I wanna be

Mae West (1893 – 1980 )

The original “power glass”

Mae West was the original grande dame of the stage and screen. She reigns unchallenged as the Queen of Camp, the baroness of bawdy and the mistress of the bon mot. It is to her that the world owes such killer lines as ;

“I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it.”

I’d like to think there’s just a tiny bit of Miss West ( perhaps only a few molecules) in Mumabulous and this blog is the place where she runs amok.

That could easily be Mumabs right?

Liza Minnelli In Cabaret

There is no doubt that nowadays Liza is completely looney tunes. What was with not one but two marriages to card carrying members of the other team? BUT in the 1972 film Carbaret she was awesomeness personified.  What a voice! What an attitude! Look up “nailed the part” and “truly kick arse performance” on dictionary.com and you’ll see this.

No one’s kicked arse harder than Liza.

In this era where everything is sexually explicit but not much is truly sexy, its easy to forget that Cabaret was eye brow archingly risque for its time. Combine the fantastic score, the innovative choreography, Liza’s power house performance,  add a dash of a young and crumpety Michael York and you’ve got a recipe for hawtness.  Who wouldn’t want to channel Sally Bowles at the Kit Kat Klub in the seedy Berlin of 1931?

Perhaps Mum and Dadabs could re-enact this scene.

Debbie Harry

Because “I wanna dance with Harry Dean,Drive through Texas in a black limousine, I want a piece of heaven before I die”*

Atomic!

I’m betraying my Gen X status by declaring that for me Debbie Harry is still the definitive pop/rock Goddess. Beyonce,  Rihanna et al  are OK but I’m not really feeling it. When Debbie Harry sang “Once I had a love and it was a gas. Soon turned out to be a pain in the ass” I really felt it. What’s more I lived it several times in my 20s and 30s. If you see me pumping out karaoke at the Pickled Possum, to the strains of “Call me”, “Atomic” or “Tide is High”, I’ll be a rockin’.

Dita Von Teese

Whilst she makes it look easy, I’ve no desire to simulate Dita’s notorious martini glass routine (unless said glass was to be served up privately to Fass on a bender).  Ironically I choose Dita for the wardrobe.

Shaken and stirred?

Dita equals to old school glamour and her off stage wardrobe consists of the kind of fabulousness the angels in high couture heaven should be wearing.  She looks like she is about to rush of to an assignation with Don Draper – every single day. Who wouldn’t want a piece of that action? We’ll just erase the small issue of  marriage to shock rocker Marilyn Manson from the memory banks.

Just another day at the office

Annabel Crabb

Annabel could  provide this blog with some substance to go with the style.  I love the way she combines humor with real insight. Thanks to Annabel’s columns in SMH and The Drum  http://www.abc.net.au/news/thedrum/  being politically informed at least tolerable if not  enjoyable.  I’d try to emulate her if only I could shift my focus away from crumpet for long enough.  Did I mention also that she has fabulous hair? Its wild!

Annabel makes Aussie politics less of a chore

Gina Rinehart

Just kidding.

I wonder if she’s got Han Solo in carbonite out the back?

Who do you want to be?

Love

Mumabulous

* From I Want That Man

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

The point of rendezvous

Finding a niche and going for it.

If you’ve spent any time traipsing around the Aussie blogging landscape then you’ve no doubt encountered the delightful corner of cyber space that is Kimba Likes (http://kimbalikes.com/).  Kim-Marie’s world is all about fashion, friends, frivolity and of course her gorgeous menfolk  (her adored husband and son).  It’s a blog that radiates joyfulness at all the good things in life. Even if fashion is not your thing, its difficult not to be charmed by her enthusiasm and passion for beautiful things.

