Autumn And Winter Running

I've just got back from a run, and I've realised that my running shoes are coming towards the end of their useful life. The familiar signs are all there. Actually, they've been there for the last few runs and you're supposed to change your running shoes before you start to experience problems, but I'm often slow when it comes to picking up on physical cues that something's not quite right. 

How do you know when your running shoes are wearing out? It's pretty straightforward, right? Well, no. It's often the case that the shoe looks perfectly fine outwardly, but the inner support or cushioning has worn, meaning the runner might be more prone to injury. Of course, it all depends on the individual runner, and I should also say that I'm talking about conventional running shoes here, rather than 'barefoot' type shoes. Experts say that a pair of running shoes should be changed after about 500 miles. I, having some biomechanical issues and being what those in the trade like to refer to as a 'heavy runner', can only get about 350-400 miles out of a shoe before I start to notice a pattern of pain: cramps across the arch of my foot (if I had an arch, that is) and a burning sensation running up my calves. So, it is with a sigh that I shall begin the search for a new pair - for the ASICS Gel Foundation shoes which do such a good job of keeping me injury-free are not cheap. Hopefully I'll find a bargain. The autumn is often a great time to buy new running shoes, because suppliers reduce the spring/summer range to make way for the new season's stock. So, as long as you don't mind running in last season's colours, you can often get a good deal.

The autumn and winter are my favourite seasons for running: it's so much nicer to run when it's cooler. There are a few things worth investing in, though, to make running at this time of year easier and safer, especially if you're running in the dark. I occasionally have to fit in runs at night, and although I'm running in a well lit area, the glare of oncoming headlights means that it can be hard to see the pavement directly in front of me, so a head torch is useful. It makes me more visible to traffic, too. There are lots on the market to choose from; I opted for a basic one, because I really don't need lots of fancy strobing options - having taken a nasty tumble whilst running earlier this year, I just want to stay upright.

Another bit of kit I've invested in after many years of wearing a disgusting holey old knitted pair is proper running gloves. My new Ronhill gloves are fluorescent orange, with reflective logos. They're not too thick, and they dry quickly. As long as I don't look at them for too long my eyes should be just fine. 

Speaking of eyes, a good pair of sunglasses is a must if you're running on sunny winter days. Last year, I discovered that I had some UV damage to my retinas, which the optician suggested was a result of spending a lot of time outdoors. Although I was wearing sunglasses to run, they weren't ideal for running, and they let in a lot of light as they slipped down my sweaty old face, so I saved up and bought myself some proper sports prescription glasses, which wrap around, and don't slip. Your eyes are important, people. Make sure you look after them. 

One other item of clothing I've acquired this year which should see me through the winter and beyond is my BAM Enduro leggings. I had these for my birthday a few months ago (thanks Mum and Dad!), and they are by far the best running legwear I've ever worn. They're made from heavyweight bamboo jersey, and they're super comfortable in all sorts of weather conditions. They're also ethically made from a sustainable material. Check out the website for more details: www.bambooclothing.co.uk . 

Adventures In Sourdough

We've made it to the half term break and it's felt like September and October have been pretty busy, hence the lack of posts over the last few weeks. Today has been a momentous one in the life of my new sourdough starter though, so I thought I'd take a break while it's quiet (ha!) and share the excitement with you. Yes, over the last week I've been getting a new starter going after my last one died in the heat of the summer, and today I baked my first batch of bread with it. It was very tasty indeed.

Sourdough bread has a long and illustrious history: the Egyptians made it, and it was an essential food during the Alaskan gold rush, when I'm told people would sleep with their starter to keep it from getting too cold. Starters have been passed down through families for generations, although I've never managed to keep mine going for more than a few months before it dies (largely down to busyness or forgetfulness on my part). A sourdough starter is made from flour and water. There's no yeast added to it - the bread is leavened naturally, as the wild yeasts floating around your kitchen settle on the flour and water and begin to do their thing. You'll very likely have seen sourdough bread on sale in artisan bakeries and farmers' markets for what looks like a ludicrous price: if you've never tried it, I can tell you that it's worth the money. Sourdough bread is so pricey because it takes a fair bit of time to make, and it needs more love and care than other types of bread, but it's not difficult (and it's considerably cheaper) to make your own. You just need a bit of patience.

You'll find that there are about as many different methods of getting a sourdough starter going as there are people who make it. As I've dabbled over the last few years, I've discovered that even if you start in strict adherence to someone else's method, you end up tweaking things to suit your own way of doing things anyway. It's a food which comes with an attached community - if you google 'sourdough' you'll find forums dedicated to the art of making it, and they can be very useful if you run into trouble with your bread. Here's how I've been making mine most recently, in case you fancy having a go.

I have a 1 litre kilner jar to keep my starter in. I start by mixing 60g flour and 4 tablespoons of water (at around 20 degrees C). Before now, I've mixed bog standard strong white flour with fancier organic mixed grain stuff, but my current starter is just strong white. People talk a lot about using organic flour because it hasn't been treated with substances that stunt the growth of the yeasts, but I find it works fine with any bread flour. I leave the jar with the lid propped open in a warm place, like a sunny windowsill. I want the wild yeasts in the air to settle on my mixture and for fermentation to start, and for that the mixture needs to be reasonably warm. After a couple of days, there should be a few bubbles. If this is the case, I add the same amounts of flour and water again. I check the mixture each day: it should begin to smell slightly acidic, or even a little alcoholic but not unpleasant. If it starts to smell nasty, it should be thrown away and started again. There should be more bubbles after 4 or 5 days. From now on, each day I tip half of the mixture away (it is compostable), and add 120g of whatever flour I'm using and 120ml of water. At this point it's possible to see that the mixture has a point after feeding where it is noticeably more 'excited' and it's worth putting the jar in a bowl in case it overflows.

Hello, little yeasts...

After a week, the starter should be ready to use, although it takes a little while for it to mature and produce a really good loaf. It's a matter of experimentation from here on in, but I find that half of the mixture added to 500g of strong white flour, a couple of tablespoons of sugar and some salt (to taste) works pretty well. I add enough water to make a slightly sticky dough - I've discovered that if you make the dough with the same quantities of water to flour as conventionally raised bread, you end up with a tough, dense loaf, which is good for weaponry but not much else. I leave it to prove under cling film/a clean tea towel for between 8 and 12 hours and usually find it has expanded enough to make 2 smaller loaves. I like to make it in the evening so that it proves overnight. I don't bother proving a second time - at this point, I divide it into 2, shape it and bake it for about 25 minutes at around 200°C. 

That's more or less it, although I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would make it differently. When your starter is established, you can leave it a day or two without feeding it, and revive it with a feed before you bake with it again. You can slow it down in the fridge too, if you don't want to make any bread for a few days. You can even give some of your starter away to a fortunate recipient so that they can share in the sourdough joy. Happy baking!

Unemployable?

