I'm sure there are worse things to worry about.

What I need to know is - am I alone in this??

Protecting your children from the fallout of renegade activity. A tale of drugs and fear.

This is a guest post from Michelle, a mother of two who writes at Lost in Blaenavon.

"I know that Flower and Bear are only little, but this is a cruel world. There are paedophiles, drug dealers, drug addicts and generally some nasty people about who are addicted to the thrill that causing someone pain brings! So I'm worried for their safety. Even though I live in a quiet area, I know that there are places that I need to make sure my children avoid, but now it's being forced into their little world. But maybe I should start from the beginning!

I have a brother who is almost eight years my junior. He was a lovely child, who always tried to defend me and would always make sure he helped anyone out whenever he could. When he was about thirteen, he changed overnight! We assumed it was just the fact that he was a teenager and had hormones raging round his system like all teenagers, but it was something a lot more powerful than that, he became very secretive and started stealing money from us. We couldn't prove it was him and so we just made sure we kept no cash in the house.

When he was sixteen, the truth came out and our whole family was devastated! We're a respectable, hard working, religious family so we weren't expecting anything of the sort! It hit us all like a ton of bricks! My brother had been given drugs by a drug dealer in school and he had become addicted to cannabis and cocaine. You name it, he had tried it. He blamed my father's heart attack for his delving into drugs, but I blame the drug dealer that offered him a free sample!

He refused all help and moved out not long after. My parents knew where he was and kept an eye on him. To protect me and my siblings, we weren't told where he was living or anything. I knew a rough area where he lived, but that was it. Maybe it was a good thing, maybe not. For two years, I barely saw him and each time I did he looked worse and worse. How he kept down a job, I have no idea! Every now and then, he'd come home complaining about the lad he was sharing a house with, saying that he couldn't live there anymore, but every time my parents told him the rules for his return home, he would leave the next day and we wouldn't see him for a few months. It was hard because we never knew if the last time we saw him would be the last!

Eventually, after two years, he saw sense. He came home asking for help to free himself of the habits he'd developed so long ago. This was great wasn't it? It was good, except that his drug dealers weren't about to let a cash cow like him get away with dropping the habit! I don't think it helped that he owed them so much money!

They put death threats out on the whole family to try to scare him into giving them the money. Fortunately they didn't know where we lived, but they did have our phone number. Night after night, we would receive threatening phone calls from them and no matter how many numbers we blocked, the following night they would have another ten numbers to ring from.

The police were fabulous! I have to admit! They came and spoke to us and took lists of numbers away and generally reassured us. But the threats to our life were very real. In the first few weeks after my brother came home when the death threats started, the police said to my father that he needed to move his entire family away. We had no choice.

We tried to move my grandmother without telling her, but she was being stubborn and we had a lot of nasty comments from her friends about us taking her away. Eventually, my father told her the truth and she was the first to move. I moved with her as my volunteer work had become too dangerous in the area and I had to transfer.

We left friends and jobs and a beautiful house behind because of my brother's drug habits! In fairness, he has cleaned up his life and doesn't drink or do drugs anymore and now has three boys and a wife. At 23 he's more like the boy he was than when he was 13!

And that is what worries me about Flower and Bear. How do I protect them from the pain that I and my family suffered because of one person's stupidity! How would you do it? How would you protect your family? How can you educate your children about drugs?"

Toddler wrestling. And not for fun.

Today, I was thinking. What if trying to get a toddler dressed was an olympic sport? It should be. 

It certainly feels like one. Dressing a wriggling, stubborn little person who would rather spend the day in a state of nakedness is a real battle and a half. It leaves me worn out and an awareness of muscles that I had long since forgotten about.

This morning, I watched as the twins tried to get their own trousers on. They are only 18 months old and frankly, a bit rubbish at putting their own clothes on, but they insisted on it. Every time I made like I was going to take an item from them and help them, they screamed and did 'the windmill' - arms swinging round at top speed like a whirling forcefield. Once I backed off slowly, they returned to attempting to dress themselves by putting their feet into the armholes of their t-shirts, or by sticking their arms up their trouser legs. This lasts for about ten minutes until, all too aware of the time, I jump in before they have a chance to start defensive manoeuvres and grab the clothing from the nearest one. 

Hi ya!

She screams and stamp her feet. Then, realising what is about to happen, makes a run for it. She shoots off across the living room, squealing like an escaped pig, changing direction any time I make a grab for her. Eventually I catch her, and hold her in place with one hand whilst attempting to put the t-shirt over her head with the other. But she has two hands to my one, and while I try to put the t-shirt onto her head, she is karate-chopping me with one hand and using the other to hold the t-shirt off. 

I struggle to get an arm in. She sobs in protest. While I am trying to wrestle the second arm and head in, the first arm has managed to pop it's way back out again. I shout at her, to no avail. It just makes the sobbing increase in volume. I am firm and I succeed. T-shirt down, trousers to go.

Before she can shoot off again, I grab her, sit on the sofa and trap her in a vice-like fashion between my knees. She wriggles but I have done enough to get one leg in. One. Then she gets free and dashes away, her trousers flapping behind her like a horses tail. 

