mothers on the verge

YLM is off to Venice -- I believe as I write this, until late Sunday night and sends her apologies that she won't be bloggin' for a few days. I too am off, this time to the Hamptons (Hamptonians as the prince likes to call it) for a couple of days and will be back online Monday morning with more tales to tell. Happy Fourth of July to all those in Americana land. And to the rest -- Happy weekend!

The Rabbit started her first day of summer school yesterday. We walked her over -- me, The Prince and the Rabbit, to her class, and saw many of the kidlets that had been in regular school during the year. Most of the children though are of the group I don't know that well -- the ones with the arty mamas, the mamas with shaved heads, black clothes, emaciated frames. The ones that love to snub. Let's get some background here though -- Although during college I followed the straight and narrow, majoring in science, a pre-med geek through and through, somewhere during my second year I "freaked out" as the rabbit would put it, and shipped myself from Cali to Gotham where I enrolled in a fairly well-known film school and yes, shaved my head, took to wearing black all the time, and became a slightly emaciated, self-described "artist." I spent my early twenties working in the "business" and thought myself somewhat cool.(Cue the snickers.) While it didn...

Today was a very, very special day. Why? Because I spent nearly two hours of sheer heaven at the Bliss spa . The number of times I have managed to sneak off for treatment in the time since my children were born can be counted on one (raggedy-cuticled) hand. I dimly recall having a pedicure last summer, the time before that, who knows? My last facial was three years ago (a birthday gift from a very kind friend) and my last professional wax was in honour of getting married - and that was a legitimate wedding expense; having lovely smooth legs put me in a better mood about my fat arse, since I was five months pregnant at the time and had been eating for three. I would love to be high-maintenance. I would love to look glossy at all times and smooth all over. I dream about spending days at a spa, being pummled and intensively moisturised, my cellulite wrapped into submission, my bottom sandpapered (if it's good enough for Liz Hurley...), my cuticles tamed, my crows-feet bullied, my pore...

1. When bike riders and peds bark, "Excuse me!" as you knock into them with your puke-stained stroller, don't even turn your head. It makes them think you can be intimidated -- or give a shit. 2. Take your rabbit everywhere -- but remove her within nanoseconds of a melt-down. (Even Manhattan Mama's hate bratty rabbits). 3. Do not pay the nanny to stand in line over-night for a top spot at a competitive nursery school. For God's sake wait until kindergarten. 4. Get your Rabbit acquainted with 2-3 cafe's in your neighborhood. Tell her this is Mama's playroom. 5. Rabbits in designer baby clothes grow up to be Plum Sykes. Avoid. 6. Mama's who ramble endlessly about homeschooling/organic blueberries/the wonders of their Brooklyn Brownstone may be (s)mothers in disguise. Run. 7. Adults who ask what your rabbit's name is, deserve getting a tongue stuck out at them. Do not apologize. This is Gotham. Give out our name???? 8. Take-out noodles count as dinner...

Firstborn is on the cusp of turning four and with this milestone in sight, has suddenly morphed into a cross between Vicky Pollard and Lou (American viewers, click here .) Trying to get Firstborn up in the morning is like raising the Titanic. Getting her into the bath prompts fits of hysteria, and getting her out of the bath prompts fits of hysteria. Breakfast is a battleground sparked by the porridge vs Cheerios quandary (the favoured dish changes on a daily basis and often halfway through eating). Every request, from asking her to pick up the toys covering every inch of floor to putting her pyjamas on, is met with "yes but, no but". Today's excuse for not putting her pens away was; "But Mummy I can't help you. If I help you I will die." "Die?" "Yes, Mummy, it's true. I will die and you will cry and cry for a thousand years." I mean, good Lord, what exactly are they teaching her at nursery school? Winding Your Parents Up (Advanced d...

So I got hit with the Rabbit's terrible virus--hence my lack of posting here. Still sick actually. But that's not why I am really writing about. What I want to know is after 3 days of barely eating toast and drinking 40 gallons of tea, WHY ARE MY PANTS TIGHTER? I mean, not to drag down the wonderful topics that YLM has been scribing about, but really, Can anyone explain this to me??? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone?

It took two years to conceive Firstborn. Two tearful years of worry and paranoia and dissapointment and tests and indifferent doctors to whom I was just another statistic, another stroppy patient sick of being stuck with needles and sucked of blood, probed and prodded and once, dye pushed into my fallopian tubes with such force I was sick on the nurse's shoes; she looked at me with barely disguised distain and said, "People don't usually respond so badly to this proceedure, it is just routine you know" - like maybe I did it on purpose, like maybe my body was being a drama queen. A year after all the probings, a year of trying to explain that there was no point testing my hormone levels based on the cycle of 'normal' women since in this respect I am far from 'normal', a hatchet faced specialist told me I would never have children naturally, I wasn't ovulating, and by the way I had polycystic ovaries. She then told me IVF was my only option but the w...

The Small(er) One is on sleep strike and I am re-enacting The Night of the Living Dead. Last night she wailed and whined and screamed and yelled pitifully for rescue, starting with a plaintive plea of "Mummy! 'Elp me!", then running through all the names of family members she could remember, and finally ending with "Teddy!" Ignoring a seemingly desperate child is a tough call (although if I recall, we were fairly stern with Firstborn; maybe the guilt of working full-time is chipping away at my resilience). The Small(er) One worked herself up to the kind of blood curdling screams worthy of a Hammer Horror, resulting in Firstborn racing into our bedroom with her hands over ears and shouting "Make it stop!", at which point lying in bed gritting our teeth and hoping she would cry herself out seemed like an exercise in S&M (trust me, a gimp suit would have been more relaxing). Alpha Male and I ended up clinging to the sides of our bed for the rest of th...

