This post is going to read like a moan about the work/life balance thing that most of us are desperately trying to achieve. I need to say from the outset that I’ve no  right to complain. I decided to return to work when there was no financial urgency to do so. Lord knows why but the idea of being a pampered Eastern Suburbs’ princess didn’t sit well with me. Maybe I should see a therapist about that. Anyhow I was privileged enough to make a choice that so many people simply don’t have.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way lets get down to some hardcore whinging. It’s taken less than three months of working part time to realize that the following cliches are utterly true;

1) There are not enough hours in the day

and

2) When you try to do everything you end up doing nothing well

and

3) Its nigh impossible to keep all your balls in the air whilst riding a uni-cycle.

I might be cartoonish as I am, this is not me.

These are the balls that are frequently dropped in Chez Abulous.

The House

When I was a SAHM the housework was an epic struggle. Now it is a war and the house has won. I have surrendered to the dark side making it unnecessary for the Empire to Strike Back. In other words I’ve come to a begrudging acceptance that the house will not look decent until such time as P2 starts school. We will live shambolically until 2015.

I’ve been seduced by the dark side

Fitness

Mumabulous has zero interest in blogging about her own fitness. The fitness of certain crumpet is an entirely different matter. I advocate imbibing actual candy whilst gazing at eye candy. However since starting  work I have deluded myself that I can quit the gym and scoff whatever I want without consequence. Sadly at age 42 – there is penance to be paid for pleasure. I’m now forced sacrifice good social media time for exercise at 9pm. It’s the only window of opportunity I get.

What I get up to after the kids go to bed

Social Secretarial Duties

In the good ol’d days the Chez Abulous social calender ran like clock work. My approach to event co-ordination and party planning was positively German. Everything was locked in well ahead of time.  I managed to oversee a wedding, two 40th birthdays and a number of lavish children’s parties. These soirees were heralded by hand made invitations no less and Chez Abulous was lavishly decorated. Fast forward to 2013 and Dadab’s 45th birthday is looming large. I had some vague ideas about putting the bar at Chez Abs to its intended use by having the posse over to celebrate. Disappointingly I completely failed to pull my finger out of its cosy nook and Dadabs will have to settle for an intimate dinner for two.  As cruel fate would have it P1′s birthday is a week after her father’s.  I’m insisting on a movie afternoon for a few friend, some cake and nothing more. I can no longer cope with 30 child extravaganzas.

School Spirit

Chez Abs does not smell like school spirit. Our local primary is an absolute hive of social activity but I’ve carelessly shoved getting involved to the bottom of the to do pile. I can only ignore the fundraisers, class get togethers and repeated call outs for volunteers for so long. Its time to get off my lily white posterior and at least front up for canteen duty. The prospect has me trembling with excitement- I can’t tell you.

The Blog

The blog has borne the full burden of my going back to work in terms of quantity and quality. When Mumabulous began almost a year ago I had visions of writing informative yet entertaining articles that involved real research. I hoped that this blog would boost my job prospects rather than render me completely unemployable to anyone expect for maybe Fassbender’s people. Meanwhile George Weston Foods – if you’re interested in talking about Campaign crumpet (and I think you should be) I am still open to suggestion.

The current crumpet mascot is lame and

we can do better.  Perhaps a little Aaron Eckhardt would help move sales along.

Canonball!

What about you? Are you keeping all of your balls and your husband’s in the air? What is being dropped with alarming regularity? Can you ride a uni-cycle?

Keep juggling.

Love

Mumabulous

Fortunately the human race has moved beyond the primitive belief that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Thanks to Richard Dawkins most of us are comfortable with the notion that  men and women evolved on Earth. Yet there are some profound differences in the wiring of the male and female brains. It takes living with a member of the opposite sex for eight years to get a true sense of how wide the chasm is.  As Rudyard Kipling famously said ”Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.”  *

Here are some things that Dadabulous simply does not get. His lack of understanding is so fundamental,  it must be due to brain structure.

1) The nuts.  

After eight years of co-habitation, Dadabs insists upon stocking our larder with packets of macadamia/cashew nut combo.  He then calls me “evil” for going through the pack and picking out all the macadamias. For reasons unexplained he expects me NOT to do this. Its like expecting the seasons not to change.

