Would You?

Would you post pictures of your child naked on the Internet?

Side note: I have a HUGE girl crush on Kelle Hampton from Enjoying the Small Things. Of course I do. Who (in the know on the mummy blogging world) doesn't? She's an inspiring writer, photographer, mother, human being... etc. If Kelle and I were at school together I'd be her frumpy try hard friend who scuttled around after her saying stuff like "I love your hair" "I'd never suit a top like yours" "you don't even have to wear make up!" Do I sound pathetic enough yet?

*Clears throat to adjust voice back down from high teenage whine*

A couple of weeks ago Kelle (I'm gonna dive right in and put us on first name terms) put a picture on her Instagram feed of her daughter naked. Did you whistle in a sharp intake of breath? Well more than a few people did because there was a riot on her comments.

Now... Why? Because bad people with bad thoughts trawl the Internet. Because her daughter isn't old enough to choose if she wants to be put on the internet naked. Because nudity is for private places. Because it's exploitation.

Yes you could argue it is those things. However there's a very big part of me that first goes... "BEAUTIFUL! SQUIDGY TOT BOT!" Then as I realise "woah there sugar puffs! This is on the Internet!" and I think good for you. Good for us. Good for everybody that there is a little corner of the web that isn't suspicious or corrupted. A little corner where someone trusts 100% that there are more good people than bad people in the world. One of the last places in this world where a babe in the tub is just a babe in the tub.

So naivity verses idealism is it?

Being led by fear or leading by example? Endorsing a form of terrorism or setting our best foot forward and being the world we want to live in and hoping everyone else follows suit?

Worst part of this is I am a complete hypocrite. I believe in posting naked pictures of your child on the internet as you would of them clothed. I believe it is good. I believe acts of faith in people like this keep the world from becoming a very horrible place. I believe the vast majority of people would squeal at my Euna's scrumptious bottom and coo and smile and screw the others. (A rare act of bad language but I really mean it...) Fuck them. I will not live my life differently because of fear...

... but I will. I'm not where I want to be yet. I want to have that much faith in people, but I don't yet. Hypocrite. Like before you have children and you swear your child will eat what their given or go hungry. Then you see your baby hungry and it's not cool.

This is the learning lessons blog. I'm still learning and this is a contentious topic. In time I'll decide where I am...  Do you know where you are?

Nuby sippy-cup giveaway coming sooooooon...

Remember Little Amy's fingers and toes? Here's little Amy's smiley face (eee!)...

Wordless Wednesday... More Winter Walking...

January is the Month of Hot Drinks...

She's growing up too fast. I know I'm far from both the first and last mother to complain about this but she really is. She's weeks away from her first steps and her first birthday. Tragic. Slow down baby girl!

In the meantime I'm consumed by all things domestic: decluttering, sorting, tidying and packing for the big move. Though that sentence makes me sound much more productive than I am. The reality is I have started about a thousand jobs, finished none and made a huge mess. Now every time I get a spare moment (nap times) I collapse with tea and Pintrest on the sofa and dream of this magical new home that will "hey presto" itself to perfection if I just created pretty enough boards...

Oh January... How your chilly, grey, coma consumes me. I have decided if December is the month for festivities and February is the month for love, then January is the month for hot drinks. Nothing herby or fruity either. Hot, milky, comforting tea, coffee and hot chocolate. Maybe Ovaltine. 

Mel & Lewis Engagement Shoot...

Absolutely on the moon that on the day I offered to do a wee engagement shoot as an engagement present for some friends the sun came out with snow on the ground... Such a beautiful day for a beautiful couple... (Plus mini-geek-happy-dance that I took my new zoom lens out the box!!!)

January-prickle...

The festivities of snow enforced chaos have melted away and I'm sitting here altogether quite glum. January is a funny old month. Essentially it is inevitable to have to ride the down wave after the Christmas highs. Plus the dark nights, cold weather and down time indoors start to wear thin. Glum, glum, glum.

Glum and restless. Prickly. Impatient. I'm waiting for a lot of things at the moment and "all in good time" has never been my mantra. No, not in good time, in my time. I want to make things happen when I want them and I'm getting prickly staring at the walls and waiting.

In addition I feel more than a little impatient with people. I understand that having a baby must come with a certain amount of tolerance for the constant stream of unrequested advice. When I am feeling less January-prickly I even empathise with the givers of advice and opinions in relation to how I bring up my child. I now understand what a gargantuan experience being a parent is and no one goes through such an experience without becoming emotionally involved with the politics of it. Ergo when it comes to babies/children/parenting not one of us can keep our gob shut.

That said... People need to do it away from me at the moment if it's referring to me breastfeeding my baby. I need to not hear once more that incredulous exclamation "you're still breast-feeding!" Yes I am. She's a baby. How dare you suggest this is anything other than all good things for my child.