For most of the last twelve years, I've been a stay-at-home mum. As I've said before, I didn't think I'd be at home for this long, but of course we don't always know how things will turn out. I didn't know, for example, that I'd want to have kids. I didn't know that I'd struggle with the idea of having someone else take care of them. It is pretty much taken for granted - and certainly reflected in government policy - that once you've had your baby, you'll take up to a year off, and then pick up where you left off at work,  placing your child in a daycare nursery, or with a childminder. Or, if you're fortunate, a grandparent will take care of them, or perhaps you're able to work opposite shifts to your partner to cover childcare. Please don't misunderstand me: I'm not criticising those who do return to paid work after maternity leave. There are times when I find myself wondering if I should have done so. Someone somewhere in cyberspace commented recently that it seems as though motherhood is regarded as a two-year occupation; once your children are in nursery there's really no reason to stay at home. There are lots of reasons why I think that person's observation is very astute (sorry I can't remember who you are!) but one that stands out to me is that for many women, quite apart from the financial pressure, a couple of years is perhaps the maximum period of time they feel able to stay at home before they begin to be perceived as unemployable. I discovered the possible truth in this a few years ago when I decided to return to teaching. I realise now that I actually didn't really want to - I just felt like I ought to. Now, maybe I really was a pile of pants, but it didn't matter how cleverly I wrote out my personal statement, I couldn't raise a response. I suspect that the problem was that no matter how good I actually was (or not) as a teacher, the words 'family responsibilities' glowed like warning beacons from the front page of my application form. It didn't seem to matter that I'd volunteered for months at my kids' school, been doing a few hours of private tuition a week, and held the post of company secretary on the management board of my local pre school. That stuff they tell you about how volunteering looks good on your CV? I'm not sure that I believe it.

I really think that there's an assumption amongst employers and those who do return to the paid workplace that once you resign your job to take up the unpaid but very worthwhile post of stay-at-home parent, you somehow lose any brainpower, knowledge and competence you ever had. You are, after all, merely a wiper of bottoms, and a visitor of toddler groups. And when the kids have gone to school, well, what were you doing hanging around at home for that long? Anyone who has ever parented knows that this image of intellectually undemanding loafing is about as far from the truth as you can get. Apart from utilising my teaching skills and a whole bunch of specialist knowledge I've acquired about helping learners with neurodevelopmental disorders, there are a host of other competencies upon which I am required to draw on a daily basis.

To begin with, being my own boss, I am required to structure my time for maximum effectiveness whilst maintaining a considerable degree of flexibility. I must plan and resource all family meals, taking into account nutrition, fussy ten year olds and available funds. I must also employ my baking and cake decorating skills numerous times over the course of a year to satisfy the wishes of all those family members in possession of a birthday. I must manage the budget for Christmas, balancing what people want with what we can actually afford and figuring out what presents I can make to save money (we don't do credit for Christmas). I must call upon my negotiation skills to keep warring factions from destroying the house and each other. I might be faced with the need for HAZMAT containment and disposal at short notice, often with only improvised equipment at hand. Over the years I have honed my tempera painting skills, made slippers out of felt (and made the felt to make the slippers), sewn costumes, upcycled many different items, grown a wide variety of fruit and veg, given kayaking instruction, helped write comedy sketches, explained how babies are made, constructed furniture, diagnosed illnesses and completed tax returns. This very day I have explored William Paley's Watchmaker Analogy with my twelve year old. In short, I am capable, quick to learn new skills, creative, effective and flexible. Do I sound unemployable?

I am in no way exceptional. There are many people just like me who can do all of this and probably a whole lot more. It's just a shame that because it 's unpaid and not validated externally by some CPD body or other, it's not considered to be fulfilling, challenging work. I'm not writing about all of this because I want someone to give me a job. For many reasons, and while we can manage on the income we have, I've decided that I don't want to go back to a conventional workplace for the foreseeable future, if ever. The reasons I'm writing about all this are twofold: firstly, I would like to challenge the assumption that stay at home parenting deskills people. It seems to me that the combination of a limited budget and and a bit of thinking time is ideal for developing creativity and ingenuity in problem solving. Secondly, if you're in the position of being an employer and you spot an application form in the pile on your desk which includes the words 'looking after family' in the employment history section, please don't assume that the applicant has a head full of nappies and daytime telly. Please take the time to consider what it actually means in practical terms to give up an income to raise a family. Please don't file that application under 'B'.

Autumn Crafty Bits

My garden smells  like September, and this makes me very happy. I like spring and summer, but I really look forward to autumn and winter. I get excited about digging out the jumpers and woolly gloves, and the arrival of Bramley apples in the shops.

I'm fond of a bit of bunting or a garland here or there, and last year I made a felt one in autumnal colours. It hung on the mantelpiece looking quite lovely until my children decided to have a sword fight in the living room. Turns out felt garlands aren't swordproof. Anyway, I finally got round to mending it and here it is, although who knows how long it'll survive. It's a pretty easy garland to make and you can adapt it to use more or less any fabric you like. It's a good way to upcycle old clothes.

I started by cutting some felt I had made into circles about 4cm in diameter. I made three or four batches in different colours and then just fed them one by one through the sewing machine. In spite of the fact that my sewing machine is far from fancy it handled the felt very well, although I had to leave the presser foot up because some of the circles were more than 5mm thick. Once I was happy with the length, I sewed hanging loops made from some packaging string I happened to have on each end.

Here's another autumn felt project that I'm pretty pleased with:

These little pumpkins are made from shop bought felt, which is much thinner than the chunky stuff I make myself, and therefore lends itself to layering. Each one is made from three circles of felt machine sewn together, with a couple of leaves hand sewn to the top. I left a long tail of thread attached so that I could hang them up. I used an orange Sharpie to draw round the circle templates, and I was going to trim the pen marks off, but I didn't because I quite liked the darker edges on the circles: they look a bit like ridges on the pumpkin skin. Of course you could make these little decorations in any shape you liked. Something for the Christmas tree, perhaps? 

Introverts At School

I didn't particularly enjoy school - well, not the social side, anyway. I did like learning things, but I always felt uneasy, as though I didn't quite belong, and that I had nothing in common with the other kids. Even as a twelve year old I can remember reflecting on this, and wondering what exactly was wrong with me. I know now that there was nothing wrong, and that this had a lot to do with the fact that I am an introvert. It's not that I don't like people - I do - but I, like approximately a third to a half of the population - find social interaction draining, as opposed to extraverts who feel perked up and energised by being around people. I best recharge by spending time alone. I like to think and reflect, and take a bit of time to come up with my ideas. I'm not keen on spending a lot of time in crowds, or having to come up with on-the-spot answers. I find small talk exhausting, and when whoever is leading a service at church says 'find someone you've never spoken to before and say hi to them!' I feel like someone has reached down my throat, grabbed my intestines and attempted to make balloon animals with them. Introversion is not the same as being shy, or socially anxious. The same me who finds chatting at church hard is not at all shy about getting up on stage and singing into a microphone. It's just a preference for a certain way of functioning. As introversion and extraversion are at each end of a continuum, we might be more extreme in our preference, or we might find ourselves more towards the middle.

