#14 On Children in Cafés

Things were very different back then

As a waitress I thought children were the pits. It was as if they conducted their entire restaurant visit through a megaphone, which not only blasted out sound but also cold, squashed chips and splodges of purée. If we staff were lucky, we'd be treated to one or two pint-sized escapees nipping around our ankles as we tried to carry hot coffee across the floor, performing a high-level riverdance in which we were speedily to deliver said coffee, unspilled, and avoid said child.

But it was the parents who were really to blame, of course, and deserve our scorn. They'd show up en masse at the door, a horde of huge, creaking prams between them, smiling hopefully while darting their eyes about to see which area to commandeer completely .  

We'd tut amongst ourselves, 'Where the **** is that pram gonna fit?'

'Is it necessary for table four to move all the chairs like that? It's not a sodding crèche.'

‘Changing facilities? We’re not McDonald’s, love.’

I must make something clear at this point: my life was very different then, in my teens and early twenties, to that of Current Me. Now to be fair I did actually enjoy my work and give a crap about it, but the focus amongst us staff was still no doubt on chatting, flirting, lightly mocking the boss / clientele and getting to the end of a shift on ten espressos while nursing a dark hangover.

So this was all back in the day, the same day when I used to curse people who brought babies on planes. Now, as karma would have it, I am often That Parent. My two-year-old son is not that quiet in cafes. He does not eat that tidily and he gets ants in his pants within two minutes of sitting down. Our pram takes up more space than I would like.  And incidentally, yes, our toddler has screamed a plane down despite all our efforts to pacify him. My how times have changed.

Having my own babies has been like looking in a mirror at my former self, and every time I’ve been met with service that tuts or rolls eyes - however subtly - at accommodating my children, I think this. But even more than karma, I see mismanagement and a missed opportunity because, most cafes, mums are your daytime demographic*. Toys and allocated space for the kids, most awesome as they are :) :), may not be possible in all venues but basically, make us feel welcome and we will come. And spend.

Or so we say.

Because there's another side to this issue. Yes, these days  I understand much better what mumming involves and karma has bitten my ass many times. But I do think a lot of mums who have been waitresses understand what that involves too, whereas some maybe don’t or, if they once did, they have forgotten. Take the Mess Makers, for instance. I read recently on a baby website one mum’s comment: 'AIBU (am I being unreasonable) not to have tidied up after my kids in a cafe?' the mess in question being chips and pots of baby food being left all over everywhere.

Yes, YABU. This post brought back so many memories which still stick uneasily with me of parents as bad customers: leaving mounds of goo and baby wipe without any attempt to clean up; leaving everywhere bits of food bought and not bought at that establishment. Yes, yes, of course you sometimes have to bring food for your nipper - I’ve done it many times - but for any of the above, at least do that awkward British thing where you try to tidy it up, in the hope that the staff will come along and insist it’s fine.  They generally do do this, and if they don’t, then maybe it’s a further case of mismanagement and all its trappings.

‘But I’m a paying customer, I’m entitled to make mess’, many might cry. Well, yes they might but the torrent of negative YABU responses to the post above, in their bandying about of words such as ‘rude’, and indeed ‘entitled’ would, thankfully, suggest otherwise.

OK, at least these people do pay and maybe there are worse out there. In fact I have seen them and those are The Occupiers. Of space and facilities, that is, as these individuals are not known to, you know, buy anything the venue is actually selling. I have seen, (sigh), entire groups of people where between roughly nine of them, babes crawling around, the works, about two coffees are purchased.  And this phenomenon seems to happen come rain or shine, by the way; cheek and stinginess are not just foul-weather friends. And these venues exist to make a living, winter or summer.

I know I’m not alone in my rant here. Inevitably, it’s a view shared by the venue proprietors and managers I know. But these and parents are not mutual exclusives. Many of these owners also have kids and, like many of us, can see both sides.

What's more, you don’t even need experience in this industry to ‘get’ what I’m saying; let’s not forget that the ‘AIBU’ post - and its shocked responses - were all found on the wall of a parenting website. Assuming that this is not somewhere non-parents prefer to come in their downtime, this speaks for itself.

So how to conclude this? Establishments, you want our money; we want your coffee. Let’s make this work with some nice manners on both sides.

Venues: be nice to these people

Parents: don’t be cheaple. Or cheekle. (OK, enough now).

The end.

*Mums - and therefore females -  happen to be the main demographic in my case, but I’m sure this extends to any parents

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Twitter:  @ericajbarlow

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#13 On The Lies We Need To Tell Children

Unbelievably, this does not exist

'Oh that's a shame, darling. See I'd love to buy you an ice cream, but when the van plays his tunes, it means there are no more left.'

