It's not the kids that I struggle with, it's the husband.
Whilst many are finding difficulties in bringing up baby, I am finding marriage the harder of the two. Pre-children, marriage was a breeze. We could please ourselves, go out whenever, either together or apart, get up whenever, read papers in bed, hell, we could even have sex in the middle of the afternoon if we fancied. There didn't seem to be as much getting cross with each other as there is now.
At the soft play area the other day my daughter was getting jumped up and down on by a little boy. She is 18 months old, he was basically using her tummy as a trampoline and he was loving every minute. The look of glee in his eyes...
This is something you notice even more when you have children, that males and females are completely different from the very beginning...
Boys like rough and tumble, they snatch, hit, are aggressive, get easily annoyed, don't share, you can see all the testosterone pumping through their veins even at the age of two, but they are open books.
Girls are sneaky, sly, manipulative, maternal, play nicely, are patient and you can bargain with them.
Not much changes into adulthood.
My husband likes a bit of rough and tumble (he calls it football), he snatches (the remote control), he's aggressive (as soon as he gets in a car), he gets easily annoyed (if I tell him to wash his hands after handling raw meat), he doesn't share (even on Christmas day...)
I am sneaky (I hide tops that I have just bought when we are skint), manipulative (I can cry when I see the argument is not going my way), maternal (I would like four, he wants to settle at two), I play nicely (I don't blatantly make up words when we play Scrabble), I'm patient (I can wait the half hour he spends doing god knows what in the shower quite happily reading magazines),you can bargain with me, ('let me have a go on the computer now and I'll make you a hot chocolate,' Yes Sireee, it's yours!)
After watching the kids playing at the soft play area I thought perhaps me and my husband should resort to the toddler way of sorting things out. Me, I could run up and tell the nearest responsible adult that he isn't listening anymore. Him, he could just use me as a human trampoline...
Thursday, 29 May 2008
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
English Prude
'Do you mind if my son Johnny is completely naked in the paddling pool?'
Now, what kind of question is that? It is a non question as he's going to go in the paddling pool naked anyway, regardless of what I say.
Really, I'd like to say, I do mind actually. I am an uptight English person who believes private parts should stay private. We share too much in this world already (er, such as blogging...).
I just don't want that view when little Johnny bends down to pick up his spade.
And what's worse is the cold water of the paddling pool makes Johnny get out and run to the side of the pool and do a little bit of wee approximately every 2 minutes or so.
Of course, I said, 'No, I don't mind.' As did the other gentleman that was asked, who was there with his children. Very shortly afterwards, we packed up our stuff and headed off to the supermarket. It wasn't the relaxing afternoon at the park I was looking forward to.
I can't help being prudish. I was not brought up in the sort of household where people walked around completely naked. Even as a child I hated getting unchanged on the beach in case my towel dropped down and revealed all. My husband is quite the opposite. One of the first times I stayed at his mum and dad's house I was quite shocked that his mum delivered him a cup of tea whilst he was in the bath. Even now, he is quite happy standing naked in front of the bedroom window whilst he looks in the wardrobe for a shirt to wear. I however nag him to cover up. What if our daughter's friend from next door was to see him? She would be scarred for life. All my school friends still remember the story of Christina whose dad who came out of the shower totally naked and said to a fellow classmate, 'Hello Chick'. All very innocent, but to eleven year old girls, it was mortifying. The friendship never recovered...
Not that I am shy in front of my husband or my own children. I do walk around the house naked, but I would never let my children run around a paddling pool naked. Not because I think the world is full of predatory paedophiles or anything like that, I just like a bit of modesty.
