mothers on the verge

I know that there are much more important things to worry about, such as war and global warming, but since my recent birthday I have found myself fretting somewhat about my age, and more specifically, the negative effect time is having on my appearance. Yes, I am aware that vanity is not an appealing characteristic, but that’s for me to live with and you to judge me on. The sad fact is that I am now most definitely a ‘thirty-something’, and no amount of pretence and artifice is going to change that. So I have decided to become a high maintenance woman. Now, I must make it clear that high-maintenance is not something that I have had more than a passing acquaintance with. For me, going to a salon is a twice yearly event and one of those trips usually involves no more than a request for a trim (inevitably followed by tears on the way home. Why is it that a simple request for “two inches off the ends please” is interpreted as “give me a buzz cut and why not throw in a few ginger highlights...

Here's what I think: Cliques start at age 3. Sorry that would be 4 -- because that is the age of the girls who told the rabbit that she couldn't play with them on the playground at school today because she was 3. How do I know? Because she came home and told me how excited she was that she would be 4 soon and could play with her friends again. That's the pause for me trying to remember to breathe. Then another little girl told her mom that the rabbit pushed her during class. (The mom thoughtfully delivered this info to me by e-mail.) The rabbit handles aggression by whining. Still. At age 3. When she gets mad she either bursts into tears, or sits in a corner alone. And maybe happily waits until she is 4. I suppose it's possible the rabbit has started to use physical violence when I, the Prince, our friends, her three babysitters and aunt are not around. Anything is possible. I could wake up tomorrow morning the Publisher's Clearing House winner. Anything can happen....

It’s been a really hard week, both emotionally and physically. Firstborn started school on Tuesday, a big milestone by any measure. I hadn’t quite prepared myself for quite how much of an upheaval it would be. Firstborn and the Small(er) One have been at a full-time nursery since January which has worked out brilliantly; the staff are great, the location is convenient and the facilities are good. It’s not ideal – they have a long day and I always seem to be rushing from one place to another – but on the whole it’s worked out really well. But this week, things changed…big time. I arranged to work from home for the week on flexitime to fit in with Firstborn’s new school hours, which involved a major juggle for Alpha Male and I, dropping children off in two different places (at opposite ends of the Borough) then me picking them up at different times and starting to work again once they went to bad. Tricky and tiring, but not impossible. The first fly in the ointment came when Alpha Male c...

Here's what I want to know: Do these work for anyone? I am such a state of anxiousness I grabbed some book off my shelf and have started chanting these things out loud to myself like something from a Saturday Night Live skit. (This was after downing 4 scoops of ice cream in 11 minutes which did not help -- sorry Ben and Jerry's.) I know they say if you visualize positive things, they can happen. But if you repeat them out loud like some caffeinated parrot does that work too? Something tells me that's a big fat no.

That's the number of children they estimate who lost a parent on this day five years ago. Whether it's entirely accurate it doesn't matter. It's still an unfathomable loss. This morning my family listened as President Bush's motercade sped through our streets on the lower east side to have breakfast with a fire house three blocks from our apartment. This morning it was another skyscraper, this time the Empire State Building, that I watched from my window. Mercifully, the orange glow it cast was from the morning sun. Five years ago it was the Twin Towers, first smoking, then burning and finally falling that I watched from our place in Manhattan's fish market. The rabbit, I am thankful to say, will never know about this day except as a piece of history -- much like D-Day or the anniversary of Pearl Harbor meant to me growing up. But all I have to do is look up on mornings like today with the unearthly perfect blue September sky, and cotton balls of clouds gliding ...

Due to the Tiscali disaster, I am now on dial-up. A bit like being forced to quaff Cava and pretend I like it after years of Krug. 28 days and counting, and they still haven't been able to fix my line. How hard can it be? Not any harder than trying to get through to a real live human being on the Tiscali help line, I'll bet. The few times I have managed to speak to Tiscali employees I've been lied to and been given excuses for why my line is down, all along the lines of that it's 'a temporary fault'. Temporary? 28 days? Who are you trying to kid? Finally, I came close to losing it (yeah I know, I suffer from Internet dependency) and concocted a plan. An hour later, having called every number I could find for Tiscali (their website isn't exactly encouraging person-to-person contact), had the automated line hang up on me (four times!!!), threw the phone across the room in a red-hazed rage (twice) and finally having figured out that if you call the main custome...