In one last flurry of effort, I rugby tackle her to the ground, trap her under my weight, and get the last leg in. Ha! Victory is mine. I am knackered already, but I have one dressed toddler.

I feel like I've had a complete work-out and it's not even lunchtime. Hell, if someone designed some rules to this, I could compete internationally. I would be like the Jessica Ennis of the parenting olympics.

Dressing a single toddler would be my 1500metres - a middle-distance event that needs endurance, tactics and knowing when to make your move.

Now to do another few laps - where is her sister hiding?

For forks sake!

We have had an ongoing battle in our house for weeks and I, for one, am sick of it. 

The battle is one of wills between my four-year old and my eight-year old girls. They are stubborn little buggers at the best of times, but when they want something, they can really create non-stop headaches. 

We have a mish-mash of things in our house. Stuff we've accumulated over the last fourteen years of living together - first as a couple, then as a family.  Not much is coordinating or matching. We have some random stuff we can't even remember receiving. 

We have this fork. 

Oh, fork off!

It doesn't match any other piece of cutlery and I have no idea where it came from. It has a flower design down it, which isn't really 'us'. The four-year old loves it. She calls it her 'flower fork'. It probably came from one of the grandmas' collections.

Anyway, the four-year old asks for it at every mealtime. If it's dirty in the dishwasher, she doesn't mind, she can deal with it. What she can't deal with is if someone else gets it instead, like her big sister. 

The problem is that the big sister knows that her little sister loves this fork very much, and goes to great pains to make sure that she has it. Then it all kicks off. So I say....

"Don't be silly. Give the flower fork to your little sister. It's only a fork, and it makes her very happy."

The eight-year old gives the four-year old the fork, but then the four-year old does a little victory smirk.

"Muuuuuum! She's laughing at me!"

For forks sake, thinks I. I wish I'd never got the bloody fork out. I should have pretended it was in the dishwasher or something.

It goes on and on. 

So today, I was bold. I took one last pic of the offending item and put it in the bin. If it is asked for in the future, it will be perpetually 'in the dishwasher'. 

Hurrah! Victory for me. 

Saturday Is Caption Day!

Look sharp troops. Last week I was out with the new parent recruits waking them every half an hour and making them wade through piles of dirty laundry. They are now properly broken in and so i can turn my attention back to you 'orrible lot. Todays priority is making me laugh. Anyone who doesn't make me laugh will be doing ten laps of the parade ground. 

Right then, here's the picture. 

Friday Fail - January 27th

Right, you 'orrible lot. Whose been letting the side down? Some of you out there have been losing a grip and your parenting standards have been dropping. Don't think we don't notice, we see everything. A late school run, not sending PE kit to school on PE day, forgetting your child's fancy dress costume and sending them in uniform, giving your toddler jelly tots so they run around the house completely hyped up and bouncing off the rules. Whatever it may be, come and link up and we can point and laugh offer support and encouragement.


Don't be shy. We've all been there. Some of us more than others!

Anyway, the linky is open once again for all you parenting losers. Link up below, leave us a comment, and tweet us @ParentFrontLine.

The importance of a family routine

A recent study by The Princes Trust has found that children who have a regular routine are more likely to succeed academically than those that don't. See the full story in The Telegraph.

This does not surprise me at all. I grew up in a fairly poor, working-class family in a area of the country famed for under-achievement. My parents were big fans of routine and we all turned out alright. Mostly. Sadly, the same could not be said for all of our classmates, some of whom thought we were 'posh' for a number of reasons, including because we actually had a dining table. Now, I wouldn't put my other-half into the same pigeon-hole as most of my school contemporaries, but I remember in the early days, he too was in awe of our family life. Even though he came from a family of highly-educated professionals, he could not remember a time when all his family had sat down together at the same time and had a family meal. And despite the superficial advantages that my husband and his siblings had over me and mine, it was my family that have gone on to greater academic achievement. Anyway.....

I absolutely insist on routine for my own family. A routine is not just about setting the foundations for their future success, but also about stopping me being driven absolutely nuts. With four girls of seven-years and under, our routine is key to our family life. On a daily, and weekly basis, I don't have to think about what we are doing each day - we just do. We have blocks of time where we can do different stuff, and be spontaneous, but we work it all in around the keystones of meal-times and bed-time.


In the morning, the school routine is defined by an illustrated check-list on a notice-board in the kitchen. The older girls know exactly what they need to do next to get ready for school in time, while I sort out the younger twins. I could not cope if we did it a different way every day. Once we are done, I march them off to school at the exact same time every day, so they know exactly what speed to walk out to get them there on time. Hup! 2! 3! 4!


Our lunchtime is flexible to allow for playgroups, and whether Dad is home or not, but if we are at home, the dining table it is. And we eat together. The same for tea-time (dinner-time for you Southerners), where we all eat the same thing (or a variance of) at the same time. I can't say that all mealtimes are always harmonious and that I don't shout 'sit on your bloody chair, now!!' a gazillion times at the children, but they are, at least, a daily event.


I plan on continuing the family routine for as long as possible. My parents insisted on family meal times until we had all left home, and I believe their structure and guidance has given me the stability in my life which has helped me to be relatively normal and self-confident. I hope I can do the same for my girls.

by Sergeant J