So goes the urban myth I heard about someone's mum and ice cream vans. In fact, I once quoted this story to a friend right after she'd told me, yanking on a stiff, scratchy jumper, that her mum claimed not to use fabric conditioner as it 'wrecked the fibres'.

Parents and their tall tales, eh, often used to save cash, time or effort somehow. Actually, now I have become a parent I have learned of various other motives for such small-child-deception.

For instance, we have the idea of protecting children from a harsh truth. A moral motive, you might say. To this day I can remember getting all excited, at three years old, about seeing our cat one morning, curled up in the gutter by our driveway with his mouth fixed open in a yawn. In my preschool wisdom I just assumed him to be having a nice rest, kerbside, so I pointed to him and shouted to my dad.

Dad's response took me aback somewhat. 'Where? Oh... No, no, that's not Tim. Nope, definitely not.'

       

And with that he sped me away to nursery.

I'd know that cat anywhere, I brooded silently. But everything became clearer that evening when I came out into the garden to see Dad gravely pat-pat-patting a fresh mound of earth with the back of a shovel.

Poor Timmy-boy. But Dad had been right, of course; my day thereafter might have been a bit off-kilter if I’d gone in knowing exactly what I'd seen: Tim laying there post-expiry of his membership to the Nine Lives Club.

So we see, shielding children from the truth can be a noble thing, sparing their delicate and innocent souls a nasty hardship. Let's be honest, though, we're more inclined to lie to them when they're just being little bastards. Take following basic commands. So often am I carrying Daughter or lots of shopping upstairs to our apartment and Son is simply refusing to follow suit. Despite my attempts to woo/ threaten him up there, he happily arses about in the stairwell, inconveniencing me and any passer-by.

So? 'Big spider on the landing' it is. And we live in Australia so we’re talking big-fuck-off-sweaty ones. When they’re real, of course.

I lurch upstairs with my heavy load, craning my neck up to the landing, ‘Ooh, better come quick, he’s moving, he’s running away. Quick!’

It’s just as well, of course, that spiders - even big, sweaty ones - are shy creatures. This allows my hoax some plausibility, evident in Son’s disappointment when he finally arrives and sees no arachnid anywhere.

‘Gone’, I tut. I also gently sigh. I might even ruffle his hair to hammer home the fake solidarity, before toeing him through the front door.

And it's not just spiders that disappear in our web of untruths; in our house inanimate objects- namely ones that I don't want sticky mitts on- vanish when 'sleeping':

'iPad sleeping'

'Daddy's phone sleeping'

Hell, we even have 'Peppa Pig sleeping', which calls for an existential belief, if you will, that cartoon characters hit the sack when not being watched. Son seems OK with this, so that's great. I thank Toy Story for weaving this idea into his tiny mind.

Another favourite fib is the 'follow your idol' fallacy. This time I use anyone Son looks up to and claim that they exhibit whatever behaviour I desire from him. Usually this is associated with trying to put something on him; clothes or the like.

'Don't want to wear these? Oh but X wears these all the time! In fact yours are better ones.'

'Y always has his straps done up properly'

And don't think this is just confined to his junior peers:

'I know you don't want to put your nappy on for bed. I know you normally wear big boy pants all day...' (inner monologue: oh shit, I'm running out of ideas)

A visiting Uncle P pops his head round the door. 'Hey, I wear a nappy for bed.'

Shock passes over Son's face. 'Huh? Do you, Uncle P?'

'Every night! Love it.'

Compliance ensues.

One day Son will learn about the necessity of evidencing one’s claims, but hopefully at the same time as learning perspective and maybe how wilful toddlers can be. Or let’s hope he may just have forgotten my porky pies altogether. In any case, they work now and I make no apology for them.

But perhaps fibbing to my daughter is a different story with a different motive still. The scene goes like this: she’s thirteen weeks old and I have, as usual, left her on the floor/ bed for long enough that she starts inconsiderately fussing or crying for actual human contact.

So I feel urged to utter, in a silly singsong voice:

‘Mummy’s coming, I just need to finish my shower / the washing / the hoovering.’ (true)

‘Be right with you.’ (untrue)

Deep down, I know that I am fobbing off my non-verbal baby with pointless noises. I do not need compliance from her; I need reassurance for myself. I feel a bit bad.

One thing’s for sure, though: at least she won’t remember these moments. I hope. And when she’s older, I have a plethora of ice-cream-van stories all ready to go.

