The Ten Commandments

Its 7:30pm on Friday night and, unlike most normal people, I am sitting in a cold damp church hall surrounded by a whole host of happy-looking folk waiting for some divine words of wisdom to breathe some peace and serenity back into my life now that the babies have arrived bringing chaos and destruction.

Last night I agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to accompany another member of the (motherhood) fellowship to an introductory seminar on the Alpha course. She hastily extended the invitation after a tearful outburst during which I declared myself incapable of ‘going on’ and being ready to hand in my letter of resignation as mother of two overly energetic offspring.

Now, as I survey the room, I realise I am blinded by a sea of smiles and intensely irritated by the joyous howls laughter. Good God, it’s like visiting time at the funny farm. They can’t all be this happy without the aid of prescribed medication?

‘Are you happy?' Shouts the rotund ‘leader’ from the pulpit. The smile he’s sporting could rival Mr Nicholson’s in ‘The Shinning’. ‘Do you feel lost or, confused about who you are? Are you ready for a new life?’

Yes, Yes and Yes.

‘Our divine Father died for us sinners,’ he continues passionately ‘we must live our lives according to the scriptures.’ Dear God, I am back at school. ‘I want you to take some time over the next few days to consider and explore the ten commandments and ask yourself truthfully do you honour God’s teachings?.’

Oh, I didn’t realise there was home work. But hey ho, I’ll give it a go.

Back at home tucked up in bed, I begin to consider the task in hand.

Number 1 "Thou shalt have no other gods before me"
Oh God, I’m only on the first commandment and already I’ve failed. I’ve always believed in a Divine Being but at our little home, God has manifested Himself as two four year olds.

Since their arrival, I realise that I live for my challenging duo. I hang off their every word in the vain hope a spark of genius will flash across the breakfast table any day now.

My celestial twins demand to be worshiped, to be treated with the utmost respect and to be waited upon hand and foot. They question all that is good and great in this world with the inevitable ‘Why, Mummy? Why?’ Their divine presence is felt by all who cross their path, whether they like it or not, in the form of exhaustion, vomit or debris and demand the utmost from their followers in terms of hourly activity and entertainment.

Oh well, on to Number Two.

Number 2 “Thou shalt not make any graven idol, nor bow down to it or worship it"
I do believe that this is a slightly unfair request.

I idolize Mr Starbucks and Mr Cadbury's. They have been there for me through thick and thin since we first engaged in a serious relationship some five years ago. As I sat in my local Starbucks for the second time that day (there really are very limited places you can go with two babies and a torrential downpour outside), I gently rocked my new off-spring off to sleep in their rather oversized pram. As I looked across the room, my eyes gazed upon a family sized bar of fruit and nut.

'Would you like a piece?' said the friendly voice as he handed me an entire strip of dark brown chocolate. As the soft creamy texture touched my lips, I was hooked. Many months later and three stone heavier, I realise that maybe our relationship is somewhat dysfunctional but we're working on it.

This is a tricky order. To end it all now, I just couldn't.

Surely, the man upstairs would understand?

Number 3 - "Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain”
Well, as evidenced by the last few paragraphs, I constantly appeal for some Divine help these days. Unfortunately, since the arrival of the Dynamic Duo, the Lord has helped me enormously to cope with the modern day pressures of motherhood: Me, ‘Good God, what are you doing?’ Them, ‘Nothing just painting the cat.’ Me, ‘Mother of Mary, have mercy on me.’ Them, ‘Whose Mary, Mummy?’

In my defence one could argue that I was merely appealing for help.

Number 4 - “Thou shalt remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy”
Ok, so this one, 10 out of 10. I am pleased to confirm that from Sunday through to Friday every week without fail, I consistently think about Saturday. No work. No peeling a child off one’s leg consumed full of guilt that another is looking up wistfully from the sidelines. It would be fair to say, I live for Saturdays.

As for keeping it holy…. Well define holy? It would be fair to say I worship the Sabbath. I try to do very little though the uninterrupted presence of my two angelic bundles of joy over the entire course of 12 hours which does mean Commandment number three is a tall order.

Number 5 -“Thou shalt honour thy father and thy mother”
Well moving on swiftly ….. I will just say this, Unconditional Love!

Number 6 - “Thou shalt not kill”
Hooray! Another, 10 out of 10. My God, I’m positively saintly. I am pleased to confirm I have never killed anyone and am not currently planning to.

Obviously, I have thought about it, but hasn’t every one? The commandment doesn’t say you can’t think about it, it just says don’t do it. Some days it’s my only relief against life’s daily challenges. They come thick and fast: people lecturing you on how to bring up your children or, the smug sods who inform you that your child has just peed on the floor outside the bank. They invariably mumble ‘I blame the parents!’ (Quite frankly, considering the current economic crisis, what better place to pee.)

