Nits

At first we put the scratching down to shampoo left in the hair. Friends did mention ‘nits’ to me, to which my reponse was confidently, “No way. None of my family have ever had nits.” However, on closer examination of all our little heads, to my horror I discovered that they were alive with 3mm black beasts. Due to my total denial, the little mites had spent many weeks settling in and they were going nowhere in a hurry.

My approach was to treat this as a ‘Major Household Incident.’ I was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that every last nit was eradicated from heads, hairbrushes, pillows .. and the dog. Everyone queued up to be doused with strong hair treatment that left a distinct odour lingering in our house for several days. Friends that visited promptly left. Weeks were spent combing hair with ‘industrial’ nit combs, obsessively attempting to extract the enemy and their mass of little white eggs. Even now the children only have to raise their hand in the direction of their head and I whip out the comb to ensure we remain ‘nit-free’.

They do say that once you have experienced nits, you will go to extreme lengths to ensure they never return. A friend who has four children at primary school said that she was spending a staggering £60 per month on nit treatments. “There were persistent non-treaters at school and eventually I threatened to keep my children at home.”

To my relief, a new programme has been introduced to some schools called, ‘National Bug Busting Day’. The children take home a Bug Buster kit on set days throughout the year, which includes nit combs and guidelines to encourage parents to check for lice. However, in the absence of this scheme at your school, you can always wash your children’s hair in coke which apparently loosens eggs, spray the hair with tea tree oil and water before leaving the house or persuade them to keep their small heads away from other small heads in the classroom.

Party panic

We have just recovered from ‘The Birthdays’. Two of our children were born on the same day four years apart so the poor little mites have to share their special day together. I think most of you will sympathise with me when it comes to organising The Birthday Party, particularly when we are dealing with a grown-up, pink and glittery girl and an active baby boy who crawls in mud and is quite partial to eating the odd woodlouse.

To get some help, I ‘googled’ “childrens’ parties” and discovered some terrifying facts. One report revealed that UK parents spend more than £1.25 billion a year on childrens’ birthday parties and an average of £18 per head. Apparently, the fifth birthday is the biggest with many parents spending more than £500 on it. Extraordinarily, more than half of parents say they worry more about what other parents think than about what their children want. So, according to this research, if our two children shared a party and invited around 30 children between them, we could be digging into our pockets for a staggering £792!

Advice offered by experts also says to never ask a child what sort of party it wants, avoid organising a party during the afternoon as children are too tired, offer carrot and cucumber sticks rather than crisps, sweeten the cake with apple juice, not sugar, and absolutely never ever have balloons as they may burst and traumatise children for life.

Thankfully, I am not aware of any parent who really minds what others think about their party. Most just want to get through the day and keep their sanity intact. The parties we go to are fun, sweet-filled, traditional parties with an abundance of balloons. In our case though, we plan to spend the next eleven months persuading our daughter to celebrate her sixth birthday with a few close friends in a local coffee shop. Meanwhile, perhaps we could plead with a local farmer to take our son on a tractor ride - a truly memorable birthday treat for any two-year-old boy.

Going to Granny's

It begins with, “Mum, would you mind having the children for half-term? We thought it would be really nice for you and Dad to spend some quality time with them.” Before you know it, the car pulls up in front of your house bursting with the grandchildren, their luggage and the ‘granddog’, that no one had remembered to mention! Out pile three small children with very runny noses along with travel cot, steriliser, stairgate, highchair, ride-on tractor, pushchair, doll’s pushchair, bicycles, three car seats and an assortment of carrier bags stuffed to the brim with wipes, rice cakes and nappies. You are instantly handed a detailed routine for the baby and talked through a list of instructions. “No fried food, no marmite (too salty), no juice (too sweet), no nuts (possible allergies) and limited television.”

The parents finally leave, with the grandchildren totally unphased. You return to the kitchen to find the list has thankfully been chewed to shreds by the ‘granddog’. For the next five days you barely have time to listen to The Archers or watch your favorite television programme and certainly have not read a newspaper. You struggle to answer the phone and, when you do, you cannot hear who is on the other end anyway. Your civilised evenings, chatting together over a carefully-prepared supper and a nice bottle of red are replaced with leftover cheesy pasta, Petit Filous and an extra large gin and tonic. You have both nodded off on the sofa in the middle of The Bill.

However exhausting they are, not many grandparents would change it for the world. Grandpa has a team of helpers in the garden and on trips to the rubbish dump, and Granny has a kitchen full of chefs who have crammed tins full of peppermint creams and cookies. They have eaten the odd fish finger, nut, lightly spread marmite soldiers and watched a few DVDs, but all in moderation. They are well-exercised, happy, allergy-free and their teeth are intact (just). Typically, the minute their parents pull up in the car, all three grandchildren promptly dissolve into floods of tears.

Trial by lunch box

The chaotic daily breakfast routine is in full swing. One child is doing her last minute school reading out loud in between mouthfuls of cornflakes. While the other has decided that he will now only eat fruit for breakfast. He says, “Sports candy is all that Sportacus (off CBeebies’ Lazy Town) eats.” Meanwhile, the baby is busy tossing marmite soliders to the dog lying under the high chair. They are totally oblivious to their mother barking, “Eat up. Put your coats on. Have you brushed your teeth?” Finally, once everyone is ready, strapped into the array of car seats, a small voice says, “Mummy, where’s my lunch box?” The deranged mother then tears back to the kitchen to frantically rummage through the larder, spread pieces of Hovis Best of Both, cut off crusts and slice cheese.

A friend tells me there is an art to the preparation of a lunch box. “You have to be well-organised and put a menu planner together at the start of the week. I cook a few good wholesome dishes in advance which they have cold in their lunch box each day,” she says. However, such military-style planning may be too much for some.

According to recent research, one in five parents in the UK include ciabatta and focaccia in lunches while three per cent include sushi and smoked salmon. Most parents I know in Dorset would not go to this extreme, but some do trawl supermarket aisles searching for novel healthy snacks. Whether it be yoghurt covered cranberries, organic fruit sticks or even olives, there is pressure to steer clear from the vast array of crisps and chocolate biscuits that most children long for. Every afternoon, we are told about the contents of other childrens’ lunchboxes. “Sarah had Smarties and James had Monster Munch today.” Eventually, we decide that Friday’s lunch box can contain a few treats - funnily enough it comes back looking as if it has been licked clean.

Perhaps we do need to get more organised and plan ahead, so our mornings are less fraught. But I will not be replacing sandwiches with sushi.