The perils of being a working mum.Β 

Today I left the house in my usual work attire. I’ve given up on trousers and skirts and dresses are the choice at the moment. 

At 9.15 however, I realised, as I nonchalantly ran my hands down my legs, that I had one horrendously hairy leg and one beautifully smooth leg! 

Granted this has meant I’ve had a warmer leg due to the Baltic conditions of works air con blasting out, but this is definitely one of the perils of being a working mum. No time to do any one job properly. 

Let me take you back…

A couple of months ago I bought an epilator. I’d heard good things about them, I’d also heard bad things about them but thought – ‘I’ve had a child, the pain can’t be that bad’. Oh how wrong I was!!

If you have never heard of an epilator or tried it it is a torture implement that I have voluntarily purchased. However, now I have spent a significant amount of money on it the Yorkshire genes in me insist I get use from it. 

Whoever invented the epilator either has an abnormally numb body or is actually the devil. 

To cut a long story short I started my second attempt at using it last night in the hope it would be less painful and quicker. I had been assured this would be the case.

Despite the gin and tonic I had consumed that evening and the ibuprofen I’d taken because of my headache (a great mix I know!) it still felt like somebody was plucking each of my hairs from my body slowly with minute tweezers…oh wait…

After completing one leg I got up to have a breather and wipe the tears away and promptly stubbed my toe, shouted ‘fuck this shit’ and watched another new episode of Orange is the New Black whilst holding an ice pack to my swollen toe. 

So this is how I now have one gorilla leg and one as smooth as a baby’s bum. But in order to get a matching pair I have to go through the whole ordeal again on the other leg and I’m not quite ready for that yet so this evening I’m still Tarzan on one leg and Jane on the other. 

I will sort it before Monday though…hopefully. 

Sunshine on a rainy day

I just went outside in flip flops and a waterproof with the hood up.  I mean come on British Summer! What are you playing at?  When you do it well it’s so good! Take last year as a good example!  

Last summer in the UK in our swimsuits!
 
You’re warm. 

You make getting dressed in the morning easy. 

You make the idea of eating salads regularly seem do-able. 

You make fruit look delicious, juicy and tempting. 

You make it easy to entertain the kids or even let them entertain themselves. 

You make the knowledge that we’re not going abroad this year a bit easier to cope with, as you sit in a pub garden, sipping Pimms.  

You make the weekends seem a bit longer.  

You make going to work not seem too bad, as we know the sun will still be out for a few hours after 5 o’clock.

You make men wear white t-shirts, shorts and sunglasses. Yum!

You make hair lighter, skin sun kissed and freckles appear on the nose. 

In summary it’s bloody awesome! 
However…when you change your temperature every three hours and go from winter-like chills to rainforest-like humidity over the course of a few days…

You make it impossible to know what to hell to wear that day and layering becomes a necessity.  

You keep making us drag the heavy ‘winter clothes’ suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe after tricking us into thinking it would be all summer dresses and shorts from now on. 

You make picnicking into a game called ‘How much of the picnic can you eat before it starts raining?’ (Catchy, I know) 

You make planning in advance impossible. Dare I book tickets to that entirely outdoor event in three days time? …maybe not.

You make that last minute deal to a place you’ve never heard of and with no reviews seem like a really good idea.

You give us sunburn because we didn’t realise the sun was actually out through all that cloud! 

You make us spend more money on fake tan, but then I guess we are saving on sun cream.

And everyone starts to wonder whether Wimbledon will be rained off and whether Glastonbury will be muddy and welly sales go up by 50%.  

 
So please British Summertime, lets maybe use the upcoming summer solstice to change this crappy weather around and give us a boost of vitamin D for a few consecutive weeks please. 
Thanks in advance. 

The difference between nights out in your 20’s and 30’s.

IMG_2521.JPGThis weekend I went on my sister-in-law-to-be’s hen do. I am still recovering, two days later. After ten months of being thirty I’m starting to see that there is actually a difference in how I approach a night out and how I react to the aftermath of said night out. For instance…

Organising:
20’s – phone call…night of the party/drinks etc
“What you up to?”
“Not much, you?”
“Not a lot…fancy going out for a drink?”
“Yeah, sounds good. See you in an hour”
30’s – phone call three weeks before party/drinks etc
“I haven’t seen you in ages, we need a night out…are you free three Saturdays from now?”
“Can I get back to you? I need to check my diary, see if I can get a babysitter, we’re on a sleep routine so not sure if I want to rock the boat…”

Preparation:
20’s – shower, blowdry hair, apply make up, put on one of the many dresses you have, pick a pair of shoes and matching bag.
30’s – book in to the salon to have a spray tan to try and make you look slim and less tired, browse the range of Spanx online, dive into Outfit the afternoon of the event after doing your big shop and realise that you hate your body and nothing you try on looks good, give up and go home, throw everything out of the wardrobe whilst having a breakdown, realise you now haven’t got time for a shower so use a baby wipe and put on your staple ‘smart jeans’ and floaty top to cover the muffin top (gave up on the Spanx after pulling a muscle trying to put them on).

