Sometimes a trip to the supermarket is an opportunity to teach my children about colors, numbers and healthy food choices. Other times it’s an opportunity to wonder if I can swap both kids for a bottle of Chardonnay and a rotisserie chicken.
I don’t really mind Amy wanting to sleep with me if she’s out of sorts at 4am, because it hardly ever happens, and I’m sure the “don’t talk to me! don’t even LOOK at me!” years will sneak up on us faster than we know. It’s the elaborate door list of plus-ones that she not only wants to include, but expects me to chauffeur from her room to ours that sours the whole thing. By the time Snuggly, Bianca, Giovanni, Blankie, Bag 1, Bag 2, Crown, Unicorn, Tiny Kiwi, Knitted Basket and Peter have been retrieved and finally arranged in a very specific layout, I’m wide awake. Which is probably for the best as I need to keep my wits about me to stop from falling off the very tiny remaining corner of mattress.
So Tilly is sobbing because I won’t let her have muffin #4. Amy is sobbing because the end of ‘Brave’ just utterly devastated her. LET’S HAVE A FUN AFTERNOON AT HOME BAKING AND WATCHING A MOVIE TOGETHER.
Amy: “Wow, Mummy! You got through your whole shower without getting out to tell us off for something!” This is honestly such a momentous occasion I’m hoping there’ll be a medal, or a certificate at the very least. Perhaps a gilded commemorative razor?
I like to imagine that instead of a complex computery algorithm, there is a bunch of industry suits sitting around a table with imported snacks, craft beer and wine that was chosen for its bouquet rather than its marked down price, deciding what “sponsored” posts should show in my Facebook newsfeed. Because this week I’ve seen all these ones, and I’m pretty sure the decision making process went down like this: Man Suit 1: “Sooo…next up there’s this mother of two from New Zealand. She’s on Facebook a lot, and her main interests seem to be swearing and watching TV.” Man Suit 2: “Quantitative feedback and my personal understanding of women is that mothers really like doing laundry. Not only that, but they LOVE hearing laundry stories from other mothers! Persil washing powder is one of our new clients and we really need eyeballs on their ad because they overspent on the talent for the shoot and their staff Christmas party, so let’s flog that shit to her. She’ll lap it up. OO! She’ll probably share it with her …
Hey Mrs Mercedes driver, It’s a super bold move, parking your fancy ride thisclose to an SUV with two carseats in the back. You’re lucky I was full of the joys of life thanks to coffee, ginger slice and the absence of tantrums for a solid ten minutes, or I might have given you a nudge just for funsies.
When I was pregnant with Tilly, I excitedly called Jeremy to tell him I’d won a pack of really good reusable nappies. He did not share my excitement, and told me to call him back when I’d won something cool, like a car. I scoffed at his unsupportive nature, and hopped up on a high horse that saw me saving the planet. Tilly is now 18 months old, and yesterday I put the following ad up on TradeMe (NZ’s version of e-bay, for you non-Kiwis): For sale: Bambino MioSolo all-in-one 6 pack reusable nappies. I wanted to be the mother who used reusable nappies, I really did. So I researched all the options, and discovered the Bambino MioSolo nappies are the bee’s knees when it comes to reusables. If I’d been a better person, these nappies would be swishing about in my washing machine right now, and our bank account would probably be quite a bit healthier. Instead, they’ve languished, unopened and unloved, in the drawer I put them in as a temporary measure when …
Dress-up day at kindy for Halloween. Amy shunned all her dress-up options and said she wanted to go “as a mum”. I sent her in a lightly stained top with a messy ponytail, and hastily applied eyeshadow and lipstick.
Some days I dream of greatness. Other days I just want to make it to bedtime without getting anything gross on me.
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 …
McPikelets 