I WILL eat only the macadamia’s sure as the sun rises every morning.

2) Hair care

Men fail to notice when your hair looks like crap except in the most extreme of  cases. Nor can they see the logic in dropping $150 or more on a salon treatment.  I recently had a desperately needed trim and color retouch. Dadabs could not grasp the concept that this routine maintenance was essential. When I returned home I was all smiles, twirling about the kitchen like a super model. He had the audacity to sit back and laugh at me – “I can’t understand the excitement”.

Dadabs lack of appreciation for hair care goes beyond expensive salon treatments. He is NOT attuned to the notion of specialist shampoos. Infact a visit to the personal care section of the supermarket makes him irate. “This is bullshit. Why can’t you get normal shampoo anymore? There is NO normal shampoo here!” I, by contrast, must have “volume boost” products otherwise my hair looks like shit. As he doesn’t get the fundamental premise that my hair looks like shit, he can’t see why volume boost products are needed.

Its a source of much marital tension. Once I was  banned from bringing my shampoo on holidays. I had to make do with a product labeled “for normal hair”. My hair is NOT normal – but this idea wont seep into Dadabulous’ frontal lobes. Needless to say I had shit hair for the entire trip.

Dadabs doesn’t understand I cant be So Sexy without this*

3) Shoes

My shoe collection is expansive but comprised  mostly of  scuffed ballet flats. Complaining about its lack of “wow” factor falls on deaf ears. Dadabulous doesn’t understand  that shoes can have a wow factor as he rarely looks at a woman’s feet.  Recently  I purchased my first pair of (nearly) thigh high boots.  Teaming them with my long leather coat transforms me into Trinity from The Matrix.  The downside is that I can’t remove them single handedly.

I warned my husband ” You’re going to laugh about this”. “Am I now?” his expression darkened. “I can’t get my boots off”.  Of course I was right. He doubled over laughing.

Not my boots but a middle aged woman can dream.

4) Chick flicks

I never subject Dadabs to chick flicks or  ”bonnet dramas” because  the whining is unbearable.  He still complains about foreign films he was subjected to over a decade ago.  About 18 months previous on a rare  date night, I suggested we  see the movie Bridesmaids. Cue eye rolling and groaning. I conceded to see X-men First Class figuring that I could handle gazing at James McAvoy for two hours.

James McAvoy – I can eyeball that for 2 hours.

What happened next almost caused my visual processing system to shut down from hawtness. You guessed it –  I had my first experience with certain Irish actor and became instantly in-Fass-uated. That I did not end up a puddle on the carpet was an act of super human self control. At the end I commented that “For a comic book film that wasn’t too bad” when what I really meant was “Omigod, I’ve been hit  with a baseball bat and come up with stars in my eyes”.

I call checkmate on BOTH of you.

Let this be a lesson to all the men folk. You disdain the chick flick at your peril. If you subject your wife to action films you are actively encouraging perviness in her. Moreover if she is  suggesting that you  see comic book films you have passed the point of no return – particularly if its Thor 2 with its HHH appeal (Hiddleston, Hemsworth and hammers)

What basic concepts does your husband fail to grasp?

Love

Mumabulous

I’m feeling bad about ignoring James McAvoy on that fateful movie date.  He is very fetching and has  talented eyebrows. I’d put a pic of Fass in here but I fear the blog fans are becoming Fass-tigued.

*From Barrack-room ballads, 1892.

* So NOT sponsored. C’mon who would sponsor my perving?

If you a regular reader of this humble blog you may have noticed two overarching themes. The first is that I have a juvenile preoccupation with hawt actors which is most unbecoming of a woman of my age.  The second is that I am tired. What’s worse is, not only do I feel tired, I look tired! The bags under my eyes are destined to hit my navel before my boobs (such that they are) do.  I know you all get that wrangling small ones, working part time and managing a house with five bathrooms is not a recipe for relaxation but I do feel churlish complaining.  Afterall so many people are working much harder, without family support and doing it with aplomb. Dadabulous is always home to help with the evening routine and I’m getting a full nights sleep. I have no god given right to be this exhausted.  Yet if I dared let my head rest upon the keyboard right now I’d be asleep within minutes. Its 4.30pm and I’m on to my fifth cup of tea!

