One previous owner

I’m totally gripped by a thread on Netmums this week, which poses the question: ‘How do you feel about buying clothes in charity shops?’ Well, I reckon I source about three quarters of my wardrobe - and a goodly proportion of the Misses Ps’, too - from the likes of Oxfam and Sue Ryder. (Not to mention shedloads of books and bric-a-brac - call me a tight-wad, but I would never buy a paperback or a butter-dish new.) Luckily we have no less than seven charity shops from which to plunder these riches in the small town I call home. (People often write to the local paper to moan about this, but these people are morons.) It means I can go into a different one every day of the week if I wish to. And sometimes I do, since Help the Aged is now open on Sundays.

Why give your custom to charity shops? For the thrill of the bargain, of course – and let me tell you, anything that originally came from Monsoon which now has a £3.50 price tag has got to be a good buy. Besides, it’s green – you’re giving a new home to something that might otherwise have gone into the ground. And it's ethical. (Whether ethical enough to offset the remaining 25 % of my retail choices - involving as it does Very Cheap Clothing Stores - I do not know.)

Some of those commenting on the Netmums thread find the whole idea, well, a bit gross. They cite sweat, dead skin cells, fleas, and verrucas as reasons why you wouldn’t. Lordy, but it’s never crossed my mind that there might be 'hygiene issues'. Often I don’t even bother washing my sweat-drenched garments once I get them back home – unless they truly do boast that lingering essence of Nan’s Knicker Drawer. (On which note, I can confirm that I do steer clear of charity shop undies. I have some limits.)

It’s true there are some pitfalls. You won’t always (although you do sometimes) get just what you’re looking for. You must be prepared to pitch up, rummage, and take what you find. And you won’t always (although you will sometimes) find anything that can call itself this season. At my age – when classic is a better bet than high fashion - this is of no consequence. I also tend to be a bit gung-ho in my purchasing, rarely troubling to visit the changing rooms on the basis that if it doesn’t fit, looks all wrong, or turns out to have dubious stains on the armpits that weren’t obvious in the shop, I can re-donate it and my money’s gone to a good cause rather than down the drain. Needless to say, this happens frequently.

On a final note, may I remind any charity shop refuseniks out there that all the best celebs have taken lately to parading the red carpets in second-hand clothing. What you’ve gotta remember, when people stop you to say, ‘ooh that's nice, where did you get it from?’ is that the right response is not ‘Oxfam’, but, ‘It's vintage, darling’.

Girl power

Further reassuring news from survey-land reaches me. According to the latest research, two girls is the best offspring combo to select when planning your family. Apparently, two girls are less likely to fight, and will play nicely together. Furthermore, two girls will help around the house, make limited noise, rarely ignore you, and are easy to reason with.

Sorry, but which two girls are we talking about here? The Misses P have unquestionably enriched my life in many, many ways since their respective births, nine and six years ago, but let me tell you, research folk, they do fight, don’t very often play nicely together, never help round the house, are in no way limited in the levels of noise they make, ignore me routinely, and are about as easy to reason with as a pig being coaxed out of shit.

Having said my piece on that, I must now tell you that two girls proved to be a wondrous piece of family planning on our part, even if for none of the reasons above. As a mum of girls, and – um - as a girl myself, I’m hopelessly biased about how great girls are. Girls can be dressed in pastel shades and flimsy fabrics; girls will watch Annie and High School Musical and The Railway Children with you; girls enjoy passive toys like tea-sets and Hama beads and baby dolls; and girls wrap grown men round their fingers in a manner you can only admire.

And ok, so girls grown up to be female teens. They will then take your make-up, text you to tell you they’re not coming down to dinner, watch execrable telly, participate in marathon bitch-fests via MSN, and bring home tattooed ne’r-do-wells for boyfriends.

Still, it's all kind of academic really, isn't it? You take what you're dealt by the x/y chromosome shuffle.You love 'em regardless.

It's time we had a chat....

According to the book wot I just wrote, it’s high time Miss P the elder and I got cracking on a series of relaxed, honest, and informal chats about sex. To quote from the relevant chapter of the latest Netmums guide, You and Your Tween (4: Puberty, Sex and Relationships): ‘…..introducing the subject early on and in a natural, chatty way is all-important, because if you do, she’s far more likely to grow up knowing that sex can be a pleasurable and natural part of relationships…’
Hey, that’s fine with me. I'm ready - if not entirely willing - to face up to my parental duty on this one.