Erica

Seen the book? Take a look! http://lookingatyoubaby.com/

Twitter:  @ericajbarlow

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#12 Seven Life Hacks if You Have Babies / Toddlers

Efficient in the extreme

Ah, life hacks. Or cheats. Call me old-fashioned, but aren't these just the same as 'hints' or 'tips' from back in the day, mainly to be found in naff women's magazines (the type with soap actors on the front and puzzles at the back)?

Well, it seems that in this world of so much to do and so little time, we are all looking for shortcuts these days. And who needs to save time and resources more than parents of little ones?

Over at Here's Looking At You I certainly didn't want you to miss out, so here goes.

Oh, and rest assured that these have been tried and tested by yours truly.  Many times over.

1. Wiping the Slate Clean

Don't waste precious baby wipes, or your time! Upon each trip to the bin to dispose of one of these multi-use bad boys, providing it is not too completely scummy (your call), make sure the clean side is faced down, and there you have it: a wipe for any surface en route, including that bin lid that's always got pesky tea splashes on it.

• Got some dried-up ones lying around? Use them to give things a little buff n' polish.

• Concerned about hygiene? Surely you've given up on that by now.

2. Cot Pit

On a rainy day, why waste time and money going to a soft play area? You can simply put your toddler in his cot and fill it with all his toys. Yes, all of them. You can even leave them in there at sleep time; my son loves to roll around over bits of Duplo while snoozing and it really doesn't wake him up! It's like a spiky ball pool minus the cost. And the nits.

3. Wardrobe Mal function

Is your baby’s clothes drawer too full, hence being tricky to open and close? Help is at hand if you follow these simple steps:

1) Remove clothes you do need for right now; stuff back in the ones you don’t.

2) Close drawer, with force if necessary.

3) Walk away.

4) Your short term memory is so shot you'll forget this problem exists in a minute.

5) If you do remember it exists, repeat steps 2-4 ad infinitum.

4. Bounce n’ Bronze

Aching for a tan but that ‘me me me’ baby just won’t let you sunbathe? Easy. Attach one end of a metre-long piece of ribbon to the safety harness of your baby’s bouncer. Tie the other end to one of your big toes, give that foot a rhythmic jiggle and...boom! Sun yourself, sip your pina colada and satisfy your sprog with bounce-time, all at once.

Footnote: OK, I have never tried this but I’ve seen it done by ladies in Italy. Seriously.

I’ve also heard that Greek ladies extend this same trick to when they’re having sexy-time with their husbands. Seriously.

Have you tried either? Please write in and let us know how it went!

5. Prehensile Toes

Continuing from  #4 is this little nugget. Don’t waste time, effort and your precious back muscles bending down to collect toys or clothing off the floor; simply get used to picking stuff up between your big and second toe, and then perfect the ‘kick and flick’ where you kick your leg out, flick up the item and either catch it in your hand or deposit it straight in its rightful place. One for mums who are often carrying and /or feeding babes-in-arms on foot.

6. Schmindow Cleaning

If your windows look filthy, make sure you only invite guests to come over in the evening. Just wait for darkness to fall and...presto! Those naughty marks/ smears / rain spots literally disappear from view, leaving you with twinkling glass. This hack can be adapted to most grubby surfaces, including your own face / hair. The term ‘mood lighting’ doesn’t exist for nothing.

7. Neighbour Saver

Live in a flat / terraced house, where you’re constantly worrying about the noise pollution created by your little ones’ loud night-time crying/ tantrums / crashing about on wooden floors at 6am? 

Fret no more by practising The Sorry Simper. Here’s how it works:

• Assuming you have failed to avoid the neighbour-in-question completely in the hallway, at the corner shop, etc, meet their dead-eyed and resentful smirk with a barely audible ‘hi’ and an awkward half-smile and be relieved when the exchange ends there. There, you’ve been friendly / British.
• If you still feel some guilt, try the Excessive Hello: smile, joyfully greet them and wave your arms about so ostentatiously that they will feel forced to say hello back. This way you can say to yourself ‘it must be fine, or they wouldn’t have said hello’ as you part company. Job done.

Do you have any great parenting shortcuts? Feel free to send them in!

Bye for now and happy hacking,

Erica :)

Seen the book? Take a look! http://lookingatyoubaby.com/

Twitter:  @ericajbarlow

Instagram: @ericajane_20   #lookingatyoubabydotcom

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#11 On Your Child's Artistic Talents

Odd.

