It may be all the Baby Einstein I've been watching, but I realised tonight that things are getting better. I can now count the scoops of formula straight into the bottles rather than into a little divided formula cup first.
Well, let's put you up for a Nobel Prize, I hear you thinking. This however, is a marked improvement. When I was breastfeeding, I remember watching my mother scoop seven level spoons of formula straight into each bottle and thinking it was all a little too gung ho. What kind of cowboy grandmother are you? I hissed. Lips tight, I curtly suggested that she may prefer to try the special container just in case you lose count. It's easy to do [exclamation mark! exclamation mark! exclamation mark! (keeps threats jolly)].
Of course, I used to count scoops into the divided formula container and forget where I was sometimes around the fourth scoop, sometimes around the sixth, once between the first and second. Getting to seven seemed like a long hard road and too often I'd be pouring the formula back into the tin to start again. And then mucking it up and starting again again. I even counted on my fingers.
Well, tonight I stand before you, a new woman, a new mum. A mum who can count to seven with relish, a mum who can ladle straight into the bottles, a mum who in time, may even come to remember the names of her sons. Both of them.
We can only hope.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
In defence of Baby Einstein
It has come to my attention that there has been much recent criticism of Baby Einstein. For those not in the know, Baby Einstein is a little off-shoot of Disney that sells a number of products including half hour DVDs for babies. These feature lots of beautiful images of water/animals/planets (depending on the theme) and star a few squeaky-clean animal puppets and a few squeaky-clean multi-racial children all going about their business to gloriously tinny classical music. There is also a language option which means that babies can watch the DVD in numerous languages. This means our household now knows that Molen is the Dutch word for windmill.
Last week my sister, (whose children are not television-watchers), forwarded an email by some group called Campaign For a Commercial Free Childhood Reclaiming Childhood from Corporate Marketers. Now there's a snappy title. Anyway, in a coup for CFCFCRCCM (which actually calls itself CCFC), the Walt Disney Company will offer a full refund to anyone who purchased a Baby Einstein DVD in the last five years.
CCFC states:
Our 2006 Federal Trade Commission complaint forced Disney to stop claiming that Baby Einstein videos were educational for infants, but the company made no move to compensate parents who purchased them.
We thought parents deserved better. So, with help from CCFC members like you, we kept the pressure on until Disney agreed to reimburse Baby Einstein customers.
The refund offer is a wonderful victory for families and anyone who cares about children. Recent research shows that screen time is not educational for babies. Now parents who purchased Baby Einstein DVDs, mistakenly believing the videos would make their babies smarter, can recoup their money.
My sister asked me whether I was going to claim the refund. CLAIM THE REFUND? Is she kidding? Let it be stated that not only am I NOT going to claim the refund, I've budgeted for a Christmas bonus for the makers of Baby Einstein. I have even considered going one step further and changing Edgar's name to Edgar-Baby and George's to George-Einstein as a token of my on-going commitment to Baby Einstein and their products.
Do I think Baby Einstein is educational? Well it can't not be educational. It's certainly exposing my children to things they haven't seen before (like Dutch windmills) and, given that we never leave the suburb and are unlikely to do so for some time, this has to be advantageous. The fact that they have this exposure in numerous languages is super (although they could do with a few Asian languages as well).
More important than education, however (yes, gasp, you did read that correctly), Baby Einstein has made our evening times workable solo. I can sit my boys in front of the telly for 30 mins -- sometimes longer if I'm desperate -- while I sweep around the house getting their bottles, dummies and sleeping bags ready. I can soothe one child in the cot without having the other wail hysterically in the other room -- setting off his brother -- which used to happen in the deep dark pre-Baby Einstein times.
We use Baby Einstein for relaxation and it's a wonderful indicator that it's actually bed time. As a children's writer, I would probably prefer to read to them. As a mother of twin boys who are everywhere and into everything, I find this nigh impossible. There is substantial time in my children's lives for books (they're at 'library time' as I type) but this does not preclude a nightly DVD.
Have I tried something less "commercial" like Playschool? (I'm sure the Board of the ABC would be thrilled to read that). Yes I have, but Baby Einstein, with its steady flow of images set to muzak captures the attention of my babies for longer. Playschool is wonderful for slightly older children and would probably be fine for mine when their attention is not flagging at the end of the day, but when they're tired, Baby Einstein is just the succour they need.
So, to the makers of Baby Einstein, thank you. Please know that for every critic, there is at least one avid fan.
To the members of CCFC? Thank you, too. Keep up your battle to get Pooh Bear off my nappies and Thomas and Dora off every article of clothing available in Target. I don't want to be paying to advertise those brands. And they're hideous. But please leave Baby Einstein in peace -- if only for the immeasurable peace it's brought this twin mum.
