There's not much comfort in knowing you're not alone as you stare at the big fat minus sign on your bank statement.
That minus sign comes in front of a figure that is getting steadily bigger because of the vast sums of money we pay for childcare. For the last four months we've had to cough up more than a thousand pounds for three days childcare for two kids. That's way more than our mortgage. It's more than many people's yearly wage. So it's hardly surprising that we, together with a quarter of working parents surveyed by the Daycare Trust and Save the Children (see here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-14806886) are having to cope with increasing levels of debt incurred just so we can work.
Let's break down the figures. Our eldest has just this month started getting 15 hours free childcare. We'll still pay out about £800 a month for him and our nine month-old. This year, before tax, my partner and I will between us have to earn about £15,000 in order that both of us can work. That's about a quarter of our joint income. And god help anyone trying to pay for childcare on their own. There is some financial help if you're on a lower income, but the Daycare Trust says that "a quarter of low-income parents said they had given up work and a third had turned down work because of childcare costs. More than half (58%) of these families said they were no better off working and paying for childcare."
We don't have the option of giving up work - we are better off after paying for childcare and we need that money. But I did the sums yesterday, and even with the subsidy, now we've had a second baby, we're going to be between £250-£350 a month short.
It's frightening to think that you can be on a very respectable joint income (which takes you just outside the bracket for any tax credits), and have structural debt built into your monthly budget. I monitor this minutely and regularly for slack, without finding anything approaching a saving that would amount to £3000-£4000 a year.
There'll be no additional state help, clearly, to make trying to earn a living less expensive. So we'll just have to find more work. No problem. There's loads of it around.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Friday, 2 September 2011
Twitter angst
Twitter is making me feel inadequate. There. Said it. Having signed up somewhat belatedly I've found that I love it, and at times am glued to it, but I do sometimes feel like I can't quite cut it with the rest of the Twitterati.
How do all these people find the time to scan, read and analyse the world's websites, academic journals, policy papers and acts of parliament, then tweet all day about the nuggets of fascinating info they've gleaned - and still hold down a job?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not scoffing. I'm admiring and grateful and I've learned a lot by clicking on all those links. But it's as much as I can do to get my two small monsters to the childminder of a morning, clear up the crap left over from breakfast, write whatever I've got to file soonest and grab a quick kip to make up for the broken nights I thought we might have been done with at nine months, Baby M....
I tweet the odd feature I've written, or, more often, comment on something in the news that has hacked me off or made me grin. Hell, I told the world about my first hot chocolate of autumn the other day. (A low point in my Twitter career to date.)
But I'll have to hold off tweeting my personal analysis of the education revolution hitting our country until I've interviewed two academics, transcribed what they've said, written up the article, washed the baby's bottles, pitched another couple of ideas to an editor who probably won't have the space to run them even if they're any good, tried them elsewhere to other editors who don't have any money to run them even if they've got the space, had a consoling cup of tea, constructed a conference programme, designed a training course, paid the childminder, picked up the kids....
Mmm, yeah. That analysis... it won't happen, will it? Guess I'll just have to keep clicking on other people's Twitter links and pop on a bit of lipstick to bolster my self-esteem.
How do all these people find the time to scan, read and analyse the world's websites, academic journals, policy papers and acts of parliament, then tweet all day about the nuggets of fascinating info they've gleaned - and still hold down a job?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not scoffing. I'm admiring and grateful and I've learned a lot by clicking on all those links. But it's as much as I can do to get my two small monsters to the childminder of a morning, clear up the crap left over from breakfast, write whatever I've got to file soonest and grab a quick kip to make up for the broken nights I thought we might have been done with at nine months, Baby M....
I tweet the odd feature I've written, or, more often, comment on something in the news that has hacked me off or made me grin. Hell, I told the world about my first hot chocolate of autumn the other day. (A low point in my Twitter career to date.)
But I'll have to hold off tweeting my personal analysis of the education revolution hitting our country until I've interviewed two academics, transcribed what they've said, written up the article, washed the baby's bottles, pitched another couple of ideas to an editor who probably won't have the space to run them even if they're any good, tried them elsewhere to other editors who don't have any money to run them even if they've got the space, had a consoling cup of tea, constructed a conference programme, designed a training course, paid the childminder, picked up the kids....
Mmm, yeah. That analysis... it won't happen, will it? Guess I'll just have to keep clicking on other people's Twitter links and pop on a bit of lipstick to bolster my self-esteem.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
On staying alive
There'll be some ecstatic teenagers glowing over their A-level results today. And there'll be others feeling desolate.
Horrifyingly, there'll be a very few who believe they've failed utterly and will - just typing the words makes me shaky - decide it's not worth going on with what, at this moment, they can't see are their unbelievably precious and full-of-potential young lives.