Seriously though, why are these people sent to try us? Motherhood is trying enough. It ensures that we no longer function at full capacity anyway, suffering prolonged bouts of mental instability brought on by baby-induced sleep deprivation?

Number 7 - “Thou shalt not commit adultery”
Ok, too late… no only joking. Why don’t these religious types have a sense of humour?

Number 8 - “Thou shalt not steal”
This is good. It’s official. I am a model citizen. My off-spring on the other hand, may well have developed what can only be described as criminal tendencies.

Since, they discovered the use of their hands some many months ago, they have literally eaten their way round most supermarkets in our beautiful City, leaving little if not no evidence of their thefts, except for the chocolaty mouths.

Must seek legal advice as to whether age is a defence against theft?

Number 9 - “Thou shalt not lie”
Why? Isn’t it a given that every mother lies? Otherwise, the human race would surely die out. Haven’t you ever hear the howlers of every new mother after giving birth? ‘It wasn’t that bad.’ LIE. Or, when you’re drinking coffee with other mothers and the conversation turns to the joys of child rearing and you hear yourself say, ‘Oh yes. My life was meaningless before I became a mother. I love every second of bringing up my children .’ LIE.

Surely, in the interests of procreation, the Lord our God will forgive a few white lies?

And finally,

Number 10 - “Thou shalt not covert thy neighbour's goods”
Please, she has a live-in au pair, a cleaner, a personal trainer and can fit into her size 8 pre-pregnancy Seven jeans – you’d have to be Mother Teresa not to covert this!!!!!

Oh well, it’s safe to assume my road to enlightenment is far from over. But as a wise man once said, ‘our goal should be progress not perfection.’

Till next week, I’ll just keep praying.

Can we really have it all?

I wonder... is it possible to have it all? Do yummy mummies really exist? Or, is it just a term banded about by the media to make us feel bad on a daily basis?

Quite frankly, nearly four years in I just don’t care!

I have come to believe, during my quest to rear two healthy, intelligent, reasonably mannered children, that early motherhood is simply about survival. Are they fed and watered? Are they clean? If you’ve answered yes to one or more of these questions you’re doing well. Keep going! Your personal hygiene, career, figure and life in general on the other hand – well, that’s another story entirely.

For the past few years, life has focused around getting to know these two strong personalities who arrived on the scene with no instruction manual. For new mothers to be, a few words of wisdom - approach with caution, expect the unexpected and for God’s sake stop reading those books. At two in the morning after you’ve rolled off the bed in the vain hope that falling head first onto the tiled bedroom floor would provide a sufficient level of consciousness to wake you up long enough to feed the screaming duo, because you haven’t slept for longer than you care to remember – the books don’t help! In fact, I would say with 99% conviction they lie. Mothers in general lie. Nobody tells you the truth. You’re lead into a false sense of security that it’s as simple as riding a bike. After all, generations of women before us have spawned millions of these tiny little creatures - how hard can it be?

Well, have you ever experienced having all four wisdom teeth extracted under general atheistic whilst the five foot five Australian dentist with an annoying lisp kneels on your lap, his fist in you’re mouth, with an humungous pair of pliers trying to extract a tooth that is so embedded into your jaw that eventually he concedes that he needs to take a chisel to it – well that’s just a mere walk in the park compared to motherhood.

However, five years in and I have regained (questionably) aspects of my sanity, life and figure and I think we’re doing well. Communication is on the up. I have learnt to understand the various moans, groans and physical bouts of assault which occur on a daily basis. We’ve even explored sign language, which initially I dismissed as another new age American money making scheme, and it’s proving quite entertaining. Although, I’m not sure how helpful ‘squirrel running up a tree’ is in terms of bettering relations between me and him and her - but we’ll see. New boundaries are being set every day and routines are firmly in place at last.

I have decided that this year, 2011, is the year of ‘me’ - redefining who I am – or at least re-establishing a personality that is not devoid of adult conversation and an appearance that does not include chocolate smeared hands across trouser legs or, remnants of projectile vomit along the rims of expensive PB (prebabies) shoes.

I am not saying that I regret, or resent the presence of the Dynamic Duo in my life. I love them with every inch of my being and can’t ever imagine a time when they weren’t in my life. All I’m saying is that I would like to know me again.

However, one thing I do know, is that I have learnt more about who I am and what I am capable of than I ever dreamed possible.

I have learnt that I am strong and can cope with whatever weird and wonderful things life throws at me. I have learnt that I will not die if I only have four hours sleep. I have experienced (as only a mother can) the insane joy of watching them stand-up on their own and take those few little steps for the first time. And, finally, the moment when they wrap those chubby dirty little arms around my neck, with their chocolate, fruit-shoot ridden cheeks pressed against mine and whisper in their distinct little voice ‘Mummy… I love you Mummy….’ and in that moment I know – yes, with out question - it was worth it.

