Author: McPikelets

Toddzilla

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The three year old insists on getting about in so many layers of dressing-up clothes that she primly insists I accompany her to the loo and hold all her clothes up at armpit level to stop skirts/dresses/capes/tiaras/necklaces from falling into the bowl. This bathroom duty, along with her fussy dietary restrictions, emotional outbursts, door slamming, claims that I’m not her best friend one minute then that I’m her best friend in the whole WORLD the next, and outrageous demands; teamed with my utterly depleted bank account and soaring feelings of inadequacy makes me feel like I’m Maid of Honour for a really short Bridezilla. Every. Single. Day.

Precious memories…?

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Hold tight to the precious memory of your three year old snaking her soft little arms around your neck and whispering “will you lie down in my bed with me mummy? I love you so much and we’re best friends”. Hold particularly tight to that precious memory 40 minutes later at 4.30am as you cling to the edge of a single bed, taking erratic kicks to your kidneys, with a stuffed monkey wedged under your chin, finding yourself saying things like “stop wriggling and go to sleep! Did you seriously just wipe a booger on me?! Don’t DO that!”

Hiccups

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Amy: “MUM! I’ve got hiccups.” Me: *in jolly tones* “Hiccups? Hiccups are funny things, aren’t they?” Amy *patiently yet patronising* “Ahhhh, no, you’re thinking of farts. Farts are funny, Mummy, not hiccups. Farts are funny; hiccups are just annoying.” Sorry. My mistake.

G&T – yes please.

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Amy to my Mum as they ventured out on a cafe excursion this morning: “Right, so I’ll have a fluffy and marshmallows, and you can have a Gin & Tonic. Does that sound good?” I’m not sure The Fairy Cafe does a G&T, but, if they do, I’m booking it for all future birthday parties.

Scotland represent.

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It’s Cultural Week at kindy, and the kids have been encouraged to wear clothes/bring props that represent their cultural backgrounds. Today Amy is representing Scotland. She’s wearing a scratchy woolen jersey and has a hip flask of Single Malt Whisky for snack time.

Agency Life Vs. Motherhood

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Before I had my two girls, I spent over ten years working for advertising agencies. I wanted to work in the industry after hearing stories about agencies in the hey-day 80’s. Expecting it to be all long lunches, colourful characters, and big-budget ads where I’d get to fly to exotic locations, I was somewhat disappointed by the reality of post-80’s agency life, but I did meet some amazing people, do some interesting work, suffered some rip-snorting hangovers, and made some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I worked in account service, which meant I spent my time trying to please the clients, the creative department, the studio team and the accountants. Generally you can only please one to three parties on that list during any given project. Every now and then the heavens smile and you please everyone. Other times they all want to put a hex on you. Sometimes motherhood is really, really different to working in an ad agency. Other times it’s achingly similar. (FYI if you’re one of my past clients …