The guilty (professional) Muma

guilty muma

As many of you already know: I am a stay at home Mum. I think that phrase is a bit naff, but it does what it says on the tin (although I am allowed out occasionally…). I used to have a career outside of our home. But now we have 2 little girls, my career is here, in the middle of my family. All day. Everyday.

It’s like any job really: it has its ups- mostly when the bosses are out. No, not at the quarterly finance meetings, but at school and nursery. And it has its downs, like when I miss my weekly washing targets. The hours are slightly longer than I was used to, I seem to be in my office by 6am. But the commute is a staircase and dressing gowns seem to be acceptable office attire. The slight stinger in the tail is that the pay is shit, well, non-existent actually. My bonuses are now paid in kind; lots of snotty cuddles, kisses and the odd punch in the face. Don’t get me wrong, those are priceless bonuses right there for the taking. But they aren’t exactly a lunch-hour-Warehouse-dress-spurge are they.

So this Mummying thing is my profession now. A professional Mummy in my mind creates innovative organic meals, has a home which may as well feature in House Beautiful – a place for everything and everything in its place. The children must attend a host of clubs and after school jollies – ferrying around is quite high up on the JD. Weekends can be nothing but activates and socialfests as all of the house work can be done during the week… surely.

But somewhere I seem to have taken a wrong turn. This isn’t how my approach to Professional Mummying is working out despite my very best efforts to be a real life super mum and nail this job.

Muma Guilt has reared its ugly head once again. And not just guilt that I should be doing a better job at home, but guilt that I DO have all day everyday, to get my shit together, while so many Mumas work long hours on top the full time Muma gig – and seem to be doing a better job!

If I were to have an appraisal tomorrow, I would be issued with a disciplinary. I stopped and glanced around at the chaos that seems to have tied itself around me: my car is always a wreck. From chewed sweets to fruitshoots, abandoned items of clothing and half of shoe zone seem to have a magnetic force to our foot wells. Darcie actually decided that the undetectable smell in our car was in fact, Bum. Great.

It shouldn’t be this way. My car should smell like freaking roses, using tips I picked up on pintrest, during research on ‘How to avoid your car smelling like bum’, because that’s the sort of thing I should have time for. But I don’t.

The wash bin is always overflowing (should I introduce naked Tuesdays?!) even though I am at home all the time. Doing washing. And folding. And putting away. We run out of bread and milk, nappies and formula on a weekly basis – but never coinciding with the weekly shop and at crucial shit-explosion moments, or the breakfast rush.

I dish up ready meals, Ready meals!! I’m at home all the time. This shit is my job and I dish up ready meals. We never seem to have enough time (or calm) to fit in reading the school book every night. I should be devising word games and *crazy* maths challenges to get those intellectual juices flowing through my 5 year olds head. Instead we get our interior design heads on with their Sylvanian world, and cut up Kinetic sand.

I am getting better at remembering own clothes days and those super fun random music shows that the school seem to enjoy springing on us. Clearly the parental form of SATs. So maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps the first 5 years of being a professional parent is just your probationary period.

 

Any other stay at home mums feel this guilt?

My Mother’s Day Marriage Break

headstand

Now, I don’t want to mislead you here. Let me define what I mean by Marriage break:

A whole week, well actually 8 days (yes that extra day makes all the difference in my holiday credits) is the amount of time The Hubs will be off duty for. Relinquishing Husband and parenting responsibilities. Lucky sod. He will in fact be skiing. I just about managed to type the word without displacing the keys. SKIING. His preparation for going on the trip was to cover his work commitments, and pack a bag. Can you even imagine the preparation involved if it was Muma who was up and leaving for a week. Co-ordinating the school runs, bed time routines, dinners, after school clubs, homework… you know the drill.

It just so happens that The Trip falls over Mother’s Day.

But this doesn’t bother me, not even a little bit. I’m sure the Guillian Sea Shell chocs are stashed in an accessible place for Darcie and Lila to TaDaaaaa them, at 6am on Sunday. Nice. I know there are several Mother’s Day cards floating around the house ‘Hapee Mudrs Dae’ blazon across them all. Good old phonics. I can barely read English anymore, I’m much better at deciphering PhonicTalk these days. So I won’t have the longed for Mother’s Day lie in, I’ll be up with the lark cooking up a feast of Nutella toast. But I’ll be feeling seriously lucky that I have my 2 gorgeous handfuls, happy and healthy by my side for the day. I might even get to watch 10 mins of a Saturday Kitchen episode if I play my cards right. (last count was 10 episodes on the Planner…ever hopeful.)

So there we have it, my marriage break; 8 whole days going it solo. I’ve got this. I’m actually looking forward to a little ‘time off’. A little bit of time to miss him. I think that’s a good thing, it’s been 8 years since I spent any time without him. He has been like an extension of me for so long that I’m keen to see if I CAN do it alone. I’m praying the girls are on my side with this and don’t spend the week pining for Daddy. I hate the whingeing, we all know toddlers and MiniMadams have A+’s when it comes to that. And mine can winge with the best of them. As long as I can keep that at bay without getting through too many boxes of Twister ice lollies…

Surely I can do this standing on my head?!

Let’s see…