However, I also happen to know - because I wrote it a bit further down in the chapter - that it’s better to wait for any questions first, and use them as a springboard for natural conversation, rather than clearing your throat loudly and announcing there'll be a power point presentation for all family members aged nine and over in the lounge after supper.
Only thing is, I haven’t had any questions yet. Miss P the elder - age nine and a half going on 27; and with a keen interest in science – just isn’t interested, so far. And this despite all indications that it’s a pretty hot playground topic for her class right now. I do library duty at her school, and you sure know when Year Four have been in, because there’s a tangible whiff of pre-pubescent hormones in the air, and all the books featuring human bodies have been guiltily shoved back in the wrong sections. Why, I swear that one lad was quietly humping the carpet as he thumbed through Terrible Tudors during a recent session.
I know other parents who've had to face the issue head on. One classmate’s mum revealed that a couple of weeks ago, her son padded along the landing late at night, approached her with fear in his eyes, and demanded to know if she’d ever had sexual intercourse. (Naturally she promised to talk about it in the morning. I believe she’s successfully diverted him from the subject ever since.)
And even Miss P the younger – six, and about as daft as six can be – has registered some curiosity in the facts of life. In a pub toilet recently, she demanded an explanation for the condom machine. Flustered, but determined to do right, I gave it to her straight. Ish. She’s yet to dig deeper on quite what a couple might be doing that they'd need to prevent a baby in the first place.
Anyhoo, as that timely tome of mine goes on to say, if actual words fail you, it’s a good idea to source an age-appropriate, educational reference book, and to put it somewhere your tween-in-denial can access when she’s ready. Knowing Miss P the elder, she’ll do just that – and then take charge of the power point presentation.

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Let's make it a happy half term, people!

I'm a big, big fan of Netmums. Naturally, I'm backing them all the way in their campaign for a Real Parenting Revolution.

In honour of this worthwhile concept - and because the half term holiday's coming up, plunging me into my usual mix of happy anticipation and abject fear - may I present...

The Real Parents' Guide to Getting Through Half Term

1. Relax any screen-time guidelines you’re usually a stickler for. Everyone knows that two-hours-a-day is simply not do-able on a day that doesn’t involve at least six hours spent at school.
Disclaimer: To be on the safe side, insist upon switch-off once your child has started squinting.
2. Any usual rules about getting washed or dressed in the morning can also be dispensed with. Ancient Real Parent proverb: A child who wears their pyjamas all day is a lot easier to get to bed that night.
3. Let them eat cake. Give them supermarket pizza. Don’t feel guilty about it.
4. If you're planning to get out and about during the week, avoid the following locations: theme parks; free museums; multiplexes; shopping malls; fast food outlets; the local swimming pool; Ikea. The world and their kids will be there already. Stick with: your garden.
5. Get friends in. Their friends. Your friends. Both if possible.
Disclaimer: Bear in mind that scientists have proven the following mess/child ratio theorem: 2 x children= four times the mess; 3 x children = six times the mess; 4 x children = eight times the mess. Etc.
6. Steer clear of all those activities that sound like fun but inevitably end prematurely/in tears/amidst far more mess than they were worth. These include: baking; overly-ambitious craft projects, putting on a ‘show’; building a den under the dining room table; anything billed as a ‘science experiment’.
7. Relieve boredom and make inroads into your own to-do list at the same time by paying children to carry out essential domestic tasks. This is not bribery, it is a positive reward scheme and a chance for them to learn that, in this life, work=income.
Disclaimer: Suitable tasks for children include polishing furniture; small pet care; pairing and balling socks. Unsuitable tasks include putting petrol in the car; filling in your tax return; calling your mother-in-law to apologise on your behalf for the last row you had.
8. Be philosophical. De-mobbed children + home all day for five days = certain chaos. Try to embrace it, rather than fight it. If all else fails, sit in a darkened room wearing loose clothing and repeat this mantra: at least it’s not the summer holidays yet…. at least it’s not the summer holidays yet…
9. Finally. And above all. Remember this: during half term, wine o’clock always comes early. Sometimes by several hours.

Love, etc

Aw, Happy Valentine’s Day lovers. May Eros bestow upon you a large box of foil-wrapped chocolates, a greetings card the size of a broadsheet newspaper, and a bottle of Durex Play 2 in 1 with essence of Ylang Ylang. Here’s hoping your day of romance will culminate in a sumptuous meal involving a sirloin steak garnished with a little heart-shaped herby butter pat, chocolate covered out-of-season-strawberries, and a bottle of pink fizz that you may or may not choose to sup from each other's belly buttons.

Oh, fine - call me cynical. It’s just that, after more than a decade of marriage, we’ve done the sensible thing this year and made a mutual pact not to ‘do’ Valentine’s. No cards. No flowers. No novelty gifts. And no massage oil.

It was Mr P who mooted the possibility and – after a momentary initial surge of outrage, panic, and disappointment - I nodded agreement. He’s right, you know. I don’t need a crappy card or a bunch of blooms that will be wilting by Wednesday to prove the fella loves me: I know it in my heart. And how liberating it is, standing firm against the mighty evil forces of commercialism! Not to mention the simple fact that something else has just been knocked off my to-do list.

Besides….that massage oil stains the sheets something chronic.