Acceptance

I think I have finally accepted that I am ageing. Notwithstanding the fact that I am the oldest in my office (bar the MD) by some 13 years, I am now fully advertising my advancing years through my latest (and most expensive) fashion accessory - reading glasses. I didn't even know I needed them until my best friend produced hers. Naturally I tried them on and WOW! Suddenly I was acutely aware of how I had been increasingly holding books & papers at arm's length and squinting in that way older people do when they can't read clearly - yes, and now that older person was me...

The next day we were all in town when I decided to pop into D&A to get my eyes tested - they did it straight away, and my fears were confirmed. The kids had a lot of fun helping me choose the frames but drew the line at getting a chain (I was torn - yes I know it really does consign me to old biddidom quicker than comfy slacks and a pair of Van Dals, but I know I will lose them ALL the time).

I eventually plumped for a pair of black Ralph Laurens, which cost the best part of £250, but do give me a certain air of intelligence. I know this price doesn't seem much to those of you who have always worn glasses, but I was a bit taken aback. Of course, I know how lucky I am not to have had this expense before, and anyway, I could easily have picked up a pair from the chemist for £14.99, so more fool me.

I swear most reading glasses are purchased after trying on a pair of someone else's - the minute mine arrived Mr G popped them on, discovered he was in greater need than I was and promptly spent another £250 on his own pair.

He has in fact just arrived back from New York announcing he is going to sit on his glasses and claim on insurance in order to buy a pair of much trendier glasses that he has seen on much trendier people, and why did I make him go to our small-town D&A with a selection suited only to the narrow-minded suburban bores that live here? He's always like that when he comes home from exciting metropolitan places. He'll get over it soon, and realise how perfectly well he fits in.

Answers Please!

I have just spent the last hour on my hands and knees in the freezing cold covered in what looks and smells like regurgitated puke. I have had to strip off down to my undies and relegate my clothes (and coat) to the washing machine. My hands still stink inspite of numerous washes.

What was I doing? Ha ha. If I had enough followers I could just end the post there and have fun reading all the amusing ideas as they came rushing in. As I only have 12 (my own fault; lazy posting & commenting do not followers get), I will reveal that I have been trying to clear a blocked kitchen drain (oh - was it that obvious?). Not just any old drain mind - the one into which pours the water from my kitchen sink - after having taken a trip through the waste disposal unit.

'Please only use the WDU for small plate scrappings' I informed my husband. 'I don't trust the drain with large quantities of stuff.'

Two days later we have to feed five adults and four kids (see post below...). Mr G. (who always does the peeling bless him) saw fit to flush down the debris from all the potatoes and the parsnips (oh and probably the sodding apples too, seeing as we had crumble) down the WDU. Next day I have to pick my way through puddles of pulped Sunday lunch that has overspilled from the drain to get to my car.

'Oh sorry did you tell me not to? Oh well, I'll deal with it at the weekend.'.

I knew this was a long shot. My husband is not one of those men who spends the weekends doing 'jobs' (when he has been known to achieve anything in this department he spends just as long regaling his efforts to me, practically with his head on my shoulder for grateful patting). Just as my father was more than likely to spend the entire time plodding around with a wheelbarrow in his quilted green jacket; his bobbing head above the window sill the only glimpse we got of him all weekend, so Mr G is to be seen in his comfy armchair, lounge gear on ('lounge gear'? can't think how else to describe it...) remote in hand (or playing Uno with the kids - he is a great Dad).

So, two months later and the drain is STILL blocked. It begins to smell. It smells a bit worse. Feeling the pinch after xmas and Lily's impending school fees, I decide to sort it out myself.

Mistake. HUGE mistake.

I committed, in the words of Sam, an Epic Fail. Donning the blue flowery rubber gloves that go up to my elbows (xmas present from the MIL - don't ask), old jeans, ponytail (thank God) and brandishing boiling water, bamboo cane and my best ladle (well - only ladle, but from our posh set) I must admit I felt optimistic. As I spooned out the putrid gunk, my optimism increased. I could feel the bottom of the drain with the cane and it was getting closer! However, the closer it got, the deeper my arm had to go. Whoops! What was that I could now feel squelching around my fingers? What was that now all over the arm of my coat/bottom of my jeans (remember the puddle?).

I'll spare you the rest of the details. Suffice to say my next attempt with soda crystals and vinegar was no more successful and I'm now searching for a drain man who can. And the lavender hand cream.

Well, for once my photo looks current! It was actually taken two years ago - before Lily had the audacity to tower over her older brother. We are very careful now with our photo-taking to ensure the disparity isn't obvious - short of popping Sam onto a box (a la Prince Charles). I'm still convinced he will shoot up when he hits puberty - and if he doesn't, well, so be it. He's gorgeous, and will be in hot demand in an 'Aston from JLS' way!

