Advertising on children's TV

Recently Jellybean has been telling us that he's too old for Cbeebies and thinks that the shows on it are for babies. 

Instead he's been asking to watch things on Pop - not even tiny Pop, actual Pop, where Oggy hangs out with his cockroaches and a squirrel is scaredy. 

As well as being a little sad that he's decided he's too grown up for Mr Bloom CBeebies I now have to contend with adverts aimed at children. 

All. The. Time. 

Well, not all the time, obviously, because they don't watch TV all the time - and most of the time when they ARE it's supervised. 

But if I said I never popped it on to keep them quiet and still for a while so I could get some housework done, or take a sneaky nap, or do some work when I have a deadline then I'd be telling a massive lie. 

So sometimes they're watching TV without me being in the room or paying too much attention. 

I'm generally quite careful - fussy even - about what they're allowed to watch. People laugh at my refusal to allow certain shows - Rastamouse for one - but I want to be sure I know what's going into their little minds as much as I care about what goes in to their little bodies. 

But now Jellybean has started to ask for certain things. 

"I want to go to Disneyland Mummy, it is MAGICAL."

"I want to go to Legoland Mummy, it looks BRILLIANT."

"I want hot wheels toys Mummy"

"I need a Thomas the Tank play set"

"I need slippers that RAR!"

and so on...and so on...and so on...

I think I expected some degree of pester power, and I'm not stupid, I know the power of "I want" from a child is incredible, and of course companies are going to advertise directly to our children - but when it's things that are harmful to a child's self image, self worth, gender identity, well-being? That is NOT ok. 

So why, in the name of all that is holy, are Lelli Kelly allowed to advertise to our children?

WHY are they allowed to market shoes to preschool girls that come with lip gloss and hair extensions? Why? 

Why is there a company in existence whose marketing team thought "Let's teach tiny little girls that they're only cute when they clip in some acrylic hair in bright novelty colours, and shine up their lips with sexy gloss" and why oh why oh WHY are they STILL doing it? 

Why have TV execs not said "that's just not ok" and why have WE not got up in ARMS about this and put a god damn stop to it?!

I can handle talking to my kids about why we can't go to Disneyland this year, but maybe one day...I can handle telling my child that hotwheels tracks are a pile of crap that will fall apart before you've even had your first go. 

I cannot handle explaining to my four year old boy whilst he cries that Lelli Kelly shoes are trying to turn little girls into sluts before they've had time to learn anything about self esteem.

My little boy's favourite colour is pink. He doesn't care that people think it's for girls, he just likes it because it's bright and makes him happy. 

He wanted a pair of those shoes and is upset that he can't have some - but you know what? It's not because they're for girls - not at all. If he wants pink sandals then I'd get him them. I might not let him wear them to school, because he'd be teased - but he could HAVE them, if they made him happy. 

But not these ones. Not now, not ever, never. Because they make little girls feel like they need to BE more to be cute. 

To be cute you need make up, fake hair, fake lips, glittery shoes, glitzy spangly little butterflies strapped to you. You can't just be smart, and wear pink shoes to kick balls around a field, and jump around in the garden, or climb a tree. 

What the hell?

Images
http://www.jackanorychildrenswear.co.uk/3297-4375-thickbox/lelli-kelly-lk-9122.jpg
http://yourfirstvisit.net/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/Exact-Instructions-Next-Best-Options.jpg

I will never have another baby

Warning: I'm going to talk about my foof - Dad, stop reading, because of the my foof talk, and anyone else who doesn't want to read about my foof, look away now! 

Sorry for overusing the word foof there. I can't quite bring myself to type vagina the word gives me the heeves. That's a whole other issue, though. 

Seven months ago I went and had a coil fitted. I'd been very nervous about doing it because the last time I tried a coil I had three months of agony, then a baby. 

I've blogged before, around a year ago, about the problems I've had over the years with my lady areas and again a few months later trying to decide what contraceptive options to go for - and after a lot of discussions with my GP we decided that another coil was the best option.

She was very confident that I wouldn't have the same problems as the first time because clearly the first time it had been improperly fitted and done by a buffoon. 

Well...it didn't dislodge this time, and I didn't get pregnant...but man did I have problems. 

I piled on weight. My skin is terrible. My boobs made milk again even though it was a year since I'd breastfed anyone. (not ANYONE, just Midget Gem - I wasn't just wandering around breastfeeding people willy nilly) 

And I bled. And bled. And bled. AND BLED. 

There were occasional days where I didn't - but for the most part I bled, to some degree, just about every day. 