I didn't get the grades I thought I would. I also didn't get the place at drama school I tried so hard for, nor, three years later, the degree result I'd thought was a foregone conclusion. A series of small, and not so small, devastations.
This is just a little post to say to anyone whose world has caved in and who thinks there is no way past the feelings of humiliation and inadequacy - you can have a fantastic future. You don't have to believe it, you just have to stay alive to give that future a chance.
This quote was pinned above my desk for many years:
"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan, 'press on' has solved, and always will solve, the problems of the human race."
Calvin Coolidge
It's spot on. Resilience is all.
Horrifyingly, there'll be a very few who believe they've failed utterly and will - just typing the words makes me shaky - decide it's not worth going on with what, at this moment, they can't see are their unbelievably precious and full-of-potential young lives.
I didn't get the grades I thought I would. I also didn't get the place at drama school I tried so hard for, nor, three years later, the degree result I'd thought was a foregone conclusion. A series of small, and not so small, devastations.
This is just a little post to say to anyone whose world has caved in and who thinks there is no way past the feelings of humiliation and inadequacy - you can have a fantastic future. You don't have to believe it, you just have to stay alive to give that future a chance.
This quote was pinned above my desk for many years:
"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan, 'press on' has solved, and always will solve, the problems of the human race."
Calvin Coolidge
It's spot on. Resilience is all.
Monday, 8 August 2011
How not to work from home
I've just placed an ad in our post office window. It requests - well, begs - any kindly person in my village with a room going spare to rent it to me one day a week. This is because attempting to work from my attic office with a three year-old beating on the door wailing hysterically "where's my mummy?" is not going to result in any kind of income worth speaking of. It may also, if it carries on, lead to the breakdown of my relationship and/or me rapidly going out of my mind.
The alternative to this scenario has so far been to boot my partner and our two small monsters out of the house for as long as he and they can take. Understandably, he's not that keen on this, particularly given all the accoutrements required to service the demands of a baby and a toddler for the duration of what I am desperately trying to make an eight hour working Monday.
The other alternative is that I get out. I've tried working from cafes. I've perched myself and laptop at a hotdesking place near where we live. I once decamped to a friend's house. It's always been a bit of a disaster. Great for eating muffins. Pants for filing copy.
I base myself at home because I've found I can't effectively function from an office - or indeed anywhere I can't pootle and faff and have a snooze when I get stressed/overwhelmed/fed up. I need to pootle and faff. Make tea. Make more tea. Faff some more. It looks aimless. In fact to anyone else it probably looks mindless. But it works for me. It just doesn't work when you have your kids at home one day a week.
Hence, last Monday, a ferocious row. Which of us would be banished this time? In the end, in a stinking temper, I flung myself out of the house. And got about a third of my work done.
Do the same thing, get the same result.... it's coming autumn, the smalls can't spend every waking hour out in the snow and ice.... a proper solution has to be found. A garden office would be perfect, but would also cost around £15K, so that's not a goer.
What I'm hoping is that someone round this neck of the woods can't wait to rent me a tastefully decorated, wifi-enabled, be-kettled and sofa-enhanced room of my own. I've had no responses to my advert yet, weirdly. Still, it's only been a few hours. Doubtless the offers will soon be pouring in.
The alternative to this scenario has so far been to boot my partner and our two small monsters out of the house for as long as he and they can take. Understandably, he's not that keen on this, particularly given all the accoutrements required to service the demands of a baby and a toddler for the duration of what I am desperately trying to make an eight hour working Monday.
The other alternative is that I get out. I've tried working from cafes. I've perched myself and laptop at a hotdesking place near where we live. I once decamped to a friend's house. It's always been a bit of a disaster. Great for eating muffins. Pants for filing copy.
I base myself at home because I've found I can't effectively function from an office - or indeed anywhere I can't pootle and faff and have a snooze when I get stressed/overwhelmed/fed up. I need to pootle and faff. Make tea. Make more tea. Faff some more. It looks aimless. In fact to anyone else it probably looks mindless. But it works for me. It just doesn't work when you have your kids at home one day a week.
Hence, last Monday, a ferocious row. Which of us would be banished this time? In the end, in a stinking temper, I flung myself out of the house. And got about a third of my work done.
Do the same thing, get the same result.... it's coming autumn, the smalls can't spend every waking hour out in the snow and ice.... a proper solution has to be found. A garden office would be perfect, but would also cost around £15K, so that's not a goer.