Recently the Kimba Likes blog has become a platform for a germinating business concept. The idea of hosting thrift shopping tours had been rattling around in Kim’s mind for some years but with her 40th birthday looming large on the horizon she decided now was the time to get started.  She took a leap of faith and resigned from a job that was making her stressed and miserable.  She knew that she dearly wanted to make fashion her livelihood but it was a question of exactly how to go about it. Kim-Marie had already established a reputation as a “master shopper”. Her friends would frequently seek her advice and “book her in” for shopping expeditions. Even strangers asked her for her stylist card. Meanwhile her blog was taking off and had attracted the attention of the bigger plays like Andrea and Fox in Flats (http://www.foxinflats.com.au/) and Nikki from Styling You (http://www.stylingyou.com.au/). It was simply a case of finding a niche and running with it. For Kim-Marie, the answer was thrifting – or breathing new life into second hand clothes.

Kim-Marie is lucky enough to live in Rozelle,  a thriving suburb in Sydney’s inner west with loads of character. Rozelle not only boasts funky cafe’s and edgy upcoming restaurants and bars it is home to the in Kim-Marie’s words “the Golden Triangle of Thrifting”. The cross formed by Darling St and Victoria Rd is abuzz with op shops, classic vintages stores and weekend markets. Kim-Marie knows this terrain like the back of her hand and loves nothing more than the thrill of chasing down a bargain whilst making a friend look and feel amazing at the same time. The idea of Kimba Likes Thrifting Tours was born!

Quirky cool at Rozelle markets.

Too much bling is never enough

The thrifting experience

On the morning of the tour we steeled ourselves with caffeine and headed off like a pack of cougars on a mission. As you would expect Kim-Marie had the low down on every store on the strip and directed us towards the best “hits”. The Rozelle Vinnies, though unassuming on the exterior was a hidden treasure trove of amazingness. The jumbled racks were crammed with labels, sweetie labels – designer fare at a fraction of the original cost. Kim-Marie scanned everything with her “magpie eyes”, quickly calculating whether any particular item was a bargain and assessing how it could be given a new lease on life. She also encouraged us to step outside our fashion “comfort zones”, encouraging us to play with new colours and styles.

I picked up this elegant woolen dress.  It’s nylon, angora, silk blend and is fully lined. Its very flattering to my figure type and I actually feel sexy in it ( a rarity indeed).

This angora blend dress is stunning on

I also picked up this sequinned jumper for a little day time sparkle.

Find my inner sparkle

Having exhausted Vinnies, we headed to the sunny side of the street to check out the Salvos and U-turn.

U turn here for bargains!

Here I picked up this cute Tommy Hilfiger blouse.

The cuteness.

And this Marks & Spencer linen vest in excellent condition.

Its the WOW at $6.00

I couldn’t resist this striped Chanel style cardigan and needed only the most gentle prompting from Kim-Marie to snap it up.  There may be a few similar items in closet-abulous but what can I say – I fetishise stripes almost as much as shirtless British actors.

I’m crushing on my Chanel style cardigan

By this time I was loaded up like a pack horse and decided to switch off the cashflow. The others intrepidly braved the Rozelle markets after refuelling at the Rosebud cafe.

Overall it was a fantastically fun morning. Kim-Marie is every bit as vibrant in person as she is online and I thank her for giving me a much needed injection of fab.  I came home with five “good as new” items for a total of around $120.00 and a successful bargain hunters glow.

To find out more contact Kim-Marie at styling@kimbalikes.com.

Love

Mumabulous

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?

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.

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

My behaviour over Easter shown pictorially.

Mind you, we’re not talking about any old supermarket variety crumpet. The reason for the fuss was the supremely talented and ultra tasty Chris Isaak . Cue squealing like a ten year old One Direction fan.

Chris Isaak – squeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaal!

