The Stonking Good Parent Awards 2008

Days, weeks (and decades, according to my mother) can pass without any sense of reward. Hence, my idea for the Stonking Good Parent Awards.

Don't get me wrong: I adore my children. Their kisses, laughter, cuddles, first steps and artistic efforts on our newly painted walls are all sources of much joy.

But neither my son or daughter arrived on this earth with a manual. In a world staggering under the sheer weight of information, it would be nice to find a scrap of paper (or screenspace) somewhere in the universe, a footnote, even, that suggests that I'm doing it all quite well, thank you, and that by (a) letting them watching TV or (b) giving them cake on their birthday or (c) ignoring tantrums, I'm not going to end up with a couple of ASBOs in ten years' time.

I mention Baby P above because, of course, part of the fuss surrounding the collapse in child protection in this case is that no one seems to be quite sure where to draw the line: does a child get whipped out the family home and placed in foster care the second a bruise materializes?

Or, in the case of Baby P, should the child protection services give the parents so much credit that it costs a young life? To what extent should social services intervene?

Things have changed in this regard - for the most part, this is a good thing. When I was a kid (we're talking the 80s here), most of my friends sprouted mysterious bruises on a regular basis (as did I).

Both my friend and I witnessed each other getting a hiding at home for no good reason. We'd never heard of social services, or any such thing as child protection, for that matter. Then again, ASBOs didn't exist then either. But in all cases, some intervention might have been a good thing.

The parenting award idea was totally tongue-in-cheek, but I wonder if some recognition of positive parenting on a national scale wouldn't go amiss? Even if only an excerpt in one of my (many) glossy parenting magazines, all of which are at pains to tell me what NOT to do - wouldn't it be nice to recognise the good stuff that takes place in many warm, loving, deliriously exhausted British homes?

Maybe I'll design my own awards and pass them on to friends on Facebook, who I know have spent most of November tending to vomiting infants and propping up their eyelids with toothpicks....