The thing about mainstream education in western culture is that it is largely built by and for those with extraverted preferences. I read a great article recently by the author Susan Cain. In it, she discussed the need for schools to function in a more introvert-friendly way and although the context for her article was American, much of what she wrote about was applicable to the UK, too. She pointed out that schools are often set up, both in terms of physical layout and ethos, in such a way as to favour extravert learning and working styles. Culturally, the tendency is to think that it is the loudest, most outgoing, most outwardly energetic who have the best ideas, who make the best leaders, and who are the most successful. The best ideas come from people collaborating with each other at every stage of the creative process and there's something not quite right with those who wish to work alone. We need to share! Share everything! Now! I've often encountered evidence of this thinking, but two examples that I've come across lately stand out: first of all, while chatting with a mum who wanted her child to 'come out of her shell' - I'm all for children gaining confidence socially but this mum seemed to want more than that: she wanted her daughter, who seemed a perfectly lovely introvert, to become what she wasn't. The second encounter with this thinking came when I noticed a 'What Literary Character Are You?' quiz appearing all over Facebook. Liking books, I thought I'd take the quiz for a bit of fun and there, in the middle of it, was a question that asked what I felt my biggest flaw was. It gave me a choice of answers, one of which was 'I'm too introverted'. How, may I ask, is extreme introversion a flaw? If you think I'm just being a bit sensitive about the wording in a daft quiz, it's worth pointing out that just a year or two ago, there was debate amongst American healthcare professionals over whether or not introversion was an indicator of mental health issues. Thankfully it was decided that the wording in the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders should be changed to reflect the fact that introversion is not a condition.

 If it is true that there's a cultural bias - certainly in the western world - and if this cultural bias extends into our education system, then we're not doing up to half of the nation's children and young people any favours. Experience as a child, a teacher and a parent persuades me that this is the case. When OFSTED come calling, what they're wanting to see is pacy lessons, with children responding to questions more or less instantly. Take a look in my daughter's new student handbook and you'll find pages of writing impressing upon children the importance of collaborative work, and the rewards that shall be theirs should they be able to show everyone just how collaborative they are. My Dad, an extremely intelligent introvert, hates conferences and training sessions he has to attend for work, because he knows that at some point someone will say 'and now let's get into groups'. And yet, that's a practice enthusiastically encouraged in professional development events, and often the accepted way of judging competence. I've had to take part in more than one group interview before. At a certain university local to me, it was part of the selection process for admission, and it was hideous. I said one thing. It must have been OK, because they offered me a place, but I didn't take it. So there. But it's a point to ponder: how many potentially amazing teachers or doctors or managers or whatever have been lost because society favours methods of selection with which only a third to a half of the population are comfortable?

So, apart from moaning about extraverts, what am I trying to say here? Actually, I'm not moaning about extraverts at all. I even have some as friends, and between us two introverts, my husband and I have managed to produce one. What I am trying to say is that if you're a teacher and you're not already doing this, it's vital that you consider carefully how you can set up your classroom and plan your lessons so that you're enabling individual learners to work in the way that is most helpful for them. Don't have every desk arranged into tables of four or six. Offer the option of working in ones or twos to those who may do better that way, and be careful about using working alone as a sanction. Don't make all your whole class teaching oral and quickfire. Seek out the quieter kids and find out what they're interested in, and what they think. Offer them leadership opportunities. Look at how you can enable your introverts to develop skills which come more naturally to extraverts and vice versa, in ways that don't take them way beyond their comfort zones for extended periods of time.

If you're parenting an introvert, how can you help them navigate their way through school without it becoming an exhausting ordeal? How can you help them to see school as a place to thrive, not merely survive? Here are a few thoughts. Firstly, accept their preference and help them to understand how they function. If they feel as though there's something wrong with them, help them to see that this isn't the case. Do offer lots of praise when they decide to do something that isn't normally 'them', like take a speaking part in the drama festival or whatever, but don't (as I have been guilty of doing in the past, for fear that my children would be like me) tell them that you wish they'd join in more, or come out of their shell, or have more friends. It's not that you don't want them to be socially confident in lots of different settings, but building their confidence in who they are is a far more successful way of achieving this. And anyway, you can be perfectly confident on the sidelines. Understand too, that they may well feel as though they don't quite belong in school, that they aren't on the same wavelength as everyone else. Psychologist David Keirsey pointed out that introverted children often feel like this in school, but find more people like them as they move into higher education. That, to a degree, has been my experience.

Secondly, be their advocate. If teachers bring up your child's apparent reticence, or their lack of input in class, ask them how they make provision in their planning and teaching for those with a more introverted working style. They'll love you. But seriously, allowing for introverted preferences in the classroom not only benefits the introverts, who are often forced to work in an extraverted way that doesn't come naturally, but gives extraverted kids the opportunity to develop and practise skills which become increasingly important as they take more responsibility for their own learning.

Thirdly, encourage strategies for coping with that extraverted world out there. Whether we love it or struggle with it, most of us spend time with people on a regular basis, and need to interact in all kinds of ways. Depending on how much of an introvert your child is, recognise that they may well need a period of recovery when they get home from school: try to resist the urge to ask them about their day straight away, unless they want to tell you. Allow them some time to decompress. I know, for example, that I will get very little out of number two child until teatime. He needs to watch some TV, or play with his Lego, or do something else by himself because he's spent the whole day being with other people. I've realised recently that I probably allow my older two (the youngest isn't really a computer game fan) a far greater amount of screen time than many other parents, which I'm sure will horrify some. But when your head is buzzing, and you're craving solitude, it can be great to disappear into a Minecraft world and be creative, or trawl through loomband tutorials to find something new to make. Screen time isn't necessarily wasted time.

Another thing with which introverts can struggle is talking to people they don't know. I find this particularly hard, especially when I have a specific query, or I have to give information about something. I know what I want to say, but I lose the power of intelligible speech, and sound like I've left my brain behind under my pillow. Communicating in this way is a skill, and like every skill, some people find it comes more easily than others. Talking to people you don't know happens a lot in large secondary schools, especially when you're new, and encouraging your child to rehearse what they might want to say in a particular situation can help. Having a mental stock of smalltalky phrases can be useful too, when meeting new people. Asking a question is a good thing to do, because you can then listen while someone else does all the talking. Of course, you might discover that you're talking to a fellow introvert, and that you have all sorts of things in common.

To some people, it may seem as though I'm asking for special treatment for introverts. I might have introverted preferences, but I don't think I deserve any better than my extraverted friends. I do think that there's more riding on this than we realise, though. It's not just about placating a particular group of people for the sake of it: both introverts and extraverts need to feel confident in their preferences, and they both need particular things from a school or workplace setup to be at their most productive and creative; surely society needs people to be both of those things. It's a matter of recognising the value in different ways of functioning, and demonstrating this recognition in practical ways.

