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.