I was at the doctor every few weeks talking about it and she said that only a tiny proportion of people reacted this extremely to the coil and that it would eventually settle down, and that she'd never known it to last more than six months, if I could face sticking it out that long. 

And I stuck it out. In fact, I stuck it out for seven months. 

Seven months of putting on weight, terrible skin, bleeding every day...I'm pretty sure the coil doesn't actually prevent pregnancy - it just makes you so massively unappealing that you don't have to worry about pregnancy because you don't look good enough to have sex with. 

As well as the BLEEDING ALL THE TIME, which means you have to wear pads every day, I tend to react to the pads and have spent that time sore and itchy in reaction to them, even though I've been using the pads that I react the least to. (Mooncup fans who are reading, NO. Just no.) 

And another wonderful side effect of them is cystitis. All the time. Every few days. And thrush. A lot. 

This week it's developed into a fully blown UTI and I'm in agony, feverish, and STILL BLEEDING. I went to the GP today for some antibiotics and we had our usual "Are you still bleeding?" - "Yes" conversation and she said she'd remove the coil there and then if I wanted her to. Boom, I was on that table with my knickers down faster than you can snap on a pair of rubber gloves. 

OW, by the way. 

"What are you going to do for contraception?" she asked, waving a fistful of leaflets at me.
"Let me put my knickers back on" I said, then talked through the options once again. 

Whilst I was there I said how much I wanted another baby really, and said that the only thing that had stopped us doing it was the awful pregnancies I'd had, and the horrific SPD, and the whole being in a wheelchair last time. 

"But I don't know whether it would be that bad again, if I did get pregnant..." said I, fishing for her to say "oh gosh, no, that was a one off!" 

But that's not what she said. 

"It would be worse. It would definitely be worse. Look at your track record, look at your spine curvature, look at the pain you're in every day. It would be worse."

"Oh...I kind of didn't want you to say that..." 

"I know, but it's true. And you were in a wheelchair last time?"

"...Yes..."

"Yeah, you might not get out of it. Which would be a bit rubbish. Babies are harder when you're in a wheelchair."

"...yeah..."

"Elizabeth. It would be worse."

Boom. 

I've known since I had Midget Gem that I shouldn't have another - I've talked about it a lot, I tweet about it a lot, I've blogged about it. I was in AGONY having him, I'm RUBBISH at being pregnant, my hips are not made for it. 

I've known it that whole time, but still, in my mind, I've dismissed it. "It wouldn't be that bad. It wasn't that bad. We'd be fine. I'd just get better again afterwards." thought I. Over and over. I've just dismissed it all for this whole time, and been thinking I'd just ignore that, really, and one day have another baby.

I convinced myself that if I spent a few months doing sit ups and made my abs all hardcore (which, let's face it, is as likely as me growing wings) I'd be able to do it...but no, because it's not my abs that are the problem, it's my skeleton. Sit ups don't fix that. 

I've known for over two years that I can't have another baby...but now I KNOW I can't. And I'm devastated. 

I KNOW I'm lucky. I have two children. I KNOW I'm lucky. They are healthy. I KNOW I'm lucky. They are lovely, happy boys. I KNOW I'm lucky. I KNOW that. 

But it still hurts. 

Logic tells me all the reasons things are perfect as they are. Logic tells me all the reasons not to have another baby. Logic tells me all of that. 

But it still hurts. 

I always pictured us having more children. I always pictured myself with three or four, running around like a loud, messy rabble. I always pictured another tiny little version of us, maybe a girl with a collection of dresses, maybe another boy to roll in the mud with the two we have. 

And I actually, really, truly can't do it. 

And it hurts. 

Awful things little me did.

When I was little I was awful. 

I have written many blog posts about the awful things MY children have done (most of which involve poo) and many of my tweets are the hilarious things they say - but I thought, for fairness, it would be good to tell some tales from my own childhood. 

Picture the scene...a tired Mummy has tucked her children into bed and heads downstairs for a well earned cup of tea and some soaps on the TV. Nowadays the small children - a nice, sweet, blonde haired boy and a younger girl who has big blue eyes hiding her true nature, that being satanic - tend to stay in bed for most of the night, just sneaking out horribly early to eat their own weight in sugar coated breakfast foods. 

This night, though, satanic small girl child changes the rules. She not only gets out of bed but, convinced after a dream she'd had the night before that she could fly, she leaps, headfirst, down the stairs. 

Ow. 

