Recently, I asked you how much pocket money you thought I should give Belle.

We’d been trying out Roosterbank, a new online saving and shopping site for children, and not content with spending her birthday money, Belle was, unsurprisingly, keen on the idea of securing herself a regular income.

Now, in my post I said that I would take everyone’s comments, and try to come up with an average amount that would then become Belle’s weekly allowance. What I didn’t bank on however, (Get it? Bank? I’m so funny…), was you all being so darn flash with your cash. Seriously, five pounds pocket money a week?? What do you think I am, made of money??

Still, a promise is a promise.

Although technically I’m not sure I did actually promise…

However, I have decided to offer Belle a basic rate of two pounds a week. For this, I expect her to do some basic things around the house, such as keeping her bedroom tidy, taking her plate out to the kitchen, not intentionally grinding food into the carpet, that sort of thing. So that’s it right?

Wrong.

Now I have another problem that I need your help with.

Once the money has officially left my purse and entered Belle sweaty palm, how much control can I maintain over what she does with it? Now obviously I’m not going to condone her saving up and splashing out on ten Benson and Hedges, but exactly how free a rein should she be allowed? If she decides for instance that she wants to spend two whole pounds every week or sherbet, am I allowed to step in, for the sake of everyone’s sanity, or should I leave her to make her own decisions?

Using Roosterbank does to some extent alleviate this problem, as their site stocks lots of lovely, wholesome age-appropriate toys. It also requires me as the parent part of the account to approve every purchase, so we’ll never find ourselves in the position where a replica gun or a live guinea pig turns up on the doorstep without my prior knowledge.*

Roosterbank is designed though to give you the flexibility to spend your savings when you’re out and about too, not just through the site, so if we’re in Primark on a Saturday afternoon** and she insists she wants to blow everything on a pair of gem-encrusted denim hotpants, do I retain the right to say ‘no child of mine is being seen in those’ and drag her off to Waterstones instead?

Where do the boundaries lie? Please help me decide…

*I don’t think Roosterbank stock these anyway.

**Heaven forbid.

Follow:

Do you know how much it costs to kit out your kids for school? Well, according to a recent survey by Staples, 12 years of schooling for my two children would cost £5,033! And that’s just back to school costs like school uniform, sports kit and stationery. I’m a bit of a stationery geek, so most of this is probably spent actually in Staples in my case.

This total equates to £209.72 per child at the start of each school year.

Bloody hell.

And that’s not all. Think of all the costs throughout the year too – school trips, raffle tickets, the extortionate amount you have to spend on ‘smencils’, just so your daughter isn’t cast out of her friendship group for not having handwriting that smells of root beer. The list is endless. I thought I’d put together a few top tips for you, to save money on your children’s clothes, pencils, and other back to school essentials:

  • "school bag"Forget OFSTED reports, send your child to the school that is closest. It seems obvious, but not everyone does it. According to experts at What Car? the school run adds £52 to the annual fuel bill of the average family. £52 could buy you at least two bottles of decent gin. You do the maths.
  • Shop around for the best deals on uniform, and don’t buy things at obvious times of the year. Clearly Clarks are not going to have a sale on in late August, but do you really need to buy shoes then? Spread the costs over the year instead, taking advantage of offers when you see them. (Like the 20% off the new 6-12 years range of kids clothes at Polarn O. Pyret at the moment.)
  • Better yet, send them to a school with no school uniform. Like I do.
  • Want to save money on stationery? Don’t bother forking out on yet another set of pencils, instead, just have a look under the sofa cushions and behind bookcases. Seriously, every time I lift up a sofa cushion I find a pencil. I swear there must be about 369 pencils in the average family house. All you have to do is find them.

And if that doesn’t save you enough, take them out of school to ‘home educate’ them and send them up chimneys instead. I’m pretty sure that’s allowed.

Happy saving!

Follow:

Last week, sorting through some piles of crap in preparation for another house move, I came across my first ten-year passport. (The one I had to report lost, after it found its way into said pile of crap).