Sun, sea and sanity

In my PB (pre-baby) days, my idea of hell was a two week stay at an all inclusive (with nightly entertainment thrown in for free) at Costa del Kids. Two off-spring later and I find myself searching the net with burgeoning excitement at the offers of a free kids club, indoor and outdoor pools, Sky TV and best of all, kids eat for free!

As every member of the hood knows, transporting little people further afield than the local out of town Tesco requires not only a second mortgage but relentless unwavering stamina, and the negotiation skills of Michael Mansfield QC.

In fact, truth be told, with three summer long-haul holidays now firmly under my belt (impressive hey!) I feel qualified to be able to offer up some sage advice to new members of the hood.

Firstly, those idyllic images spawning the pages of the monthly glossies of the picture perfect family frolicking on sandy white beaches on a remote island in the Indian Ocean are not real. No family actually looks that good and, a ‘real’ family certainly doesn’t display that kind of psychotic playful excitement whilst tossing a frizbee.

Secondly, the Indian Ocean is all very nice with clear crystal blue waters and mile upon mile of untouched coral reefs but, consider for a second, the quantity of Boots finest sun cream needed to ensure your off-spring are not slowly cooked alive in the midday heat along with the gallons of water needed to keep them fully hydrated whilst they entertain themselves with the florescent pink buckets and spades and plastic golf sticks.

Thirdly, any parent who survives a long-haul flight to the other side of the world aboard Bloody Awkward deserves the upmost respect. Once you have negotiated the delights of Gatwick airport dragging the oversized luggage and off-spring in tow, you will find yourself spending the entire holiday budget in departures just for a fleeting moment of peace. Then, having acquired yet another five pieces of hand luggage, you’ll make the mile long journey to Gate four thousand and sixty, boarding the flight to a sea of fearful faces who are secretly praying that you will not take up resident near them.

Once firmly imprisoned in row 99, you will be swiftly required to provide continuous entertainment for the best part of nine hours – this may seem like an easy feat, after all most of us will have just purchased a family sized box of crayons and every magazine and sticker book available, but be warned, each activity has a life span of fifteen minutes tops! The remaining seven hours forty five minutes will be spent repeatedly wandering up and down the aisles negotiating the drinks trolleys and apologising profusely to the air hostess for the constant demands for more apple juice as well as pleading with fellow passengers for their patience and understanding as your off-spring take up residence in the only two toilets at the back of the plane.

However, on the plus side your sanity will start to wane around the five hour mark and hysteria will soon kick-in (this is a good thing!) as you realise that you’re only half way there and your repeated pleas for them to stop kicking the back of the chair of the poor unfortunate sod seated in the row in front have fallen yet again on deaf ears.

But fear not, just as soon as you are well and truly ready to throw in the towel your new found hero (Mr Pilot) will say those magically few words ‘please fasten your seat belts as we will soon be landing’ you will look across at your Darling Duo and watch in disbelief as their eyes grow heavy, their bodies limp as they gently descend into a deep and much needed sleep and wonder how the hell you’re going to get them off the flight!

So this year, we’re off to Egypt on an all inclusive. A swift forty-five minute drive to Bristol airport followed by a mere four hour flight. We’re staying at a 5* luxury ‘family friendly’ resort which roughly translates to mean we don’t mind if you destroy the bedroom, leave chocolate hand prints scattered across the 42 inch flat screen and along the freshly painted magnolia walls. We also cordially invite you to use a month’s supply of freshly laundered white towels after a day at the pool and promise to ensure a steady supply of straws at all times. Our staff will be on hand 24 hours a day and are fully trained and versed in publically rejoicing at the high pitched shrieks of a three year old Princess Belle and an overly energetic Ben 10 as they both spring into action to fight against the imaginary forces of evil.

But best of all, I know that amongst the hoards of little people who will be descending upon thirty-two thousand square feet of luxury specifically designed to indulge their every whim, my Darling Duo will appear quiet, mild mannered and well behaved offering up the requisite pleasantries, ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’, with those angelic smiles.

And, we will attempt to rest in the knowledge that there is minimal risk of formal complaints being logged by other disgruntled residents who are irked by the constant disturbance to their peace and tranquillity whilst they eat their a la carte meal and lounge by the pool.

These days, what can I say, Costa del Kids here we come!

A picture speaks a thousand words

After a triumphant year of procrastination, I’ve decided to stop talking and start doing again!