What do you think? Do you have anything to add? I'd love to hear from you.

'Here's One We Made Earlier' at the Lowry

As an end of summer holiday treat, we took a trip to Salford Quays yesterday. It's been a while since I last visited the Quays - ten years to be precise. In that time, the MediaCityUK complex has opened, which is home to the BBC and ITV as well as other organisations. There's plenty to see and do: the Imperial War Museum North is here, as well as the Lowry Centre, which houses the world's largest collection of L.S. Lowry's paintings. You can take a boat trip on the Manchester Shipping Canal, visit the Lyric Theatre, shop at the outlet mall, or do what we were there to do: see the 'Here's One We Made Earlier' exhibition, which celebrates 90 years of radio and television broadcasting to children.

Once the children realised where we were going, however, we were informed that there were other important things to be seen before we could take a look at the exhibition. The most important of these was the Blue Peter garden, which was moved from London when CBBC was relocated. I hadn't realised that you could actually go into the garden, but indeed you can. There are even signs to point the way.

It felt a bit like a pilgrimage, walking round the pond, taking in the statue of Petra the dog (who died the year I was born), and seeing Goldie's paw print in the cement.

The exhibition itself was outstanding. Entry to the galleries at the Lowry is free, although they do suggest a 'donation amount' of £5 per family, which seemed fair enough, and very reasonable compared with suggested donation amounts I've come across at other places. I had expected it to be very busy, and although there were quite a few people there, it wasn't overcrowded. The children there were all, quite predictably, very excited. The adults wandered round with an entranced, not-quite-there look about them, lost as they clearly were in memories of childhood box-watching. I must admit, it is really quite wonderful to encounter Bagpuss, Humpty from Playschool and Gordon the Gopher up close and in the fur, so to speak.

 My children were delighted to see sets from Wolfblood and Strange Hill High. The youngest read a story in the CBeebies Bedtime Hour window seat. We were all excited to see Helen Skelton's kayak and bike from two of her various Sport Relief challenges. My husband experienced a degree of cycle envy, I do believe.

We had a look round the Lowry Collection, too, and although I love Lowry's paintings, it was all a bit of an anticlimax for the kids, who in spite of our best efforts, couldn't muster up much interest after Hacker, Blue Peter and Shaun the Sheep. Maybe one day, eh?

'Here's One We Made Earlier' is on until October 12th, so there's still time to catch it. See www.thelowry.com for more details. 

End-Of-The-Month Veggie Chilli

Here's a veggie chilli for when you're counting down to payday (The Big Bang Theory's Sheldon Cooper would tell you it isn't a chilli because it contains beans, but I don't care. He's fictitious.).  It's a go-to in this house when other supplies are running a bit low. Apart from the fact that it costs pence per person to make, it's meat-free (and we generally eat too much meat in this country), high in fibre, and it goes really well with lots of different carbs: rice, tortillas, potatoes - whatever we have.

To feed my lot (one of them won't eat it, so this would serve 4 as an accompaniment to baked potatoes), I need the following:

1 tin chopped tomatoes

1 tin baked beans

1 tin kidney beans or whatever other beans you fancy

Tex Mex seasoning to taste (about 2 tsp)

Cloves of garlic: again, to taste

Add the tomatoes and the baked beans to your pan . Don't drain the sauce from the baked beans: this saves you needing to season with salt. Rinse the kidney beans and add them along with as much garlic and Tex Mex seasoning as will make your family happy. I keep a tin of Fiddes Payne Tex Mex seasoning in the cupboard: it's useful for all sorts of things. 

Simmer over a medium heat until - well - until it's hot, really. Let it reduce a little if you want a thicker sauce. Taste to check your seasoning. Serve with whatever you've got lurking in the cupboard. Add another tin of tomatoes and a couple of empty tins' worth of water plus a stock cube or two and you've got a soup. 

Any suggestions for cheap, versatile meals? Let me know. 

More Bunting, And Some Garden Bits And Bobs

I'm just on the point of finishing a bit more bunting, which is for a small relative who will hopefully enjoy decorating a den or two with it one day. Here it is:

It's made from some left over fat quarters I bought for another project, and it's reversible, as you can see. I'm going to turn the ends of the binding over to form hanging loops, and it'll be done.

Out in the garden, things are mixed. This doesn't seem to be a good year for my tomatoes (they're straggly, mildewy and less productive than they should be), and while the broad beans got off to a good start, they're also showing signs of disease now. However, the chilli peppers are going crazy. I found a bit of snail damage on a few of them the other day - I bet the gastropod that decided to sample them is regretting it...

One fruit that I'm growing for the first time this year is the Incaberry, or Peruvian ground cherry: it looks like physalis, and I'm told it tastes like pineapple. I acquired a couple of plants from my dad, and I've since read that they are extremely easy to grow, and productive to the point of getting out of control, if left to their own devices. They'll be ready to pick in September, but this is what they look like now:

More about these at harvest time. :-)

Kayaking At Rother Valley

Today, we went kayaking at Rother Valley Country Park, which is not far from Rotherham, South Yorkshire. We didn't go alone: our church is organised into communities (ours comprises about 30 people), which, on the fourth Sunday of each month, do church in a different way. We try and vary what we get up to: maybe a walk, a picnic, or a museum visit. There are lots of different reasons why we choose to do this, but one is so that we can simply enjoy being together. It's kind of like a day out with the extended family, and guests are very welcome.

I grew up messing about in boats of various kinds, and when we had children, I really wanted them to enjoy the excitement of being out on the water, too. We have a couple of inflatable kayaks, which we invested in a while ago. One will take three people, and the other seats two.

The pump's included, but you have to supply your own human.

My dad suggested inflatables when we were looking around for family kayaks, and while I was a bit doubtful at first, having only ever used fibreglass or plastic ones, they are excellent. They're easier to store than conventional kayaks, surprisingly durable and considerably cheaper too. Ours are both made by Sevylor, and are available from various stockists including Decathlon (www.decathlon.co.uk). While it's true that there is a bit of outlay involved initially, once you have your essential equipment - boat, paddle, buoyancy aid - you're sorted, and depending on where you go, there are plenty of places to paddle for free. The only other thing it's worth purchasing is a wetsuit, which children do have an annoying tendency to outgrow, but these can, of course, be passed down from older siblings.