Now I've expelled that demon I need to write back to happy. Not only are the January blues inevitable after the Christmas high but they are essential for the Spring time buzz. We have to pay our dues for the amount of awesome coming our way. More light. More sun. More bounce. More colour. Less clothes.  Right now we're just working for it. Whetting our appetites and working up an appreciation.

Lesson

Need to switch perspective and make it feel good, like the Robin Hood Prince of Thieves montage. Don't let the January-prickle run too deep or too personal, we're just paying our dues ready for better things.

Wordless Wednesday... Snow in Castle Parks...

After my "Blighty Goes Bonkers" little dig at my fellow Brits' ineptitude for dealing with the white stuff... I went out and had just the most wonderful day in it! Perfect Wordless Wednesday fodder...

Snow Joke... (Sorry) BLIGHTY GOES BONKERS WITH THE WHITE STUFF!

It starts about a month before the first snow flake. When it first appears on the weather forecasts. Something happens to a Briton's brain and we all start to steady decline into snow-induced-insanity.

You may be interested to know we Brits can't cope with snow. We simply cannot. So for all my international readers I thought I would outline what it's like in Britain when the snow comes...

Firstly WE NEVER HAVE ENOUGH SALT. EVER. Considering we only get 3-5 days of this madness every 365, you would think we could have it covered. We don't. We never do. We probably never will. Somehow whatever baboon has been entrusted with the divine title of Chief of Salt Purchasing within our local Councils NEVER orders enough.

Then the temperatures drop and the whole country rushes out to their car with their camera phone to take a picture of their dashboard thermometer reading and post it on Facebook. Yes it's cold. I know, I'm cold too. You're not colder than me, your thermometer reading is not news.

British amateur weather reporting has it's own rules too. What, to a Canadian for example, would be be described as a "smattering", to a Brit is a "blizzard". A "dusting" is a "snowstorm". Also when describing how much snow you've had you ALWAYS round UP to the nearest foot (or four). An inch is a foot. A genuine foot (FOR THE LOVE OF CRUNCHIES!) is about four feet.

With regards to real weather reporting (not Joanne from school on my Facebook weather reporting), nothing angers a Brit more than an incorrect weather report. We forget that weather reports for every other day of the year are generally wrong. In fact most of us probably don't even check the weather reports any other day of the year. But on these 3-5 days of snow we're never off BBC weather or the met office sites and we're POSITIVELY ENRAGED if the report is anything but accurate either way. I don't even know why.

So despite all the anticipation it is not until the snow gets here and we decide to venture out in it that we discover NONE of us own correct snow attire and we go out in the most bizarre outfits imaginable. Cotton pumps that wet through in seconds. Jogging bottoms that are too long and soak up to the knee in moments. Our dad's, boyfriend's or husbands fleeces. Maybe we own a Trespass ski-type jacket. Hats, gloves and scarves. Only NONE of it matches.

Now this point might be more international. Dads, brothers, boyfriends, husbands, uncles... Males of whatever relation LOVE snowball fights. As men mature, generally they grow out of making everything into swords, guns or any other weaponry and playing at a variety of fight genres. But they never EVER grow out of snowball fighting. Ever.

Men love snowball fights so much that you can put money on the man in your life losing himself so much in the hysteria of a snowball fight that he hits someone FAR smaller, weaker and way more vulnerable than themselves much too hard with what can only be described as a ice cannonball. For shame men. For shame.

All Brits forget how to drive when it snows. All of us. You can blame some of it on the salt running out. Regardless of salt density on the roads however you can guarantee they will be gridlocked.

Everyone resents working when it snows. Mostly due to the predictability of my previous point and the roads when we see a snowflake graphic on a weather report we all see the potential for a free day off. Regardless of if you drive to work, work outside or rely on weather conditions in anyway we all see it as our God given right to have a day off if it snows. (I have also experienced, as a former secondary school teacher, ALOT of teacher directed resentment as schools close and snow day envy embitters all.)

That said I love the snow. I love Britain when it snows. It's like this unexpected holiday time where everyone cancels their plans and hunkers down with hot drinks (though be them sans milk) and chills with their nearest and dearest. We all get excited (it's just the men that expel it with a violent theme). We all get out and walk in it, marvel in it, feel EXTRA cosy being out of it and looking at it. And despite some horrendous fashion faux pas' dotting the landscape, everything looks pretty covered in it.

"HELLO SNOWMAN!!!"

Weirdest snowman face ever...

Euna LOVED it...

I must take my macro out. I must take my macro out. I must take my macro out.

My snow attire was no exception to the rule...

Happy snow day! :D