Take It Easy On Yourself

Take it Easy on Yourself

I remember the day I got my dish washer. I was visiting a friend (already a mum of three) for lunch with my eldest son - (the little one was just a glint in his daddy’s eye at this point!)

I was so pleased, with my new time saving purchase. I had wasted so much of my life washing dishes, stacking dishes, drying dishes….surely this kitchen gadget was life changing!

My friend and her husband, smiled as they told me it wouldn’t be long till I was rowing about whose turn it was to load the dish washer, empty the dishwasher, fill the dishwasher with salt, clean the dishwasher and I would never feel the benefit of the extra hours in the day this miracle of white goods would give me.

I laughed certainly those piddling little tasks would feel like a breeze to do and became even more determined to appreciate this little blessing.

Well, here I am four years later and guess what?

The novelty of unloading the dishwasher has definitely worn off; the rows about whose turn it is to load the dishwasher are increasing and that extra hour a day stolen by other mind numbing chores.

It isn’t fair!

Would the same thing happen if I did win the lottery and got that house keeper I’ve been dreaming of?! It’s enough to nearly make me want to cancel my Camelot subscription. (Actually, better keep it going just in case, scientific research, just to see what I would appreciate!)

I’ve never been one to enjoy cleaning or get that satisfaction people sometimes talk about, that’s not to say I don’t enjoy and appreciate a clean and tidy house – I definitely do (especially if my mum comes to visit and does it while I’m at work – pure joy to walk through the front door greeted by nice smells, gleaming surfaces and empty recycling bags.)

Why does life feel so hard sometimes? I’m pretty lazy, I sort of do as little as I can get away with chore wise, you know somewhere between Stig of the Dump and 1940’s hospital ward. I don’t do any ironing and try and feel no shame as I crease down the street and dress my kids in non-natural fibres as often as possible!

I’m from a very clean and tidy family so I’m sort of the rebel in that way. I know my Gran (super tidy lady who travelled down from Scotland bi-annually, tabard and ironed duster packed for her holiday at our house) loved me very much, but when I went to medium once, I wasn’t surprised when she came through to complain about my pans being kept on the kitchen floor -  we had just moved house – spooky!- this did quicken up the process of buying a pan rack so I guess she would be happy!

Would I be spooked out if the dishwasher began to mysteriously empty itself? A little. It would be more likely a poltergeist than my partner!

You Are What You Wear!

You Are What You Wear!

Today my beautiful one year old is dressed in second hand clothes….nothing unusual about that. I love getting a big bag of old clothes from my friends with older kids and also re-discovering my elder son’s clothes up out of the cellar. Each little cute top a memory and perfect re-cycling.

Today however, the baby is wearing a top that proclaims,’ My Mummy is Yummy!’ Obviously I would never buy this top myself it’s something you buy for one of your girlfriends kids. (It’s a well known fact that all women – sometimes mistakenly (though definitely not in my case!) think that their  friends are all gorgeous!) Even the gorgeous friend whose son it originally was I expect given it.

 My partner did buy me a badge one Mother’s Day that said ‘yummy, mummy’ in a funky little font. That was it! No flowers, chocolates, perfume, jewellery –just the 50p badge, as all of you who have pushed out a baby know a real present is absolutely necessary, every year!……(especially if he expects a lie in and a beer on father’s day!) Anyway that disappointment aside…..

I admit to somewhat discretely zipping up the little one’s coat as I crept round the supermarket make up free and wearing lycra leggings (nearly 40 and definitely without the shape for them) when I spotted a suited, serious looking man in glasses with a clipboard,

’ Erm excuse me madam, my name is Horace Jenkins , Chief Inspector, Trading Standards, South Manchester…….Is that YOUR son?!’

‘My Mummy is Yummy’ blazoned across his cuddly chest, big unsuspecting smile on his face!

Of course my mind was working overtime and fortunately he was only trying to get me to change my gas supplier!

I do think I may over think things a little. I remember standing in a card shop liking the card that said ‘World’s Best Mother’ but choosing another for my poor long suffering mum because I was sure there probably were better more self sacrificing mums in the world…. And actually I really thought she’d handled a few things in a way that wouldn’t even put her in the top 100!

I however in one of the now famous rages of my teenage years threw back at my dad a glass award he had engraved himself and fitted into a block of hand polished wood that said, ‘World’s Best Daughter – Donna Rankine’

A few years later I found it again, pieces collected and painstaking glued back together…..the shame and guilt overwhelming.

It is an amazing thing to be on the end of unconditional love.

I don’t expect to find myself on the ‘Best of’ list let alone, ‘World’s Greatest’ ever again…….

Big 'Ed

Now I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but I have two beautiful boys.

Both handsome, appealing and both pretty amazing. I have never considered them out of proportion in any way in fact I have always considered them both perfect.

It dawned on me recently while struggling to fit a gorgeous new robot top (12 – 18 months) on my newly one year that they may indeed have big heads!

The four year old spends at least 10 mins before bath time naked from the waist down or occasionally naked but for stripy socks with his school shirt and jumper like some peculiar Halloween mask empty arms flapping by his ears as he shouts, ‘It’s not doing it! It’s not coming off!’ muffled in red sweatshirt.

Erm and now I come to mention it the baby who has steadily grown around the 75th  centile has strangely remained on the 90^th for head circumference since birth. (Water melon anyone?) I do like to dismiss these measurements as archaic and unnecessary. (But am I secretly pleased I have big strong boys? Well, maybe a little.)

Their dad, my partner has a pretty normal sized head….I on the other hand…..think I know where they get it from.

One of my best friends (herself no pin head) and I were forever commenting on our great big moon faces throughout our low esteemed twenties. We made it so funny that it ceased to be a problem, in fact we began to feel sorry for the poor saps with average bonces and so up until recently in my thirties (as I still am – for now)  I’d forgotten what a humungous spud head I had.

My four year old also has my wide almost to the point of square feet. Last time I was in Clarks they fitted him for the most ridiculous shoes that were constantly popping off as there was just not enough touching Velcro in play. He also suffers from blisters like me.

What you pass on physically to your children is hit and miss, but even the things you don’t like so much in yourself can be endearing and charming in your offspring.

My partner is ill. He has Crohn’s Disease. Usually he manages it reasonably well but it’s serious and affects not only his life but all of ours.

He will be devastated if either of the boys ends up with that disease.

But it won’t be his fault.

My partner and I both have big noses it wasn’t what attracted us to each other but maybe it didn’t repulse! We used to joke about the accumulative effect our noses might have on our poor offspring (So far so good, but so were both of us until puberty!) But now my offspring are real and sleeping upstairs as I write, I worry about all the many many terrible things that could happen and having a big nose, wide feet or even a ginormous noggin doesn’t seem half so bad any more.