It began on the journey southward when we stopped at the Bundanoon bakery for some fine coffee and patisseries (as you do in the Southern Highlands).  The the  funky young barista casually mentioned that Chris Isaak  happened to be playing at Thredbo. My eyes lit up like proverbial fireflies. “Chris Isaak did you say?”  ”Oh great” moaned Dadabs “The place will be packed and we wont get parking. What a dumb arsed idea putting on a concert over Easter. Sheesh”.  Dadabs is a Coldplay fan and therefore does not have music in his soul.  He is also one to let a trivial issue like parking stand in the way of me getting an eyeful (and in this case an earful) of crumpet.  Needless to say I wasn’t going to let it rest. When we reached the lodge, I made sure everyone was painfully aware that Chris Isaak was playing at Thredbo ( a 45 min drive away) on Easter Sunday.  I stressed that we  should go because “Chris is soooooooo hawt”.  My argument was based on solid fact. Chris Isaak is so well endowed with hawtness it ought to be against the law.

Wicked Game was released in 1989.  You may recall the video where a scantily clad Chris cavorts sexily about a deserted beach with  Helena Christensen (Sod orf!).  The clip was four minutes of hawtness so intense that it caused the entirety of Gen X a mental melt down. Everyone currently in their early 20s has this song to thank for their conception.

If you’re thinking of cavorting on a beach, this is how its done.

What ya looking at Helena? He’s down there.

As Sunday crept closer I revved up my banter about Chris. Our friends hatched plots as to how I could transport my underwear to the stage.  Meanwhile Dadabulous became increasingly irritated. I suspect he was a wee bit jealous.  He asked with incredulity whether I really wanted to watch a band outside in the icy alpine conditions. I replied yes because the sizzle between Chris and I would radiate toasty warmth throughout the venue.

As cruel fate would have it our planned day trip to Thredbo coincided with Chris’ concert.  As Dadabulous  predicted the carpark was indeed full but being the parking Lord that he is we slipped into a cheeky spot beside the salubrious Thredbo Leisure Centre and its indoor pool.  I entered the complex disappointed to find Chris conspicuously absent. I gathered he must have been holed up in a luxury hotel room by a blazing fire, sipping whatever rock gods sip at 11am.

I had no choice but to brave the frigid waters and supervise my kids on the water slide.  Not fun. Being a Virgo I am finickity about certain issues. To meet my exacting standards pool water must be precisely 33C.  Thredbo Leisure Centre is considerably cooler than this.  In an attempt to warm up I entertained steamy thoughts. I imagined myself in a hot tub like the one  below except without the dudes. Alright – John Cusack can stay.

Everybody out – except for you John Cusack.

Sadly while thoughts like this can get you hot and bothered they do not warm you in literally. I was sitting there shivering, my lips turning an attractive shade of blue and my extremities taking on the texture of a withered prune.

The actual waterslide of torture.

By the time the kids condescended to leave I looked and felt like this.

I can’t let Chris Isaak see me like this!

An urgently needed cappuccino and  pizza were revitalizing but ultimately unsatisfying. I was so near to Chris Isaak and yet so far. Trudging back to the carpark the gig was in full swing and the music reverberated through the valley. To say I was distracted was an understatement. My head was spinning around like something out of the exorcist as I craned my neck to catch the slightest glimpse of the event. I couldn’t focus on the job of loading the car and slammed my forehead into the open boot. The resulting lump on the head was the perfect souvenir for the day.

Have you ever been so near and yet so far from one of your idols?

Love

Mumabulous

NB: I went to YouTube to view the Wicked Game film clip strictly for research purposes. Some dude had left a comment so politically incorrect it registered on the Borat scale. Needless to say it had me in tears.  I can’t report it to you verbatim but I can show you the gist of it.

No caption required.

Here endeth my tiresome obsession with felines, unless  they happen to look like Hitler.

 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.

“I didn’t know you were funny” and “The stuff you write is so out there but its nothing like you. You are so quiet and polite”.  They haven’t seen me on a Friday night bender making a twat of myself but its a fair assessment. In real life Brenda keeps Mumabulous on the inside which is as uncomfortable as it sounds.  Firstly I don’t often talk or make jokes about things like the The Large Hadron Collider, particle physics and nuclear fusion as I do on the blog. The reasons are threefold –  a) most of the people  have zero interest in this stuff. They’d assume I’m on drugs when clearly I dont need drugs, b) I’d sound desperately try hard and c) I’d appear an  ignoramus to anyone with basic scientific knowledge. So sadly the crumpet that is Prof Brian Cox doesn’t weave his way into my everyday conversation. Its such as shame when there’s stuff like this floating around my interwebs. Nerdom doesn’t get much hotter.