Picture the scene...harassed Mummy is trying to give the Nanny a driving lesson; the Nanny is a sweet young thing with hairgrips (this is all I remember) and is driving through the city close to the safe limit of 30mph. From the back of the car comes a voice: 
"I want to go on the swings!" (the car is about to pass the playground the children like)
"Not now, Lizzie, we're having a driving lesson; though you are the most beautiful child who ever existed we will cruelly pass this playground, with its magnificent swings which would certainly bring you happiness, and torture you with another loop around the block" (I might be paraphrasing some here) 

Then, another small voice...
"Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, MUMMY!" 
"Not now, Patrick, I'm concentrating!"
"But MUMMY, LIZZIE!"

Poor Mummy turns around and there in the back is one small, angelic blonde haired boy and...a space...a space where there should be a small, blonde haired girl...

The rear door slams closed as the Nanny slams on the brakes - and through the back window of the car poor Mummy sees a little, bleeding, blonde haired girl lying on the pavement, where she landed when she jumped out of the car. 

A nanosecond later poor Mummy has LEVITATED to small blonde girl's side and picked her up, fearing the worst - and small blonde girl says "NOW can I go on the swings?" and is most upset that she has to go to hospital instead and have her face stitched back together. 

THEN she goes on the swings. 

(Look how adorable and angelic Paddy is!)


Picture the scene...

Two small, blonde haired children are taking a bath at Nanny and Grampa's house. Small blonde boy is, of course, being angelic. Small blonde girl is being cheeky. 

The phone (which is just outside the door) rings and Nanny B goes to grab it. On her way out she sees small blonde girl child eyeing things she shouldn't touch...

"Lizzie, do not, I repeat, DO NOT put that razor blade up your nose!" 

So, of course, immediately, that's what I did. 

It hurts, by the way. A lot. 

And because I did that I cut something that shouldn't be cut, right up there inside my nostril, and I can now blow air out of my left eye. Which is cool, apart from when I have a cold, and try to blow my nose, and it goes all goopy. You know, because I have snot in my eye. 

It does look pretty cool underwater though.

And yes, I do pray every day for my children to take after their father - who is FAR less stupid than I! 

My poor parents! 

I'm going to Britmums Live

I've been to the last two, and most of you have already met me, or seen me wandering around drinking wine in a large leopard print coat, or heard me, because I'm pretty loud. 

But if you're one of the lucky few who haven't met me yet then I'll be there  - and this time I'll have my husband with me (which isn't some kind of weird refusal to be apart, he's coming for work!) 

That's him with me in the picture. I'm not sure what he's doing with his tongue. Trying to poke me, probably. 

Name: Eliza. Or Lizzie. Or Elizabeth. Not Liz. Ick. 

Blog: Mommatwo...that's this one...

Twitter ID: @Eliza_Do_Lots 

Height: 5ft 8 (I might have heels on though) 

Hair: Long, pretending not to be ginger, but ginger, with highlights. 

Eyes: Blue, heavily made up, with NEW GLASSES. Ones that don't fall off and aren't held together with moshi monster plasters. 

Is this your first blogging conference?

No, I've been to three others and will have been to a fourth by then - so this is lucky number five! 

Are you attending both days?

Heck yes - as if I'd miss drunkenly whooping and weeping at the awards!

What are you most looking forward to at BritMums Live 2013?

Meeting old friends, new friends, showing off my husband, and most of all learning more and coming away, as always, with a head buzzing with ideas. I'm also excited about connecting with some new companies and hugging the heck out of the Butlins girls.

What are you wearing?

That depends entirely on what is clean the day before when I realise I haven't packed yet. It will not be ironed. 

What do you hope to gain from BritMums Live 2013?

Some new connections and work opportunities. 

Tell us one thing about you that not everyone knows

I'm pretty sure there's nothing left that you don't all know about me...I'll go back to my old (gross) favourite nugget of knowledge: I can blow air out of my left eye. This is best demonstrated underwater, but it squeaks. It's ace. 

Children and sex

This is probably going to get a little heavy - and a little long. It's buzzing around my head after lots of time this weekend telling my children not to play with their willies, and simultaneously reading this article in the telegraph, which echoes some of the conversations my husband and I have had in our time together. 

The media is currently alive with suspicions, accusations, shock and rage as more and more names are released, more and more entertainers discovered to be connected to the enormous investigation around Jimmy Saville and the assaults he's said to have carried out on dozens and dozens of girls and young women. 

As the investigation grows there are more and more women coming forward with their own stories. 

Stories that they have, for decades, kept locked away as an experience that they believed they were either to blame for or over reacting to. 

Some of the incidents being recorded are occasions where the accused entertainer slapped an arse, groped a boob, pressed their own body against that of an unwilling young woman. 