10. She looks JUST like your husband! I don't even see you in her. Huh. Nope. 9. So...have you talked about having another? How old are you now? 8. I came home from the hospital in my regular jeans. Just one of those lucky ones. 7. Want ta trade? 6. Children do better when their mothers relax a little. 5. I've always thought pink on girls was a cliche. 4. Really? She can't write her name/read/ride a bike yet? 3. Boy, she looks nothing like you. Guess you'll have to have a second one for you! 2. Did you ever think about holding her back a year? 1. Don't worry.

Still no Tiscali, which means quick 20-second posts from work. Naughty. It was my birthday yesterday which is merely adding to my woes. Another year older and still not wiser but certainly more crinkly. Plus I'm suffering from the dreaded menstrual bloat. And I have a zit. And bikini line shaving rash (waxing being a luxury of people with time and no children/ full-time nanny). What else could possibly go wrong? Must I suffer any more? Life can be so cruel. Alpha Male, however, came up trumps and booked me in for a surprise facial and pedicure. Possibly the best birthday gift ever, although I must admit a lot of the thrill was having two hours of forced lethargy on a Sunday afternoon with no imperious demands for "jooce!" or "biccies!" to contend with. Pure Heaven. More from the dark side soon.

I'm not shunning you all. Tiscali, the total muppets, have done something nasty to our broadband and don't seem to have any answers beyond "it will be fixed sometime next week." Uh, thanks. The good news is that I don't have to be anything more than mildly irritated about the situation as Alpha Male is angry enough for both of us. Noisy emails littered with terms like "breach of contract", "I demand a refund" and "compensation" are being fired at the doubtless cowering Tiscali crew practically on the hour, every hour. I do love a man with a mission. So the posts I had lined up will have to wait until I can get back online from the comfort of my own home. Work is pretty busy right now and I doubt it will go down very well if I ignore my clients in favour of the blog, so I guess I'm in enforced time-out until next week. Have a great weekend y'all, whatever you're planning and wherever you are.

Tonight The Rabbit gagged and nearly choked on a damn princess jewel purchased at the "Princess store" in Fantasyland on a trip to Disneyland this summer. Watching her gag on a blue rock the size of Elizabeth Taylor's cocktail ring caused me to shriek and terrorize her even further. Luckily the shriek followed her spitting it out. I think I was actually not breathing as I saw her smile, pop it in her mouth, eyes go a goggle, gag twice and then cough it out. For the past year I have endulged her princess fetish. My sister sends her dress-up clothes that her eldest has outgrown-- full royal Disney attire for Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle and all the other female creatures that force me to constantly talk to her about how its "better to be strong and smart and nice than beautiful." Yeah, that sinks in while Snow White is twirping about... We're off for the weekend for a wedding so at least there will be a four-day break from the crowns and gems. It's a...

Today I'm going after the mamas who feel they need to tell me what a rotten crap head I am for not having Baby Numero Due. Let's start with the C-section No. 2 -- which, if it weren't almost certain for me (for various safety reasons that, no, have nothing to do with my being worried about peeing uncontrollably for the rest of my life) I would probably feel less stressed out about it. But the idea of getting pregnant, and knowing I have to enter an operating room, need to have another needle enter my spinal cord (paralysis anyone?), must have my body cut open, morphine IV flowing, and surgical staples planted into skin makes me very nervous. Then spend 2 weeks not able to walk well, unable to pick up my baby, and have drugs coarsing through my body while trying to nurse. Sure I can try to go without a scheduled C -- and have an emergency C should my scars, belly, uterus rip open in the midst of labor. Sounds lovely -- right? Then of course there's the whole work element...

The Prince would have said goodbye himself, but in his immortal words: "I don't need to say good-bye." I think he enjoyed this double life more than he'd care to admit, but I also think he's happy to turn the reins back over to the ladies.

A last (quick) post to say thank you to YLM and MM for letting El Príncipe and I loose on the blog. It was fun, although I don't know how you both do it week in week out - especially when bringing up kids is so exhausting. We just spent a lovely weekend with some very good friends down in the country. They are a gorgeous family, although I suspect the father might be G-A-Y. The girls had a great time being feral for a couple of days and doing things that just aren't possible in London. The only 'problem' with seeing these particular friends is that whenever we visit them I am left with an overpowering urge to leave the city and bring up my girls in a more wholesome environment. I spend the weeks following a visit looking at houses on the Interweb fantasising about country walks, fresh air, farmers' markets, farmers' daughters, log fires, big gardens, welly boots (or jelly boots as the Small(er) One calls them), and so on and so on. It eventually wears off. YLM c...