In my former life (when I was working and earning a living), I went on a trip with a minor pop star to Turkey. We visited a Turkish bath and me and the celeb (who was in her late teens) were the only people in the whole Turkish bath wearing our bikinis. At the time I thought, we look ridiculous. We are the ones standing out here, not all the other ladies with their worldly goods on show. The Turkish bath lady insisted I at least take my bikini top off, to which I did oblige (after all, I did go topless on the beach - pre babies of course - now they look like Christmas balloons in February I wouldn't dare). She proceeded to massage me, herself only wearing a pair of knickers. Her boobs hung so low I could feel them swinging on my back as she lent over me. Now this wasn't some kind of erotic scene, she was about 50 with several teeth missing and the knickers were a shade of grey, Elephant's Breath I think Farrow And Ball like to call it.
My daughter was bemused by little Johnny's nakedness at the paddling pool. 'He had a winky. Imagine if I had a winky? I wouldn't like it. I like being a girl. I can wear make up and pretty dresses.'
And so say all of us...!
Now, what kind of question is that? It is a non question as he's going to go in the paddling pool naked anyway, regardless of what I say.
Really, I'd like to say, I do mind actually. I am an uptight English person who believes private parts should stay private. We share too much in this world already (er, such as blogging...).
I just don't want that view when little Johnny bends down to pick up his spade.
And what's worse is the cold water of the paddling pool makes Johnny get out and run to the side of the pool and do a little bit of wee approximately every 2 minutes or so.
Of course, I said, 'No, I don't mind.' As did the other gentleman that was asked, who was there with his children. Very shortly afterwards, we packed up our stuff and headed off to the supermarket. It wasn't the relaxing afternoon at the park I was looking forward to.
I can't help being prudish. I was not brought up in the sort of household where people walked around completely naked. Even as a child I hated getting unchanged on the beach in case my towel dropped down and revealed all. My husband is quite the opposite. One of the first times I stayed at his mum and dad's house I was quite shocked that his mum delivered him a cup of tea whilst he was in the bath. Even now, he is quite happy standing naked in front of the bedroom window whilst he looks in the wardrobe for a shirt to wear. I however nag him to cover up. What if our daughter's friend from next door was to see him? She would be scarred for life. All my school friends still remember the story of Christina whose dad who came out of the shower totally naked and said to a fellow classmate, 'Hello Chick'. All very innocent, but to eleven year old girls, it was mortifying. The friendship never recovered...
Not that I am shy in front of my husband or my own children. I do walk around the house naked, but I would never let my children run around a paddling pool naked. Not because I think the world is full of predatory paedophiles or anything like that, I just like a bit of modesty.
In my former life (when I was working and earning a living), I went on a trip with a minor pop star to Turkey. We visited a Turkish bath and me and the celeb (who was in her late teens) were the only people in the whole Turkish bath wearing our bikinis. At the time I thought, we look ridiculous. We are the ones standing out here, not all the other ladies with their worldly goods on show. The Turkish bath lady insisted I at least take my bikini top off, to which I did oblige (after all, I did go topless on the beach - pre babies of course - now they look like Christmas balloons in February I wouldn't dare). She proceeded to massage me, herself only wearing a pair of knickers. Her boobs hung so low I could feel them swinging on my back as she lent over me. Now this wasn't some kind of erotic scene, she was about 50 with several teeth missing and the knickers were a shade of grey, Elephant's Breath I think Farrow And Ball like to call it.
My daughter was bemused by little Johnny's nakedness at the paddling pool. 'He had a winky. Imagine if I had a winky? I wouldn't like it. I like being a girl. I can wear make up and pretty dresses.'
And so say all of us...!
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
It Only Takes A Minute Girl...
I was feeling guilty for not being uber excited about the arrival of a washer/dryer. He was sulking because;
1. I'm an ungrateful cow
2. He thought he was being really thoughtful
3. I'd asked him who was going to plumb it in.
There was only one thing that was going to get him out of this mood. Sympathy sex...
Now feeling sorry or guilty is not a great beginning for sex, but hey, sex is sex right? Does it really matter that it starts out as just doing it because you want to get him out of his bad mood? Especially if it ends with the result you both wanted?
There are plenty of reasons to have sex...
