Vocabulary

"Is this a good word to say Mummy? Hilarious?" "Oh yes! That's very good, it means really funny." "Is this a good word to say Mummy? Bother?" "Oh yes, that's good too. It's a word you say when something goes wrong." "Mummy. Is this a good word to say? Bastard?" At which point I felt he had rolled Hilarious and Bother all into one.

Disaster!

I have made a disasterous mistake. I have promised SSC that we will make a chocolate cake today. Usually making a cake entails opening a box of somesort and cutting it up. But today I have found a recipe and apparently I need something called Baking Powder and other such products. Gorgeous fiance slipped me £40 "in case it goes tits up and you need Konditor & Cooke".

My Skin!

Well, woop de fucking woop - my skin is really good!!! I am deeply confused by this as I havprobably will continue to, abuse my skin at every turn. Water? It tastes bad. Wine? It tastes good. Cleanser, toner, moisturiser? WHEN??? Smoking? Yup. I think you get the picture.

But to my amazement I have abnormally above average skin. The only area that I failed on was... was bacteria on my nose. YUK!!! I have virtually no wrinkles but I have a grubby nose. Right now I can't figure out which is worse!

Not such a funny post

Been advised by two dog trainers now to give Dolly away. Are they on the doggie make or something?!?!?!? Feeling really crap and really low. I feel I want to hide Dolly away Anne Frank style. Will blog when more positive.x

What have I done???

It will sound ideal to all of you - and it did to me too at first. I am about to be a guinea pig for an anti ageing product. (All fitting rather nicely with my "I will be a girl" mantra). BUT!!! Tomorrow I am going to have my skin sort of x rayed in order that the results after 6 weeks can be verified. I have the facial structure of a 16 year old and regularly get asked for ID so I blind myself to the real truth. Tomorrow I am going to find out what that is. A pack of fags a day, at least half a bottle of wine a night, never taking my make up off... all those things I took at clubs in my 20s. The lack of sleep from partying and child rearing (not together obviously). It's going to stare at me on a sheet of paper and I will be able to hide no more. Thank God tomorrow is oodles of time away but SSC's bedtime is only an hour away and I can have one more - last - comforting glass of wine. Phew, panic over.

First step to becoming a girly

So! I have decided to become a girl! Yes, I know I am a girl but I very rarely look or behave like one. Today I invested in some St Tropez self tan stuff. I haven't used slef tan in years (I did spend a good chunk of my 20s with orange ankles) and I have been mentally planning how to aply it so as not to get an orange paw. My first thought was using some of fiance's hairdressing plastic gloves. But then I realised that they are a large size and I am a tiny size and that I would therefor end up with plastic glove streaks that I couldn't really explain away. I am now going to go for the "use your hands really quickly and wash the hands even quicker" technique. But I know that this will lead to white hands but with tons of self tan developing around the nails. So the sun is about to start shining in London and I will basically have to wear mittens.

Wine Consumption

My wine consumption is far from ideal - well not to a doctor anyway, to me it's just dandy! Surely I'm not the only mummy out there who gets excited that bedtime is almost over and that lovely pop sound can occur. But maybe I'm pushing it...

We live in a block of flats with a courtyard that our kitchen overlooks. There is a man who stands on the stairwell of the flats opposite to smoke. I've never met him but he seems nice enough. I've just passed him and he asked me "what type of wine is it you're always drinking?" ALWAYS????? And then he gave me two bottles of white that he'd been given because they don't drink. ARGH! Am clearly local alchy. Have just moved my kitchen stool to other end of kitchen so can now not be spotted enjoying the evening glass (or 3). Does this count as secret drinking? Am I heading down a slippery slope? Anyway, luckily it's almost SSC's bedtime so I shall ponder this question in my new kitchen position with a glass of bubbles - out of sight.

Slumminess Inheritence

We must all come from somewhere and my slumminess is certainly an inherited gene. My mother.

My mother is coming for dinner tonight - and by dinner I mean copious amounts of red wine (her, not me). She is a highly successful audio/ radio director and producer and I remember her mantra being "I have better things to do than clean". And cook. And do the washing or the washing up. And the ironing. She has other strengths but domesticity isn't one of them. Tonight I will cook a roast chicken and salad (she's never "done" salad) and new potatoes and I can guarantee that she will take hers home in a tuppaware box - for breakfast. Crap, have suddenly realised that by eating dinner for breakfast my SSC has also inherited the gene. I will let you all know how dinner goes but if she leaves sober and with a full stomache I will faint.

Please don't ask me that

It was a usual start to the day combined with a slightly unusual question from SSC. "Mummy, when are you going to have another baby?" "Not yet." "Oh. But can you please show me the special place where the baby comes out?". WHAT??????????? "no. " "But Mummy why? I came out of it once so I must have seen it." Where do you go with that? The logic of a 4 year old.