Brenda would never tell you how excited this gets her.  That’s a job for Mumabs.

Let’s move from scientific crumpet to crumpet as a general concept.  Brenda is not a mobile billboard for baked breakfast products.  I don’t pepper my normal discourse with comments like “Phwoar! –  that Damien Lewis is a crumpet topped with strawberry jam”. Even though it is an unarguable fact.  Nor do I bombard my real friends with faux-vertisements like this. No blog fans – I save this shite for YOU.*

Can you believe George Weston foods still haven’t called?

My next admission will shock you to the core. My role as Fassbassador doesn’t extend to real life. I don’t go around Fass-eminating at every opportunity. Could you imagine if I did? Conversations would go like this ;

Friend: Hi. How are you?

Brenda: Oh Fass-tastic. Last time I looked Michael Fassbender was still infeasibly hawt!

Friend: Right.  Beautiful day isn’t it?

Brenda: Sure. Everyday is beautiful when Fass is in it.  You know why its unseasonably mild? Scientists have proven that heat radiating from Fass is warming the oceans. That’s  how infeasibly hawt he is.

Friend: Wrong – its all Channing Tatum! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!

Unfortunately for you guys this blog is the only place I can vent my Fass-tration.

But you CAN blog about it until the cows come home.

One thing that Brenda and Mumabulous have in common is our passionate advocacy for Rangas. From the moment I laid eyes on Eric Stolz  I decreed natural red hair to be the most  desirable physical trait a human could have.  I was alarmed by claims that red heads would become extinct  by 2060 and vowed to do my utmost to preserve the species. On the fateful evening when I met Dadabulous ( exactly 9 years ago to this day*), he had the most glorious cascade of shoulder length red curls. It was tied back in a cheeky pony tail and teamed with a navy bomber jacket and boots. We sank red wine,  discussed New Scientist magazine and he paid for everything. Single ‘Abulous was finished.

I am very proud to have co-created two beautiful girls with locks like rose gold and feel great satisfaction from having done my bit for the ginger race.

I’ve done my bit for the future.

Meanwhile reports of  impending ranga annihilation were proven  false.  Red heads will be with us beyond the next millennium which is a  blessing for human kind. Could you imagine a world without -

Eric Stolz. My prototype red hawt ranga*

or

Damien Lewis – Oh my, that’s a penetrating stare. *

Heck I’ll even admit to fancying post Harry Potter Rupert Grint even though its extremely age inappropriate.

How you’ve grown Ron. (I need to take a shower.)

But this is taking things way too far.

I cant go for that. The carpet most certainly doesn’t match the curtains.

Of course, there are many things going on in Brenda’s life that Mumabulous can’t touch.  Office life and family relations could feed the blog  for at least a year. Unfortunately Brenda needs to keep these things running smoothly over the long term so Mumabulous is banned from the territory. If Brenda does get fired or has a family fall out, Mumabulous  wont be to blame. Meanwhile Brenda and Mumabulous will both try to keep you entertained. If we ever met in person Brenda is bound to be quiet and polite at least until three standard drinks are consumed. Only then will Mumabulous break free of her leash.

How about you? How much does your blog reflect who you really are? Do your friends have trouble reconciling the shizz you put on the interwebs and the quiet sweet girl they know? What happens when you meet other bloggers IRL?

Meanwhile I’ll leave you with the immortal words of Split Enz – “When my baby’s walking down the street. I see red, I see red, I see red”.

Love

Mumabulous & Brenda

* This really is for YOU. I don’t like brand Beckham. Well I guess he is kind of acceptable if he just stands there and says nothing.

* April 29th is the 9th anniversary of my first date with Dadabs.

* From the movie Memphis Belle which I may have watched more than once.

* Hey Melbourne Mum – Down girl. Down!

