mothers on the verge

Is anyone else also starting to feel that fashion is becoming impossible for a still vaguely youthful thirty-something to pull off without looking utterly ridiculous? The faux peasant look I could cope with. 70s retro - fabulous. 50s prom queen - difficult with a flat chest and no waist to speak of but not insurmountable. The tunic top and skinny jeans thing - lovely low maintenance and even my stumpy little legs can (just about) cope with it. But what's with this nu-rave and 80's fabulous nonsense? It's like I'm stuck in a teenage time warp and it wasn't any great shakes the first time around. Neon coloured Katherine Hamnett -style logo tee's? With clashing leggings? The Aceeed smiley face as a logo of choice? Puffball and ra - ra skirts? Give me a break. And scarier still, I keep spotting the hair style of desire for my 12-year-old self - the rat's tail (which thankfully my parents, who I thought were so mean and square at the time, refused to allow on

Happy fifth birthday Firstborn!

In honor of the temperatures finally (horribly) rolling into the 90s, I am taking the scary horrors known as my feet to a salon for a pedicure aptly tagged "The Works." I am not normally fond of shoes that show the toes. They always look fine on other people, but I often think my feet should be covered -- unless I am barefoot in the park, on the beach, etc. But on the street of Gotham? No thank you. However this year I have decided that I may try and give them some air -- and stave off the ghastly smell that tends to permeate most of my shoes by the end of August. So I bought a little silver pair of sandals, and am off to have my creatures buffed, waxed, peeled and shined. Let's see if The Works, works.

Sometimes when The Prince is working late I let the Rabbit have a "picnic dinner" which means we eat dinner in the living room and watch a movie. Tonight, dinner included some baby carrots. I get that some food items are prone to crumbs -- bread & butter, cookies, crackers. But carrots? A neat little pile of well, orange crumbs, now sits under her chair. Lovely.

I am in the midst of a dilemma. Admittedly, it's not much of a dilemma in the great scheme of things, nor is it causing me much in the way of sleepless nights (that honour goes to Alpha's snoring alongside the noctural adventures of the Small(er) One) but it is a dilemma nontheless. It's about jeans, you see. For years now I have been quite happy with basic Gap jeans. They are fairly cheap, come in a bigger range of styles, colours and sizes than anywhere else I can think of on the high street, and there are Gap stores everywhere, making a new purchase simple and fast. But recently my head is slowly but irreversibly being turned by all those swanky so-called designer jeans that have landed with a bang over the past few years - Seven, Citizens Of Humanity, True Religion, Sass & Bide, J Brand... ooh the list goes on and on and on... But the problem is that the very idea of paying between £150 and £200 for a pair of jeans seems somewhat decadent. There is, I think, someth

I pick the Rabbit up from school today -- last day. She comes running across the playground, tears streaming down her face, and falls in a crumple in my arms. I am consoling her when one of her teachers comes up and says, "We had a hard time today at the end of the day." We? I walk with her to a shady corner of the sidewalk and the Rabbit starts to tell me how her teacher screamed at her -- twice -- today. Once for talking to another girl when she was supposed to be listening to teacher, another time because she was looking for her sparkle paint in her book bag as they were lining up to go home. Now I agree that she needs to pay attention to her teacher, and line-up time is supposed to be quiet, and their hands at their side. But screaming? I don't think so. The Rabbit says, "And what I did didn't need screaming." Love it. On her last day. Had to make her cry. Because she wanted to make sure she had everything before she left, and tried to talk to a friend.

grumpy

What is it about power struggles and going to the bathroom? I know this is only a HINT of what I am going to face come The Rabbit's teen years, and I am terrified. I can tell when she needs to go...she hops around like, a, well, rabbit, holding herself. But god forbid I would ask her if she needs to go, or worse, TELL her to go. She screams at me like I am asking her to take her beloved stuffed dog and throw him out the window. Or let me wash him. So we do this: I see her jumping. I say, "Let's go to the bathroom PLEASE." She screams. I back down. 20 minutes later. Repeat. 10 minutes Repeat with escalating voice levels. 12 minutes later, a hurried run to the bathroom and pee streaming down her legs, on to her clothes, her socks, the rug, with her smiling like, "You can't get me." Short of demanding she clean it up (She's 4...can I do this????? Don't send me hate mail....) I don't know what else to do except keep heading down to the laundry tw