I was 18 years old, and sporting a boyish crop. I’m smiling, my cheeks are rosy, and despite the fact that I already have a one-year-old child, I look fresh. The world is my oyster and I am ready to explore.

"passport photo"

I took out my current passport to compare, where I’m 32 years old. Good grief, I wish I hadn’t. In this one I definitely look like I need a holiday, but that I probably don’t have the energy to pack a suitcase. What has happened?? I know I don’t photograph well, but this is ridiculous. You can almost see me sighing wearily.

"new passport photo"

Well dur, you might say, you’re 14 years older, of course you look worse, but it’s not even that. I could slap on any amount of anti-aging products and I’m not sure it would help – it’s the difference in the expression that concerns me more than any wrinkles. 14 years down the line and I look tired, like I can’t even be bothered to smile for the camera.It’s pretty scary.

A couple of days after I found this, I had to have my driver’s licence renewed, and I wasn’t going to be caught out in the same way again. As I stepped into the photo booth I tried to remember how it felt to be 18. Not much different I didn’t think. So I smiled anyway, and attempted to ooze youthful innocence and joy. (Not easy when you have a woman from the Post Office squawking ‘you can look pleased, but no teeth!’)

Hopefully this one will turn out a little better. Otherwise I think I’d better stock up on my anti-aging, Q10, plumping, firming creams. And maybe some prozac.

Don’t you just love getting older?

Follow:

Today is officially back to school day.

Hoorah!

Seriously, I think Belle would have just about exploded if she had stayed at home any longer. Over the course of the last week especially, the pressure has been building, the singing has been getting more high-pitched and manic sounding, and you can almost see my nerves fraying. (I’m picturing it in my head a bit like a cheesestring, my body sagging and getting weaker as layers of me are pulled away.)

To celebrate back to school week, I’ve put together a little gallery for you of our family school pictures. Yes it’s very self-indulgent, but this is a blog. Dur.

This first one is of me. I think I’m about seven years old, in my hand knitted school jumper, and it’s a perfect example of my mum’s infamous fringe cutting skills:

"back to school"

This is Bee in her very first year of primary school. Isn’t she just the most adorable thing you have ever seen? She basically looks the same now. This is the only haircut I know how to do:

"school photo"

And this is Belle at preschool, about two and a half years old. Bee and I like to thing of this as her NSPCC poster girl look. She really didn’t like being apart from me at that age:

"School photos"

Here’s to the start of a new term. May the school hours be peaceful ones.

 

Follow:

It’s a good question isn’t it? Do stain removers really work? Well, read on for my Oxi-Action Powder review and find out…

In the Slummy single mummy guide to housework, stain removal does not feature highly. I’m so busy throwing crumbs behind the sofa and hiding dishes in cupboards that I just don’t have the time for soaking my whites. I don’t even separate the whites in my washing. Come on.

I’ve always had this idea that stain removers, along with other household things like carpet cleaners and weed killers, don’t actually work – they’re just one of those myths, like anti-wrinkle creams. We know they can’t ever do what they say on the tin, but we really want them to, so we buy them anyway.

That was before though. Before Vanish asked me to actually try their stain removers, rather than just scoff at them in the supermarket. It has been quite a revelation. They’re not foolproof, but this is my honest account of how I’ve got on…

Vanish reviewFirst I tried it out on our white towels, which normally end up pretty grimy, covered in mascara and Dove’s ‘gradual self-tanner’, (which I discovered just makes you all smeary and then comes straight off on your towel). For some reason, my towel had also acquired some strange blue stains in patches all over it, that looked like Belle might have secretly used it to clean up an ink spillage.

With a scoop of Oxi-Action Powder in the wash, they came out lovely and white, although to be fair, my mascara usually does anyway, as it’s pretty cheap and not waterproof. Still, the mystery blue stains came out too, which was pretty impressive.

