Cougars discussed on Radio 4's Woman's Hour

Click here to listen to the cougar discussion on Woman's Hour

Earlier this month the world of the Cougar came to the attention of Woman's Hour, who kicked around the idea that dating a younger man was a bad idea because  he would only be interested in playing on his X-Box, rather than enjoying any more sophisticated persuits.

If only I'd been on hand to call into the show and tell them about my 'toy boy's gadget collection.

Since living with Ad Man I have been introduced to a few new bits of technology, I must admit.. but they have all been a far cry from the  X Box.

The first to arrive was a tea maker (yes, the proper old fashioned kind, that sits by the bed, gurgling and hissing first thing in the morning). This was then followed by a mini deep fat fryer (for making himself the odd portion of chips) and then to top it all, an electric blanket, so he could snuggle down into a cosy bed at night.

So, let this be my warning to any of you aspirational cougars out there... Don't think having a toyboy is your passport to a life of wild parties, or even all night gaming sessions - you could be signing up for something much more sedate. That said, I am not complaining. Although I'm still drawing the line at a TV-dinner tray...

A very male solution for mums missing university bound teens

So, on Saturday, I drop my lovely daughter at Uni. We say our final farewells, and then I find myself sitting in the car, alone, outside her hall, watching as she strolls back up to her new room without a hint of a backwards glance towards me. Oh, well, that's it then. Job done.

"Parenting is about giving them roots, but also giving them wings," my wise friend Jim said to me last week.. And there's no doubt that my fledgling daughter has found her wings in no time at all. I should be  a proud old bird, I guess. But, somehow...

Back at the empty nest, I confide in Ad Man that it feels very odd to see L's room, lying vacant, without the usual clutter of electronic gadgets and H&M merchandise..

"Well, shut the door then" he suggests.

A practical solution, yep. But not quite what I was looking for in terms of comforting words.

Welcome to my new male-dominated world...

Your teen is off to university? Why you should be celebrating, not crying..

Autumn is here. Britain is being buffeted by storms and, in houses all over the country, families are bracing themselves for their own emotional tempest as their teenager packs a big bag and finally leaves the nest.

Already, mothers are sidling up to me, tears in their eyes, and confessing that the imminent departure is leaving them feeling devastated, bereft, and unsure how they are going to cope in the months that lie between now and the Christmas vacation. I can sympathise – really. My gorgeous daughter Lucy is leaving home herself, and heading off to study Art at a university which is over three hours drive, or a very tedious and complicated train journey, away.

I was so proud and pleased when, after months of sweating over her portfolio, she got her university place, but now I’m faced with the reality that, when she goes, it will just be me and a bunch of boys left at home.

My husband is a truly wonderful man, and my 14-year-old son is a  warm and gentle giant, but lets face it – they are not going to be bringing home copies of Grazia or Heat for us to enjoy together over a cup of tea, nor will they have much of an opinion on  whether or not I am too old to embrace the latest fashions in it. And, being boys, their musical tastes and mine couldn’t be more different. Whereas Lucy and I could hum together to a bit of gentle Laura Marling, or Mumford and Son, the men-folk are only happy doing air guitar to a bit of hardcore rock.

Even my friend Mia, normally a source of solace in  my darker moments, has done little to appease me. “Gosh, just you and the boys left then,” she observed. “Have you not noticed how women who live only with men, often start wearing men’s clothes themselves?"

Great. But actually, despite the fact that Lucy’s departure will clearly leave a massive girl-shaped hole in my life, I still feel that I, and all the other Fresher mothers out there, should be celebrating, not crying as they wave goodbye. Why?  Well, here’s my ten ‘reasons to be cheerful’:

1.     Firstly, you should take pride in the fact that you have produced a son/daughter who has the ability and confidence to leave home and look after himself. Good parenting is all about preparing your child to be happily independent  - so if your son is packing his drum kit into the car with barely a backwards glance, then feel good about it. You’ve done a good job.

