Rosie Scribble

The little girl who thinks she runs the country

Once upon a time, one mummy blogger decided to sit down and interview her five year old child.

Then another mummy blogger came along and noticed what had occurred. She then decided to interview both her children.

Shortly after this another mummy blogger came along, noticed what was going on and interviewed her three year old daughter.

Then another mummy blogger came along and lacking any creative inspiration of her own, decided to do the same.

So here is my interview with IJ, aged six:

How old do you have to be to drive a car?

One year old. (Said without hesitation)

What does Mummy do all day when you are at school?

Plays in the park.

What is Mummy's job?

Raising money to buy me toys.

What do you think the Queen looks like?

Hairy. (Oh dear!)

Who do you think runs the country?

Me.

Who is Barack Obama?

A farmer.

Where do babies come from?

Bottoms. (Again, no hesitation)

Er... How are babies made?

They come from eggs.

If you could be anyone else, who would you be?

A baby.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

A monkey, a doctor, a teacher, a nurse and a dog.

How old is Mummy?

36.

How old is Granny?

36.

If you had children what would their names be?

Nemo for a boy, Dora for a girl.

Who is your best friend in the whole world?

Mummy.

Apologies Your Majesty and Mr President!

Finders keepers and a designer purse

This picture was beautifully created with fabulous attention to detail by, er... a six-year-old child and not by a mother with too much time on her hands.

The fact that she seems to have spent hours flicking through magazines and finding images of all the things I love including the Eiffel Tower, DKNY bags and the Apple iphone is of course purely, ahem, coincidental you understand.

This activity sheet arrived from Random House along with Little Croc's Purse by Lizzie Finlay (RRP £5.99) which I was kindly sent to review.

It's a gorgeous little book published by Red Fox. It is  fabulously illustrated with a beautifully written and  humorous storyline that covers the issues of honesty, generosity and friendship.

On finding a lost purse, Croc's friends tease him that he should keep it, but Croc is determined to be honest and return it to its owner. On his journey to the police station with the purse will Croc be tempted to spend the money on lemonade, a cool swim or a pair of red boots in spots in a shop window?

When Croc does find the purse's owner he finds his honesty is rewarded. He is able to keep the money, buy the boots he loved, splash out of a glass of lemonade and then treat his friends. He is even sensible enough to save some of the money.

We loved the book and would highly recommend it.

However, as the book is about honesty, I feel I must hold my hands up and say, okay, it was me, I was the one who coloured in the activity sheet.

I have banned my child from doing her homework

Sometimes I get a bit hot under the collar, stamp my foot and decide that whatever I have been told to do - I'm not doing it.

Then I wonder why my six-year-old daughter does the same.

However today, once again, I have decided there are a few things that our little family will not be doing, for one day at least.

Here's the list:

• IJ will not be doing any homework
• IJ will not be watching Newsround
• IJ will not be looking at her school reading book
• I will not be discussing keywords and spellings with IJ
• I will not be testing her on her addition and multiplication
• I will not be helping her to practise her alphabet
• We will not be doing anything related in any way to education
• We shall only be doing fun things

Why?

Because a mother knows when her child is under stress, when she has had enough and is over-tired and over-sensitive, when being asked to watch the news will only add to her current anxieties, when number work at school is getting her down to the point where she can't sleep at night, when the pressure to practise her reading every night is getting her down, when it is all becoming too much.

A mother knows when her child needs a night off, a break from it all, and when a dose of fun takes priority over homework.

So here's what we will do instead:

• We'll close the curtains, turn off the lights and turn the front room into a cinema
• We'll watch a brand new DVD, possibly Cloudy with a chance of Meatballs as recommended by A Modern Mother
• We'll eat party food followed by chocolate cake
• We'll cuddle up on the sofa
• We'll shut out the rest of the world
• We'll forget about school
• We'll forget about everything else
• We'll have some fun

And I'll hope for a calmer more relaxed child tomorrow.

Mummy, am I going to die one day?

Firstly I must quickly point out that IJ is absolutely fine. This post may imply that she is not.

She is, however, going through a difficult life stage where she seems to be questioning the world, her place in it, what growing up means, whether she actually has to grow up and whether I will always be there to support her.