Next, a real test. I’ve got this one jumper that I’ve had for years. For the last six months though it has been annoying me – every time I put it on, I remember that it has a faint spaghetti Bolognese stain right in the middle on the front. Every time I go to wear it, I end up putting it straight back in the washing basket, washing it, drying it, hanging it back up, and the whole process starts again. I was pretty excited then to think it might actually disappear. And do you know what? With a bit of Vanish gel on it for ten minutes before the wash, it did! As if by magic! Poof! Nice.

Vanish reviewThen Boyfriend tried it out on his dress shirt, which, like me and my jumper, he keeps putting on and forgetting has stains on it. This he soaked beforehand, in warm water with a scoop of the Oxi-Action Powder and it came out lovely sparkly white.

In the process of soaking, we also discovered that Vanish is excellent for getting rid of stains in white ceramic sinks. Seriously, our kitchen sink has never looked so clean. Top tip there for you.

The one thing it didn’t manage to get rid of was blood stains. Belle had a little middle-of-the-night nose bleed, and although we tried the next morning rubbing Vanish gel in pre-wash, and then using it in the machine too, it wouldn’t shift it. In a way though, I find this sort of comforting. You wouldn’t want a murder scene to be rendered spotless with a quick wipe round with the Vanish would you?

And of course if you really can’t get rid of a stain then you can always cover it! Custom patches are a godsend here – a way to cover up stains and decorate your clothes at the same time.

Do you have a Vanish review you’d like to share? Do you think stain removers work?

Follow:

Sunday evening, eight o’clock.

The children have just gone to bed and you’re about to enjoy a cup of tea and perhaps a rich tea finger or two. You sit down, ready to get comfy on the sofa, making that ‘ahhh!’ noise that proper old ladies make.

And then it hits you, and you sag visibly.

“Shit,” you say, “I forgot to wash the school uniform.”

The start of a new school term is even worse. Despite your best intentions, you leave it until the last Saturday of the holidays to make your annual pilgrimage to Clarks, and as you enter the shop, you count at least 27 other families there already, clutching their tickets, staring hopefully at the display and occasionally just throwing themselves down on the floor and crying, beating at the carpet tiles with their fists.

The children are just as bad.

These scenarios are all too familiar to me, which is why reader, when we moved to Bristol, I chose a school for Belle without a school uniform.

Forget SATS, forget OFSTED, I just want to be spared the pain of Clarks on the first Saturday in September.

Follow:

“Can we do it now?” Belle pleads, her nose about two inches from mine, her legs and arms twitching. I don’t know how she does it, but she has this ability to get right up in your face, like a really over-stimulated squirrel with some sort of attention disorder. It’s very annoying.

“What?” I snap, flapping her away with my hands.

“The Roosterbank account! Can we do it now?” she asks.

…

Roosterbank is a new online saving and shopping website for children and is, to be fair, something I would have loved as a child. Possibly almost as much as I loved the money-box I had that automatically sorted the coins into separate columns and then told you how much money you had.

"Save 4 it"

Pretty cool right?

With Roosterbank though, the fun graphics are online instead of on your bedroom windowsill, and the idea is to encourage children to earn money, save and spend responsibly. As a parent, you can set up to add a regular amount of pocket, and add or take money away on an ad hoc basis. No money has to actually leave your purse at this point either – the cash only changes hands when you make a purchase, until then it’s purely virtual savings.

…

“Alright, alright!” I give in. She has been asking me every four minutes since I mentioned it, despite us being in a yurt in the middle of Bodmin Moor, with only a mobile phone, a dubious internet connection, and no electricity. Anything though to keep her quiet for a few minutes.

“Yay!” She bounces up and down for a bit, ADHD squirrel style, and her eyes grow wide. “So how much pocket money are you going to give me then?”

And therein lies my question – how much pocket money do you give a ten-year-old??