2.     If your teen is starting uni this year, they are avoiding the massive hike in tuition fees that will hit students in 2012. This may make little difference to you right now, but essentially means that they are saving themselves in the region of £18,000 plus. So thank your lucky stars that they are currently heading to the likes of Reading, Warwick, Bournemouth or Oxford, and aren’t packing for Goa in a quest to ‘find themselves’, and planning to start uni next year instead..

3.      Feel proud of your Fresher’s ability to have secured a place at uni this year, of all years.. The rush to get into uni before the fees went up has meant even greater competition for places than ever before. Yep, all the kids who have been hanging out in Goa for the past two years, suddenly realised that this was probably their last chance to get to uni - so your clever child has beaten off applications from a whole bunch of 20-somethings, as well as their peers.

4      And, while we are on the subject of fees, bereft parents should also be celebrating the fact that their offspring are actually leaving home to study, and not heading to the local uni and living at home for the next three years (which will inevitably become more common in the light of the fee rise). Living with a teenager is one thing, but living with a student who is partying as hard as he or she is studying, is a whole other story.  Plus, we’ve all heard the horror stories about parents who dream of entering a new stage once the kids leave home, only to find the ‘kids’ are still living there at the age of 30 or more..

5      At the risk of invoking wrath from all of you far, cleverer and better parents (who will tell me that I should never have been doing it in the first place) I also know that my daughter leaving home will mean I have to do less laundry/cooking/cleaning etc.. Hurrah.

6      With one fewer child putting demands on your time, maybe this is the year that you can find more time to do something for YOU. Add up all the hours you’ve spent dropping off, picking up, doing their laundry and so on… all that time is now YOURS - so make the most of it. Don’t spend it all sitting in the empty bedroom weeping..

7      Enjoy the peace. Not only will you no longer be woken up by your baby elephant returning home at 4am after a good night out,  but if your family is anything like ours, you also won’t have to listen to any more grumbling and bickering between a) baby elephant and siblings and/or b) baby elephant and your partner/husband. I am particularly looking forward to no longer having to be the middle (wo)man who runs around tidying away the teen’s discarded shoes/bags/coffee cups, to avoid listening  to the moans and curses from my husband when he falls over them.

8      Enjoy your wardrobe/make-up remaining intact. Ok, maybe this is not so relevant for those of you whose sons are leaving home, but I for one will find it a pleasant surprise to discover that my mascara is just where I left it every morning – plus my shoes, my velvet jacket, my hairbrush, the hair dryer, and so on and so on.

9      Empty house = more sex. Sex – remember that?

10  And finally… oh, who am I kidding..? All the above may very well be true, but lets face it, however wonderful it is that my daughter is about to start on a new and exciting future, there is no doubt that I will still feel a knot of emptiness in my stomach whenever I see that my mascara is still sitting on the windowsill where I left it, that there are no shoes cluttering up the hallway, that one of our bedrooms is sitting empty and perpetually tidy, and that there is an empty space at the dining table. I too will be fighting back the tears when I drop my daughter in halls and when I make the long car journey home with an empty back seat.  Yes, even if my daughter is a hundred odd miles away, I am still a mother, I will always be a mother and, as a mother, that’s my job.

A level results pressure - and how to avoid it

So the A level results are out. And, like thousands of others around the country, our house was in a vice of anticipation yesterday morning waiting for  them to finally go online. 

In our case there was slightly less pressure because daughter L wants to study art, so gaining her university place was all about the quality of her portfolio rather than her grades, but nevertheless she still wanted to do well. But then of course, everyone has a different perception of what  doing ‘well’ actually means.

If you read the Daily Mail, you’d be forgiven for thinking that, come results day,  every attractive girl in the country can be found leaping into the air, holding hands with her best, and equally attractive, mate and clutching a piece of paper littered with A-star grades. Every year, the media is full of stories about how the level of grades is getting higher and higher so, although the reality is still that only 8.2% of students get an A grade, the level of expectation from the outside world also gets greater and greater, and arguably more and more unrealistic.