Why is it that when your youngest child drops their day sleep you feel compelled to pick it up? One afternoon last week, I had errands to run and kids birthday presents to buy but  was simply not up to these menial tasks. I hit the wall at 3.00pm.  I dumped a basket of laundry on my bed and collapsed on top of it without so much as bothering to remove my shoes. The washing pile was deconstructed in much the same manner as Kenneth Branagh would a Shakespearean role ( by lying on it).

How did Kenny deconstruct Emma’s role in Much Ado About Nothing?*

Sadly for me, as I attempted to luxuriate in a sea of pink undies, T-shirts and white school socks, it was a case of nappus interuptus. Every 5 minutes the girls would leave their post in front of You Tube to nag me for food, drink or a new video. It hardly made for a restful experience.  I may as well have done the housework.

The solution, as I see it, is to institute the Spanish siesta model.  In Mumabs land – my  fantasy utopia, a  Nanna nap between 2 and 4pm would be mandatory for everyone. .  The system is afterall working splendidly for the Spanish. Sure their economy is royally screwed but the population looks like this.

Their ridiculous hawtness can be attributed solely to the Siesta.

and the entire nation gets to smash tapas and sangria every afternoon.

The joys that await after the siesta.

If that’s not enticement enough for you, they have been known to borrow  from the French and conduct menage a trois with Scarlett Johannsen. ( Perhaps that’s only in the kinky imaginings of Woody Allen?)

Everyone looks like this after a jug of sangria.

Undoubtedly this would excite my husband (and everybody elses ) but in Mumabs land we’ll swap Penelope and Scarlett  for me and Antonio Banderas. Javier Baredem can stay.

The Spanish also use this daily sojourn to harness their creativity.  Hence we get the surrealist movement and stuff like this.

“Soft watch at the moment of explosion” by Salvador Dali

This work is particularly resonate as it graphically describes my current relationship to being on time as well as my feelings towards my face. Thank you Mr Dali. Its like you’ve penetrated my soul with your intensely quizzical gaze.

I heartily concur

So there you have it. The siesta. It’ll make us more attractive, more creative and more open to suggestion (particularly if the suggestion comes from Javier). More importantly a daily nap will help elevate my eye bags back to their natural position ie immediately under my eyes instead of on the floor. Are you in? Do you need a Nanna nap?

Love

Mumabulous

* Not only did I see the Shakespearean screen adaptation – Much Ado About Nothing, I saw it at the now defunct Mandolin cinema which was quite the art house venue in its day. That makes me a card carrying intellectual right? As for Kenneth Branagh – he’s 52 making him age appropriate crumpet. He’s matured rather nicely methinks. Kenny was married to Emma Thompson  before moving through Helena Bonham Carter to the art director Lindsay Brunnock . Geez – and some people think the Aussie Mummy Blogging scene is a circle jerk. Its a little known fact that whenever these British show biz types get together for red carpet event they keep a contingent of  proctologists on standby lest they need surgical extraction from each others proverbials.

Crumpet like wine sometimes ages nicely.

For those of you who are not on board with middle aged crumpet as a concept here’s Jake G. Who says you can’t please all the people all the time?

Oh my Jake – lets get you out of those wet clothes.

Over the weekend an article by Wendy Squires created a social media buzz.

http://m.smh.com.au/comment/a-few-things-you-shouldnt-say-to-a-childless-woman-20130503-2iyj5.html

The piece was about how as a society we feel it necessary to pass comment and judgement upon childless women. I absolutely agreed with Squires given my own (albeit brief) experience with infertility but that’s not what I want to focus on here. Once again the idea of having a family was framed in terms of “ticking that box”.  This lead my thinking off on a tangent about Western society’s expectations in general.  ( I know, I know heady stuff for a girl who can barely lift her mind above crumpet).  It appears to me that first world folk are increasingly weighed down by laundry lists of achievements that need to be checked off before we can feel we’re having a jolly time of it.  It also seems that the higher one climbs up the socio-economic pole, the longer the “to do” list stretches.

Swinging off the socio-economic pole.

A generic list could look like this.