We had a take away curry last night that I was too slummy to clear up before going to bed. I came out of the shower to find SSC eating cold curry for breakfast. This wouldn't have happened as I had a bath last night to try to save time this morning so that we could read together. But when I woke up I had total bed hair and just couldn't face taking him to school looking as odd as I did. So instead of looking odd my child had leftover korma for breakfast. Note to self: I must not care so much about my appearance and care more about my child's nutrition. But I can't really say I blame him - after dropping him at school I polished off the rest for my breakfast....

The Lunch

The lunch today was with my step mother. For those of you who have never had the pleasure meeting my step mother let me tell you that she has never had an ounce of slummyness in her life. She is elogance and poise personnified and she is dead posh. But without the snobbery that that could entail. So here I am. Pouring buckets after running after my SSC and SSD and, quite frankly, wondering when the Yummy part of Mummy will ever begin. I haven't seen a razor in months. Nor the gym. Nor make up for that matter. My life is about being a cook, a cleaner, a nanny and a dog trainer. Oh, and wearing trainers. But today I'm going for a wedding consult with a woman that never has baby milk on her blouse, that is never out of steam, and that is - quite frankly - beautiful. So, here goes. I have some very adorable sandles with spikey bits on them and a very lovely white shirt and some vaguely clean jeans that just about amount to an outfit. Of course when we meet she takes no notice of any of my atire and is far too interested in the best things in life. "God I have such a hangover, did you see the ins and outs of last night!". And so we're off. No wedding consultation takes place. But we laugh and condemn and get excited about politics. She doesn't even get to vote anymore - she's lived abroad for far too long. Let's face it, I don't get to do this often. Drink, eat and not be a Slummy trying to be a yummy Mummy. And when we leave I realise as much as I want to be a Yummy Mummy, and I may come out being a tad slummy - I'm not sure it really matters. We'll see.x

The Dog Walk

Ok. So every woman that stays at home does the dog walk (obviously only if she has a dog, give me a break!). But then there's my dog walk. Our dog is quite frankly the prettiest girl dog I have ever seen. Even compared to her sisters. She's small and Hollywood cute. But she is also scared of the entire world - she is even scared of her own shadow. This makes our doggie walks slightly hairy and certainly fraught. Every day we go and meet the same doggies and day by day she comes out of herself more and more. But every day we encounter a new dog and it throws her and she wees herself and hides behind my legs. Today is no exception. Today we are having a great time with the doggies and she's chasing them and they her and then... Then a puppy Rotweiler comes along and bounces on her. Oh joy. She craps herself (literally) and then runs into the bushes and I can't get her out. All I can hear is a whimpering sound and there's no way in for me. I conclude that no one should get a dog like mine. Then, when the puppy is gone, my dog comes bounding out as though nothing has happened. My dog is a girl. I'm a girl. I get her point.

The slightly unusual school run

So here I am, a trying to be yummy but seemingly always slummy Mummy. I have 1,000 thread Egyptian cotton sheets but I smoke in bed. I drink bubbles - but I drink. Yup, I am a truly half and half slummy yet (well my man thinks so) yummy Mummy.

Today was as it really always is. I haven't had a drink since about half four on Saturday night/ Sunday morning so things are going really quite well. Small dog got her wee/ poo walk at 7 this morning. Then small child and fiance got breakfast/ baths/ coffee/ tv etc. I was showered and ready to conquer the world by half eight. Then it all goes like this: NOOOOOOOOOO I WILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL NOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTT GETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT DRESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSED. I HATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YOU. YOU ARE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY MOOOOTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR ANYMORE. Then, ten minutes later the said small boy who has told me I am not his mother has put a gold present type star on my chest to tell me that I am the best mother in the whole wide world. Not only that but he loves my very big boobies. I will tell you now that I am a 32A. He's going to be hugely happy in later life! So, off he and I go to his school, me with said rosette on my glorious boosom and he with a jump in his step. Ok, so that's not entirely true. Said Small Child runs, always bloody runs, to school leaving me running after him, huffing and puffing. One day I will be so proud of my long distance running Said Small Child but not right now. Right now I just want him to walk with me and hold my hand. Anyway, back to my glorious boosom. We arrive at school and I have totally forgotten about my rosette. But not so Said Small Child (whom I shall call SSC from now on, as I'm sure you've got the message). Yup, he declares to teachers 1 and 2 that he has glorified (yes, he said glorified) my boobies and my Mummy duties with a gold star. Oh joy. Now I feel like a woman who needs to be examined "just in case". I make my exit siftly and without the kiss goodbye.