mothers on the verge

So just returned from our Thanksgiving trek to The Prince's parents house in Washington, D.C. Always nice to get away. Always nice to return to six loads of laundry, queries from editors, party invitations to make (why do I NEVER get to a printer on time!) and pre-holiday anxiety. I wish I could sum up a nice batch of life lessons like YLM did. Instead I feel like I should offer an alternative: The 12 Steps I Can Never Remember During the Holidays Until It's Too Late and I Collapse Under Piles of Tinsel: 12. Never try to impress your friends with a party. No one cares that you spent days icing 400 dozen cookies. Entenmann's (unfortunately) works just as well. 11. Think champagne cocktails. Think cheap champagne. 10. Wrapping should never cost more than the gift. When did using the comics go out of fashion? 9. Your friends will be embarrassed if you spend too much on their gifts. The babysitter will think you're cheap if you don't. 8. Groups gifts for teachers are a

It seems that something is conspiring against us ever getting the new flat finished in time. I was really organised this morning. I had a whole day of child-juggling and flat stuff purchasing scheduled, squeezed in between the weekly supermarket shop and my Dad's birthday party. It was planned with military precision. And what happens? The bloody car's brakes fail en route to Habitat. In hindsight, we were really lucky. Put it this way, if a car's brakes are to fail it's better for it to happen when you're slowing down for traffic lights in an urban area, rather than on the fast lane of the motorway at 70mph. So we call the RAC, explain what's happened and that there are two small children in the car. No problem, they say, you're on the priority list, we'll have someone out to you soon. How soon? we ask. Within two hours, they assure us. OK, so that's not exactly soon but it's manageable. Two hours later, the rare joy of being let loose in the c

So far I have managed 32 years on this planet and while I am fully aware that I am nowhere near close to achieving inner harmony and being at peace with the world, some of the experiences gathered have managed to cling on like limpets to what's left of my brain. These are what I call my Life Lessons: Life Lesson #1 Life enjoys throwing curveballs. The real test is how you manage to deal with them, or how quickly you duck. Life Lesson #2 Sometimes, resistance is futile. Don't waste energy on the things you can't change. Life Lesson #3 Don't be afraid of anger. It can be put to good use once you learn how to channel it properly. Life Lesson #4 Expensive anti-wrinkle face creams don't work. Learn to love your wrinkles - look upon them as a map of your life, your loves and your joys. They say you end up with the face you deserve so smile as much as you can manage. Life Lesson #5 It is impossible to please all the people all the time. Accept that someone, somewhere is go

So the Rabbit came down with a fever, and The Prince decided not to risk our going out. Yep, cooled my jets at home watching dust collect on the satin shoes. Oh, and launched a fairly decent row with The Prince. It's not that I desperately wanted to go to the black tie event -- wouldn't have known anyone. Raining last night. And I was worried about The Rabbit. Still, I would have liked him to offer another night out with me and my carefully created creation. What did it take for me to pull this all together? 1. Haircut and highlights (first time in 4 months...) 2. Shopping trip (see below) 3. Arranging babysitter (sounds silly, but not easy task for me) 4. Attempt to scrub inch-thick callouses off heels (backless shoes) 5. Self-manicure (I know, I know) on day The Rabbit decides to play with glitter glue What did The Prince do? Put on suit. After I told him that I was disappointed, that it took a lot of work for me to get ready he said, (drum roll please) "You need to get

I had a revolutionary day last week — went shopping for 3 hours ALONE. No Rabbit, no Prince. No deadline to get back – just me, a badly abused credit card and Century 21, the Mecca of all things discounted, designer and delightful. The occasion? The Prince and I are off to a Black Tie affair Monday night. Believe me, this is not a usual state of things. In fact, when I finally got dressed in the outfit I thought I would wear I felt I should be attending someone’s wedding. Not exactly poofy and meringuey but definitely not sleek. Which was the reason for the shopping trip. I had few expectations. Few positive ones that is — I feel that when the Rabbit was pulled from my body, my self-identity was yanked out as well. And while the Rabbit was handed over to me, I suspect they tossed whatever it was that defined me out along with the gauze pads and sterile sheets. For the last three years I have stumbled through my wardrobe. Of course many things no longer fit me – not that they’re t

FOR SALE Two small children (slightly shop-soiled) All reasonable offers considered.

Is early afternoon too early to start on the vodka shots? Because I need some form of Mommy's little helper right now, and since my doctor is one of those inconveniently modern-thinking types I'm unlikely score any legal supplies of Valium in the near future. Yep, we've just got home after a morning of consumer hell. Whatever possessed me to set foot in Waitrose on a Saturday morning I'm not sure. My only conclusion is that I am certifiably insane and my only comfort, if that is the case, is that I have a long stay in a very quiet room of my own to look forward to. And as for flat renovation shopping... all I know is that I might possibly kill anyone who even mentions the word 'porcelain' to me ever again. Imagine: pristine bathroom showroom, populated by grinning salesmen and West London's finest, not a child in sight. Then we come through the doors... one baggy-eyed wild-haired harrassed mother and two children engaged in full-volume grumbling; Firstborn

Pre and post marital sex are such different things they should come in completely separate, not sub, categories. And then there's post-children sex... an entirely different, erm, ball game.... Show me a couple who have been together for more than five years and are still having inventive sex on a regular basis and I'd bet my favorite handbag they're getting some form of external assistance; yes, I'm talking the full smorgasborg of carnal delights, the kind of stuff Channel 5 obsessively churns out tediously titillating documentaries on. Show me a couple who have been together for more than five years, have toddlers in the house, and are still having inventive sex on a regular basis and I'll eat my favorite handbag (Italian leather and very chewy, that's how sure I am about this). Let's face it, you've been with the same person for a thousand years, you know every single button to push, and you know the formula for what gets you both off in the quickest t

