Dubai stereotypes: The Slummy Mummy

Slummy Mummy looks quite normal from the outside. You'd never know her shameful secret just by looking at her. But shameful it is, for Slummy Mummy is a bit of a slob with a range of shockingly bad habits.

SM has been known to wear her nightie for the school drop-off (cunningly disguised with a big cardi in the cooler months), and she lives in fear of being subject to a rogue gust of wind due to the aged state of her underwear.

Common SM tricks are to colour in scuffed school shoes with a black permanent marker (she keeps one in her car for this very purpose), bash shop-bought cakes with a rolling pin to make them look home-made (always useful for last-minute bake sales), 'forget' to take her make-up off before bed so she doesn't have to bother to reapply in the morning (a q-tip and a spot of make-up remover makes quick work of panda-eye smudges) , and recycle the less appealing gifts received on her kid's birthdays for the endless stream of parties throughout the school year (yes, that is why she gave your 10-year-old that Dora the Explorer DVD box set last year).

Slummy Mummy's (SM) natural habitat is in the alley behind school just before pick-up, puffing away on an illicit ciggie; her handbag is stuffed full of things designed to hide the evidence, primarily teeth-whitening mints, breath spray and strong perfume, and her big worry is being outed by one of the cleaner-living mums who tut at her as they saunter past. Thursday afternoons are invariably spent on a mass playdate, otherwise known as 'Grape Thursday', where the mummies quaff a range of robust 'spritzers' while fondly watching the kiddies belt each other with whatever garden implements are closest to hand.

Most likely to say: "Anyone up for a play date this Thursday? I found a great cheeky little red at MMI over the weekend, it'll go beautifully with Kettle Chips."
Least likely to say: "Phew. I'm shattered after my 10k run this morning! Just off to cross-reference my filing cabinet."

Bill Cosby: "...there’s a building, and it sits downtown ... and it’s called the public library.

Just a recent interview I finished. Love Bill Cosby championing public libraries. We need more.

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The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

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It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...

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mothers on the verge

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