I've discovered a new form of entertainment - checking out what search terms people have put into Google to end up at our blog. Some of the most recent include: - teenage daughter still wears nappies - I think I'm having a nervous breakdown - my mother + nervous breakdown - I'm having a nervous breakdown - how to get my toddler to confide in me - PR girl - apologies to mothers - yummy mummy sex - ayun halliday + self-centred - romance mothers - mother and son porn I fear that some of the above may have been a little disappointed.... Btw, Alpha Male will be back later with his closing post. Technically his last post should have taken place yesterday but since yesterday was spent recovering from a weekend of minimal sleep (we went to stay with friends and the Small(er) One had 'difficulties' adjusting re bedtime) and maximum wine consumption he has been granted a special dispensation. Anyway, in some parts of the world it still is yesterday so I guess we can cut him s...

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...

I am furious. No, that's an understatement. I am f*cking livid. YLM took Firstborn to the temple of corporate and dietary evil. But that's not the bad bit. I mean we did get take-outs once in the 4 years since her birth but only because there was no other available alternative at the time and I only let them eat chips. No, the mortal sin was that she let Firstborn eat a hamburger. My poor, innocent child that I try to keep nutritionally pure has been polluted. And I know that the only reason YLM went there was to satisfy her own weak and depraved appetite. She sacrificed our child's safety (nutritionaly speaking) to satisfy her own selfish desires. Surely that's child abuse. Firstborn got a happy meal that inluded a cheap, brightly coloured toy. Perfectly innocent you might say. But no, that's what they want you to think. The problem now is that firstborn will begin to associate McDonalds with pleasure, with reward. We are now on the slipery slope to chilhood obesit...

I received a bill from the taxman today. Barstards! Apparently, the bill was caused by an error in the IR's computer system that overpaid me for child tax credit. Idiots! I will have to pay the half-wits but will do so with much reluctance. What really gets me is that there are no longer any tax allowances for parents. Give us a break! We have less disposable income than people without children and receive no credit for the benefits that we are bringing to society. My annual childcare costs are equivalent to a reasonable pre-tax salary for a young single person. They make me so angry with their going out and having fun all the time while I sit at home cursing the price of babysitters and watching yet more repeats of Friends on the idiot box. Provided my children do not become hardened criminals - they do act like terrorists a lot of the time so its too early to say with total conviction - they should grow up to become tomorrow's doctors or lawyers and hopefully contribute to s...

The glorified dildoes are in full control of the blog this week. Can you just feel the groundswell among the MILF cognoscenti? I'm told that my heartfelt post--the one about kid 2--contained at least one self-centered, thoughtless observation. I described the upside of further procreation as follows: "A few years of discomfort and zero sex=a real family life with two sing-song voices little voices, another round of ballet recitals" etc. etc. To which Manhattan Mama was inspired to send this off-blog communication: "... have to add that it's more than a few years of discomfort. It's also more permanent stretch marks, weight gain, scars, needles in the spinal cord, surgery, enormous nursing bras--for some of us." No dispute on the accuracy of the "zero sex" aspect, btw. All true on her end of childbirth, I have to say. But it sounds like MM forgot this blog isn't really about her this week.

Sorry to butt in on your week of blog heaven boys, I know MM and I promised to keep away. We seem to be experiencing some technical problems with comment posting - in other words, it's up the creek. We are trying to figure out exactly what's going on - until then, please feel free to email us your comments and we will post them on the blog until the glitch is fixed. Hope you're enjoying the inner workings of our other halves. Just think, you only have to experience it for a week but we're looking at a lifetime...

I fear for the future of one half of the human race. Men's traditional role as sperm and money bank is under attack from all sides (although I'm sure you can guess which of my accounts gets the most use these days) and our place in society is looking more and more tenuous. Many err factors are conspiring so that within a couple of generations we will be on the trash heap just like last seasons' shoes or handbag. Whilst there may be a residual role for men as glorified dildoes - not needing batteries we are more environmentally friendly and cheaper if you discount the cost of beer - many of us won't meet the grade and will be cast out into the wilderness of celibacy and ginger birds. Gays will probably thrive as women will still need arm candy and someone to bore with stories of shopping, relationships (if such things still exist) and how their best friend is such a bitch etc. So what's feeding my paranoia? 1. Women can now fertilise their eggs and 'conceive'...