1. Because you want to (to quote Billie Piper)
2. You haven't done it for so long that you're worried if you don't do it soon, he will definitely run off with the girl in accounts whose had her boobs done
3. If you do it tonight, it means you won't have to do it tomorrow night as Grey's Anatomy's on from 10-11pm and then you'll be too tired after that.
4. You have invested a whopping £8 on a lovely new bra from M&S that looks like it's actually from Agent Provocateur, and you fancy showing it off
5. You finally got around to sorting your bikini line out, so you have to do it, to prove you are still looking after your downstairs bits...see I do care...
6. You've had a dodgy tum and not eaten much in the last few days, tummy is looking flat so you're going to take the opportunity to...large gulp....do it with the lights on
7. After watching Grey's Anatomy you want to pretend that he is in fact McDreamy...mmmm
8. Having had a couple of glasses of wine you suddenly think you are in Debbie Does Dallas
9. You can tick it off your 'to do list'
10. It only takes a minute girl...
1. I'm an ungrateful cow
2. He thought he was being really thoughtful
3. I'd asked him who was going to plumb it in.
There was only one thing that was going to get him out of this mood. Sympathy sex...
Now feeling sorry or guilty is not a great beginning for sex, but hey, sex is sex right? Does it really matter that it starts out as just doing it because you want to get him out of his bad mood? Especially if it ends with the result you both wanted?
There are plenty of reasons to have sex...
1. Because you want to (to quote Billie Piper)
2. You haven't done it for so long that you're worried if you don't do it soon, he will definitely run off with the girl in accounts whose had her boobs done
3. If you do it tonight, it means you won't have to do it tomorrow night as Grey's Anatomy's on from 10-11pm and then you'll be too tired after that.
4. You have invested a whopping £8 on a lovely new bra from M&S that looks like it's actually from Agent Provocateur, and you fancy showing it off
5. You finally got around to sorting your bikini line out, so you have to do it, to prove you are still looking after your downstairs bits...see I do care...
6. You've had a dodgy tum and not eaten much in the last few days, tummy is looking flat so you're going to take the opportunity to...large gulp....do it with the lights on
7. After watching Grey's Anatomy you want to pretend that he is in fact McDreamy...mmmm
8. Having had a couple of glasses of wine you suddenly think you are in Debbie Does Dallas
9. You can tick it off your 'to do list'
10. It only takes a minute girl...
Monday, 26 May 2008
1950s Housewife
Is it normal to want him to hurry back to work? It happened last bank holiday too. You see, part of it is my fault. I look forward so much to having him around for a whole extra day at the weekend. I build it up in my head how perfect our weekend is going to be as a family. It's pretty much in the same league as my daughter getting excited about a visit to Disneyland. But just like Disneyland can be a brutal let down (it rains as it's in Paris, the queues are too long, especially in a 3 year olds eyes, and the Peter Pan Pirate boats are too scary, too fast and too dark that it makes her cry), so too can a long weekend en famille.
Still bristling from the "too much time on your hands" comment (I know, I have to LET IT GO!) and still worrying what the hell I am going to do with my life (apart from bring up two well adjusted, well mannered, highly intelligent children who WILL enjoy their childhood and WON'T feel pressured by constant testing, the threat of child abduction, the draws of advertising and all other evil goings on in this world etc etc...) I am not in the best of moods. The teething child and big black clouds, not just outside but the ones hovering just above my head seem to have set in. And what made it worse? The surprise he had for me.
Ooh a surprise. How exciting. Do tell me, I hate surprises.
After forcing it out of him, after he'd said was I in to take a delivery tomorrow ('Only if you tell me what's being delivered') he finally said through a giant grin how he'd organised for me to have a new washer/dryer.
Oh.
Now, I don't want seem like a spoilt child, as I do need a washer/dryer. I have been complaining all winter about the house resembling a (not very efficient) Chinese laundry. Clothes horse always fully loaded, pants on the radiator. It's not exactly Living etc. is it?
