Skip to main content

The Guilt

It is entirely possible that I am the worst mother in the world.

Today I sent the Small(er) One to school with a runny nose, hacking cough, mild temperature and a 'hurty tummy'. And for what? Because I have a client meeting this morning, nobody else senior who knows anything about the account is around to stand in and I'm too scared of the fall-out if I call to say I can't make it into the office.

Alpha doesn't really understand why I feel so bad about this, plus the days when he could take time off for anything less than hospitalisation are stuck in an increasingly rosy past.

I totallly suck. This totally sucks. And I am getting madder and madder with both myself and the situation by the second.


Manhattan Mama said…
Hang tight. Hold on. It'll get better. You're not the worst mother. My own mother? Forgot me at school. More than once. Ok, it's not the way we imagined being mothers. But it's the best we can do. And the good will always outweigh the bad. She won't remember sniffling at school. Promise.
YLM said…
I would probably forget them if it wasn't for Wonder Nanny picking them up every day, so I'm not off the hook just yet!

I hope she won't remember. I really, really do.
Anonymous said…
She will grow up thinking that her Mother is a high-flying super woman who buys her incredibly gorgeous clothes, things, etc. instead of feeling ashamed of the drudge at home, baking crap cookies and wearing tacky home-made rags who everybody dumps on. Hang on in there and remember that they want you to look glam at all times. Worst thing in the world - kids who think you are a loser!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …