Thursday, 30 September 2010

Laser Hair Removal

Anyone had laser hair removal? You know, the permanent (it's not), painless (it's not) outrageously expensive (it is) solution to unwanted hair.

I signed up for some sessions a few years ago. Nothing dramatic. Just got the 'edges' done so I'm not caught short when the kids say 'Hey Mum, let's go to the pool'. Saves the panic of digging through the bathroom cupboards, desperately looking for some cold wax strips, not to mention arriving at the pool with two angry red stripes outlining my crotch area, screaming 'helloooooo!' to everyone I see.

The razor is just not an option. Easy now but pay later with rashes and in-growns - you know what I'm talking about.

So I'm at my first appointment and they convince me, for a mere extra $100 a session, I can have my underarms done too. (Note, there is a good sales strategy in this because at this point you have no idea what your in for and the promise of hair-free pits for a measly $400 does seem like value. If it had worked....)

The beautician has me locked in a small room and explains the procedure.
'It works best with dark hair on pale skin. Do you have relatively dark pubic hair?', she enquires.
'I don't really know. I don't really see a lot of other people's pubic hair.'
'I wish I could say the same thing....' she muses, staring into the distance.
I'm about to suggest that perhaps she's in the wrong job, then remember I'm about to strip down to my underwear and she'll be the one wielding the machine that inflicts pain. I bite my lip.

Session three and while I'm rather vulnerable, in underwear and sun-goggles to protect my eyes from the laser, she purrs:
'So....I'm surprised a girl like you hasn't had Botox yet?'
Yes, thank you very much! I'll decide if and when I'm ready to work my way through your menu. Thank you.

Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Sabah, Malaysian Borneo

Last school holidays we took the kids to Malaysia and can thoroughly recommend it. We stayed at the Sepilok Jungle Resort, just a few minutes walk from the Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. Now if your thinking this is the place to get close to an Orangutan, forget it. They take their job of rehab very seriously indeed and are getting those babies back to the jungle where they belong – not hanging around with the tourists.

So we wonder over to the rehab centre and the viewing platform, which is only open for a shot period twice a day and where you do get to see the amazing antics of those Orangutans making their way back to nature. While we were there, one of the guides quietly told us we could do a jungle walk. All it required was a permit, which I could acquire free from the ticket booth. Being a long time sufferer of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) I virtually sprinted back to grab permits for us all. It did feel quite special, as it seemed not everyone had been given the word.

Permits gained, we headed into the jungle. Man, it’s claustrophobic.  We head in and there’s lot to see. Its hot and steamy and everything you’d imagine a jungle to be. At one stage as we’re stopped to observe a lizard, there is a big ‘flop’ of something big dropping out a tree right next to us.
‘Come on kids!’ I urge, ‘we won’t be investigating whatever that was!’ We hastily move down the track.

'Mummy, can I have a drink a drink of water, please?’ asks the four year old I’m dragging over fallen trees and up steep muddy inclines.
‘No sweetie, we haven’t got any. Not far now.’

As we approach the end point, we start to see fellow trekkers coming back the other way. There's one track and we're all doing exactly the same hike. They’re wearing gaiters over their hiking boots against the leeches, long cargo pants, bucket hats, day-packs with plenty of water. Wow!

Here’s the small fry's jungle gear…a Zimmermann singlet, a Gap mini and a pair of baby Havaianas.

You can’t see me, but I’m in just the right outfit for the occasion– an Ed Hardy skirt, a Paul Smith singlet, a pair of Havaianas (I do love a brand!), I’m carry a large silver tote over my shoulder and I have sunglasses on my head!

Tuesday, 28 September 2010

To Tu or not Tutu?

I was meeting a new client the other week and of course, the eternal big question; what to wear?? You only ever have one chance to make that first really big impression – before they get to know you and have in confirmed that you really are kind of odd.

My dress sense is  - well - not your typical corporate attire. Luckily, I work in a reasonably liberal office and no-one actually cares. So, in summing up my style (I use the word loosely) my daughters like to continuously remind me I’m not sixteen anymore. I, on the other hand, the glass-half-full view, remind them that the only thing worse than mutton dressed as lamb, is mutton dressed as mutton. And I’m sticking to that until I can no longer dress myself.
I worked with Jacqui for a while and while we were out one day, we notice an slim, older woman not only wearing a shapeless floral dress but some really chunky Jesus sandals to go with. “So, at what point do you suddenly think that’s okay?’ asks Jacqui in bewilderment. We are both lulled into a depressing silence.
So, back to the new client. I ask my colleague for her advice. “Not the tutu” she says definitively. “Why not the tutu?” I ask, just a little crushed. “Because they don’t know you and it screams that you’re a woman not to be fucked with.” Wow. I had no idea it was so powerful…..hasn’t worked on the kids!