Poor kids. For two years or so, they potter along, doing their coursework and maybe the odd flurry of revision, in relative peace. Parents, for the most part are happy if they feel their kids are turning up at college regularly, spending marginally more time reading books than on Facebook and only being washed along in a wave of WKD or cheap lager once a week or so.  Then, come August 18^th, the whole extended family, and friends of the extended family, and other parents that you see once a year at most, all want to know exactly what grades have been achieved. Suddenly a smattering of healthy B and Cs doesn’t seem quite enough (even if that’s exactly what the parents themselves got back in their day), and parents and grandparents begin to feel somewhat cheated if their little darling hasn’t got at least one A-star to boast of to their colleagues.

Daughter L, thankfully, got just what she hoped for and deserved (and did very well indeed) so we had the prosecco out to celebrate quietly together first thing in the morning. But although I was absolutely delighted for her, I still felt it was a bit crass to broadcast L’s actual grades to anyone and everyone. Maybe I'm the odd one, but I was acutely aware that there were other students out there who had worked incredibly hard to get a clutch of Cs and felt they really didn’t need to know about anyone else’s A grades. One of L’s friends had to cope with the death of her mother as she started her studies, while another has missed much of the past year due to a chronic illness, so for them, achieving any A levels at all, let alone securing a university place, was a truly remarkable achievement – and sod the lack of A stars!

The problem was, I soon discovered that the rest of the world didn’t feel quite the same. It wasn’t just the kids either. Everyone deserves to feel very proud of their successes of course, and I would never deny anyone a moment of glory, but Facebook was awash with students posting A grades onto their status, with only a few poor souls brave enough to come online to admit to their failings. And the parents were far worse. My phone was buzzing all day with queries from other parents, curious as to how L had done. Many of course were genuinely interested in L’s wellbeing and plans for the future, which was great, but with others I soon discovered that simply saying she had done ‘well’ or even ‘very well’  wasn’t enough to keep them happy.. They wanted every detail to pick over, to analyse, in order to make a judgement on L’s abilities, those of the sixth form college she’d attended, or to help them put their own child’s results into context.

And yet, for many of the kids, whether they got an A or a B in a subject will be almost immaterial from this day on. As long as they’ve got enough qualifications to go to university if they want to, and get a step closer to achieving their dreams (whether that is to become an astrophysicist or a hairdresser), that’s all that matters.

“Shall we just lie,” I eventually suggested wickedly to L. “Lets say you’ve got five A stars.. and are a bit disappointed not to have got six. It would be much more fun.”

L, of course, is a far better person than I am, and made sure I stuck - I felt rather boringly - to the truth, but I have to admit there’s part of me that still regrets not trying it out on a few people.

So, for any of you out there with a teen doing A levels next year, I strongly recommend finding a remote holiday destination for results day and then, once you’ve ensured your child has got their results and are OK, turn off your internet and your mobile for the rest of the week. Or maybe just lie to anyone you’ve never really cared for anyway – it will be a great excuse to never see those people again. Oh, but don’t forget to post a picture of your daughter leaping off a wall, with a big smile and a results letter in hand – then it will be truly convincing.

Carole King, James Taylor, my new sister-in-law and me..

So Ad Man’s younger bro and his wife Bee came to stay this weekend.. 

Little Bro is a couple of years younger than Ad Man, at 32, and married his equally young and pretty wife Bee just last year. We only get to see them twice a year though, and then usually it’s with all the family around, so I still don’t feel I’ve had a chance to get to know Bee that well. Also Ad Man is rubbish providing me with any of the sort of details that I like to know when I meet someone.

“How old is she?”  Him:  “Um, dunno.”

Where’s she from? Him:   “Um Bedford, no, Cornwall – um dunno, really.”

“What’s she into?”  Him:  “Well, she works part-time in a surf shop”

“A surf shop..but they live in landlocked Coventry??!! Are you sure?” Him:  “Um, dunno, I think so.”

He also conveniently forgets that on Friday night he’s at some client event  – supposedly “working”, but as the 'do' is at London Zoo, it’s clearly more of a jolly than a tough business meeting. Mmmmm. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I’m home alone when Little Bro and Bee arrive.

Actually, it’s lovely. They turn up with flowers and beer (good start) and we end up settling into a comfortable evening on the sofa with a bottle of wine, and having a good chin wag. Well, Little Bro and I do, but Bee is a bit more reserved. 

