Mums Me Time, Not All Its Cracked Up To Be!


Look I don’t know about any of you but I can’t do fancy stuff well. I LIKE fancy stuff but when it comes to me using it – well it just never works. I was in Sydney during the week for work and we stayed in a flash hotel, but for me I just seem to have trouble with the everyday posh appliances? Can we just talk about shower knobs and the like? I mean I turned the knob thingy but water came out of the tap for the bath? This made washing my hair very awkward. I felt like I had gone back in time and was “having a wash” like my Grandma used to say where they would stand in a basin with a wet flannel in the old days. Then we went to dinner and I had to use the facilities halfway through and I couldn’t find the flush button? Where was it? That wasn’t the end of it – there was a stick thing for the tap but no knobs to turn the water on to wash your hands, so I thought it might be one of those sensory ones and I was swishing my hands underneath with no luck (getting more and more aggressive with my swishing) and then finally someone came in and pressed the stick INTO the wall and then the water came out. I felt quite flustered. And I won’t even tell you about the hand dryer! What’s wrong with good old fashioned paper to dry your hands? That dyson dryer! I went back out to my work colleague looking like Drop Dead Fred. So much for blow drying me hair.

And it was cold, like that horrible wet cold. So I had to wear stockings. Note to self, get up earlier and allocate MORE TIME for the “putting on stockings chore” It was terrible, I was lying on the bed reefing them up and I was having trouble getting them past my knees – then I realize I had picked the small size (obviously that was very hopeful of me) so I got them up but once I looked in the mirror to check for holes I realized I looked like a trussed sausage. I wanted to look all swish and professional. Sigh.

Upon my return home I was greeted very enthusiastically by one little man and one big man. I spent the remainder of that afternoon with both of them velcroed to my legs and lots of requests for cuddles, tearing open their gifts, telling me all about their week without me and then re-attaching themselves to my legs. Lots of people say to me “don’t you enjoy the time to yourself”? I do I guess but deep down I worry about them both.. are they eating their carrots? Is Trent just living off steak, chips and eggs? Has the washing been done or are they just lounging around in their jocks all day? Did the dogs get fed? Did he remember to close the bathroom window before he went to bed? And of course because nothing beats the soft warm little body of my son lying across my torso with his chubby dirt encrusted little toes resting on my knees while he talks away (gobblygooktalk) and my husband’s big furry body to snuggle up with (he quite likes to be spooned) in bed. So yes time away was good (even the fancy non-user friendly shower knobs and such) but if I can be anywhere, it’s with my boys.

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