Again, apologies for my neglect of this blog all week. But the way things are going, I suspect that I'm going to have to turn into a weekend blogger. It's so full-on now during the week that I'm kind of surprised that I have time to sleep and eat, let alone spend much time with my poor girls. Oh, big surge of Mommy shame. I spent around ten minutes with the Small(er) One yesterday, and Firstborn's communication with me was limited to a couple of phone calls and what we've come to call tele-hugs. But they don't seem to be that distressed (unless of course they're busy repressing the emotional weight of the maternal abandonment - I'm almost certain that one day it will be fed back to me in the form of hefty shrink bills). In fact, part of me is almost offended by how accepting they are of my new-found absence for the duration of their daylight hours. And I must say that I did experience more than a small twinge of pain tonight when the Small(er) One called

A few nights ago a single girl friend came by to gab, drink wine and share some pizza. This is a friend who has known me for years -- about the time when I met The Prince, obviously before the Rabbit was born. She chatted about some parties she had been to, a few dinners, a benefit she's going to next week. None of which I attended -- nor could, I imagine because of the Rabbit, and well, my life. But I wondered, does she not think of asking me to go to these things because I am, truthfully, rarely available? "Yes. You're a mother. You're never free." I remember when I first met The Prince the cosiness of having someone to spend my evenings and weekends with was wonderful. But then again, we loved our social life too. I don't think of us as the kind of couple that would suck face when friends came by, or murmer exclusively while joining pals at a bar for a Thursday night out. Nor did we think twice of going out nights without the other. But then the rabbit appe

I have completed my first full-time week in my new job. Fun and games so far: I came face-to-face with the Negotiation Demon (an author's agent, and boy, was she a piece of work), pulled my hard-ass mask on, and won. Pat on the back for moi. (Although if I'm honest, the past few years of negotiating TV and chocolate consumption rights with Firstborn has left me more than prepared for big girl battle, at least the Demon didn't hit me or try to smear her bogies on my jeans). I made a tit of myself in front of the MD (in my defence, I was operating on diminished mental capacities, due to the Small(er) One being on sleep strike.) It was a Moment of Shame. I had a client lunch at The Ivy and didn't see one celebrity, not even a small one. I am seriously disappointed - how am I ever going to win the office celebrity spotting challenge? My multi-tasking skills have reached new heights; speed-ironing at 6am while applying mascara, locating my handbag (the girls secrete it in th

So an apology for taking so long to post....YLM is off in her land of joy and work (!) and I have been wailing away as another birthday passed making my days with a Botox appointment seem closer. Seriously, while Botox is not something I would actually consider (Why are we supposed to believe that the poison just dissipates --- dissipates WHERE?), it is hard to face another birthday. I asked the rabbit how old she thought I was, and she said; "OLD, Mama. You're old." This on top of The Prince pointing out that Ashley Olsen (I think it was her...) had "porked out." Nice. Now I have to strive to remain as anorexic as a 3rd grader. I know I should be happy just being healthy and alive and all that. But somehow I never thought I would be rethinking those proud statements I used to toss around like a casual throw: "Plastic Surgery? I love the idea of having wrinkles. They'll show I've lived!" (and lived, and lived...) Or my favorite: "I can

I've just finished the second week of my new job. I realise that my employers and I are still in the honeymoon stage, but so far, so very good. If I could have designed a work environment to my own specification, I couldn't have done much better than this. Great clients, great office, great location. A subsidised masseuse visits once every two weeks. The booze comes out every Friday at 5pm. We wear jeans. There's a roof terrace with the promise of summer barbeques. 80% of the staff smoke. I'm due to compete in the inter-office darts championships next week. We have a celeb-spotting journal. The office is known for its legendary parties. I have a brand new Rolodex and lots of nice pens to feed my stationary fetish. My desk has a name . I mean, seriously, what more could a modern woman want? But all this aside, it's the people that really do it for me. They're the most creative, educated, savvy, intelligent and irreverent group of PR people I have ever had the ple

Just wanted to throw this up: Link (And I hope the link works otherwise I'll paste it into a comment.) The intelligent people over at Forbes magazine have decided that we bloggers are a conniving group of liars. Michael Malone -- a popular powerful writer during the dot-com days -- writes a comment about the Forbes piece for ABC News. INteresting read and just thought everyone might like to see how our communities are being perceived. Disclaimer: I've written about technology for the past 10 years -- so while YLM and I are a bit new to the blogging world, we've been rooting from the sidelines for years!

Today began week two of the exhausting event known as "Tour My School." Parents line up in their best clothes and pressed smiles, and try and make a good impression on the principal so that their dear ones will be picked to play. 9 am. A school favored among the hipster parent crowd I will refer to as The Globe. Considered an alternative choice -- a small 300+ school for six grades that shares the same building with 3 other schools. The (s)mothers that show up? Dressed in black: tunics over jeans, boots, shorn heads, sneers laminated on their faces. The director (no principals here) recites her philosophy -- how children learn best by setting their own pace, creating their own challenges. How traditional schools make our little preciouses drink the "kool-aid." (Wait, I like kool-aid...) Milk crates serve as storage bins. No library to speak of, hallways doubling as work spaces. Kids store their books in zip lock bags. Post-its for book marks. (Uh, can't you at l