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The going out bag:
20’s – a sleek clutch style bag which only contains a lipgloss, your bank card, your keys and your phone.
30’s – an over the shoulder style bag because it’s more practical and so you can fit in your entire wallet, your phone, your phone charger because you inevitably forgot to charge it and won’t have enough battery to show everyone pictures of your gorgeous daughter, your entire make up bag, some tissues, an odd child’s size sock (how did that get in there?) tampons (because you never know) and condoms (because you never know!).

The hair:
20’s – long and flowing, straightened or curled with some form of heating iron or up with 1000 hair grips and a gallon of hairspray keeping it there.
30’s – you’re lucky if you get time to wash it, let alone dry it. I work on the natural look and bed head’s meant to be sexy, no?

The legs:
20’s – naked legs, shaved all the way up and fake tan beautifully applied.
30’s – 600 denier tights, no one will get a look at the hairy pasty legs hiding underneath.

During:
20’s – drink, flirt, drink, dance
30’s – drink, have a sit down, drink, sneak a cranberry juice in, check your phone to make sure the babysitter hasn’t called, cast your eye around the bar and realise that all the guys are 10 years younger than you, flirt anyway, drink, dance, but feel really self conscious as you do so in case you are doing a ‘mum dance’.

The aftermath:
20’s – throw up when you get in, but feel well enough to eat a fry up the next day around 12pm when you finally rise from your bed.
30’s – not be sick, so still feel sick when your evil body clock (or worse, a toddler) wakes you up at 7.30am. Eat toast gingerly and try and stop the head from exploding with water, coffee and ibuprofen whilst telling said toddler that mummy needs a quiet day and hoping they’ll be happy watching cbeebies for the next couple of hours.

Memory:
20’s – not remembering what happened so thinking you had a great night.
30’s – remembering everything that happened, so knowing you made a complete arse out of yourself and exactly why you have that massive bruise.

Lessons learnt:
20’s – none. You meet your friends in the pub that evening and order a beer, claiming hair of the dog.
30’s – none, you vow you will never drink again. Alcohol is empty calories anyway. This lasts two whole days until you realise that you miss wine.

Despite all if the above I had a great time this weekend and will no doubt be doing it all again shortly…maybe a couple less JΓ€ger bombs next time though.

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What not to wear.

Those of you who follow my Facebook page (hint hint πŸ˜‰) would have seen that, last week, I attempted a bit more of a chic Sunday casual ‘mummy at the playground’ look than previously. However I have also realised that I have no idea what I want to look like and how best to present myself anymore. Every now and again I have the right combination of clothes clean and ironed so I can look vaguely put together but sometimes I am down to my granny pants, saggy jumper and jeans and there’s just no way to make that look good.

I know I have an hour glass shape which Gok and Trinny and Susannah and anymore recent fashion guru’s say I am lucky to have but unless I want to wear spanx, pencil skirts and high heels all day everyday (not particularly practical for the nursery pick up) I don’t know how to venture out of the house in anything other than a t-shirt and jeans combo.

I am also fretting over the recent change in season as, since last October, I have lost some weight (yay!) which means all my autumnal wardrobe is too big and I have zero Β£’s and zero pence to buy anything new (boo). My favourite, fail safe dress now hangs in all the wrong places, my work trousers now have saggy bums at a time when I’m more happy to show mine off and my tops seem to have been manipulated by the washing machine gremlins so that they are all either too short, adorned with random little holes or after a six months of being packed away in the vacuum bag I am now thinking why on earth I bought/wore it in the first place! I have now done the full swap over and all the pretty, colourful summer stuff is stashed away and I am left with a paltry offering of greys, browns, khakis (I honestly don’t remember buying anything khaki!) and dreary colours to match my Seasonal Affective Disorder mood. Going to be a cheerful few months, I can tell!

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