Let me be clear: I'm not totally sure my son has any artistic talents (and my daughter is still a newborn, so we'll leave her for now). However I am trying to see whether it's worth helping him to hone some for the following reasons:

1) I live in the Eastern Suburbs of Sydney, where the accepted diet is one of yoga, cafe-culture and self-expression. It is also an area where cello or flute lessons tend to trump BMX-ing or urban dance. It is only fair that we help Son to adopt a 'When in Rome' attitude while we live here.

2) It's too early to tell yet if he has any of his father's maths/ science- type abilities. Obviously these are the lucrative ones, as I've said before, but....

3)  Son has shown a tendency to be a massive show off (er...perhaps my genes) so it might be worth pursuing the artsy route while he's still innumerate.

So. Keeping my best Pushy Parent head on (adopted only for these purposes, you understand), I start categorising the artistic areas where Son has shown merit so far and take some notes, as follows:

Fine Art:

I loved drawing at school: would like him to be good at this.

- Him? Hard to say. His own sketches = barely evolved beyond finger painting but he does like colouring.

- BUT not sure I want anyone else to see his colouring; it's a little unsettling. Tendency to focus on faces of subject matter and scribble in the eyes and mouths so they look quite horrific, like the deranged defacings performed by a madman from Luther / a 90s horror film.

Verdict? Maybe stay away from this one for now.

Music

- Enjoys music- we used reggae to get him to sleep when tiny.

- Talent? Not sure, BUT does have swagger of frontman. Definite ego- when Husband or I sing, Son stops us mid-line:

'No no no. No. You can't sing this Mummy / Daddy...

I can.' (commences singing).

-Also, attitude, manners and scowl of Liam Gallagher at times.

Verdict? Attitude to fake it, if not talent to make it. One to return to.

Literature / Wordsmithery

-NB not helped by Husband + I reading abridged versions of his stories, which we can get away with since Son currently illiterate. Eg:

Me: ‘Where is the green sheep?” Hmmm, let’s see…

[Sidestepping all subsequent pages speculating upon said sheep’s whereabouts, flicking straight to the last page].

     Ah. There he is! Behind the bush all    along. Night night, then.

- Also, loves to reflect on past events in Shakespearean format.  For example, his friend Margot lent him her toy  he stole a toy from his friend Margot, who cried even harder when her Mum said he could borrow it:

Son: Margot did lend me this toy. And she did cry.

Me: Yes.

Son: And she did scream.

Me: Yes.

Son: Her Mummy did make her share (fails to see irony in his own uselessness at sharing)

Without being too boring and nitty-gritty (teacher alert) I know that this is Son’s way of addressing English past tense, which baffles lots of children.  In its own way, it’s logical and not entirely incorrect, if a little Renaissance-era.

Verdict? Quite flowery and yet dignified. Might pursue this one.

Theatre / Performance Art

Exhibitionist gene definitely at work here.

-Less convincing when pretending to be asleep: grins widely, breathes really fast and his closed eyelashes keep twitching / fluttering. Snoring noise also pretty hammy.

- BUT- in prima donna mode he is peerless. Able to throw himself prostrate upon ground in paroxysm. Very quick to produce real tears and purpling face, all at will. Can remain thus for quite some time, plus plaintive wails:

‘Pleeeease, Mummy! Pleeeease give me back that toast (that I’ve eaten as he said he didn’t want it). Now! Plee- hee- heeeeeeese. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.’ (continued indefinitely, getting only stronger with each attempt to pacify him).

- All this= extremely convincing until a dog appears on TV/ his sister burps sick everywhere. Suddenly, his face melts into a summer’s day,  rigid body softens and he laughs ‘hur hur! Yook! Milk everywhere! That’s FUNNY.’

Verdict: Worryingly convincing. Might keep this under wraps for now to avoid him being screened for psychopathy.

Expressive Dance:

- Not much evidence of rhythm / coordination yet, BUT does love to do ‘the crab’ (sidestepping across floor with hip-thrusting motion, snapping his thumbs and fingers together as ‘pincers’. Novel).

- Also, now that putting him in a sleeping bag has failed to stop him escaping from his cot, insists upon parading victoriously around the flat, still in said sleeping bag and shuffling like a little geisha.

Verdict: Potential.

As for comedy? That is pretty much tied in with all of the above, whether deliberate or not.

So, when Pinterest flashes me up ‘articles of interest’ entitled ‘Ten Signs You Have a Nervous Child’ and ‘How to Build Your Child's Confidence' I hastily close the app and start putting 'child agents' into Google.

It never did Macaulay Culkin any harm.

Seen the book? Take a look! http://lookingatyoubaby.com/

Twitter:  @ericajbarlow

Instagram: @ericajane_20   #lookingatyoubabydotcom

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