It costs £8.50 per day to launch a kayak on the lake at Rother Valley, but it's cheaper if you go after 4pm and the lake is open until 7:30pm in the summer. If you don't have any kayaking experience, it's advisable to get some basic instruction to begin with. There are courses available at Rother Valley. See the website for more details: www.rvcp.co.uk . If you're not in South Yorkshire but you'd like to find out more about kayaking, check out the Canoe England website for information: www.canoe-england.org.uk

End Of Term Baking

It's the start of the summer holidays - hooray! I'm as much in need of a rest as my children, I think. The past seven days have been pretty busy, but in a good way. It was child number two's tenth birthday on Monday, and he had requested a Minecraft grass block cake. I always make the kids' cakes myself, not because I'm aspiring to be some kind of Nigella-type mummy, but because I really like mucking about with sugarpaste and edible glitter. I first caught the cake decorating bug in the Girls' Brigade when I was about 12 or 13, and I've managed quite a few cakes that I've been pretty pleased with over the years. I've amassed a fair amount of equipment and at least a little bit of skill, I like to think. Looking at examples of Minecraft cakes on Pinterest, I thought it seemed easy enough: bake a square chocolate cake, cover with chocolate frosting and use a mosaic technique to cover the frosting with various shades of green and brown fondant. Hmmm. Now maybe it's just me and my shaky hands, or maybe I was in a bit of a rush, but it was one of the trickiest cakes I've attempted in a looooong time. I admit that I'm a bit (OK, a lot) of a perfectionist, but I was less than happy with the result. Fortunately, my ten year old thought it was great. Phew.

One less than perfect cake.

I was somewhat happier with the second major baking project of the week: cookie pops for teacher thank you gifts. I started making end of term thank you presents when I realised how much it was going to cost me to buy for the teachers, TAs and various assorted other staff my three kids wanted to give things to. One year, I made fudge and by my rough calculations, it would have cost me around £40 to buy what cost me £7 to produce myself.

These cookie pops were originally going to be cake pops. I bought a cake pop mould set a few weeks ago, having wanted to try making them for ages. As I searched for cake pop baking tips online and attempted a few experimental batches,  it became clear that they're a lot harder than Hobbycraft/Lakeland/Everyone Else make out. Anyhoo, to cut a long and tedious story short, I need lots more practice making them if they're not to look deeply unappetising. The family enjoyed the failed attempts, though.

Cookie pops are far easier. They're quick to make, and you can decorate them without lots of mess - unlike the cake pops, which dripped all over the place, no matter what I did. There are loads of different sugar cookie recipes you could use, but I adapted one from Christmas Cookies (from Parragon's Love Food series, and a brilliant book to have on your shelf):

350g plain flour
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
100g butter, softened (you can use a vegetable/olive oil spread instead but I find that you need a little more flour if you do, as the mixture's a little wetter. But let's face it, butter tastes far better.)
175g sugar (soft brown, or caster, or a mixture of both, depending on what you've forgotten to stock up with.)
1 egg, beaten
4tbsp golden syrup

Sift the flour and bicarb together and rub the butter into the mixture until it resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar. In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg and the golden syrup, and stir into the flour mixture. Knead into a dough with your hands.

From here, it's up to you whether or not you choose to chill it. Lots of people insist that chilled dough stops the cookies from spreading too much, but I've tried baking lots of different types of dough from chilled and room temperature with varied results. It seems to be the more to do with the proportions of the ingredients, if you ask me. If you do go for the chill, give it about 20-30 mins.

On a floured surface, roll out your dough to a minimum thickness of about 5mm and transfer to a sheet of baking parchment on a baking sheet or stone, depending on what you prefer to use. I don't grease the baking parchment. Carefully push a lolly stick (available from most cake decorating/craft shops) into the side of each cookie: twisting it slightly helps keep the cookie keep its shape. If it breaks through the surface, use a bit of dough to repair the hole.

Bake at 180 degrees for around 10-15 minutes. You want them light brown, but still soft so that they're nice and chewy. Allow to cool a bit before carefully removing them from the baking parchment, and let them cool completely on a wire rack. The amount of cookies you'll get from this recipe varies according to the size of cookie pop you're making, but it's generally around a couple of dozen.

When the cookies are completely cold, you can decorate them using whatever you fancy. I used melted white chocolate and mini chocolate beans in the ones below:

I bagged each cookie pop up and tied a few into 'bouquets' to give to the teachers.

Give me a couple of months to crack cake pops, and when I've got something I'm not ashamed to photograph I'll post them here. :-)

Picture Books

We're Going On A Bear Hunt, Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury's wonderful picture book, is celebrating its 25th birthday this year! This is one of my family's favourite books, and for good reason. Listening to Michael Rosen talk about this children's classic on the radio the other night sparked a lot of discussion in this house about our favourite picture books.

I studied primary education at university and one of my curricular specialisms was English, so I got to spend an awful lot of time reading picture books under the guise of work. As a teacher, I delighted in sharing picture books with my classes, and as a parent, I've had the privilege of introducing my children to many of these treasures.

There are so many reasons why reading books with children is a good idea. To begin with, it's a lot of fun and some books manage to weave themselves into the fabric of your family's heritage. When I mentioned to my kids that Bear Hunt was 25, they immediately started reciting it in unison, so much a part of their childhood experience it has become. Sharing books helps children to become familiar with how texts work, which is how come you're able to read this now. Sharing books is also vitally important for children who have learning difficulties related to processing text: positive literary experiences - where stories are enjoyed rather than struggled with - help to lessen the fear and frustration which some kids associate with reading and writing.

When I asked my children what their favourite picture books were, they listed dozens of titles, but between us, we came up with a list of ten of the ones we liked best. Some are very old, and some are much newer, but if a book is out of print, you're very likely to be able to find it in your local library. So, without further ado, here they are (in no particular order).

1. The Story Of The Little Mole Who Knew It Was None Of His Business, by Werner Holzwarth and Wolf Erlbruch. I first came across this book in university, where it was read aloud to us with great gusto by one of the English lecturers. Hilarious and a little bit shocking, the 'business' referred to here is exactly what you're worried it might be. I always used to read this to my classes so that they'd think I was a really cool teacher.

2. Wonderful Earth!,  by Nick Butterworth and Mick Inkpen. This has been around for a while, and it ties the biblical account of creation in with the importance of looking after our world. It has flaps and pop up bits - always winners.

3. This Is The Star, by Joyce Dunbar and Gary Blythe. This retelling of the Christmas story is my own personal favourite. It's a cumulative rhyme (it repeats itself but adds a line to the story with each verse, like The House That Jack Built), and the illustrations are stunningly beautiful oil paintings. Outstanding.

4. Green Eggs And Ham, by Dr Seuss. We had to include a Dr Seuss book here, but we had a hard time deciding which one. Love him or hate him, Dr Seuss books are ideal for helping young readers gain confidence.

5. Cockatoos, by Quentin Blake. Think of Quentin Blake, and you think of his fabulous illustrations for Roald Dahl's stories, but he has written lots of great books himself. One of number three child's favourites, Cockatoos is way better than your average counting book.

6. The Happy Rag, by Tony Ross. Not so well known as his Little Princess series, Tony Ross's The Happy Rag is a book which tells two separate stories that come together in a very clever way. Given that all my children have 'happy rags' in some form or other, this story has a special resonance for our family.