Last week my sister, (whose children are not television-watchers), forwarded an email by some group called Campaign For a Commercial Free Childhood Reclaiming Childhood from Corporate Marketers. Now there's a snappy title. Anyway, in a coup for CFCFCRCCM (which actually calls itself CCFC), the Walt Disney Company will offer a full refund to anyone who purchased a Baby Einstein DVD in the last five years.
CCFC states:
Our 2006 Federal Trade Commission complaint forced Disney to stop claiming that Baby Einstein videos were educational for infants, but the company made no move to compensate parents who purchased them.
We thought parents deserved better. So, with help from CCFC members like you, we kept the pressure on until Disney agreed to reimburse Baby Einstein customers.
The refund offer is a wonderful victory for families and anyone who cares about children. Recent research shows that screen time is not educational for babies. Now parents who purchased Baby Einstein DVDs, mistakenly believing the videos would make their babies smarter, can recoup their money.
My sister asked me whether I was going to claim the refund. CLAIM THE REFUND? Is she kidding? Let it be stated that not only am I NOT going to claim the refund, I've budgeted for a Christmas bonus for the makers of Baby Einstein. I have even considered going one step further and changing Edgar's name to Edgar-Baby and George's to George-Einstein as a token of my on-going commitment to Baby Einstein and their products.
Do I think Baby Einstein is educational? Well it can't not be educational. It's certainly exposing my children to things they haven't seen before (like Dutch windmills) and, given that we never leave the suburb and are unlikely to do so for some time, this has to be advantageous. The fact that they have this exposure in numerous languages is super (although they could do with a few Asian languages as well).
More important than education, however (yes, gasp, you did read that correctly), Baby Einstein has made our evening times workable solo. I can sit my boys in front of the telly for 30 mins -- sometimes longer if I'm desperate -- while I sweep around the house getting their bottles, dummies and sleeping bags ready. I can soothe one child in the cot without having the other wail hysterically in the other room -- setting off his brother -- which used to happen in the deep dark pre-Baby Einstein times.
We use Baby Einstein for relaxation and it's a wonderful indicator that it's actually bed time. As a children's writer, I would probably prefer to read to them. As a mother of twin boys who are everywhere and into everything, I find this nigh impossible. There is substantial time in my children's lives for books (they're at 'library time' as I type) but this does not preclude a nightly DVD.
Have I tried something less "commercial" like Playschool? (I'm sure the Board of the ABC would be thrilled to read that). Yes I have, but Baby Einstein, with its steady flow of images set to muzak captures the attention of my babies for longer. Playschool is wonderful for slightly older children and would probably be fine for mine when their attention is not flagging at the end of the day, but when they're tired, Baby Einstein is just the succour they need.
So, to the makers of Baby Einstein, thank you. Please know that for every critic, there is at least one avid fan.
To the members of CCFC? Thank you, too. Keep up your battle to get Pooh Bear off my nappies and Thomas and Dora off every article of clothing available in Target. I don't want to be paying to advertise those brands. And they're hideous. But please leave Baby Einstein in peace -- if only for the immeasurable peace it's brought this twin mum.
Monday, November 2, 2009
False starts
I understand that the twins don't comprehend that parents need weekends but surely they could try to understand the value of public holidays. Waking at 5.30am on Cup Day is inhumane.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
One
It seems astonishing but exactly one year ago, I was lying in bed a nervous wreck screening phone calls (everybody calls the night before a Caesar) with a bag packed for hospital. The twin I thought was Beatrice (but was actually Edgar) was angry and kicked me in the ribs all night -- his father actually felt him from the other side of the mattress. The twin I thought was Cecelia (but was actually George) lay their quietly flicking my bladder and so I spent that evening, as I had spent so many evenings, in bed or on the loo or somewhere in between.
Time has done funny things over the last 12 months. The year has been an odd one -- a lost year, really. The days and nights have gone achingly slowly, but it only seems 6 weeks ago that I was wedging pillows between my legs and under my tummy trying to find sleep. To think I thought that that was as difficult as things could get.
It may be sentimental, and God knows this entry is, but I am wearing the same pyjamas I wore in the hospital -- white with a Russian doll motive -- fitting garb for a woman filled with babies.
Happy Birthday to our beautiful boys, Edgar and George. We made it.
Toys
I went to join the toy library the other day. With the boys tiring of new toys in something between 2 and 20 minutes and the kitchen cupboard empty but for a handful of choking hazards, it seemed like a fine way to entertain my sons without caving in and letting them play with the sewing scissors. After we got banned from Sunglass Hut (management doesn't like customers to come in and lick products without purchasing), it seemed critical.
Our local toy library, however, is a rort. While the annual fee of $100 for twins is manageable, a parent is expected to volunteer for four sessions each year. FOUR sessions? Hasn't indentured labour been a bit on the nose in this country since we rightfully repatriated the Pacific Islanders in 1906? Of course, I was merrily told that I could bring the boys along. Ho Ho. And what alot of work we'd all get done then. Even if they let me take them along to the first session, however, I doubt we'd be invited back for a second. We're rarely invited anywhere twice.
