Tag Archives: CBeebies

A long, dark night of the soul. And in the morning? Gigglebiz.

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Last night was one of those nights where everything felt wrong. I had drunk too much crap wine, kids were unsettled, and I was immersed in self-doubt and negativity that kept me awake long after the house fell silent.

Last week wasn’t a stellar one on the work front – I made the mistake of accepting a commission when my gut instinct advised against it and, lo and behold, I’m doing far more work on it than agreed, and not for a great fee. I know that a distinct lack of enthusiasm on my part for a project will never end well, because my reputation relies on good work, and that rarely comes out of things I need to be coaxed into. Still, I gave in to the freelancer’s fear of turning work down, so it’s my own fault.

At 3am, this turned into a fully-fledged self pity party, where I vowed I would retrain as a plumber (because they never get ripped off by their clients, bien sur) or do something where it was impossible to fail.

In the cold light of day, I realised I needed to get a grip, and remember that 1) everyone has bad work gigs, whether employed or freelance. Sometimes you make a bad call, and feel rubbish and incompetent for a while. 2) there have been many more times when my work was appreciated, and I felt good about my talents and professional life. Running away from the realities of work wouldn’t solve anything (particularly because I am in the only job I am any good at – and I know this). I just needed to remind myself that everyone has bad days, but it doesn’t automatically mean everything has to change. Quite the opposite.

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After my dark night of the soul, I came back to reality and back into my self-appointed  role as quizmaster for #earlymorningkidstvquiz on Twitter.  I figured getting up at the crack of dawn to while away the wee small hours in front of the goggle box might as well be productive. One very easy quiz question, based on either CBeebies programmes or Channel 5 Milkshake’s programmes, before 9am. Come and join the inanity and follow me @catdean1. There are no prizes, other than the satisfaction of proving you managed to keep your eyes open.

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A bad smell has been following me around all morning. I thought I had unwittingly attracted an estate agent stalker, such was the reek of cheap aftershave. Turns out it’s just the pong of my new conditioner, L’Oreal’s Ever Strong. Makes my hair feel nice, but don’t know if I can continue to use it. I’m sure my boys’ bedrooms will start smelling similar in about 10 years time…

Who wants to join my “waiting for CBeebies to start” club?

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It’s 5.40 am. You’ve given up all hopes of trying to get your toddler back to sleep and have resigned yourself to getting up and starting your day. You put on the kettle, feel your way blindly to the living room (it will be at least an hour before your eyes stop resembling piss holes in the snow) and put on the telly.

It’s on again, on a hideous loop, accompanied by 90s pop melodies. Mr Bloom. Charlie Bear. In the Night Garden. Chirpy excerpts that only last a few seconds. Even my 16 month old has worked out that it’s not a real programme. The relief we both feel when the big hand hits 12, the little one 6, and the smiley baby in the sun comes up is real and palpable. Never did I think I’d look forward to the Teletubbies so much.

I’m sure I can’t be the only one whose child wakes up at this time. Why not, then, start programming from 5 or 5.30? I’m not asking for a new episode of anything, just not the “waiting” montage. Hell, I’d even look forward to Grandpa in my Pocket if I knew I could lose myself in something resembling a plot. It’s not as if it would make much difference to the programmers, but it would be a huge help to plenty of us whose children haven’t read Gina Ford and don’t wait for the sun to come up on their Gro Clocks before emitting a bloodcurdling yell that would have us evicted from our street if it were allowed to continue.

I suspect there’s something of the moralising puritan behind it. If you can’t make your child stay in bed until a reasonable hour, you must be lacking some important parenting gene or basic moral fibre. Either way, you should be atoning for your inadequacies by doing some improving craft or reading – certainly not indulging your slovenly ways by turning on the telly so early.

I realise I don’t have to put it on CBeebies. But if I don’t just hit 71 automatically, I’ll only end up leaving it on a shopping channel by mistake and return from the kitchen with my cup of tea to find out the baby’s just bought us a lifetimes’s supply of nail polish or lightbulbs. Come on BBC, can’t you see we need some help here?

You are a raggy cat – and other life-enhancing affirmations

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For someone who has worked in and written about the personal development industry and popular psychology, I have a somewhat uncharacteristic dislike for positive affirmations. By this, I mean the sort of thing where you are supposed to look at yourself in the mirror and repeat, “I am a wonderful, successful person” (or whatever you want to be) many times over. The premise is sound – thoughts create both feeling and behaviour, so if you change your thoughts, you can therefore alter these other two factors.

The problem, in my opinion, is twofold. First, I’m not entirely sure that you can change thought patterns just because you decide to do so. I went through a period about ten years ago of trying to improve various aspects of my life with the help of affirmations (courtesy of Louise Hay), and it had zero effect. I’m sure plenty of people will come along to tell me that I simply haven’t tried hard enough because it is scientifically proven, but there you go.

Secondly, it feels very, very silly. Unless you are an incredibly earnest person with no sense of humour, you will feel self-conscious at best, and positively idiotic and self-hating, at worst, staring into your own eyes and saying the opposite of what you actually believe to be true in an upbeat voice. I’m not against silliness per se – plenty of good things are silly, like sex or wearing your underpants on your head (these two things are not linked, by the way). But this feels silly in a boring, false kind of way.

I think in our household we have unconsciously adopted the absurdist insult as our own form of affirmation. Of course, the main perpetrator is T, who is three, and therefore likes calling himself a “banana sieve bottom” or whatever comes into his strange little bonce. I also slightly blame the CBeebies character, Mr Maker, for the ‘I am a shape” song, which gets sung at every opportunity. This morning, I sang “I am exhausted” to the tune as my household decided it was time to start the day at 5.30am again.

T upset his best friend the other day by calling him a “raggy cat”. It had no meaning for him, just a stupid thing to say. But sometimes stupid things are music to the ears. I feel much happier when telling myself I’m a “stinky cheese princess” ( © T) than a “beautiful person, inside and out”. For one thing, it happens to be true, while the latter thought is rather wishful thinking :-) .