Whether you’re a tired-out French Maid, a worn-down corporate chick, or just a mother of tantruming kids, sometimes the ONLY thing that will make your day better is a new pair of shoes. Read the rest of this entry
Don’t you just love, love, love it when you’re having the hardest day ever and then some brave soul offers you the misinformed, entirely useless advice – “You’ll survive – you’re not the only working mother in the world” Read the rest of this entry
In case I pass out from exhaustion one of these days and someone from forensics discovers me collapsed on the floor (and subsequently trips over a mountain of unpacked-away toys), I thought it was prudent to convey a few of my inner-Cinderella confessions: Read the rest of this entry
About a year ago, I wrote about going off in public like a short-fused rocket.
Seems not a lot has changed, except back then I was probably a bit more ’ballsy’. Now, I’m way more sensitive and hide behind my chocolate slabs instead of giving people a piece of my mind.
I’m taking some inspiration from my post last year - it’s time to hitch up my stockings which are dragging at the crotch. I’m a new woman tomorrow – No More Mrs Nice Mommy – but this time, I mean it.
Today in the shopping centre when Aiden lay down on the floor for one of his classic shopping centre tantrum meltdowns and Jon Jon started screaming for the car park and I was attracting the most denigrating looks from the public, that’s when I cracked.
Two elderly ladies, who looked like they took cosmetic surgery advice from Joan Rivers at least 20 times each, started shaking their heads at me and then at each other in agreement and muttered some remarks to each other in reference to the scene of my two babies unleashing terror on the shopping centre. I turned to them in a pool of sweat and asked if they were talking to me. They replied that they were not but that they were saying to each other that they were concerned that I was going to drop the baby as I strapped him into my baby backpack pouch.
I then decided not to grin and shrug it off like I usually do in my simmering politeness. Instead I answered back saying, in a slightly abrupt tone, that I wasn’t intending to drop my baby off my back and that it’s just difficult trying to shop and wrangle two youngsters without any help. I then wheeled Aiden off in the trolley with Jon Jon tucked in the back pouch and I felt so proud of myself for standing up for myself against these two unwell-wishers who tried to pass judgement over me without actually offering any constructive assistance of any sort.
It then dawned on me that I am utterly sick of being Mr Nice Guy, or Mrs Nice Mommy as it were. From now on, I will say and do as I please when the moment calls for it. One of my good friends, a wise mom of four young boys recently told me that people really don’t feel sorry for you when you’re in a time of need. Rather, people don’t give a damn about what you’re going through and will just kick you when you’re down.
So I am not going to just put up and shut up anymore, I am totally going to stand up for myself. So then next time the woman in the checkout queue behind me tells me I shouldn’t guzzle down chocolate because it’s not a healthy snack, she’d better step back before she gets belted with a king size Toblerone.
The next time some stranger tells me I look “so tired” I am going to give them a matching black eye when I deck them with my baby bag.
I think you get the picture.
Now outta my way I need a coffee!