So the shrewed economist in me undertook an analysis, and to join the toy library, I'd be looking at $350 including childcare but excluding medical fees (my boys can't spy other people's toys without picking up croup). But for parents in a similar predicament, the solution may be school fêtes. How good are school fêtes? I thought people only went to them for decent jam and the Dunkin Dunny, but it transpires that school fêtes are the perfect way to keep one's toybox well stocked without overpaying on ebay (I'm competitive) before being hit with hefty postage (it's expensive to freight a slide from Toowoomba) or facing a drive to Bacchus Marsh.
At the Nelson Street Kindergarten fête, we spent $28 and came home with so many garish toys, the boys have been entertained for hours. This weekend we returned from the St Kilda Primary fête with an abacus, 15 board books (all in excellent condition), flash cards (because what if my children really are genii and I've spent so long convincing myself they're developmentally delayed they BECOME developmentally delayed) and a whole heap of plastic things that play Mendelssohn over flashing lights and animal noises. Ooh baby, it's toy Nirvana. Who cares about that pre-natal pledge to purchase nothing but wood or felt? Surely, second-hand plastic doesn't count.
Parents, ditch your toy library and hit the school fête circuit. We'll be there, licking the sunglasses, buying up big and still getting a laugh out of the Dunkin Dunny. On the house.
Our local toy library, however, is a rort. While the annual fee of $100 for twins is manageable, a parent is expected to volunteer for four sessions each year. FOUR sessions? Hasn't indentured labour been a bit on the nose in this country since we rightfully repatriated the Pacific Islanders in 1906? Of course, I was merrily told that I could bring the boys along. Ho Ho. And what alot of work we'd all get done then. Even if they let me take them along to the first session, however, I doubt we'd be invited back for a second. We're rarely invited anywhere twice.
So the shrewed economist in me undertook an analysis, and to join the toy library, I'd be looking at $350 including childcare but excluding medical fees (my boys can't spy other people's toys without picking up croup). But for parents in a similar predicament, the solution may be school fêtes. How good are school fêtes? I thought people only went to them for decent jam and the Dunkin Dunny, but it transpires that school fêtes are the perfect way to keep one's toybox well stocked without overpaying on ebay (I'm competitive) before being hit with hefty postage (it's expensive to freight a slide from Toowoomba) or facing a drive to Bacchus Marsh.
At the Nelson Street Kindergarten fête, we spent $28 and came home with so many garish toys, the boys have been entertained for hours. This weekend we returned from the St Kilda Primary fête with an abacus, 15 board books (all in excellent condition), flash cards (because what if my children really are genii and I've spent so long convincing myself they're developmentally delayed they BECOME developmentally delayed) and a whole heap of plastic things that play Mendelssohn over flashing lights and animal noises. Ooh baby, it's toy Nirvana. Who cares about that pre-natal pledge to purchase nothing but wood or felt? Surely, second-hand plastic doesn't count.
Parents, ditch your toy library and hit the school fête circuit. We'll be there, licking the sunglasses, buying up big and still getting a laugh out of the Dunkin Dunny. On the house.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Lost Art of Sleep
My twins bought their father a book entitled The Lost Art of Sleep for Fathers Day. It is written by Michael McGirr -- who is, as chance would have it, also a father of twins.
In an interview earlier this year, McGirr said that many friends were critical of the fact that his entire family slept in the same bed -- McGirr, his wife, their toddler and their twins. This was, however, perfectly acceptable, so he reasoned, as there was not alot of sleep going on. It was at that point I knew Michael McGirr was a man we had to have in our family library.
McGirr relays the moment during the ultrasound when the obstetrician pointed out two heartbeats on the monitor and informed him that they were expecting twins.
There were lots of hearts beating in that little room, which was just as well because mine had stopped for a moment.
I may only be 21 pages in (I'm so dang tired I only read 4 sentences a night) but I commend Michael McGirr's The Lost Art of Sleep -- to you.
In an interview earlier this year, McGirr said that many friends were critical of the fact that his entire family slept in the same bed -- McGirr, his wife, their toddler and their twins. This was, however, perfectly acceptable, so he reasoned, as there was not alot of sleep going on. It was at that point I knew Michael McGirr was a man we had to have in our family library.
McGirr relays the moment during the ultrasound when the obstetrician pointed out two heartbeats on the monitor and informed him that they were expecting twins.
There were lots of hearts beating in that little room, which was just as well because mine had stopped for a moment.
I may only be 21 pages in (I'm so dang tired I only read 4 sentences a night) but I commend Michael McGirr's The Lost Art of Sleep -- to you.
Monday, October 12, 2009
You know you're a mother of twins...
when you're so upset by the spontaneous arrival of guests just before bedtime, that you forget to greet them.
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