We’ve been so busy at Trotters this week with everyone stocking up on summer clothes, shoes and suncream. I joined the rush earlier and took Lauren to Turnham Green store to buy her a sunhat and some canvas shoes.

The shoes were easy. Plain white canvas, simple and effective. Lauren proclaimed them “nice” and they were bought.
The hat was a whole different story.

Something I’ve heard a lot at work this week:

“He just won’t wear a hat!”

I think some parents, maybe those who don’t work in a children’s store and see this every day, think their child is especially difficult in this regard. No, let me reassure you. They’re nearly all the same!

I think most of us battled through winter trying to persuade, cajole or brainwash our children in to wearing a fleecy, warm hat. By end of February, many had succumbed. So, now surely hat wearing is accepted? NO. Summer hats are totally different from winter hats and the process beginneth again.

This was my second attempt at buying a hat. Last week when we went in, I tried about 6 on and every one she pulled off her head and shouted “BABIES!”

Today she just pulled them off her head and got sillier and sillier as I chased her round the shop trying to get a photo of her for this blog.

As you can see I gave up. Here she is sans hat, trying on her shoes and I think telling bunny where the shoe department is so she can get some nice shoes too.

So, I have had to resort to last year’s headwear which for some reason, she will accept for at least 5 minutes before removing. How sweet are the shoes? I thoroughly recommend them. Easy to wear, lightweight and you can stick them in the washing machine.

Don’t despair though. It seems sunglasses are very acceptable. It’s clearly because mummies all wear them and therefore they’re grown up. She loves hers and I have taught her to say “peace man” when she puts them on and do a peace v sign. We’ve certainly amused some passersby this week with that one!

If I had to describe Lauren in one word that totally sums her up right now it would be ‘opinionated’. In what feels like an overnight change, she has developed forceful and inflexible ideas about everything from food, to clothes, to acceptable activities.

So it was serendipitous that we’ve got a new book in Trotters called ‘French Children Don’t Throw Food’. I highly recommend it. It’s controversial and you won’t agree with it all but it’s funny and thought provoking and definitely a step up from dull, dull, dull parenting books.

The main thrust of it is that French parents are much more disciplinarian than British or American parents. They insist their children do as they’re told and don’t accept no for an answer. A much used phrase is Ces’t moi qui decide or ‘it is me who decides’.

With this in mind, let’s take a recent example from my life.

Lauren and I are getting ready to go out. She’s strapped in to her trike and ready to go.

“No shoes. Wellies.” She says.

“No poppet, you don’t need wellies it’s not raining and we’re not going on the common to play”.

“Wellies!”

“NO, Lauren. You’re wearing pink and your wellies are red so they won’t match.”

“WELLIES!! Uhuuuh huh” cry, whinge.

“Lauren, come on, don’t be silly. You won’t look pretty and if anyone from work sees me, I’ll get sacked for crimes against style.”

“Wellies, wellies, no shoes, noooooo shooooes.”

“Okay. I’ll get your wellies.”

Now, I am guessing that the average French Maman may not have given in at this point and on reading this would tut tut and thank goodness she wasn’t so weak. She would also not have soaked a cheese and potato pie in ketchup just to get it down her child (WHO doesn’t like chesses and potato pie?! SO fussy nowadays) and then had to suffer the consequences for several days afterwards when every dish, other than pudding or soup, would be refused until the “KETSUPS, KETSUPS” was provided.

And I think Maman’s probably right in some ways but not all. Maybe having said no, I should have stuck to it but I probably shouldn’t have said no in the first place. Why shouldn’t she wear her wellies? She loves them so much. We have to put them on over her sleepsuit in the morning otherwise she won’t eat breakfast and she even wanted to wear them in the bath last night! Now that would have been ridiculous but where’s the harm? I say, don’t say no for the sake of it. Going along with the madness is more fun anyway.

Probably not unsurprisingly, all this choosiness has coincided with her learning lots of new words all at once. I had a proud moment on Sunday when at Chiswick House she pointed to a bird on the river and shouted “coot”. I was impressed, as was her father. He still can’t remember the difference between a coot and a moorhen even though I’ve told him a zillion times.

Later that day, relating the tale to Lauren’s granddad, thinking he could share in the pride, he says disparagingly,

“Well, someone’s obviously taught her that, haven’t they?”

Erm, yes, clearly. We weren’t suggesting that Lauren has psychic powers, or that she had gleaned the name through Mother Nature by reading universal vibrations. Of course someone’s taught her! I was just happy that the admittedly rather intensive ornithology tutoring she’s had has paid off. That’s all. Gosh, I thought everything was getting easier with grade inflation these days and that would be enough to get a B in GCSE biology but it seems she’s going to have to work much harder to impress her nearest and dearest. We’ve taught her ‘pangolin’ for next time, which as you’re surely aware is an armoured animal from the tropics. If that doesn’t impress him nothing will!