favourite childhood toys

I have a photo of myself around three years old hugging a yellow and white bear, spool forward nearly 40 years and the same bear is on my bed at my father’s house. He is faded, his mouth is missing, there are ancient Ribena stains from a teddy bear’s tea party, he smells a bit too, but if no one is looking, I give him a hug and my dad would never, ever throw him away.

The day after we brought our first baby home, my aunt sent a small, yellow real love™ bear. We put it in the Moses basket, it squeaked. We named it Winston. We have never seen another bear exactly like it and once the baby was throwing things out of pushchairs, believe me we looked for it. It no longer squeaks, I was trying to speed dry it and may have ironed it , thus sealing the plastic squeak inside it.

 The middle child has a Miffy toy, on a rare expedition to Waitrose she grabbed an identical one. This was a plan! She only ever saw one Miffy at a time until she was 23 months old and I was hospitalised with pregnancy sickness. Daddy didn’t understand the rules, from that moment she owned The Miffy Twins. They are a pest, even now they squeal in some high-pitched, made-up language that has a nails-down-the-blackboard effect on me. My husband calls them Ronnie and Reggie.

 The third child is sneaky, she discovered two Betsys early on. This was a tiny, soft bunny bought from Mothercare. It had a pretty frock, which is now in tatters and soft ears which she would chew on. I created another monster in this toy, it talks in a Columbian accent and sings “Tequila” after a chant which goes, “Your mother loves you, your mother loves you, don’t bite my ear’ole, don’t bite my ear ‘ole, don’t bite my leg! Lalalalallalala etc”. Obviously, I try to substitute the shout of “Tequila” for something more bunny rabbitty and then the bunnies tickle the child, who laughs her head off and begs for more…. Look, don’t judge me. For any of you who have ever tried to settle a fretful child, I’m sure you have come up with or will come up with some ridiculous routines. It all makes sense when you are suffering from sleep deprivation/ mastitis/ cabin fever.

So these are the must have toys. They are packed carefully into cases when we are setting off on holidays. We all check they are repacked for the return journey. Last summer we travelled home from Salisbury to the Midlands with eldest weeping as she thought she had left Winston. (she had been away with choir and done her own packing) We chided and comforted her, nothing worked. When we got home we found him in her luggage but I know if we had not, my weary husband may have turned the car around. These are not just toys, they are family.

running about

I started scribbling this whilst feigning interest in my children’s swimming lessons – not that I don’t want them to learn I just wish it would happen faster! I seem to have spent five years sweating in the sauna of changing rooms, wrestling with one, two or all three wringing, wet children. Don’t get me started on the etiquette – or lack of it – in the changing room. I have seen civilized women nearly come to blows over the showers. It’s not a pleasant experience and my own behaviour is unlikely to win me Mother of the Year award. Today someone in the next class vomited, which meant that two hoards of swimmers and fed up mothers jostled for position. After this I drop eldest off at dancing, the youngest has been to a party. (Daddy opted to take her)

Monday evenings are our free evening, we return shell-shocked from work, put children in bed by 8, so husband and I can sit and silently watch University Challenge. At the start of the year, I thought we had managed to wangle two free evenings. Two! Then middle child’s piano lessons started on a Tuesday, before tea! What a fun school pick up that is! Military precision is required, but never attained. 3.15 the heavens open,as they are frog marched the short journey from Junior to infant school, generally scolding middle one for forgetting reading book, school cardigan, diary, lunch box etc. The youngest one throws me her bag, coat and today’s art piece. We charge back, stopping every few yards for a head count and identity check. They argue about seating arrangements in the car, I am soaked. We squabble home, unless subdued by smarties.  Everything is dumped at the door, demands for drinks and snacks. Scooby Doo pacifies them for twenty minutes. I usher two of them into the kitchen to attempt a bit of homework, often resulting in another argument, in hushed tones now as the piano lesson is in full flow and we do not wish to scandalise the teacher.

Weds is a slightly later piano lesson, tea has to be ready when they come in!

Thursdays is a work day for me, I dash madly back to put tea on and prepare for Thursday evening mayhem; eldest is taken to orchestra practise by friend (5.15), middle child goes to karate (6p.m) , I go to collect eldest and friend (6.30) drop friend off (6.50) Collect karate kid(7.00), Eldest child decides she must practise violin, youngest child says its bed time, husband quite often goes out about now- don’t blame him.

Friday; I rush back from work for eldest child who sings in a choir every Sunday, it is practise night. We pop into Costa, she gets embarrassed by my loud laugh and edges to the door as soon as she sees the senior choir girls arrive. They drink hot chocolate, she drinks hot chocolate so she is cool by association. I drink tea. I am not so cool.