Discussing this on twitter recently - following a tweet I sent to Phillip Schofield, to which he replied - I was astounded to see tweets along the lines of "I'd love a nice man to smack me on the arse" and mutterings about over reaction. 

There's also been a lot of dismissive talk about the way things were in the 70s, the culture of sex, promiscuity, slap and tickle - and about the Carry On films...this is all said in the kind of way that dismisses what these women, these victims are saying. That dismisses the abuse that they have suffered. 

Because Carry On films were a bit saucy, and because 'a bit of slap and tickle' was the basis of some entertainment, it's somehow OK that young women, that teenage girls, were molested? Were groped? Were encouraged to perform sex acts on men older than their fathers, and swapped about like trophies? 

Whether it was rape, grooming or a slap on the arse it doesn't matter - what MATTERS is that those things are ASSAULT. That those things were NOT OK. That those VICTIMS deserve justice, and for the rest of us to avoid rolling our eyes and dismissing what happened to them as just 'part of the culture of the time'.

And do you know why? Because that culture of the time, it hasn't got better. It hasn't gone away and things are not better now. 

Our teenagers aren't watching Carry On films. They aren't partaking in a bit of slap and tickle. Do you know what they are doing? 

They're sexting, They're sharing naked photos. They're watching porn. Violent, explicit, hardcore porn. 


Not 18 year olds - not teenagers who are young adults, heading off to uni. Children. Young children. 11, 12, 13 years old. 

Very few children reach the end of their first year of secondary school without having been exposed to some kind of explicit sex imagery. 

I had my first kiss with a boy in year 8. I tried to hold my breath and got snot on his face because I had a cold. It was horrible. 

I was 13. 

In January this year a 13 year old girl fell from her bedroom window - on the 6th floor - after begging a teenage boy to delete a video of her performing a sex act on him. 

She was bullied into performing sex acts on other young men and begged them to delete the evidence, threatening to jump, when she fell. 

This wasn't an isolated incident. 

Here's another.
Here's another.
Here's another
And another.

That last link? That little girl is eight years old. Eight years old and sexting is a joke, is something fun, to pass the time, to laugh at with your classmates. At EIGHT. 

That is the culture now. 

Music is everywhere, music videos are about sex, they are graphic, they are indecent, they are inappropriate. They show writhing, semi nude bodies, bondage, abuse and are very adult in nature. 


The TV teenagers watch has changed; when I was still in school I was watching Friends, and parents were concerned that it was a little edgy and pushing the boundaries, as the characters had casual relationships and slept with people they were dating. 

Backing up my own views on that exact show, here's Lisa Kudrow (who played Phoebe) on why she won't let her seven year old son watch Friends:

"He's never even seen Friends. There are sexual innuendos in the show that I think are just too much for him to deal with. I don't want to have to explain them to him at his age."

Kids in schools now are watching things like Skins - where the characters are taking hard drugs, partying all night, sleeping around and fighting. 

It is extreme, and they think those kinds of behaviours are normal - and they are NOT NORMAL. Actually, that's wrong; they shouldn't be normal - but rather terrifyingly it's becoming normal, for teenagers and children today. 

Their idea of normal sexual relationships is being formed by the media, by porn, and by the sexting and photo exchanging that is rife in schools these days - and they are falling headlong into worlds and images that they aren't prepared for, and forming damaged views of sex and body image as a result. 

When Katie Price is being held up as a role model it's clear that there needs to be something done to protect our children from a future of failed relationships. From inappropriate sexual contact. From sex. 

Sex is, can be, should be, beautiful. But not when it's your 13 year old daughter being forced into blowjobs because she's scared of being bullied in school. 

Not when your children are being suspended from school when they're meant to be doing their GCSEs because they've been fellating each other in the school loos. 

A secondary school teacher I know has been confided in by young girls about their sex lives: when we were teenagers we protected against teen pregnancy by not having sex. Those who did used condoms. Teens now protect against it by having anal sex instead. 

This is the culture, now. This is the culture our children are growing up in. 

Today I had to tell my two year old to put some underpants on whilst he was eating his lunch and explain to him and his four year old brother why we shouldn't play with our willies in a room full of people. 

I had to do that in a way that made them understand it's ok to touch your willy, in private, but that it's something a bit rude with an audience. 

It's made me think that there are going to be more and more challenges along the way, they are going to be exposed to things long before they - or I - are ready and I am going to have to explain them and try to balance what they see and experience with their peers compared to what I saw and experienced at the same age, and what sex in REAL LIFE is like and should be like. 