It's been a month of obsession. In fact, I've been ricocheting between obsessions like a faulty yo-yo. I've been work-obsessed, vanity-obsessed, kid's party-obsessed, and then I turned into Militant Mama (yep, the Net Neutrality issue). Right now, it's the start of the weekend and the sun is shining so I'm planning on chilling out a bit and becoming reading obsessed. I've just finished re-reading Jay MacInerney's 'Story Of My Life', which was as good as I remembered, and am anticipating plunging into Douglas Coupland's new (doubtless) work of genius, 'Jpod', which came out in the US last month and in the UK last week. You can get a taste of it here .

Five screenings of Totoro in 50 hours. Now we're both reciting complete lines.... We're currently in the middle of viewing No. 5. The rabbit is naked, with a barrette, eating pizza, sauce covering her face, shouting, "Hurry Mei! It's going to rain!" She NEEDS to go to school tomorrow.

Well, the glorious morning arrived to take off for Fire Island and the rabbit came down with Hand, Foot and Mouth virus -- something I believed only sheep in the UK could get. At least this was the only other time -- and the only living thing -- that I had heard of having it before the pediatrician diagnosed it on Monday. (I thought he was joking and laughed...which was not appreciated) She's got little blisters on yes, the aforementioned areas, and has a terrible sore throat. We're quarantined inside basically and since Monday morning have watched: 5 movies (including 3 viewing of My Neighbor Totoro) Eaten 2 ice cream cones Done two "projects" (made princess crowns and a night-light) Taken several naps (wow, did I need those) Applied more than a dozen princess band-aids I feel awful for the boo -- and have to wonder....is there something going on here? D/Hate nights cancelled, beach excursions thwarted....have to think someone is actually listening to my rants and se...

I've been reading about how the big US telcos are trying, and in some cases have succeeded, to make web companies pay for premium services - a kind of 'two-tier' internet - which, to put it simply, will make paying sites download faster than that of the competition. The end result is that even if you are paying for a high-speed connection at home, you will only be able to easily access those sites willing or able to pay off the telco companies. Basically, the Internet right now is like your local high street was twenty years ago - full of character, diversity and independent businesses able to make a fair living - but if the telco boys are allowed to have their wicked way, the Internet will become the featureless, plastic facade that your high street is today - where big business dictates how and when you consume, limiting your choices to what they stock on their shelves. And if you don't take the path of least resistance and put up with your choices being limited, your...

I am in a party-planning frenzy. I am also trying not to be sucked into a vortex of party one-upmanship that seems to be the vogue in the particular part of London in which we reside. The nursery my daughters go to is in a wealthy area (needless to say we have to drive to get there). As a result the other kids have stay-at-home super-groomed mothers who enjoy the luxury of at the very least part-time nannies as well as private nursery sessions - who somehow manage to fit in sourcing this year's hot entertainer and must-have kiddy party venue with their gruelling mani, pedi and blow-dry schedules (bitter? moi? never!) Firstborn is set the reach the four year milestone at the end of this month. So far this year she has been invited to four different parties, all of which were graced by some form of party entertainer (one balloon contortionist, two magicians and one bloke in a Barney costume), enormous organic birthday cakes, balloon contortionists and the hire of kiddy-heaven play ce...

The sun has finally made an appearance in London. I travel to work with my nose stuffed into a fat man's armpit on a daily basis, the office is an oven and I am having to suffer the sudden appearance of grey-white hairy man-toes everywhere (guys, having a pedicure does not compromise your masculinity, OK? ) I'm starting to come round to MM's way of thinking about summer. No, I don't have to run the gauntlet of sitting next to a (argghhh) model on the beach, which makes me feel reasonably fortunate in comparision, but my confidence is starting to suffer under the onslaught of young firm flesh on display. I am having a serious case of tanned-legs-and-taut-tummy envy. And what's even worse, what makes me want to weep with jealousy, are the girls prancing about in skimpy vest tops with not a hint of bra in sight - surely they can't all have had boob jobs? I don't think that mine have ever been that pert, even when I was a teenager. The boob thing is a bit of ...

Summer is fast approaching, and unlike YLM, I do not view this time of year with any kind of giggle or joy. No, to me summer is a hot, humid, stink-hole I am forced to suffer through all the while wrapping myself in my uniform of black -- albeit black short sleeves -- and count the miserable weeks until fall tumbles forward. Which is why I am actually dreading what should be a lovely invitation that came my way last week -- three days with another mom and her daughter (whom the Rabbit adores) on Fire Island. Three days on the beach, in the sun, reading books on the sand with another mum who is fun and funny....it sounds like hell. First, I am pale. Not Scarlett Johannson pale. Albino pale. The kind of pale that people stare at your legs and go, 'God, is something wrong?' That kind of pale. And that brings with it all sorts of sun issues like burning. We're talking sunburns the color of cherry tomatoes that appear within 30 minutes. Then there's the whole beach thing. Si...

I spent most of this weekend in a hospital, which only served to confirm that while hospitals are obviously essential, they are remarkably depressing places. My stepfather had a stroke last Friday. Or at least, he had a 'suspected' stroke - since the UK medical profession is increasingly fearful of litigation they seem disinclined to fix a firm diagnosis on to anything except death (which in most cases one would assume to be fairly conclusive). Stepdad came pretty close such a conclusion on Sunday morning when he had a huge fit and stopped breathing, necessitating an induced coma and much lighting of candles at Mass that day (Firstborn: "Dear Lord, Grandad M will be a good boy and eat his peas and carrots all up so please make his head not hurty any more. Amen"). Stepdad was in a hospital in Cornwall, so I left the kids with Alpha Male and took the train down. By this point Stepdad had been in the hospital for over a week and while his condition was improving, he was ...