I’ll tell you what I want. What I really, really want.

It may surprise you to hear that the answer is not inflatable globes or 1990s platform shoes rather my inner most desires are;

a) A romance so rollicking it registers on the Richter scale with Nathan Fillion. (You thought I was going to say Fass – didn’t you? Haw Haw)

Things that make me go “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”

Or

b) An entire week completely alone at a secluded coastal location.  Heck I don’t mind if its inland, just so long as I get some time to myself to do absolutely nothing.

Its an either/or situation because asking for a week with Nathan Fillion is too greedy, even by my standards.  Scenarios a) and b) are equally likely.

I’m hardly the first Mummy blogger to have expressed the outrageous desire for time out.  I conservatively estimate that this the 10th million time a blogger has echoed Greta Garbo’s immortal words “I vant to be alone” – at least for a little while. Similarly I’m surely not the first blogger to call crumpet on Nathan Fillion.

I vant to be alone because nobody “gets” my head gear.

Back in the BD (before Dadabulous) era, I lived solo in an inner city shoe box. While I would never swap the full catastrophe that is Team Abulous for the Bridget Jones antics of back then, I didn’t fully appreciate that I was living the dream. The mortgage was my only encumbrance. I could watch, read and listen to what I wanted when I wanted. I could stroll through the villages of Glebe and Newtown at my leisure indulging in brioche, coffee and fine European chocolates. Sundays often  meant yum cha followed by an afternoon at the pub talking absolute shite. None of this mattered to my perfect waist line. I could exercise whenever I felt like it.  I even entertained the odd gentleman caller.

Even then, I hankered to get out of the city, to defrag my mind’s hard drive in some idyllic  location. A secluded beach was preferred but not essential. Nowadays between the girls, Dadabulous and work the only “me time” I get is the 10 minute drive between Chez Abulous an my office. The fantasy of escaping and just strolling by the water plays in my head like a broken record. (That’s a vinyl record for all you Gen Ys. You may have seen DJs using them “ironically”. )

My mind’s a broken record.

Some people talk about wanting to be alone with their thoughts. Not I, my thoughts are irritating. I want the noise in my brain to gradually fade out to the sound of the ocean. I want to meander along deserted bush tracks just absorbing the bird song completely entranced in the moment. Although tt sounds very new agey and Zen,  in the words of Eliza Dolittle “Wouldn’t it be lurvely?”.

When we spent the Easter break at Perisher I escaped for a lone bush walk. I wasn’t gone for much longer than an hour but the experience was utterly joyful. If I could only have a little more of that.

Happiness is…

going for a walk by yourself

on crisp Autumn afternoon.

As gorgeous as Kosciuszko National Park is, I’m a card carrying wussbag. Its just too cold.  My destination for a sojourn of solitude needs a more welcoming climate. I never argue with NSW’s mid north coast. Here is Diamond Head.

Aaaaaah I feel better already.

I’d happily go the opposite direction and head to Jervis Bay. Who wouldn’t?

That’s it – I’m packing my bags right now.

Are you tempted Nathan?

Do you feel the same way Mum and Dadrades? Do you long to steal away by yourself for a couple of days, weeks or months? Where would your fortress of solitude be?

Love

Mumabulous

Who is Nathan Fillion? I hear your cry. Have you seen the TV series Firefly?  As Malcom Reynolds the swaggering captain of the ”Firefly-class” spaceship Serenity he put the sexy into Sci Fi. He didn’t put ALL the sexy into sci fi (Remember Fass as Magneto in X men) but he’s made a generous contribution. Reynolds commands his rag tag crew of renegades in a trench coat and suspenders oozing charisma all the while. Even if sci-fi is not your genre, give Firefly a go for the witty Joss Wheldon dialogue and the crumpet. Nathan was also in that gawd awful chick flick Waitress and something called Castle. I can find it in my heart to forgive him. Afterall…

anyone who gets this close to Joss Wheldon has to be cool right?

And

He’s like a total babycakes!