He wasn't impressed with the 'Oh' response. I think he was anticipating more of a 'Darling, you are wonderful.' And for me to throw my arms around him and whisper exactly how much I appreciated this wonderful surprise by telling him what I would be doing tonight in the boudoir...
However, I just couldn't muster it. Instead I thought, is this what it has come to?
My surprises used to be a weekend in Barcelona, or a lovely meal at the fancy bistro around the corner, or a book that I'd been talking about for ages arriving in the post, or even a little note and a silly drawing left on the table for me to find when I first woke up. I didn't think we had the kind of marriage where a new washer/dryer moved from the 'electrical appliances that are needed' list to the gift list. Now, if Jason Orange and Lulu had become an item (it was much talked about...), I know for a fact, after five years of marriage and two children, he wouldn't have bought her a new washer/dryer as a gift.
He called me ungrateful. But I found it too hard to be gushingly grateful for an electrical appliance that would be washing and drying the whole families dirty laundry. Isn't it for all of us?
Thoughts are running through my mind that for my next birthday might I be opening a griddle pan to cook his steaks on, or a fancy steam iron to get his shirts pressed better? And it really all boils down to the fact he earns the money, and therefore, he has bought it, and therefore, it is now considered a present.
I am officially a 1950s housewife -without the shampoo and set, dry martini and cigarettes.
I am his mother.
My god, I need a job...
Still bristling from the "too much time on your hands" comment (I know, I have to LET IT GO!) and still worrying what the hell I am going to do with my life (apart from bring up two well adjusted, well mannered, highly intelligent children who WILL enjoy their childhood and WON'T feel pressured by constant testing, the threat of child abduction, the draws of advertising and all other evil goings on in this world etc etc...) I am not in the best of moods. The teething child and big black clouds, not just outside but the ones hovering just above my head seem to have set in. And what made it worse? The surprise he had for me.
Ooh a surprise. How exciting. Do tell me, I hate surprises.
After forcing it out of him, after he'd said was I in to take a delivery tomorrow ('Only if you tell me what's being delivered') he finally said through a giant grin how he'd organised for me to have a new washer/dryer.
Oh.
Now, I don't want seem like a spoilt child, as I do need a washer/dryer. I have been complaining all winter about the house resembling a (not very efficient) Chinese laundry. Clothes horse always fully loaded, pants on the radiator. It's not exactly Living etc. is it?
He wasn't impressed with the 'Oh' response. I think he was anticipating more of a 'Darling, you are wonderful.' And for me to throw my arms around him and whisper exactly how much I appreciated this wonderful surprise by telling him what I would be doing tonight in the boudoir...
However, I just couldn't muster it. Instead I thought, is this what it has come to?
My surprises used to be a weekend in Barcelona, or a lovely meal at the fancy bistro around the corner, or a book that I'd been talking about for ages arriving in the post, or even a little note and a silly drawing left on the table for me to find when I first woke up. I didn't think we had the kind of marriage where a new washer/dryer moved from the 'electrical appliances that are needed' list to the gift list. Now, if Jason Orange and Lulu had become an item (it was much talked about...), I know for a fact, after five years of marriage and two children, he wouldn't have bought her a new washer/dryer as a gift.
He called me ungrateful. But I found it too hard to be gushingly grateful for an electrical appliance that would be washing and drying the whole families dirty laundry. Isn't it for all of us?
Thoughts are running through my mind that for my next birthday might I be opening a griddle pan to cook his steaks on, or a fancy steam iron to get his shirts pressed better? And it really all boils down to the fact he earns the money, and therefore, he has bought it, and therefore, it is now considered a present.
I am officially a 1950s housewife -without the shampoo and set, dry martini and cigarettes.
I am his mother.
My god, I need a job...
It all started with some home made lemonade...
...some cute buns, a great home made apple crumble and the comment, "you really do have too much time on your hands." Made by my childless guests who spend most bank holidays on the lash.