This has been my first Christmas since starting work, and thank goodness I'm not hosting. I'm a christmas food masochist who needs to make everything from scratch - although I am painfully aware each year that no-one gives a monkeys if your stuffing is from Nigella or Netto. The most effort I made was in 2001 (my first ever 'Christmas at Ours') and made everything from Nigella's 'How To Eat Book'. I had always been deeply impressed with Lidgates Butcher in Notting Hill (posh meat, posh prices, even posher customers) and when I came across her recipe for 'Lidgates Cranberry and Orange Stuffing', I was sold. Shame no-one else was. Hideously bright pink (surely that wasn't the intention?) it poked out of the Turkey's backside like a bad case of piles. I insisted on helping myself to a large portion but struggled to find any merit in the taste either. It was the source of much mirth then and ever since. Please leave well alone if ever tempted!

No, this year the mantle falls to my sister-in-law. She has a very keen cook of a husband too, so I'm hugely looking forward to his grub. My heart always used to sink slightly when we had it at my MILs; she means well, but a frozen Bernard Matthews Butter Ball does not cut the mustard does it? The thing used to come out of the oven swimming in water - not a natural juice in sight. No worries - a quick douse of Bisto (beef) Gravy Granules and Bob's Your Uncle!

What a snob I sound. I hope your Christmas lunch is everything you hope it will be (with a few cold spuds for later). Have a great time!

Last Day

Well, it's all gone pretty smoothly. She loved her day, and can't wait to begin in January. It helps that the uniform is purple (how expensive was that?).

Today is her last day, and she told me this morning that she feels weird. I feel even weirder. I went to the carol service yesterday and felt awkward - I'm sure it's all in my head, but when you move a child away from a school, the implication is that you're not happy with it. I found myself avoiding the glances of the teachers and the other mums, and justifying the decision to those who asked as a 'giving both kids the same opportunities'. Then I wanted to back track and say,'not that this is not a great school, and I'm sure your kids will do really well here, and pass the 11+, and it's not that we have loads of money because we don't, and there'll be no more skiing hols for us for a while etc. etc.' But I didn't. I just felt awkward. Mr G is picking her up today, and just as well actually. There will be tears, and he copes much better with her in those situations. I'm sure a trip to McDonalds will dry those eyes!

I'm in the office today, and meeting up with a couple of old girlfriends tonight. We're going to Benihana - a Japanese restaurant where the chefs cook amazing things at your table. Anyone been to one before? I'm hoping the snow dump that was forecast yesterday doesn't materialise - or I will be stranded in London.....

New School Dramas

My stomach is in a knot as I wait another half an hour before I can go and pick up my daughter after her 'trial' day at her new school. I didn't expect to feel like this, but ever since we told her she was moving it's been a roller-coaster of emotions. One minute she's excited, the next in tears. She has had to do some tests to see if she'll be accepted. I know that she really needs to balls these up to be rejected, but she does suffers from nerves. Will she burst into tears in front of the headmistress when she thinks about the friends she's leaving behind? Will she feel lonely in the playground at lunch? Will she freak out when they play netball in PE, which she has never learned?

Why am I moving her then? Because we already have a son in a private school (there was no place for him in Lily's state school) and I just cannot justify it anymore. I am earning enough to pay for her, and she definitely will benefit from the extra attention and facilities. She is normally super confident in new situations (e.g on a film set, where she knows no-one) so my fingers are crossed.......

From a rock to a hard place?

Look at this - a whole month almost since the last post. How crap is that. I'm so impressed with the bloggers who get something up every day. Could it be that I'm losing enthusiasm since my last post got no comments? Yes, I think that's it - yet I know that it's no good just writing the posts, you have to market yourself to other bloggers if you want an audience, and that takes time - time I just do not seem to have. In addition to work, I have spent November xmas online shopping, sorting out two new cars, researching car & life insurance, driving Lily to extra ballet lessons for exam, home-coaching for said exam, home-coaching for drama presentation, revising Erosion, Tectonic Plates and Volcanoes, having new bedroom furniture fitted, digging out various dirty sportswear from wash bin I haven't had time to wash, entertaining 8 adults and 9 children for Sunday lunch, pleading with my son to do x, y, z without being told......

I watched a great programme on Sky 3 the other day. 'The Real Desperate Housewives'. It made me feel a whole lot better about my life! Basically featuring women who had given up careers which they had thought were crucial to their self-esteem, they found they were more content with their lives having stepped down from the ladder. Most of them were in their 40's and had been brought up in the 1980's, told by their frustrated mothers or academic girls' schools (both in my case) that we owed it to the pioneering feminists to have it all.

I bought into this completely. I had seen what staying in the home all her life had done to my intelligent, opinionated mother. As with most women brought up in the 50's, she married young to get away from home, giving up a place at university to start a family. She missed out on the liberation of the 60's by three years. By the time skirts went above the knee and The Beatles to the top of the charts, she was a housewife in Suburbia with two children and a husband planning a year's trip to Tanzania 'for work'. Why she had me in 1967 I have no idea (well, as a teenager I did hear them arguing once about the merits of that decision - yes, I was a slip up).