To Do in Your 20s

1) Bachelors degree

2) One or more post Grad qualifications

3) Extensive travel/back packing

4) Gain career foothold in glamorous industry

5) A stint working overseas in glamorous industry

6) Date string of attractive and charismatic guys

7)  Acquire a walk in closet full of fabulousness

8) Work out and look hawt at all times

Backpacking the world – tick.

Ideally these accomplishments will be systematically crossed off by the time one reaches their 30s necessitating a fresh list.

To Do By Age 35

1) Cease dating jerks and find true soulmate

2) Get married

3) Purchase sprawling family home in respectable suburb

4) Retire debt

5) Have 2.5 kids

6) Return to glamorous career

7) Work out and look hawt at all times

As one enters their 40s and the kids become more self sufficient the list requires further upgrades.

To Do By Age 50

1) Maintain happy marriage (or at least the facade thereof)

2) Achieve an even more glamorous job title and/or start own business

3) Get kids into private school

4) Renovations to house and face

5) Investment property and/or substantial stock portfolio

6) Renew love affair with travel through exciting family holidays

7) Work out and look hawt at all times

Are you exhausted reading this? I know I am. I’m not sure where all this pressure is coming from but its no doubt there. Yet when you look objectively its ridiculous to expect ourselves to kick goals in every aspect of our lives and to look immaculate while we’re doing it. No wonder depression is reaching epidemic proportions.

I stumbled into my 30s with most of the boxes on the list glaringly empty. To say that I was down in the dumps was an understatement akin to “Dadabs codes a bit”.  I felt as though my life was a hard drive  held under constant siege by “General Failure”.  Luckily for me Dababulous came along and reinstalled said hard drive. The wheel of fortune spun in our favor during the mid 2000s. Relationship, career, family and the dream home all fell into place – tick, tick, tick , tick.  I am not going to kid you and say it didn’t bring happiness. Happiness came by the truckload. It was like standing on the jetty thinking the Love Boat had sailed only to have the Tardis pop up and offer a ride.

Mumabs missed the Love Boat but hitched a ride on the Tardis

I will say this – I haven’t ticked all my boxes. The travel box in particular is a big empty square that begs to be filled. However at risk of coming over all zen, I’m at peace with my lot and have given up on lists.

The Mumabs is like waaaay zen man.

Let’s finish with some crumpet of the cerebral kind. Rock star philosopher Alain de Botton has much to say on what makes for a rich and fulfilling life. What’s more he says it in a voice that is positively musical.  Listening to him is uplifting in a way my push up bra is not.  Here are some quotes.

 Here’s some insight I’ve had about success: You can’t be successful at everything. We hear a lot of talk about work-life balance. Nonsense. You can’t have it all. You can’t.

Any vision of success has to admit what it’s losing out on, where the element of loss is.

Any wise life will accept that there is going to be an element where we’re not succeeding.

A lot of the time our ideas of what it would mean to live successfully are not our own. They’re sucked in from other people. Chiefly, if you’re a man, your father; if you’re a woman, your mother… We also suck in messages from everything from the television to advertising, to marketing etc. These are hugely powerful forces that define what we want and how we view ourselves.

ADB shows fine taste in stuffed leather couches.

Do you have list fatigue or are you still working through yours?  And Alain de Botton  - wouldn’t you like to get him all existential over coffee up the back of  some charming Parisian cafe? Nup – just me then……..

Love

Mumabulous

For the inaugural link up at The Lounge.

 Theme: What did you think you would be better at by now?

“What’s the story morning glory? Well”.  Sod orf Oasis you 1990s Beatles rip off merchants. To be fair to the Gallagher brothers however I can relate to this next bit;[

"Need a little time to wake up
Need a little time to wake up wake up"

1990s mega rock Gods perhaps but not crumpets.

Mornings are and always have been the bane of my existence. I have no sense of what morning glory is. By contrast my mornings are  inglorious bastards.  Some people are able to haul their butts out of bed at 5.00am (WTF), work out with their personal trainer, have a shower and get into their office by 8.30am immaculately groomed. This concept is so fantastical to me, it barely computes. Its like plans to colonize Mars – theoretically possible but wont happen in my lifetime.  I marvel that people, especially parents, manage to duck into their work place before 9.00am with blow dried hair. It was a feat I could barely manage before kids.