Thursday, 23 September 2010

How to reduce your BMI in two easy steps....

I'm physically very average. I'm average height and average weight (which isn't saying much in most developed nations, let's face it!). I'm a garden-variety size 12 in Australia, which is a 10 in the UK and an 8 in the States (crap I wish I lived in America - imagine how thin I'd be??!!)

Anyway, yesterday I discovered how to reduce my BMI - you know that pesky Body Mass Index thing - from 24, which is at the upper end of 'Normal Body Weight' down to a far more respectable 20, which is the bottom end of the 'Normal Body Weight.'

How? Two easy to these boots:

Yes, these boots add a very silly 15cm to my height and I'm convinced I immediately loose 5kgs - possibly more. I can thoroughly recommend them. Just be careful when your driving the car....

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Why am I working?

Okay – thanks for the feed back on the poll  – but no, I won’t be quitting!

Which brings me to why I work. 

There are several possibilities here, including:
  •              Like most women, I am a bit of a control freak. And at work, when I ask someone to do something, there’s a very good chance it’ll happen. At home, I give it 50:50.
  •             I have opinions and ideas – on pretty much everything – and those opinions need to be heard. My ideas are also my babies. My family does not appreciate my intellect. (In fact, they call me a nerd.)
  •            I like to take amazing holidays with my children and eat at lovely restaurants when I go out with my friends.

Yes, there are plenty of days when I think lunch and tennis would be a great way to spend the day. But the reality is I would be quickly bored. I need only think back to my (shamefully short) maternity leave stints and the banal chat of my gorgeous friends. I love them dearly, but frankly don’t give a fuck about which builder they used on their beach house extension, little Johnny’s brilliant progress in violin and what’s fabulous at the Country Road sale. Ahhhhhhh!! Get me back in a boardroom!

Monday, 20 September 2010


Is anyone else getting the fingers? The three making ‘W’, ‘E’ and ‘M’ in front of the forehead denoting ‘What Ever Mother…’ Nice.

I’m getting it a lot from Kid 3. She’s reached that age.

She’s also inclined to go around the house singing, sometimes wearing her iPod. It’s not good. And I figure if I don’t tell her, who will? “Put that cat out of its misery!” I yell so she can hear over the deafening volume of Lady Gaga.
“Mum, as a mother, you’re supposed to encourage me….that hurt my feelings.” (Dragged out whinny at the end, just to replicate the same reaction I have to fingernails down a blackboard.)
“Yeah, well, check that job description and I think you’ll also find it’s my job to embarrass you, and I take that part really seriously.”

She knows this because during a recent clean out, I pointed out how much crap she had flowing out of a small chest of drawers.
“I know Mum, but don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I can nourish it down to one drawer.”
Once I’ve stopped laughing, I ask her if she actually knows what ‘nourish’ means.
“No, not really”

Naturally, I though this was so funny I tell everyone who’s over.

“Mum, would you stop telling everyone, you’re so embarrassing."
Yes, I am! So, W,E,D – What Ever Daughter – right back at you!!

Saturday, 18 September 2010

Who am I?

I’m a mother of four who works full time. But I don’t wait on tables or serve in a shop in order to support my kids; that would be completely acceptable. No, I’m a senior executive in a corporation. And this is clearly not noble and not to be admired, in fact, it’s often considered the ultimate statement in self-serving, egotistical, self-indulgent selfishness.

“I’m not judging you”, an equivalent male colleague told me recently. Really? Because that’s exactly what it sounded like. Apparently he and his wife have decided the best thing they can do in life “is to raise their own children”. Right, because I just thought I’d show mine how to use the microwave and the TV and pretty much leave them to it.

Yes, I have enough domestic help to hold my own staff party at the end of the year, but does that make me a bad mother?

Take the poll below and let me know....

Monday, 13 September 2010

how do you do it?

“How do you do it?”

 Is there ever a more loaded question of the WM? It really is all in the tone. I was once asked this by a celeb who’d recently become a mum, so it did seem with genuine interest. “A good red with dinner,” was my sage response. (Not a joke – and perhaps yet another reason I need to work – to pay that wine bill!)

Have you read ‘I don’t know how she does it” ? Verged on biographical for me. My own mother in law once cornered me about my partner’s increasingly lithe frame and accusingly asked if I was feeding him. “He knows where the fridge is”. Probably didn’t score me any points but really, he’s a grown up, I’m not his mother and I am very, very busy.

Frankly, I could do with an extra 4 hours a day. At least 4. I’d write and cruise the net more, read to the kids and watch TV more, cook and exercise more and probably even work more. But like you, I have 24 hours and just shove it all in like everyone else – and you just do.

The Moroccan Bath

The girls and I have come up to Dubai for a few days to escape the Melbourne winter. It's in the 40s so we've thawed out - quickly. ...