I was completely seduced by the media of the day too - Cosmo was forever printing articles about 'How to get Ahead' at work, illustrated with images of beautiful power women with glossy hair and slimline briefcases, knee on desk, perfectly manicured hands around the tie of a weak and feeble male colleague. Advertising was also littered with these depictions of the modern female in charge - Charlie, VW Golf, Clarks, Kenco - this was our destiny, and lo and behold if you even considered the possibility of a family.

I was very good at biology - my mother spent a long time counselling me to go into physiotherapy, chiropody etc. on account of the fact I could do it easily part-time once I had kids. Huh! I wasn't going to work part-time! I wasn't going to have kids! And anyway, I had never seen anyone in the NHS in a shoulder padded suit and heels.

So I took a law degree, began a career in marketing and lived the life. It was no-where near as glamorous as I had been led to believe. There was a lot of stress, not a lot of money, far too much alcohol etc. I still loved it tho' and frankly, felt smug that I had ticked all those boxes.

Then I met Mr G. Now, after a couple of painful relationships, I hadn't had a boyfriend for three years. I was never getting married, or having kids. I was about to buy my first flat, and was interviewing for my next step up the ladder. So getting engaged after eight months, married after a year and pregnant the following winter (just before Millenium eve.....) had definitely not been part of my plan.

Neither had staying at home. But that's exactly what happened. Back in 2000, 6 months maternity leave was the max. I wanted a year with my baby, and my boss said he would have me back part-time any time I wanted. Perfect. Then he moved, there was a re-shuffle, and I was left with no career, and a mortgage we were struggling to pay on one salary. However, the main issue for me was that I was now a full-fledged 'stay-at -home mum'. I had loved my year 'off' from work, but there was no way I wanted to make it permanent! There was only one thing for it - get pregnant again, and at least justify the 'sacrifice' I was making.

And that's the way it stayed for another 8 years. Slowly, slowly, I began to embrace my new role. I was a mother, yes, but a home-maker too. This encompassed all the financial admin, holiday organising, house buying and selling. I hated not having my own money, but I had a husband who never kept tabs, and we shared everything. Money was very tight and we had our fair share of ups and downs adjusting to family life and my role within it. We had always agreed that I would work again, and I'm incredibly lucky to be doing what I'm doing now, but I would be ok with my life if I wasn't. I had a great career and then a family - that is having it all. Bringing up a family is the most important and rewarding job there is, and I really think that it is finally being appreciated as such.

What are your thoughts on this? Are our teenage girls still getting the 'be ballbusters' message or is there now a more measured response to the dilemmas of being a woman in today's workplace?

I know I've only scratched the surface of theses issues - but look at the length of this post! Not the best way of securing comments... I know, I know!

AUTUMN IN PARIS

Well, you'll never guess (well, you would if you knew me better) - Sam's crutches got left on the trolley at Charles de Gaulle airport. I blamed the taxi driver, but clearly the fault was mine. The reason they were on the trolley however, and not on Sam's arms, was because he had made a miraculous recovery that morning and said his ankle was fine. I insisted he take the crutches in case the walking in Paris proved too much, but alas, we now had no choice.

Fortunately, it was all good. We stayed in a traditional French 17 century hotel, The Henri IV, and the kids loved it - especially the winding staircase which stretched up 8 floors. The sun shone and we did the works. My feet have never been so sore - God only knows how Sam coped, but he did great.

Can I make a confession tho'? I'm secretly glad it's all out of the way. The next time I go to Paris I want to spend my time languishing over a glorious breakfast, followed by a spot of boutique shopping (and cook-shops! I had to walk past so many fabulous cook-shops on our way to the next 'must-see' on our list that I almost cried). In the afternoon, it would be back to the hotel (Crillon, with any luck...) for a nap, afternoon tea (there are some English customs I take with me everywhere) and an evening out in a fabulous restaurant or smoky jazz club. I will glance out of the cab window (as I am whisked along the left bank) to spy the Eiffel Tower, admire the Notre Dame as I stroll along the Seine, appreciate the splendour of The Louvre from the outside, but I will never again do the tourist trail. I know it makes me sound like a cultural heathen, and I swear if the museum could be closed just for me I would love it - but the more of an old bat I get, the less I am able to cope with crowds, and I want to simply enjoy Paris for what it intrinsically is, rather than what it has on show. That is hard to do with kids. They are not welcome in good restaurants (the food is too sophisticated anyway), they can't drink and they hate shopping.

I'm so glad we did it tho' - I love creating memories for the kids. I had never seen the Eiffel Tower sparkling like it now does on the hour - especially as we were right at the top when it first happened; it's like a thousand flash bulbs going off. When our plane took off at 8pm on Sunday night, Lily caught it shimmering again in the distance and she instantly had the whole plane ooing and ahing. Brilliant.