At this stage of my life I really should have implemented an efficient morning routine.  Nup. I’m usually woken by an unpleasant light penetrating my eye lids at around 6.00am. Occasionally I open my eyes long enough to witness a spectacular ocean sunrise through the boudoir window. Thoughts of getting up and appreciating nature’s artistry flicker through my mind but are rapidly shut down. Normally I put head back to pillow  and resume an ongoing imagined conversation with Tom Hiddleston. Doesn’t everyone conduct saucy inner dialogues with handsome young actors?

H: Loki is a quote-unquote “bad assed mother forker”*

M: Darling with respect , I beg to differ.

H: I love it when you beg with respect. Do go on.

M: In your street parlance, Loki is a quote-unquote “pussy in a silly hat” just like this amusing Tumblr photo.

The cat has a couple of powerful points.

H: Puss has derailed the thrust of my thesis. Evil forker.

M: (in a Mrs Slocombe voice). Mah pussy wants you to mount a counter argument but I’m going back to sleep now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Five minutes later, I’m woken with vigorous poking. Sadly its not Hids in rebuttal.  I recognize the sensation of a foot to the cranial region. When Rod Stewart sang to Maggie May ”All you did was wreck my bed, And in the morning kick me in the head”*, this was not what he was talking about.

This feline metaphor just wont quit!

Its the girls with an invigorating chorus of “Muuuuuuuuuuum. I’m hungry. Muuuuuuuuuum I’m thirsty. Muuuuuuuuuuum I need the twoilet. Muuuuuuuuuum!”

“Go to Daddy.” I mumble. However Dadabs, crazy freak  that he is, has already risen and is emerging from the shower. “Its time to get up Mum” he orders sternly.  I bellow “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” like a wounded cow  and follow up  with a string of expletives.  ”Yeh, yeh. Tell me something new”  Dadabs responds. “It doesnt change the fact that its time to get up”. Finally using a mental crow bar I pry myself from the comfort of the sheets.

I fail to function without coffee and an instant wont do.  For me its like substituting a Ryan for a Fass. I insist upon walking down my local high street for a  fix and 20 minutes is faffed away faster than you can order a large skinny cap. I then consume “my precious” in front of the computer and fritter more valuable minutes.

The morning coffee faff.

These crazy people are exercising at 7.00am. Wuzup with dat?

By this stage I guiltily realize  that I haven’t fed my kids. Its time to put on my short order cooks hat. After the joyous ritual of deciding what combination of cereal and fruit to have in which bowl we’re ready to get dressed. I switch to personal stylist mode. I wonder whether clowns in the circus require the services of personal stylists because  I’m well qualified. I am also highly skilled in doing two things at once. Choosing socks for P2 whilst putting P1′s hair into high pig tails? Piece of cake. Finally the girls are dressed and shod ( we’ve usually been through at least three shoes and sock combinations) with coiffed hair and we’re ready to leave the house. Unfortunately there’s a minor obstacle – the fact that I haven’t showered or dressed. Boom goes the sound barrier as I leap into the bathroom to wash dry and dress at warp speed. I’m a  bit like this misnamed piece of hardware.

Zoooooom. Mumabs showers and dresses at warp speed.

Finally with a quick tug of a comb through the hair and a smear of Oil of Olay we’re in the car and on our way.  After a double drop off I stagger into my office and face plant on the desk. I feel as bad as I look.  At least I have 24 hours respite before we have to do it all again.

Have you got this morning caper in the bag yet or are you as hopeless as me? Do you just “need a little time to wake up, wake up”?

Rise and Shine Loves

Mumabulous

* A direct quote from an interview. Except he said “mother fucker” with beautifully rounded vowels.

* Ok I’ll stop banging on about the stoopid Avengers. However I can’t make the same promise about the new Star Trek movie. Isn’t Benedict Cumberbatch dishy as the latest bad assed mother forker?  He should be renamed Benedict Crumpetbatch and

together we shall be known as Brendadict.

* Rod Stewart – Maggie May 1971

As a performer Rod gives so much of himself. Bless him.