FYI

I've just noticed that for those of you who subscribe by email, the video for 'Christmas' doesn't come through. (It's me - hyperventilating!) So you'll need to click the link at the bottom of the page to go to the actual website to view it.

You also need to do this to comment - which I'd really love you to do!

If you could also pass this on to everyone you've ever met in your whole entire life - including that odd girl you sat next to in Grade One - and encourage them all to subscribe, I'd really appreciate it.

Thanks,

MWW

Christmas

Christmas. There; I’ve typed it. And I can almost refrain for reaching for a brown paper bag to control my hyperventilating.

Don’t you think Christmas is the ultimate test for the working mother? It’s like it taunts you, ‘you’ve made it this far in the year, but can you handle.… Christmas??’

Last year I decided it’d be a good idea to spend this Christmas with my brother and his family in the Middle East. He works for an airline so we can mostly get pretty good deals. But as it’s turned out, Christmas is kinda busy, so the cheapest way to get my partner and kids there is via the really, really cheap (ie cramped/no movies) airline to Kuala Lumpa and a connecting flight to the Middle East. What I failed to realise until yesterday, was the far cheaper way for me to get there, is first class with my brother’s airline.

I pondered how to break the news and decided a message on Partner’s phone would be best. ‘So, just realised….’ I started, and ended with ‘..really, no, really, I’m only doing this to save us money.’

It’s not quite finalised, but the picture so far is him and kids, hoping there’s something decent left on that food trolley when it finally makes its way to them, while I’m in my own suite, with a bed and French champagne.

Yes, I feel bad. I will get over it. It really is just to help the budget...

Maintenance

So Friday afternoon, I'm at my desk. We're 'free range' in our office, or open plan.

The conversation turns to religion and Mary McKillop. The group next to us are predominantly of catholic up bringing and our team is pretty much protestant/atheist, so it does make for some good arguments.

Our boss, MD (Managing Director) strolls out to join the conversation. He's extremely knowledgeable on such matters as he actually spent seven years of his life training to be a priest before he joined our highly moral industry that rates right up there with used car salesmen and politicians.

He's adding some highly intellectual concepts to the discussion, when suddenly, he breaks off mid-sentence:

'Mother Who Works,' he exclaims, 'are you painting your toe nails at you desk???'

I clutch my Chanel Paradoxal (their fab new colour - check it out!) defensively and quietly ask, 'Is that wrong?'

Vote on the poll below - please!!

Gym?

I’m been vaguely contemplating joining a gym. I do run but those babies – the smallest was just a slip of a thing at 8lb 6 – have taken their toll on my pelvis. My physio (who, BTW, brutal!!! If there’s ever a war, there’ll be a job for her. She’ll find their weak spots and literally press them till they confess. There’s been occasions when I’ve had to be peeled from the ceiling) thinks a cross trainer might be an idea instead of just running.

As you know from Old School, I run on the treadmill in the study. There’s no room for a cross trainer. Some weight work might be good too. But I haven’t really been a gym junkie since this was what the gear looked like….

I did have one brief foray between babies 3 and 4 at an all-women’s gym that was near home. Having not been in a gym, or even exercised for quite a while, I picked what I thought was a good starting class, a combo of aerobic exercise and weights. But I obviously couldn't remember how to read the timetable because what I stumbled into was a 90 minute spin/pump class!!

As I tumbled off the bike after a grueling 45 minutes and lay on the carpet in the foetal position, sucking in air like a man almost drowned, I was approached by one of the other ladies. She had shoulders a lumberjack would be proud of, the hair of a US Marine, white socks pulled up mid-calf, tight bike shorts on her ample derrière, a singlet top that showed her sports bra and a really wide weight lifters belt pulled in so tight she was almost struggling as much as me to breathe.

As she stood over me, heaving, she grunted in an alarmingly deep voice: ‘You new here?’

‘Yes’, I whimpered.

‘Welcome to the gym,’ she gruffly offered.

There you go – she was just being kind.

So, should I join a gym?? Check the poll at the bottom of the page and cast your vote.

Inquisitive kids

When my son was in Prep, someone invited the boys from the class to a birthday party miles out of town. They were at the local school so all lived near the city, but no, that special, archery, go-cart, mini golf establishment was clearly for the enjoyment of the children and not for the convenience of the parents – god dam them.

Car-pooling was the obvious solution and I, despite having a newborn (number three) put my hand up for the pick up, and was frankly appalled when my offer was accepted.

So, trucking back from whoop-whoop with six 6-year old boys, the conversation turns to marriage.