Bee’s looking great in pale grey skinny jeans, a t-shirt and a little diamond nose piercing. She is also looking very fresh for a Friday night at 10pm, but then, when you’re 40-something like I am, and had a tough, busy week, EVERYONE looks fresher and younger. Still, when the topic of significant birthdays comes up, I can’t help but take the plunge and ask if it’s her thirtieth this year.

“Ha!” says little Bro, and collapses into giggles, while Bee just smiles: “I’m 26”.

“Christ!” I splutter into my wine. “Really?”

Little Bro nods smugly. The words 'cat' and 'cream' come to mind.

Twenty six? The grim facts slowly began to sink in. That makes her 10 years younger than Ad Man and 20 years younger than me! So, when she was born, I was already in my second year at university.. in fact that makes her only eight years older than my daughter. No wonder she looks fresh – she’s practically just hatched!

“Yes, you’re old enough to be her mother,” Ad Man helpfully points out in bed later, when I fill him in on the evening's events.. I just sigh mournfully. He is completely unfazed by the revelation (bless him) but for me, it puts an entirely new spin on the weekend. 

The next morning we head into Winchester, and because they’ve never been there before, we take them on a little tourist trail of its landmarks - such as Arthur’s Round Table, and the water meadows. They seem happy enough, but I’m constantly worried that Bee is bored.

 Ad Man has a press discount card for a yummy mummy type of store in the city centre but, even then, my excitement at getting 40% off beautiful floral flocks is somewhat dampened by the way Bee, in her leggings and tunic, looks such a fish out of water surrounded by the tweeds, padded gilets and cotton prints. While I’m prancing around the shop with unbridled enthusiasm, she fingers a few pieces with little interest.

“Don’t worry,” Ad Man reassures me. “She’s fine, really.”

And of course he was right. That night we light up the BBQ. It’s a beautiful evening, the bunting is fluttering above us, and the candles twinkling on the table. We have a couple of beers, and out come the guitars. .

 Little Bro is a brilliantly talented guitarist and can immediately pick out any tune, while Ad Man is happy to take the bass line. Before I know it, we are all singing along as Little Bro and Ad Man strum. I’m in my element, and seeing Bee smiling and laughing alongside me, she seems to be too. It's then that I realise that the tunes we are all singing aren’t from this decade, or even the last.. It’s old timers James Taylor and Carole King who are getting us all humming together. 

The fact that Taylor and King must be at least sixty-something these days, and substantially older than ANY of us sitting around the table, is completely irrelevant – the harmonies are still beautiful. And of course that’s all that’s important. I somehow feel that Bee and I will be fine after all.

Being a mum with a 'toyboy' and 2.5 kids - for Mumsnet

My big news this week is that Mumsnet have taken me under their maternal wing as one of their bloggers!

Our new, complicated but happy little family
(ssh, don't tell the kids I've posted this, they'd kill me!)

I feel very honoured to be there, but it also made me reflect on what I could actually offer Mumsnet readers...

I certainly don't consider myself much of a parenting expert. Some years ago I did work for Mother & Baby magazine and I once wrote a book called the First Time Parents Survival Guide - but even then I had to call in my lovely consultant paediatrician friend Cathy Hill, to edit it and ensure that I didn't suggest anything hideously unsafe or downright dangerous!

No, all I can really offer is my own experiences of bringing up my two children, who are now (rather scarily) 14 and 18 years old.. But even then, I have a sneaking suspicion that they have grown into the wonderful people that they are despite of, rather than as a result of, my input.

I've tried to do my best of course, but over the past twelve years they have had to cope with their dad leaving home, their dad coming back, their parents divorcing, living with a single, working mum,  living with a single mum who is dating a much younger man, and then seeing their mum get married for the second time (to said younger man) - plus the numerous associated house moves. It's been rather like living in a bad soap plot at times yet, somehow, they have turned into two happy, loving and sensible teenagers who are genuinely nice to have around.