It’s probably one of those things that’s in the parenting manual I forgot to queue up for when she was born, but I’ve no idea. I’ve managed to get away without having to really hand over much cash so far, but I know it’s not going to last. How much do I give her though? And, more importantly, should there be strings attached? Should I be expecting a return on my investment – a tidy bedroom perhaps, or regularly cleaned teeth – or is pocket money meant to be unconditional? I just don’t know.

We set up her account, with birthday money rather than weekly pocket money at the moment, to avoid me having to make a decision, and for now she seems content to just login and check out her page and play some games. From time to time when we’re out, she’ll make me log in on my phone. She says it’s because she’s forgotten how much money she has and needs to check. I think she just likes looking at the little digital counter and feeling pleased with herself.

"Roosterbank"

Belle gets a surprising amount of pleasure from logging into her part of the site to just to check her balance.

Still though, the pocket money question remains, and as soon as she has blown her birthday money Belle is going to be keen to get herself a regular income stream. So here’s what I thought I would do, in an interactive-reality-blogging styley…

Given that I clearly don’t know what I’m doing, I want you to tell me how much pocket money you think Belle should get every week, and whether or not she should do anything in return. Maybe you think she should have a shiny sixpence and be grateful, or perhaps you’d give her £10 a week and make her do her own food shopping? It’s up to you. I’ll then look at all the responses, and try to come up with an average, and that will be what she gets!

"How much pocket money?"

Fingers crossed Belle…

Follow:

Today, to promote their Mum of the Year awards, (Bee and Belle, if you’re reading, you can make nominations here, just saying…), Tesco have been asking people on twitter for the best piece of advice ever given to them by their mum. It got me thinking about all the weird things that I remember being told as a child, and also made me curious about what advice I’ve given that will stay with my children as they grow up.

I don’t have a very good long-term memory, and tend to rely on my sister, (who is actually four years younger than me), for key information from our childhood, but there are a few things that my mum told me that stick out in my mind, although I’m not sure I have remembered them completely accurately. I thought I would share them with you though, valuable as they are. It could save your life…

Scrambled eggs must be stirred at all times. If you really must do something important that can’t wait, like have a very quick wee, you’re allowed to stop stirring once, but no more.

If it’s raining, but you’re hopeful that the sun will come out soon, it’s probably a Clearing-Up Shower. I have no idea to this day whether or not this is a real thing.

Never ever run over the power cable when you are hoovering. You will die.

You see? Valuable advice indeed.

What’s the best advice your mum ever gave you?

Follow:

“Do you think there is anyone in the world,” asks Bee, “who has never said ‘I love you’?”

We’re in the car, listening to Paul Simon’s Something So Right.

Some people never say those words I love you
It’s not their style, to be so bold...

“Yes,” I say.

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “Even to their mums? And I don’t mean babies or anything.”

“Well, how about orphans?”

This is one of Bee’s favourite games. The sentences always start with ‘Do you think there is anyone is the world who has never…’ or ‘Do you think there is anyone in the world who has ever…’ and they tend to end with something ridiculous like ‘…tasted a food beginning with a vowel?’ or ‘…eaten a moth on purpose?’

I tend to always just answer ‘yes’. It seems pretty likely to me that whatever you can think of, someone will have thought of it before you. Plus there are some really strange people about. Someone is sure to have deliberately eaten a moth.

I’m even more certain that there are people who have never told anyone that they love them. It’s sad to think about though, and even  sadder to think that there must be people who have never had anyone tell them that they love them.

How would you feel if you nobody had ever told you that they loved you? Worst still, how must it be to never have felt loved, even if by someone who couldn’t say it out loud?

Some people never say those words I love you
But like a child, they’re longing to be told…

Follow:

We may still have a week of the summer holidays left, but already I’m thinking about Autumn breaks. It’s a bit sad really isn’t it?

I think it’s a positive thing though – I’ve enjoyed my summer breaks so much this year that I obviously just can’t wait to do it again. It’s not that I’m work-shy or anything, honestly.