7. The Magic Sky, by Lucy Richards. Beautifully illustrated, this is a very sweet book about an impatient little polar bear.

8. Dear Zoo, by Rod Campbell. Both number two and number three child insisted I include this one. A child asks the zoo to send him a pet, but the zoo fails to come up with the goods.

9. Norman, The Slug With The Silly Shell, by Sue Hendra. The story of Norman the slug, and his snail wannabe antics.

10. A Kitten Called Moonlight, by Martin Waddell and Christian Birmingham. This is a story within a story, and another book with exceptionally beautiful illustrations.

Well, that was tricky but we hope there's something here that you like! What are your favourite picture books? Let us know below.

What My Kids Actually Need

We were very privileged to be able to watch the Tour De France come through Sheffield at the weekend: it was absolutely fantastic! The kids loved the build up of the Caravane (where the sponsors' vehicles come through and throw freebies into the crowd), and the thrill of the Peloton rushing by. One of the best parts of the day, though, was when we were walking back to our car through the team coach area, and we found ourselves rubbing shoulders with the riders themselves. We were able to watch the press interviews, and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes:

The glamour of Le Tour...

I've been watching Le Tour since I was a kid, so to see the race first hand was hugely exciting. The whole family was still buzzing the following morning, which made me so happy. It was great to have a major international sporting event on our doorstep: things so often happen in London, which is a long way from us. It was also brilliant that it was free! Seriously, though, over the years, so many events have come and gone - events we would have loved to take our kids to see - but they've been prohibitively expensive for us. Don't get me wrong: we are blessed with everything we need, but because we've chosen to live on a single income (with a bit of extra from my tuition), there's just not a lot of spare money in the budget for big events. Over the years, I've experienced pangs of guilt over this, and wondered if things would have been better if I'd gone back to work, or if we'd put things on a credit card (we rarely do credit: the last time I used my credit card, the bank stopped it because they assumed it had been nicked). I guess we're not alone here, and it's very easy to get sucked into believing that we've failed our children by not taking them to see the Olympics, or Disneyland, or whatever. At times like this, I find it's worth reminding myself of a few things.

Firstly, we live in a culture which equates having great experiences with spending a lot of money. If you want a good time, it has to cost a lot, right? Well, no. Some of our best times as a family have been doing things which cost a relatively small amount of cash: camping, toasting marshmallows over a fire, sledging in the local park followed by hot chocolate, spending time with friends. Seeking out less well publicised events has meant we've had some fun, too. Last year, we watched the National Hovercraft Championship races at our local country park. It was free, and very enjoyable - and there was hardly anyone else there, so we had the pick of vantage points.

Secondly, kids just don't see things the way we do. It took a conversation with my parents for me to fully realise this. They were talking about how bad they felt years ago when our neighbours went off on foreign holidays, and we spent all our holidays camping in the UK because they couldn't afford to take us abroad. The thing is, I loved our holidays. We went with good friends, and we had a couple of cheap old sailing dinghies and kayaks which we knocked about in. My favourite childhood holiday memory is of kayaking on a semi-frozen loch in Scotland at about the age of  12, with the sky blue above me, and the ice groaning below me. You can't do that sitting on a beach in Mallorca. So often, we think we're failing our kids when we can't give them what we think they should have, but we need to remember that their priorities are very different from ours.

Thirdly, it's important to maintain a healthy perspective on what constitutes a good childhood. It is actually OK that my children have never been on a plane. I didn't fly anywhere until my early twenties, and I seem to have turned out fine. It's OK that my children haven't been to Disneyland (as far as I'm concerned, it's more than OK). It's OK that my two girls have to share a room, although you wouldn't think so if you listened to the kids on that CBBC show. It's really OK that we don't eat out very often. These things are not essential ingredients for healthy child development, whatever we might be led to believe. They are not what my kids need. Which is just as well, really.

Getting (Back) On My Bike

The Tour De France comes to Yorkshire this weekend!  We're very excited about it in this house. I've spent some of my time over the past week making themed bunting for a friend who's volunteering as a Tourmaker. Here's the finished bunting:

Not the best picture, but that's probably just as well, as some of the stitching is a little wonkier than I'd like. 

Cycling has been a bit of a major theme for me this year. For the first time in over twenty years, I became a bike owner once more. I can't say I was hugely keen, to begin with. It's not that I don't like exercise: I love to run (only middle distance, mind you). And it's not like I didn't spend hours in the saddle as a kid: I cycled for miles at weekends and in the school holidays. It's just that most of those hours were spent on quiet country lanes, and Sheffield is definitely not quiet. The reason for my cycling rebirth is married to me. My cyclist husband turned forty recently, and to celebrate this, he requested that we go cycling together for a few days while my parents took care of the children. In spite of my fears about us leaving the children orphaned as a result of our being squished to a pulp under the wheels of a bus, I agreed, and in January, I started to get some miles in. 

I started off riding on cycle tracks in the Peak District: so far, so good. But if I was going to cycle from place to place over the course of several days with my hubby, I was going to have to venture onto the road. Oh, goodness me. While there are many things I love about Sheffield, it seems that if you're going to cycle in this fair city (or many other cities, I should think), it helps if you're just a wee bit nuts, or maybe into extreme sports. Honestly, I'd rather have gone base jumping. First, there's the traffic: there's an awful lot of it, and it doesn't always behave as it should around those without an engine (frankly, a lot of cyclists behave badly too). Then there's the road surface. To be fair, the council has recently embarked on an extensive road repair scheme, but Sheffield isn't known as the Hole-y City for nothing. It's not just the state of the surfaces though, it's all the debris you come across. There's a stretch of road near my house - a busy hill - and I don't think I've ever cycled down it without keeping my eyes glued to the road surface, watching out for the half bricks, bits of someone's rockery and lumps of discarded lorry which threaten to be my undoing. 

There are cycle paths in Sheffield, but my experience of some of these has been marked by frustration and confusion as I try to figure out where they're taking me, or why they've suddenly disappeared. Also, many of the cycle lanes are also bus and taxi lanes, which I find pretty unnerving. There are often cars parked in them, too, which means venturing out into the flow of traffic to get around them. Sheffield City Council does offer cycle coaching to build confidence and skills (see below) but what would really help to encourage more people like me onto two wheels would be improvements to the city's transport infrastructure that mean I don't feel like I'm risking life and limb just trying to get around. 

So, after 6 months back on a bike, I've gained confidence, my backside has moved further away from the ground, muscles that weren't getting so much of a workout are now better developed, and I have a cyclist's tan where my (padded) shorts finish. And I haven't fallen off. Yet. Will I keep cycling? Well, I think so. I'd love to be more certain, but if Sheffield wants to promote itself as a cycle-friendly city, and get more of us regularly out there on our bikes, it's going to have to work a bit harder. 