What I'm hoping is that someone round this neck of the woods can't wait to rent me a tastefully decorated, wifi-enabled, be-kettled and sofa-enhanced room of my own. I've had no responses to my advert yet, weirdly. Still, it's only been a few hours. Doubtless the offers will soon be pouring in.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Who does the school run?
Apparently Nick Clegg is "killing himself" to take his children to school in the morning. But he does at least make the effort. I've just listened to a conversation on BBC Woman's Hour with an Express journalist idiotically suggesting that if people want a highflying career, they'll have to give certain things up, like, um, spending an hour at the start of the day with their kids.
What a depressingly uncreative mindset. There have got to be ways of managing your work to ensure that your children - surely the most important thing in your life - feel you're participating in the structure of theirs.
Negotiate your hours with your bosses. Don't ask, don't get. Nobody's pretending it's easy asking a reluctant boss to be flexible, but it's certainly becoming more acceptable, even if not to numpties like Express woman. I interviewed a chief exec of a major charity a few years ago who said she'd just appointed a senior manager - a man - who had made it a condition of his accepting the appointment that he could take his children to school on certain days and pick them up on others. She wanted him, so she said yes.
My partner goes into work early one day a week so he can pick our two up from the childminder. I do it two days a week, he does it once. It means I can work late or do a long day out on a story.
Before even having a baby we both decided to work four days a week so we would have them in childcare for fewer days than they're with us. We take a financial hit, but it means we spend proper time - exhilarating, frustrating, amusing, knackering time - with our kids.
Could we be more, er, highflying than we are? Weeeell, possibly... ! If we didn't have small children, there'd be more freedom to do exciting assignments abroad, travel for work, attend events that would help us network. But we don't do too badly - I write for national publications and have multiple deadlines weekly. My partner works for a wildife magazine and is in the same situation.
The point is that it wouldn't work if we didn't share the load pretty equally. And that means that we both do stuff like the childminder-run, bed-time, bath-time, doctors appointments and taking time off when one of the children is poorly. Over three years we've rethought and renegotiated the way we do our work to make that possible.
It's not perfect - in fact at times it's very stressful. It takes a lot of goodwill from each of us, a small adjustment on the part of my partner's work, and some careful diarising. To help us and parents like us, it's absolutely vital that people like Nick Clegg continue to demonstrate that with considerable commitment, having time for your kids is doable at (almost!) the very top of the career ladder.
What a depressingly uncreative mindset. There have got to be ways of managing your work to ensure that your children - surely the most important thing in your life - feel you're participating in the structure of theirs.
Negotiate your hours with your bosses. Don't ask, don't get. Nobody's pretending it's easy asking a reluctant boss to be flexible, but it's certainly becoming more acceptable, even if not to numpties like Express woman. I interviewed a chief exec of a major charity a few years ago who said she'd just appointed a senior manager - a man - who had made it a condition of his accepting the appointment that he could take his children to school on certain days and pick them up on others. She wanted him, so she said yes.
My partner goes into work early one day a week so he can pick our two up from the childminder. I do it two days a week, he does it once. It means I can work late or do a long day out on a story.
Before even having a baby we both decided to work four days a week so we would have them in childcare for fewer days than they're with us. We take a financial hit, but it means we spend proper time - exhilarating, frustrating, amusing, knackering time - with our kids.
Could we be more, er, highflying than we are? Weeeell, possibly... ! If we didn't have small children, there'd be more freedom to do exciting assignments abroad, travel for work, attend events that would help us network. But we don't do too badly - I write for national publications and have multiple deadlines weekly. My partner works for a wildife magazine and is in the same situation.
The point is that it wouldn't work if we didn't share the load pretty equally. And that means that we both do stuff like the childminder-run, bed-time, bath-time, doctors appointments and taking time off when one of the children is poorly. Over three years we've rethought and renegotiated the way we do our work to make that possible.
It's not perfect - in fact at times it's very stressful. It takes a lot of goodwill from each of us, a small adjustment on the part of my partner's work, and some careful diarising. To help us and parents like us, it's absolutely vital that people like Nick Clegg continue to demonstrate that with considerable commitment, having time for your kids is doable at (almost!) the very top of the career ladder.
Monday, 18 July 2011
Chocolate buttons
There is a special place in hell for mummies who eat their toddlers' chocolate buttons. Especially when they have been promised as potty training treats.
There are no more chocolate buttons in our house right now, and the potty trainee is due back any minute. Nothing but chocolate buttons will do, I know this already. So I might as well stop prevaricating and get my nasty chocolate button thieving self down to the post office sharpish.
There are no more chocolate buttons in our house right now, and the potty trainee is due back any minute. Nothing but chocolate buttons will do, I know this already. So I might as well stop prevaricating and get my nasty chocolate button thieving self down to the post office sharpish.
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