Ad Man too has had a rather chequered experience of parenting (and now step-parenting) to date, but nevertheless his 12 year old son still wants to make the two hour trip down to us every other weekend, and asks to come away with us in his school holidays. Which I guess all goes to show that, despite our inevitable mistakes and anxieties (and even political pressures), you don't have to be the perfect nuclear family, living in the rose-covered cottage with the picket fence, in order to launch your children successfully into the world.

Demi juggles 'toyboy'
and children

Modern families like ours are extended, complicated and often involve greater organisational ability than the United Nations but, like the United Nations, with a shared aim of co-operation, peace and a fair respect of human rights, we somehow make it work.

So, don't come to this blog if you are hoping for expert advice on parenting. You won't find it here! But do please check in for regular rambling on the ups and downs of living with a 'toyboy' and 2.5 kids.. I can guarantee you will leave feeling happy and smug about your own much more simple, straightforward and successful family life..

Perfect parenting? The cougar is bailing out of the race...

Gossip Girl Taylor Momsen blames her parents'
ambitions for her unhappiness

In the news I see that a nine-year-old boy has climbed to 1000 feet, all alone, in a hot air balloon, setting a new world record..  A four-year-old’s art work is exhibiting in New York.. and of course we had the lovely little Ronan Parkes singing his little heart out on Britain's Got Talent. 

I should probably feel warmed by these tales of  young success. But for some reason I don't. To me, they feel like yet more evidence of the new culture of overly pushy and ambitious parenting - and I'm just not convinced that the children are, ultimately, going to thank them for it.

Of course, for anyone who wants to justify subjecting their children to an intense regime of  extra curricular music lessons, sports academies and tutoring, the recent press coverage given to Chinese parenting techniques has been heaven sent.  “Look,” they can say. “Those Chinese parents keep their children locked to a piano for three hours at a stretch. And they scream at them if they get an A-minus, and not a straight A..  If we don’t do the same, our children will clearly achieve nothing in life...”

So even more yummy mummies all over the country are now running themselves ragged, dragging their equally exhausted kids to the next session in self-improvement before coming home, collapsing on the sofa with a large glass of Chablis, and patting themselves on the back for being such good parents, and sacrificing so much time, money and energy for their children.

But somehow I sense that all the classes and coaching sessions that dominate the columns of family calendars up and down the country are not really done for our children’s benefit  and futures – but rather to increase the parents' own sense of self worth.

With so many women leaving having children until they are older and more established in their careers, new mothers these days are used to working hard at it from 9-5, and feel more at "home" in the competitive cut and thrust of the workplace, than they are at, well, home. The most ‘active’ helicopter parenting that I have witnessed has been in the more upmarket London suburbs, where the yummy mummies have left high pressured jobs in fashion/marketing/PR/finance to look after their children. Robbed of their 9-5 disciplines, and maybe feeling slightly guilty for no longer bringing in their share of the household income, they clearly feel the need to prove just how good they are at their latest project - child raising - and throw all of their time and energy into it.

In the absence of a promotion or pay rise, or a pat on the back from the boss, they now gain their rewards from climbing the ladder in the playground, and from being able to bask in the reflected glory of their children’s achievements:  “Oh, my Oscar did GCSE science in year three...  Yes, I started taking him to this wonderful tutor as soon as he was old enough to hold a test tube …”

Maybe I’m just bitter that, as a busy working mum with no nanny around to help out, I simply wasn't able to leave a meeting at 2.30 in order to ensure my daughter made it to ballet/drama/extra Latin in time.  Maybe, one day, my children will return home and berate me for the fact that they can’t speak four languages, execute a neat pas de deux, or entertain their friends with a Grade 8 piano recital? But somehow I don’t think so. They have found their own passions and talents along the way, without me pushing or even steering them in any particular direction.

And, if I need any more reassurance that a busy child isn't necessarily a happy child, a study by clinical psychiatrist Dr Levine, has found that children of affluent parents are more likely to suffer from depression and anxiety than normal teenagers. Why? Because they are struggling to please their over ambitious parents. 

So maybe my lax parenting is perfect parenting after all! All I know is that my kids seem perfectly happy – and to me that’s the main thing. And if the Chinese – or even the yummy mummies - think I’ve failed them, frankly I don’t care.

What do YOU think? Please post your comments below…