And now we have reached the topic of death.

It is clear that she is going through a stage of intense insecurity and anxiety, evident in the fact that she has started taking her toy monkey to school with her to act as a comforter. Usually he only appears at bedtime. She is also finding it difficult to settle at night and seems to have regressed to being a baby so that she gets constance cuddles and reassurance.

This stage will pass and I am supporting her through it,  but at the moment I am slightly stuck.

At school her teacher has been talking to the class about the recent tragic events in Haiti. The lesson will have been appropriately pitched, I have no doubt about that. The problem is that IJ seems to be more sensitive than most and is emotionally young for her age. She is also the youngest in her class.

I am certain that Haiti (and previously discussions in class about the soldiers killed in Afghanistan) has lead to her suddenly asking me at nine o'clock at night, while sobbing hysterically:

"Mummy, am I going to die one day?"

And I will admit, I have absolutely no idea how to discuss the topic of death with a six-year-old.

I had similar fears around the age of nine but never mentioned them to my parents. I am extremely relieved that IJ feels secure enough with me to tell me her deepest and darkest fears, but I just don't know what to say to her about death, possibly because no-one had that conversation with me.

I tried to explain that people die when they get very very old, but that made matters worse.

Although I'm not particularly religious, I tried explaining the concept of Heaven to see it that would calm her. It just confused her even more.

There must be books, articles, websites and other sources out there that can help tackle the difficult task of talking to a child about death.

But I just don't know where to start looking.

Any ideas or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I am sure I am not the only one trying to tackle difficult issues with their child(ren).

The blog confessional

The fabulous Adrenalynn, whose blog I recently discovered, seems to have started something completely by accident: the blog confessional.

Following her recent post Confessions where she admitted to the usually unspeakable crimes of drooling in her sleep and eating eleven sandwiches at work, I have noticed other bloggers following suit and confessing a range of hilarious and sometimes rather too honest traits and misdemeanours (egged on by Tara Cain as per usual).

So I have decided I need to confess a few things also. I would feel better if I took this opportunity to get them off my chest and put them *out there* for people to see, then I no longer have to keep them to myself.

Sharing is good, they say.

Confession #1

This weekend I took my six-year-old daughter IJ to watch Toy Story 2 in 3D at our local cinema. We arrived on time for the 2 o'clock showing. I relaxed in my seat, put on my attractive 3D glasses then closed my eyes for a few moments.

I then slept through the entire film.

IJ didn't notice. I don't think I snore. I'm hoping it wasn't obvious, but I am sure the sight of an exhausted mother slumped to one side in her chair cannot have escaped the notice of those sitting in the row behind us. 

Confession #2

Today is the fifth birthdays of one of our closest friends . She is a lovely girl and I'm great friends with her mother. However, I have a confession to make. As that lovely little girl taught my daughter the word 'trump' to my utter horror, I have bought a revenge present. The birthday girl will love it, I doubt her mum will be quite so thrilled.

But to make matters worse, and yes I do feel a little guilty, I have also bought her this:

I know. I am evil. No doubt, I will never be invited to a child's birthday party again.

Confession #3

Last week I threw a selection of IJ's artwork in the bin. She brings so much home from school each week; I admire it and give her an appropriate amount of praise. Often I'm unsure of what she has actually attempted to draw but I tell her it is wonderful anyway and discreetly ask her what it is. The problem is, I just can't keep it all without having an extension built on our house to store it all.

But yesterday she went through the recycling bin looking for old paper to create some sort of construction, and she discovered her artwork sitting at the bottom of the bin.

So I lied. I blamed it on a friend. I said that friend must have got very confused and how silly she is to throw IJ's work away. I told IJ I shared her annoyance. We both got angry and tutted at her appalling behaviour. I agreed that when we next see her we will shout at her and pull cross faces.

Except that will be tonight, when we go to her daughter's fifth birthday party. I will be arriving armed with a handful of books called Pooh and Dirty Bertie, and we will both be pulling cross faces at her. IJ may even break into some sort of crazy rant.

And no-one will know what on earth is going on, except me.

I am half hoping she will read this post before we arrive, otherwise I may have to confess all once again. Except this time it will be to a room of over-excited five-year-olds, and their parents.