(As a complete aside, there’s a lesson in here about what you say to your kids because they will reveal it when perhaps you wouldn’t have. I picked up a couple of brothers to take to school most mornings for years and was shocked when the older one announced you can’t have kids if you’re not married. Oh, but I think you can, I replied.  No you can’t, he insisted, because you have to sleep together and you can’t do that until your married. But you can, I ploughed on. In fact I’m not married and you’re in the car with my kids…. awkward silence….)

Back to the six year olds. So one asks if boys can marry boys. Being one to tell it like it is, I tell them yes, pretty much. (Okay, I know legally they can’t, but they can have a commitment ceremony, which is, well, a commitment. Which I'm sure I also told them.)

They then ask if boys can turn into girls. Well, yes, that’s possible too. You’d want to be really sure because it’s a big thing to do, but yes, quite possible.

Some quiet thinking time passes. So, can girls become boys? Yes, that can also be done.

And finally, one guy down the back asks, so can you turn into a lion?? No buddy, you can’t. I swear, the disappointment was palpable.

Sliding doors....

Not the crap movie with that stupid concept that we’re all living parallel lives.  We’re not people!! This really is it.

No, the sliding doors I’m referring to are on my car – well, van probably. It has two – one on each side.

A work colleague sternly warned me after the returning from maternity leave for the third time that one more, and I would be looking at vehicle with sliding doors. Amazingly, that didn’t deter me and I went back for another. Although I think even three and being a Cub Leader – sorry, Assistant Cub Leader – is probably justification enough.

I don’t love my van, but I am missing it. The practicality and convenience of sliding doors is a bit like pre-sliced cheese; once you start using it, it’s very hard to go back. It’s been at the panel shop for about 5 weeks. It suffered from hail damage (similar to my thighs…if only I could book those in for repair and claim it on insurance!) and then got rear-ended by Tom outside work. Which, as it turned out, was kinda fortuitous, as the insurance company wouldn’t kick in for a loan car for hail damage alone, it had to be involved in an accident. Thanks Tom!

People do seem to be surprised I drive a van, despite the fact it is black, has dark tinted windows, is European and has leather seats. A guy at work said he thinks it’s hilarious – the way I dress and that I drive a van…hmmmm…I’m still not sure how to take that. Suggestions welcome.

So I’ve just rung that fancy-pants brand’s panel shop again and no, it'll be a few more days yet of struggling like a normal person with doors on a fixed hinge.

PS If anyone is reading any of these ramblings, it’d be great if you could subscribe (via the email is probably easiest – on the right hand side) and or leave a comment. I’m feeling lonely!!!!

The Pack

Why do we need sleep? I posed this question to my Cub pack.

Yes, in my spare time I'm a Cub Scout Leader. Actually, that's a lie. I'm an Assistant Cub Scout Leader because I have not, and will not,  completed the training. One of the other leaders - actually no, he's also an Assistant Leader too - and I did our training together. An entire long weekend from Friday night through to late Monday night, in the middle of winter, in freezing cabins with really ordinary food and no alcohol. None. At all. I swear if that isn't a testament of commitment I don't know what is.

The toilet blocks were made of Bessa bricks so the wind could whip through unrestrained. It was all up at 6am to light fires, a day of instruction and practical examples, being patronised and treated like we were the 8 year olds. I love being told off for coming into the canteen through the wrong door. The days ended with a sing-a-long around the camp fire in the bitter cold with a cup of Milo before crawling into my sleeping bag on the top bunk with a plastic covered mattress for a wakeful night of bush noises outside and chainsaw-like snoring inside. Only to wake at 6am and do it all again. Fun, eh?

As you already know, my idea of a great Saturday night is a lovely restaurant with friends and an excess of expensive alcohol. This boot camp was a memorable weekend for all the wrong reasons so enough is enough and I am, and shall remain, a mere AL.

My son joined Cubs about ten years and within a few weeks I was cornered and asked to join the parent committee. True colours were revealed at the first meeting when, amongst the 6 or so 50ish blokes that made up said commitee, they elected me, the only female and blonde, secretary. (No, no points for guessing that. It was obvious). So after a couple of years of me bossing them all around, they stupidly elected me President - now I could boss with authority.

The next crisis was a lack of leaders so dire, we were facing packing the whole thing in. Which did hold some secret appeal, I confess. But no, as usual because I don't have enough to do, I volunteered. I do find I enjoy working with the kids more than the parents for one of the same resons I work - ie when I tell them to do something, there's a chance it'll happen.

So, why do we need sleep?
'So our parents can have a rest from us?' ventured one of my charges.
'Exactly!' I responded. Kids can be so insightful can't they?