The last twelve months has been a rollercoaster ride of laughter, sadness, frustration and bewilderment. The babies grew up into little people and started big school (OMG!). We added a new addition to the family (the long haired lab who suffers from co-dependency). We journeyed near and far in search of some peace and serenity and grew our never decreasing debt. Those were just the good bits!

So, in celebration of my ‘annus horribilis’, I have put together an album of pictures showcasing the best of 2010.

AIN’T THAT THE TRUTH

‘Mummy, why has that man got boobies?’ asks my inquisitive child, as she joyfully frolics in the baby pool at the overly expensive, yet incredibly necessary David Lloyd Centre on Saturday.

Suddenly, I felt a sudden rush of colour to my cheeks and quickly changed the subject with a nervous laugh, trying in vain to avoid the glare of the poor man in question as he gently slips off the side of the pool into the water in order to hide his disturbing body parts.

This is just one of the many wonderfully awkward situations I seem to encounter on a daily basis with the Dynamic Duo. The problem is I have absolutely no idea how to deal with them in a mature, sympathetic or rational manner. I either find myself turning the colour of a Royal Mail post box or, mumbling various apologetic words like, ‘I’m so sorry,’ ‘they only three. Aren’t children funny?’

Truth be told, pool man did have man boobs - a fact obvious to all pool and restaurant goers, who were enjoying the delightful sights of scantily clad swimmers through the tinted glass of the floor to ceiling windows, whilst sipping their overheated cappuccinos. He clearly needed to stop taking refuge in the culinary delights of his wife’s cooking and say hello to the running machine. Man boobs are just not a good look!

But how do you explain to two three year olds that the truth isn’t always the right thing to say? Their perception of all things weird and wonderful seem to increase on an hourly basis. Yet our society silently dictates that it’s not the ‘done’ thing to point out peoples’ exaggerated physical attributes.

Over the past twelve months the Dynamic Duo have perfected the art of speech and I find myself repeatedly saying, ‘It’s not nice to say that’ or, ‘Don’t be so silly.’ It’s directional programming. Unfortunately, these simple comments are usually swiftly followed by a ‘But why Mummy, why?’

On a recent painstaking expedition to find the perfect outfit for one of the numerous forthcoming weddings (it’s one of those years again), I found myself trawling the streets for what seemed like an eternity with two moaning 3 year olds hanging off my legs. Thankfully, I soon discovered the one and only shop which not only sold outfits suitable for such an occasion, but also catered for those of us mothers who realise it’s time to say goodbye to Topshop and hello to the more forgiving items of clothing which hide the trademarks of childbirth.

After a quick once around, grabbing everything and anything sized 12 and up and calmly but firmly directing my off-spring not to touch anything, stay close and not to kiss the mirrors, we took possession of a changing room in the knowledge that at tops I had10 minutes.

I quickly tackled the clothes as the silent Duo sucked on their fruit shoots and M&M’s and then from out of nowhere, my wonderfully observant daughter launched into a diatribe of unnecessary and slightly unfair comments.

‘Mummy, look at your big belly.’

‘Yes, I know lovely,’ I said hoping to God the other customers werent listening. ‘Mummy, why have you got big boobies?’ This question was clearly for another time!

‘Stop talking and eat your biscuit.’

Then as I turned around to pick up another item of clothing, I realised I’d lost a child! Panic set in and I threw open the curtain to an array of startled faces before me and realised I was wearing very little. Luckily, a kind and sympathetic member of the motherhood fellowship informed me, ‘He’s over there’. I looked over and there lying on the floor peering underneath the curtains of the changing rooms was my beloved son.

‘Come here!’ I shouted a little too loudly.

‘Mummy, why’s that lady not wearing any pants?’ Dear God, could the situation get any worse?
I quickly grabbed him avoiding eye contact with the other customers and locked us back into the cubicle. Fighting back the tears, I fumbled my way into the last remaining dress and prayed that this was the one.

I slipped the beautiful maxi dress on over my head and watched as it fell to the floor. It was perfect. As I looked in the mirror, for a fleeting moment I was ‘me’ again until I heard those immortal words ‘Mummy, you can’t wear that! People will laugh at you.’

Stunned into silence I dressed and left the dressing room and made my way to the checkout defiant in my decision that I would - God dam it - wear that dress. But as I handed over my credit card I began to wonder whether I would ever bring myself to wear it.

Then a Eureka moment! She’s a three year old child for God’s sake. What the hell does she know about fashion? Most days she can be found playing in stripped leggings topped off with a pair of muddy Peppa Pig wellies, a princess skirt and an pink surfers’ t-shirt. The piece de resistance of course being a pair of angel wings and a very annoying wand.

And at that moment, I realised that there is a lot my wonderfully honest observant children can teach me on this road through Life but most importantly, don't take it all so seriously and sometimes honesty is the best policy!

Will check out the latest trends online tonight!