The culture, now, is not ok. This is not ok. 

Underpants Thunderpants

Don't panic - this isn't another post about poo (I know, I know) this is about the best book the children have ever seen, EVER. 

For Jellybean's birthday I popped to Argos to collect a present we'd picked out - and whilst I was there I was, as I so often am, suckered into buying some extras from the things displayed in the queue. 

One of the things I got was a pack of ten paperback books for £10. I do love getting the boys new books and it was a fab extra present to get last minute. 

They've enjoyed all the books - but there's one that has stood out above all others. 

Underpants Thunderpants! 

Written by Peter Bentley, illustrated by Deborah Melmon, the book is excellent. 

It has just the right amount of toilet humour to amuse small boys, it has great illustrations, it's funny, cheeky, silly and brilliant, and we can't just read it once - we have to read it five or six times in a row. Every day. At least twice. 

Highlights of the story are the underpants blowing off the line, the elephant sneezing, the hunter falling over in poop and, of course, the aliens with a hairy behind! 

We bought this book ourselves and haven't been asked for a review - but I can't discover this book and not share it with people. You can get a copy on Amazon for a couple of quid, and absolutely should do! 

Pocket Money Changes. Naomi's new shoes.

To help Naomi or to see how much has been collected please go here

This week I was contacted by some very lovely ladies called Amanda and Jean. They live in Dorset and are friends with a woman called Naomi, who lives in Nairobi. Naomi spent some time in the UK, where she met and made friends with Amanda and Jean. 


When Naomi returned to Nairobi she took with her the gift of some good quality walking shoes. These are important to Naomi as her husband is very unwell and they have four children, three sons and a daughter. One of their sons is adopted, the family took him in when he was orphaned and raise him with their other children. 

Because her husband is unwell Naomi is the main breadwinner - and she has a good job working as a housekeeper. Her job is at the far side of the city from her home in the slums, which is all the family can afford. To get to work Naomi travels across the city on two busses and then walks for nearly an hour across country to reach the compound where she works. She makes this journey both ways, working a 12 hour day, returning home late to tuck her children into bed. 

With two hours walking each way across the rough terrain it's important that Naomi has good footwear - without it she wouldn't be as able to get to and from her job and she wouldn't be as able to provide for her family. 

With your help and the Pocket Money Changes collection I would very much like to be able to buy some new shoes for Naomi. The shoes that Amanda and Jean plan to buy cost around £40 - which for my army of amazing followers is no problem. 

Once I heard about Naomi and her family I knew, though, that we would be able to help more than that. 

As well as caring for her children Naomi helps her two sisters run their businesses, which also bring an income in to support the extended family. They are very close and all work very hard to support themselves. 

One sister makes beautifully embroidered bedding and chair covers which she spends hours stitching. The only photograph we have of the whole family is of the sister showing one of her embroidered artworks - which you can see below. 

In order to continue with her business Naomi's sister needs some more fabric and embroidery threads. For a bolt of fabric and a selection of coloured threads it costs around £30. Which isn't a great deal if just 30 of you put just £1 in the pot.

Their other sister was born deaf, and lives with Naomi. Because she is deaf she has never learned to speak, but she was recently sent a knitting machine and, like her talented sewing sister, she creates beautiful knitted items which she can sell to help support the family. To do this she needs a selection of colourful wool - which would also cost around £30. 

Amanda and Jean know Naomi very well from her time in the UK, and hold her in very high regard, and they very much want to be able to help her and her family. 

They have fundraised before (in order to send the sewing machine and the knitting machine) and are hopeful that we'll be able to help them raise some money to help the family. They work incredibly hard and still struggle to survive - and with a little help from Pocket Money Changes they'll be able to work and support themselves. 

So what Amanda and Jean asked us to help with is £40 for shoes for Naomi, £30 for a bolt of fabric and some coloured threads, and £30 for some wool. 

£100. That's all. 

I think, though, that we might be able to do a little more. Perhaps we could buy some shoes for the children, too, so that they are safer and more comfortable on their walk to school? 

And rather than one bolt of fabric perhaps it might be nice for Naomi's sister to be able to buy a few, in different colours, meaning she has more selection and variety to work with and will be able to sell more? 

Maybe a little more wool for her other sister?

So rather than £100 why don't we aim for £300? For the whole family to be safer, more comfortable, and more able to support themselves? I think we can do that. 

Please, please help us to raise this money, so that we can help Naomi. 

Please go here to donate - and please donate just £1 - or as much as you can afford - and help us to reach our target. 

Thank you. It means the world.