Sussex columnist: What my kids have learned from children's TV show Bluey – and why Chilli and Bandit are my parenting heroes

If you’re not familiar with the show, please watch it. Even if you don’t have young children, you could do way worse than Bandit and Chilli Healer to teach you some great life lessons.

And then there’s its oh-so-realistic portrayal of life as a parent (from kids needing an ill-timed wee when you’re out to being too tired to play with them). And I dare you not to shed a tear in the Sleepytime episode, which looks at you being your children’s whole world. I could blub just thinking about it.

But I digress, the reason I mentioned Bluey is because it’s where my two children learned about The Please Face. And much as I love the programme – and I really do love it – The Please Face has come to be the bane of my life.

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For the uninitiated, The Please Face is used by headline character Bluey (a six-year-old blue dog – just go with it) and her sister Bingo to get what they want from their parents.

The Please Face involves big, watery eyes and has been ramped up by my children to include a trembling bottom lip, too.

Say no to anything in my house (and if you read last week’s column, you’ll know I have to say no quite a lot) and you’ll usually find The Please Face is employed.

“Please can I have some sweets?” one child might ask.

"Sorry, no, you’ve already had a treat today,” will likely come as my, as I see it, reasonable reply.

Cue child’s face bearing cute, giant eyes and a pleading look worthy of any of the most adorable cartoon characters ever drawn.

Saying no is hard enough, but it’s practically impossible when you’re faced with a face that pulls on every heartstring.

If I do manage to hold fast, said child will typically call for backup.

"Quick, help me do The Please Face” they’ll urge their sibling.

With the aid of their newly recruited reinforcement, they’ll stand in line, flanking any possible escape route I might have.

For extra The Please Face gusto, it has even been known for there to be a small, whimpering sound added.

It’s the sweetest, funniest thing you’ll ever see. And they know it.

I have resolve, but in sight of The Please Face it fades. Fast.

So, sometimes, sweets are administered when sheets should have stayed in the cupboard.

And bedtimes become later when you vowed tonight would be the night they’d be in bed on time.

Should I let them know The Please Face works? Of course not, but it’s hard to hide my smiles when it makes an appearance.

And if knowing that a super cute face is the way to my heart means they’ll keep doing it for a little while longer, then that’s ok with me.

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– ​In a total change of subject, why do jar manufacturers hate me so much?

My strength doesn’t rival The Rock’s (because, whose does?) but I like to think I’m a pretty average person, strength-wise. But, 99 per cent of the time, I find opening glass jars pretty much impossible.

When I was making tea for the kids the other night, a jar of Mrs Elswood’s gherkins were on the menu as a side dish (don’t ask, my children are weird), but could I open the bloomin’ thing? Course not!

I sent an SOS to a chat group including our good friends Tom and Bex. It was suggested Tom would come round on his way home from work to do it for me, but a combination of shame mixed with determination to do it myself saw me politely decline.

Tea towels, soaking the lid in hot water… nothing was working. Until Bex remembered Sharleen Spiteri of Texas fame. She’d recently randomly seen a video of Sharleen offering a lid-opening ‘hack’.

“Hit it with a wooden spoon”, Bex urged me. Fearing a wind-up, I was reluctant, but with ever-fervent calls for pickled goods from the dining table, I thought ‘what have I got to lose?’.

One strike. Nothing. Two. Still welded on. Three. I’m about to give up. A fourth. More out of frustration than expectation...

I try the lid. It feels like it’s giving. Am I really doing this? I am! It’s open. Hooray!

Was it coincidence, or is there really something to this wooden spoon jiggery-pokery?

We might never know. But what we do know is that Sharleen, by way of my good friend Bex, saved dinner time.