Useful cycletastic contacts:

Training: www.pedalready.co.uk

Campaigning on behalf of cyclists in Sheffield and lots of useful cycling info: www.cyclesheffield.org.uk 

Breeze Network: aims to get more women enjoying cycling: www.goskyride.com/breeze

Sheffield Friday Night Bike Ride (takes place monthly): www.sfnr.org.uk

Find information about Sheffield's Critical Mass rides (these take place monthly) on Facebook and Twitter.

Fruity!

One of the reasons I like this time of year is that every day when I pop out into the garden, there's something to pick. We've been enjoying the first of our broad beans, but what the kids get really excited about is the fruit. Our garden's north facing, so it's a little behind other people's, but finally the strawberries are starting to ripen, and so are the redcurrants.With five hungry people in the house, the strawberries don't last very long once they're picked, but I'm freezing the redcurrants, and once I've got a good sized batch I'll be turning them into jam, or adding them to crumbles.

I hope you're able to enjoy all the summer fruit that's around at the moment. :-)

Felting And Space Exploration - Well, There's A Combination...

Last week, I turned over the page of our family calendar to find that at some point in the fairly recent past, I had allocated myself an afternoon at one of my favourite craft suppliers. I had a few other things to do, but I'd written it on the calendar, so it followed that the visit must take place. Of course.

Wingham Wool Work, in Wentworth (how alliterative) near Rotherham, is a fantastic place if you're at all interested in making anything from wool. They stock a huge range of materials and supplies for spinning and felting, as well as some of their own spun yarns for knitting and weaving, and some beautiful yarns made from such things as recycled sari silk. There's always something new and interesting to buy and experiment with. They also run workshops and textile groups, which I'd love to be able to attend but my current schedule prevents me.

Given that it's a bit like letting a child loose in a sweet shop, and I'm mindful that I could spend an awful lot of money there, I just take cash and restrict myself to a set amount. I also try to figure out what exactly I want to make, so I have an idea of what I want to buy. If I go without at least a loose plan in mind, I find myself completely floored by the choice of colours and fibres. Last week, I went looking for bright coloured wool to turn into felt for bunting. And here's the finished bunting, made from the felted wool:

It cost well under ten pounds to make, and it looks really eyecatching in the window.

I had a few scraps left over, so I made this very fetching corsage, too:

This was simply made from a (roughly) triangular piece, which I rolled up and needlefelted into shape at the back.

If you fancy visiting Wingham Wool Work, they're open on Sunday and Monday afternoons. You can order from them online, too. Visit their website for more details: www.winghamwoolwork.co.uk .

Exploring Space

I heard about a really interesting project on the radio yesterday: it's called Galaxy Zoo, and it's an opportunity to help scientists to study the billions of galaxies photographed by deep space telescopes. The project was started in 2007, with astronomers wanting to get people involved in working through the masses of data accumulated by the Sloan Digital Sky Survey. Over a million people have since signed up to help classify the different types of galaxies out there in the observable universe, and last night my nine year old and I registered to do it. It's very simple, fascinating and exciting to think that you're contributing to scientific research. Schools can get involved, too. Check out the website if you're interested: www.galaxyzoo.org .

The Great Not-Using-Any-Shampoo Experiment

I've had a lot of people asking me about this lately, so I thought I'd share my forays into the world of experimental hair washing with the wider world. Lucky you.

Since moving to Sheffield a decade ago, I'd struggled to make my curly hair look like anything other than a frizzy haystack on top of my head. I don't know what's in South Yorkshire water, but it doesn't like my hair. I spent a fortune on products which got rid of the frizz but left my hair all floppy and limp. I don't spend a whole lot of time in front of the mirror, but I like to go out looking at least halfway decent if at all possible. In the end, I resorted to having my hair cut into the shortest crop I could get away with. The thing about shampoo is that while it does clean hair, it also strips it of its natural moisture. Curly hair tends to be pretty dry anyway, so using shampoo really doesn't help. Adding products to counteract the drying effect is expensive, and I'm not too keen on loading my body up with synthetic substances either.

Last year, I read about going shampoo free and using bicarbonate of soda to wash my hair instead. And goodness me, I have my curls back! I've grown my hair a little longer, and it now holds its style rather than drooping. It doesn't smell (in case you were wondering), and I don't have to wash it every day.  People have commented on how good it looks, and then looked at me very oddly when I tell them what I'm using. My hairdresser thinks I'm crazy, but she's been impressed by how healthy my hair looks now. Two of my children have been quite happy to use bicarb as well - this is especially good for my youngest, who has very sensitive skin, and whose eczema flares up far less since we gave up the shampoo. I'm yet to persuade number two child and my (thin-on-top) husband of the benefits, but it's just a matter of time...

It's a pretty straightforward thing to ditch the 'poo, but there are a few things to bear in mind. First, you may need to give your hair a bit of time to get used to the new regime. I had no problems to begin with (like I said, my hair's pretty dry), but others who go shampoo free report greasier hair initially as the scalp's natural oil production settles down - after all, you're not stripping your hair and scalp of everything any more. Secondly, you may need to experiment a bit with quantities of bicarb. I have an old 150ml moisturiser bottle, to which I add about a teaspoon and a half of bicarb. I then fill it up with water and give it a good shake. I use a few squirts of this each time I wash my hair. I have to shake it up each time I use it. Trial and error has taught me that for my hair, this is about the right amount of bicarb to water - I don't know why exactly, but when I add too much, my hair goes very frizzy and even more uncontrollable than usual. Thirdly, you may need to change how you use styling products. Because I've found that my hair doesn't need persuading to behave quite so much since dropping the shampoo, I've needed far less in the way of stuff to tame it. I'm looking into what I can use as an alternative to shop-bought sea salt spray at the moment, but for now a few squirts is all I need to finish things off when my hair's damp. I've read that some folks like to rinse with cider vinegar, which makes hair shiny, but I haven't so far.

That's about all there is to it, really. The only other thing you'll need is a well-rehearsed explanation when people ask you why your hair looks so great.

Apples

I went out into the garden today to take a peek at what's growing, and I was excited to find that all of a sudden, we have apples. Now, all I have to do is keep the footballs away from them.

In The Garden, And Being 'Economically Unproductive'

If I could, I'd live in a log cabin on the edge of a forest, with a large garden in which I could grow enough fruit and veg to be more or less self sufficient. Ah yes, it would be a veritable Alaska - The Last Frontier. I'd keep chickens and occasionally, I'd chop the head off one of 'em and that'd be dinner taken care of. My freezer would be full of foraged berries and salmon I'd caught from the nearby river, and my children would play happily in the dappled sunlight that pierced through to the forest floor...