What is it with Crocs ? Has everyone in the world gone insane or am I just missing some crucial fashion point? Does my dislike of these plastic monstrosities mark me out as a member of the Fashion Clueless, or is this a case of the Emperor's New Clothes? But come on... why the hell would anyone want to slip their feet into a clumpy, lumpy piece of (usually) blindingly-coloured plastic, a kiddie-cartoon-on-acid version of traditional Dutch footwear? Yep, I'm sure they are comfortable. I've been told that they don't make your feet sweaty due to their cunningly placed holes (not exactly waterproof though, huh?). I guess they could even pass as quasi-cute in a kind of Paris Hilton way, i.e. if you squint really hard and/or have just gone crazy with the vodka shots - but with the same end result of overwhelming nausea. I just don't get it. Quite normal people clump about in these horrors without the grace to even look slightly embarrassed. Entire families are often seen

Tonight The Prince is working late and so The Rabbit and I went out for pizza solo. It's not an unusual thing. Often I do the bedtime thing solo -- he takes her to school in the morning, so it's fair. But I can't remember having this much fun with The Rabbit in so long. She ate HALF A PIZZA! And drank orange juice, beat me at tic-tac-toe (really), drew me some flowers, made me laugh when she drooled out some orange juice while she was laughing, and then dropped ice cubes all the way home, stomping on them and then announcing it would make "them melt faster mama. Don't you know that?" It's late. She should be in bed. But, as The Rabbit is singing right now, "We're having a speeeeeciallll day!!!!!!"

Aggghhhh. I've been tagged - thanks Em ! OK, here goes... 8 random things about me I don't know my left from my right My first every boyfriend is now gay (not related to 1. above) I panic if my head goes under water I smoked my first spliff in Moscow in November 1990 I am half-American, a quarter Irish and a quarter British. Alpha is half Kiwi and half Fijian. Which makes the girls err... I avoid going out on Friday nights because Ugly Betty is on TV (lame, but true) My favorite novel of all time is Jay McInerney's Story of My Life I still can't ride a bicycle properly, but I can ice-skate backwards I think this tagging thing means I am now obliged to spread the joy, so Kim , Mary Mary , Lucinda and Kris , consider yourselves well and truly tagged.

The Rabbit has eczema -- a skin condition we discovered after she screamed about her feet itching for 2 weeks, tried athletes foot goo stuff, had the flakiness biopsed, had two doctors check her out (including her grandfather) and finally went to the head of Columbia U's dermatology department who took one look and said, "Yep, eczema." So considering her skin flakes at the slightest irritation, we are prone to carrying vaseline around with us. Recently we found that sunscreen caused her skin to itch. And since she is not about to walk around WITHOUT sunscreen (if you ever saw how my skin creates a glare from the whiteness you'd understand) we have allowed her to pack a little bottle of vaseline with her to school everyday. (pause) Just a moment here to let your brain start working. I picked her up from school today and she shined. Not her skin. Oh no. Her pants. Her shirt. Her hair. Her shoes! She crinkled from the stuff. Couldn't have gotten a better sheen from

Yes, I am a bad blogger. I keep thinking about all the things I would like to write about, in fact I compose many (I fondly imagine) witty and insightful posts on the tube while being squished into a sweaty heap by all the other (larger and meaner) commuters, but with one thing and another they never actually make it onto the page. If only I could post directly via my brain I'd be OK. I've gone past being 'blah' and now have morphed into 'insanely busy' which means I don't have any time whatsoever to think about anything else except the next work deadline and trying to keep the kids clean, fed, watered, hugged and kissed, and dropped off at school or nursery on time. Sometimes when I have a few moments to kill I manage to wash their clothes and check their book bags for notes from school, which always feels like an astounding achievement. Sometimes I even manage to converse pleasantly and collapse in front of the telly with an equally exhausted Alpha Male. I

Thankfully, you say. Something not about SCHOOL!!!! Yes, it's true. I found the coolest Web site in the world last week as I sat on the computer, surfing the Web like a drunk sucking back limoncellos. Try it: Illegal Art . You'll love it. And then head to one of their current projects: Lost and Found . And no, I haven't recorded anything. But I highly recommend calling in. For those in the UK, and beyond, remember to dial the 01 in front. (Yes, I am sure you all know this and I am revealing yet another embarrassing American sign of stupidity.....but I am too lost in my stupor to care...)

The Prince says that if I feel strongly about something it's written all over my face. Bluntly? I am not good at hiding my emotion. True true. Honestly, if I don't like someone, I can barely actually look at them. (But don't think that means I don't have a mean poker face. Poker is not an emotional game and I don't care if I win or lose -- which means I am damn good at bluffing.) So given my emotive facial map, you can imagine what's been going on with me at The Rabbit's school. I can't look at the teacher. I usually work in the classroom once afternoon a week. Thankfully I had a hideous case of food poisoning on my designated day last week. (Believe me, I preferred this.) But with the next one looming up (and thankfully the last) I know I have to get out of it or risk foaming at the mouth during Circle Time. Given that there are just a few weeks left, and many half days strewn in between, I feel comfortable with bowing out for work reasons .... and maki