Now the guest had hit on a sore point. Really sore. More sore than the time I had toothache for 3 days solid over Christmas due to an infection in my gums. Now, that really throbbed and made me feel very angry. I cried a lot and felt sorry for myself, as I downed pain killers every four hours. I'd just had a baby three weeks previously. Childbirth was nothing compared to this toothache.
This comment was worse than that toothache. Because having given up work after baby number two, about ten months ago, I am already having an identity crisis so big that not even Gok Wan would stand a chance of making me 'love myself'.
Not because I am a size 16-32 and eat a lot of cake, because I'm not. I'm actually skinnier now than I have ever been (mostly due to the disappearance of binge drinking in my life, which was always followed by a big burger and chips the next day to soak up the copious amount of vodka). But that's by the by, the reason I am having this mid life, confusion in my life is because for the first time since I was 15, I am not working and earning my own money.
I don't like it. Just like Take That didn't like it when Robbie left. They split up and they each tried to find their own way to fill the 14 hours a day that they're awake. Howard became a DJ, Mark tried to launch his solo career...but they were in this unknown area and they didn't look comfortable until they reformed and launched again.
I am in that moment of Robbie just leaving and things feeling a bit different. I just don't want to do what I did workwise before. The world is my oyster, I can start my career all over again.
I spend hours thinking about money making schemes that will not keep me away from my two girls under 4.
But I don't want to become an Avon lady, or sell children's books, or start a local magazine, or start a business selling bras for bigger ladies or do any of the other stuff that all the gorgeous ladies in Red magazine tell me has made them feel empowered and wonderful about themselves, and made them millions to boot.
This week was different, I read about a lovely lady in a Telegraph Weekend article, who lived in a pink thatched cottage, had her own hens (that she had even rescued from a battery hen farm) and started a wonderful cupcake company. I wanted her life. I bought her book hoping that this would be the answer....that I too would find fulfillment in pink icing and sugar roses...could it be that simple? We'll see...
Now the guest had hit on a sore point. Really sore. More sore than the time I had toothache for 3 days solid over Christmas due to an infection in my gums. Now, that really throbbed and made me feel very angry. I cried a lot and felt sorry for myself, as I downed pain killers every four hours. I'd just had a baby three weeks previously. Childbirth was nothing compared to this toothache.
This comment was worse than that toothache. Because having given up work after baby number two, about ten months ago, I am already having an identity crisis so big that not even Gok Wan would stand a chance of making me 'love myself'.
Not because I am a size 16-32 and eat a lot of cake, because I'm not. I'm actually skinnier now than I have ever been (mostly due to the disappearance of binge drinking in my life, which was always followed by a big burger and chips the next day to soak up the copious amount of vodka). But that's by the by, the reason I am having this mid life, confusion in my life is because for the first time since I was 15, I am not working and earning my own money.
I don't like it. Just like Take That didn't like it when Robbie left. They split up and they each tried to find their own way to fill the 14 hours a day that they're awake. Howard became a DJ, Mark tried to launch his solo career...but they were in this unknown area and they didn't look comfortable until they reformed and launched again.
I am in that moment of Robbie just leaving and things feeling a bit different. I just don't want to do what I did workwise before. The world is my oyster, I can start my career all over again.
I spend hours thinking about money making schemes that will not keep me away from my two girls under 4.
But I don't want to become an Avon lady, or sell children's books, or start a local magazine, or start a business selling bras for bigger ladies or do any of the other stuff that all the gorgeous ladies in Red magazine tell me has made them feel empowered and wonderful about themselves, and made them millions to boot.
This week was different, I read about a lovely lady in a Telegraph Weekend article, who lived in a pink thatched cottage, had her own hens (that she had even rescued from a battery hen farm) and started a wonderful cupcake company. I wanted her life. I bought her book hoping that this would be the answer....that I too would find fulfillment in pink icing and sugar roses...could it be that simple? We'll see...
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