I am totally ripe for a rebrand; say goodbye to Yummy London Mummy (although I hope you understand that was always ironic) because I have turned into an undeniably Crummy Mummy.
Highlights of the week:
- I went through an entire day of meetings blissfully unaware of the bright pink 'Well Done' smiley face sticker on my shirt and the three Disney Princess stickers on my bottom. And there I was, thinking my new client was merely a bit of a perv.
- My new top-of-the-range steam generator iron broke. A catastrophe of mammoth proportions. Need I say more?
- Related to the above, Firstborn has been packed off to school every day under strict instruction to keep her cardigan on At All Times to ensure nobody spots her crinkle-effect shirts (thankfully the rest of her school uniform is 100% polyester).
- Again related to the above, I can no longer be picky with my wardrobe choices as it been narrowed down to 'crumpled' or 'not crumpled'. This has resulted in some very interesting outfits this week - may I just state that under normal circumstances I would NEVER wear those deeply-unflattering blue trousers with that equally hideous patterned shirt (and yes, I am aware it has a stain on it).
- I dropped something behind the sofa and subsequently discovered a whole new eco-system taking shape under cover of mid-blue Habitat upholstry.
- Firstborn finally brought her gym bag home from school after much nagging - the first time in TWO whole terms. I really didn't think it possible for a sweet little four-year-old to be responsible for such an odour.
- I caught sight of myself in a shop window and didn't recognise myself. And not in a good way.
- Firstborn and the Small(er)One are fascinated by my feet. Sample comments: "Mummy, why are your toes wrinkly?", "Mummy, why are these bits all yucky?", "Mummy, your feet are crusty", "Mummy, when I'm really old will my feet go all funny like yours?" Maybe it's time for an emergency pedicure.
- And the ultimate insult, Firstborn telling the Small(er) One in imagined confidence after they had both been sent to their bedroom for the crime of trying to stuff my best coat into the mop bucket; "If Mummy is mean to us then we'll just go away and live with Aunty X. She'll give us lots of treats and won't ever shout at us like yucky Mummy. We won't ever have to go to bed or go to church or do anything boring ever, ever again."
Could life get any better?