Travelling and holidays with children is always a bit of a gamble, and not always terribly restful, as toddlers don’t seem to quite get the idea of lazing around on the beach. They tend not to enjoy sightseeing tours of cities much either in my experience, unless the sights you are seeing are play areas and ice cream vans, in which case you may as well save the petrol money, stay at home, and just pop to the park in the afternoon to be honest.

Going on holiday with friends has always worked well for me – friends who have children the same age and can share the ‘work’ of the holiday with you. When Belle was about a year old, we had a really lovely few days in Centre Parcs with a friend and her one year old, and it meant that the babies could amuse each other, while we concentrated on important holiday tasks like finding the corkscrew.

We’ve continued the holiday with friends idea ever since, and it has proved a big hit. Belle is ten now, but she still enjoys having someone to play with, and this year her holiday companion was her friend Ashley. He and Belle got to sleep in a yurt, climb trees and chase the farm dog, while Ashley’s mum Vicky and I had a little lie down with a book and a glass of wine. Are you noticing the theme here?

"yurt holiday"

Our holiday home this summer

Back in the spring, we were planning our holidays. “The kids will play of in the woods or something,” I say excitedly, “and we can lie around reading and drinking!”

“Hoorah!” agrees Vicky.

You see? Simple.

The risk of course, especially in small spaces like yurts, is that the kids start bickering and your friend drives you mad, but fortunately this hasn’t happened to me so far. It may have happened to Vicky of course. You’d have to ask her that…

Follow:

Let’s face it, we all love pizza.

It doesn’t get much better than tucking into a crispy base, munching on the stringy cheese and getting your teeth stuck into a range of wonderful toppings – pure heaven!

Although takeaway pizzas and shop bought ones are always tasty, they can often be a bit costly, not to mention the damage they can do to your waistline. So how about putting the takeaway menu down for a night and making your very own? Not only will it be quick, easy and relatively healthy (depending on the topping) it’s sure to taste great too!

"Homemade Pitta Bread Pizza"

Firstly, don’t bother spending ages making the dough. A great idea is to use pitta bread as the base instead. This means the kids can have their own pitta bread and put whatever they like on it, which is always a lot of fun. It’s also great to get them involved in the kitchen. Here are the ingredients:

  • Pitta bread (white or whole wheat)
  • Tomato pizza sauce
  • Grated cheese (low fat depending on how healthy you want to be)
  • Dried herbs (oregano or basil)
  • Toppings of your choice

It’s always a good idea when cooking with younger children to get all the ingredients out ready in small tubs or on plates. This means they’ll be able to use the ingredients in front of them rather than searching around the whole kitchen! Here’s how to make it:

  1. Preheat oven to around 200˚C.
  2. Spoon pizza sauce all over the pitta bread and spread well.
  3. Sprinkle evenly with grated cheese.
  4. Scatter a few dried herbs.
  5. Add desired toppings.
  6. Place on a sheet of ovenproof paper and bake for 5-7 minutes or until cheese has melted.
  7. Slice evenly with a pizza cutter and tuck in!

Let the kids really have fun with this by encouraging them to make various patterns and designs with their toppings. Anyone on a budget should check out the various Tesco voucher codes available too to save some cash on their weekly shop. A good tip is to stock up on cans and tins that you can keep in the cupboard for a later date so you can make your favourite dishes time and time again. The little ones are sure to enjoy making (and eating) their own pizzas and will probably want to make them more often. Whether you want a quick snack or you’re planning the evening meal, these pitta bread pizzas are perfect for having some fun in the kitchen.

"Takeaway Pizza Boxes"

Alternatively, if you really must get that takeaway for a special treat, there’s no need to pay full price for it. Take a look at the range of discount vouchers at Pizza Hut on different days of the week and you’ll keep both the kids and your bank balance happy!

Follow:

This week I have been in Amsterdam.

You know how I feel about pornography, but I couldn’t go to all that way and not visit Amsterdam’s Red Light District could I? Even if just to say first hand how seedy it is.