I don't live in a log cabin. I live in a three bed detached box in the suburbs, with a pretty small suburban sized garden to match. It's about 10 metres by 10 metres, if you want an actual measurement. But while I'm unlikely to achieve self sufficiency, I have managed to squeeze a fair bit of food out of my little plot over past few years. I'm engaged in an ongoing war with the children, who want to keep the lawn for important business, such as cartwheeling, while I claim a bit more of it each year for growing crops. "Mum, you're trying to turn this garden into an allotment," complained my nearly-twelve-year-old the other day. Yup. This year's crops include potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, chillis, inca berries (no, I've never heard of them either, but my dad gave me a couple of plants), strawberries, raspberries, broad beans, blackcurrants, redcurrants, whitecurrants and onions. Sticking to a budget is important in this household, and although I have no idea how much money I've saved by growing food, a quick look in the supermarket at how much a punnet of less-than-fresh raspberries costs tells me it's probably a fair bit. 

I've learned a lot about growing food over the years - some of it the hard way. But if I may, here are a few bits of advice I can offer if you're thinking about growing food in a small space.

You can grow quite a bit in a small space. If you get creative, you can grow all sorts of things in all sorts of containers, from egg boxes to old wellies. I've grown carrots in tubs on the deck before, which worked pretty well. There are trailing varieties of tomato which you can grow in hanging baskets if wall space is all you have. You can grow things on window ledges and incorporate edible plants into existing flower borders. 

Get to know your garden. If you're blessed with a bit of garden space, make sure you take some time to get to know it before you decide what to plant. Which direction does it face? Do you have spots which never get any sun/shade? How sheltered is it? Knowing what will grow happily in your space will help you maximise productivity and save you from horticultural despair. I know. I've been frustrated and disappointed by my attempts to grow things which just aren't happy in my mostly shady, windy garden, but I've learned what will work and positioned them accordingly. Of course, it would have been a lot easier if I'd just taken my own advice in the first place.

Grow what you'll eat. It sounds obvious, but there's no point growing something your family won't eat, even if it does brilliantly in your garden. Last year, I tried growing cavolo nero (black kale) for the first time. I was really excited at how well it grew, but this excitement was tempered by the fact that I couldn't get the kids to touch the stuff.

Choose crops which earn their keep. Much as I'd love to grow asparagus, I know there's no point in this garden, because it needs a lot of room and the season is very short. Look for crops which are compact, but which will give you a good yield, and if you don't have a greenhouse, look for hardy varieties which are happy in a less than balmy climate.

Find older, wiser gardeners. Actually, you won't need to. They'll find you. It's amazing how, once an older gardening neighbour discovers what you're up to in your garden, you'll find them popping a head over the fence and proffering all kinds of advice. While you may not welcome this every time (especially in Yorkshire, where people tend to express their opinions pretty bluntly), it's worth listening to what they have to say. Sometimes, you may find you're offered more than just advice. People are often happy to share their spare seedlings with you, and last year, one of our lovely neighbours gave us a greenhouse. Nice one.

Being 'Economically Unproductive'

In between this week's weeding and potting on, I've read quite a few bits and bobs from around the web about stay-at-home parents and how government policy reflects the prevailing view that looking after your own children isn't real work. I remember how I felt the first time I read that I was officially defined as 'economically unproductive'. That was more than ten years ago, and that realisation had a profound effect on me. All of a sudden, instead of feeling that I was doing something useful, enjoyable and valuable with my life in the raising of my children, I felt guilty, and under pressure to start planning my return to paid work as soon as I could. Even now, working as a (very) part time home tutor, I sometimes find myself thinking that I'm not doing enough. After all, I went to university, as was the expectation for my generation. I have a good degree. Surely I should have a good career now, too. In moments of clarity, when I'm not dogged by feelings of failure, I can see that I am very productive indeed. The thing is, being mostly at home doesn't just benefit my family. For a couple of years, I volunteered at my kids' primary school. I did all kinds of things, including planning specialist intervention sessions for a dyslexic child, and supporting children with special needs. Wondering about what that would be worth in economic terms, I calculated that in total, I volunteered about £3000 worth of teacher time to the school over those two years. That seems pretty productive to me.

It's a shame that successive governments don't see things that way. As far as those in power are concerned, productivity can be measured only in economic terms, which means that to them, I and those like me are of no importance. I used to just shrug and ignore reports of government announcements about helping 'hardworking families' by reducing childcare costs and so on - I accepted that we had made a choice to do things differently and provide the childcare ourselves, and that the bulk of family-related policy didn't apply to us. These days, those policies just make me feel despair. Despair that those who might have otherwise chosen to stay at home beyond a few months' maternity leave feel that they have no option but to return to work because being at home doesn't benefit them financially, or because it's seen as a retrograde step in a society where we're all encouraged to aspire to what is, in reality, a very narrowly defined idea of 'success'. I wonder if in future my generation will be seen as the last one which had any choice at all about who raised their kids; I'm pretty certain that if things continue as they are, it won't be even the remotest of options when my children are grown.

Hello, and welcome

First of all, I'd like to make it clear that I have nothing at all against mums doing paid work and having a career. This blog isn't about championing one type of motherhood over another. This blog is about life as a long-term stay-at-home mum (who does the odd bit of home tuition to make some extra money). If you google 'stay-at-home-mum' and 'extended career break' you find that almost everything about being a stay-at-home parent is written with with the express aim of getting you back to work, and that those whose voices apparently matter seem to define an extended career break as anything over about one year. Staying at home beyond the end of your maternity leave, as I have done, is a relatively rare thing, an unexpected thing - nobody gives you careers advice about that at school. I told my husband recently that I felt as though I was part of a subversive counter-culture. "Well, you are," he replied. I've long felt the pressure that those in my position feel: that to be considered successful and a good role model to my children I should be working outside the home, at least on a part time basis. I should be productive in a quantifiable way, and that means earning money. I've struggled with feelings of guilt and failure - was four years at university a waste of time and money? Am I failing myself and other women by not being in the workplace? Lately, though, I've stopped listening to those nagging inner voices, and decided to go fully counter-cultural. Yes, I will tell my children that they can choose to do anything they want to when they grow up, but they will know that staying at home with their kids is as valid as any career.


"Pah!" I hear some cry. "You have no idea how privileged you are to be able to stay at home! You affluent, middle class person with your lofty ideals!" Oh, I know I'm privileged to be able to do what I love. I know that many parents have no choice but to be out there, working as many hours as they can in a job they hate to make ends meet. But if you take that into account, it's a privilege for anyone to be doing a job that they love, isn't it? And as for affluent: it's true that my husband has a good job, but we've had to make a lot of sacrifices along the way for things to work financially. The vast majority of these sacrifices, however, are material - and are only really important to a materialistic society like ours here in the UK. If you discount all of this, there is very little that we lose out on, and a huge amount to be gained: time, mostly, and I'd rather have that.

Like I said, this blog is about being a long-term stay-at-home-mum. I want to share ideas, encouragement and things that I'm doing (I warn you now, I'm an insufferable makey/bakey/gardeny person). I want to generate discussion and get people thinking. I can't help it: I used to be a teacher. I'm not planning on getting all ranty too often, so I hope you'll come back and see what I'm up to.