And it IS seedy. Let me tell you though how I got on, and you can tell me if you think it sounds sexy…

I’m in Amsterdam’s Red Light District on my own, and it’s about 9pm, and getting dark. The canal that sits serenely between the two rows of buildings is beautiful, but its hard to look at anything other than the windows framed in red neon, and the bright lights advertising live sex shows, each one claiming a better drinks offer than the rest.

In each window stands a young woman in her underwear and high heels, trying her best to look seductive. Most just look bored. One stands with her hand on her hip, weight shifted onto one foot, checking her phone. Nobody smiles.

Amsterdam's Red Light District

A lot of the attention seems to be on the clubs and shows. “Why are you looking so serious?” a man on one of the doors asks me. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Bristol in England,” I say. “And I look serious because I think this whole thing is pretty shocking really.”

“I have a cousin in Bristol!” he tells me and I laugh.

“Of course you do! I bet you have cousins everywhere.”

“You think I’m playing you?” he asks, looking offended.

“Yes.”

“You think I like this job?” he asks. “I hate it as much as you do. I hate these people,” he says, sweeping his arms and genuinely looking fairly disdainful. “I just sell what’s inside, but I stay out here. You should never judge people. You see me here, you think I’m trying to sell you a lie. I’m not.”

He is distracted then by a young couple, loitering nervously. “Stay there,” he tells me, “I’ll tell you.” He turns to the couple. “You want to come in?” he asks them. “We have four shows, including a cigar show, and our drinks are much better than next door.”

“When does it start?” the girl asks.

“No start time,” he says, “they just do it on a loop.”

It sounds awesome. Who doesn’t want to watch a couple have the same sex they’ve had already half a dozen times that night? I shift my attention to a group of British men sat on some benches nearby, who turn out, surprise surprise, to be on a stag do.

“Look at this!” one of them says, and pulls up his shirt to reveal ‘BAD BOY’ written on his chest in marker pen. “A girl just wrote that with the pen in her you know…” and he raises his eyebrows and points down. “Pretty good isn’t it? The A is a bit wonky, but other than that.” He looks very pleased with himself.

“Wow!” I say. “It’s not bad is it? Nice muscle control.”

“Do you reckon you could do it?”

I laugh. “I’ve had two babies,” I say, “I really don’t think I have the pelvic floor for it.”

Another of the men chimes in, pointing to one of his mates. “He’s just paid 140 euro to have sex with two women,” he says, matter-of-factly. The friend looks a bit sheepish, but he’s smiling, like secretly he’s pretty pleased with himself.

“How did that work then?” I ask, both intrigued and appalled. “Was it two separate times, or both at once? Was it buy one get one free?”

His mate, the one so willing to volunteer the information in the first place, laughs. “Nah, it was buy one, get another at the same time for another 70 euro!”

He hasn’t done it before he says, but just shrugs when I ask how he feels about it. “It was fine,” he adds, not giving much away.

“That’s not what you said at the time!” says his helpful friend. “You came out and high-fived all of us!”

“So do you really think this whole set up is sexy?” I ask. “They just look bored to me.”

“One of mine was on her phone a lot,” he laughs.

“She was tweeting,” adds his mate. “I bet she was using the #worstsexever hashtag.”

They tell me about the live show they’ve just been to. Apart from the chest writing, they aren’t impressed, particularly not by the man who was dressed in a leotard, which he just pulled carefully to one side for the act itself.

“They were really old,” one of them adds. “And he was wearing kneepads!”

“Was it like watching your mum and dad do it?” I ask.

“I reckon my dad would have put more effort in to be honest…”

Have you been to Amsterdam’s Red Light District? What did you think of it?

…

*They did let me take their photos, and were happy for me to blog about them, but I’m thinking that the morning after, it might not have seemed like such a good idea. Would you want your photo on the internet with the caption ‘this man just slept with two prostitutes’?

Image credit – Amsterdam’s Red Light District from Michal_R / Shutterstock.com

Follow: