I Don't Know How She Does It.

Well that’s just it, I don’t. Do 'it' that is.

So as part of this blog post, I am appealing to the Sisterhood out there – including you Sarah Jessica Parker – to share with me how you bloody well do it.

I realise I’m very much not alone: trying to manage two under fives, a freelance job, the endless chore-age of running a home, cramming in the odd quest to do something for me and attempting to keep on top of waxing, threading and grey-covering (I swear hair maintenance alone could be a full-time career for me).

And I’m hoping that I’m not alone in feeling like I just can’t cope with it all a lot of the time. And then feeling like a failure. And then eating some Hobnobs. And then feeling shit. And then shouting at The Husband as if it’s all his fault (which confuses his poor brain since it is built solely on logic and reason).

This weekend, we decided to tackle the plastic toy invasion and general misplacement of everything (bicycle pump in the fruit bowl, a single winter glove living happily in the bathroom…that sort of thing) and have a good old tidy up. This (I am told) the children do dutifully at nursery, yet when I suggest it at home they look at me like I’ve suddenly started speaking in Swahili.

What ensued for the next two hours was that I went about all whirling-dervish-like, clearing, boxing, gathering and sorting everything in my sight. Behind me, the rest of the family created more destruction than we started with. The main problem being my in-laws have just cleared out their loft and delivered four large boxes of dusty memorabilia to The Husband to sort through. This he decided would be his contribution to the Big Tidy Up. But amidst pleading love letters from broken hearted teenage girls and faded Blur tickets, were a whole load of The Husband’s old toys, which of course soon found themselves all over the playroom floor. Before long, my two year old was trying to swipe the screen on a Commodore 64 and my son had Mr Potato Head astride a delicate electric Hornby train. It was like my plastic invasion had just morphed into a vintage one and now I was just faced with tidying up three children’s toys…one of whom is 37.

Needless to say, yesterday my John Lewis image of plumped up cushions, sparkling surfaces, fluffy rugs and everything in matching middle-class storage, pretty quickly disintegrated. And the bicycle pump is still in the fruit bowl.

They say the home is where the heart is and I’m just not feeling a whole lot of love for my house. I’m sure it tries to wind me up on purpose. There is some weird Law (definitely a derivative of Sod’s) to the laundry basket. I empty it ALL the freakin’ time and whenever I go back it’s full to the brim (with the addition of the pair of dirty boxers and socks always placed carefully on top). It fills itself up, I swear. My tumble drier creases things just to piss me off, my toaster spews crumbs out over the top so they land all over the kitchen floor, my Brita water filter leaks everywhere but customer services insist there’s nothing wrong with the design. It’s like my appliances all have a little private agreement to really fuck with me. When I started writing this post, even my Mac decided it couldn’t be arsed to comply and went to sleep all hot and bothered demanding a new motherboard.

Maybe I need a new motherboard? Maybe I’m a bored mother? The relentlessness, the lack of knowledge of the extraordinary amount that goes on behind the scenes in order to create a happy platform for my little ones. The constant additions to the To Do list before you’ve started crossing anything off. I don’t really know what the answer is but I’d love to know how all you ladies do it? And if you have any top tips? I’m hoping at least I’ll discover I’m not alone and perhaps it is only Sarah bloody Jessica Parker who really does it after all. (And even that’s fiction).

Newborn Nuggets

Some good friends of ours have just had their first baby. News which has left me all gooey and sentimental.

So I am writing today’s blog post for all those new mothers out there – and if you know anyone who’s just given birth or is about to, be sure to pass it on. The following is actually taken from a card I wrote to a very good friend of mine (she knows who she is), when she had her first baby:

I still have days when I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing with this motherhood lark, but here are ten little things I’ve learnt along the way, which might be of some help to you and your little one.

1. Always carry a spare pair of breast pads in your handbag (believe me, you don’t want to get caught short in public….I’m speaking from experience)
2. You can never have too many muslins.
3. Don’t be alarmed by a sudden onset of emotion around day five. I was pretty much inconsolable during an entire two hour Christmas final of X Factor. Luckily, the midwife had warned The Husband.
4. Gripe water is brilliant.
5. Avoid ‘Smug Mothers’ (there were babies allegedly learning French before mine could even walk).
6. Always ensure you’re in possession of some expensive foundation and truck loads of Touche Eclat. Within two minutes you can look vaguely human, possibly even radiant, despite two hours sleep.
7. Just when you start getting a little tired of giving out unconditional love and not getting a great deal back, your baby will smile at you for the first time and it’ll instantly recharge your batteries.
8. If in doubt, feed (the baby, not the father).
9. Sometimes you may cry for no reason, or eat an entire packet of chocolate Hobnobs in one day. Both are entirely normal.
10. You start to see your mum in a whole new light, because you suddenly ‘get it’.

And now for the soppy and sentimental bit….despite some of the more challenging times, and moments in the middle of the night when you feel like you’re the only one in the world awake, being a mother is the most wonderful, fulfilling, incredible privilege. Don’t worry about what’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, or what other parents are doing. Follow your instincts, love your baby, and look after him/her as well as you possibly can. And that’s the best you can do.

Most of all enjoy it. These days go so quickly and are so, so special.

Learning to Loiter

I am scared of The School Gates. This is not a rational apprehension because my son is starting school this week and the very fact is causing me nervous, sleepless nights. No, my son starts school exactly a year from now. This is an irrational anxiety based on events so far in the future I can't control. My favourite. The angst I do best.

The thing is, I'm not very good at loitering on my own whilst still looking friendly and approachable (which is precisely the balance I understand one needs to perfect at The School Gates). Instead, I appear stern, a bit frowny and pretend to be busy fiddling with something terribly important. So people tend to avoid me. In actual fact, I'm concentrating very hard on looking like I don't really feel uncomfortable in the slightest (when really I do) and quietly hoping someone might come and start a conversation. Which they don't. And there you have it - a whole bucket load of ironies.

After all, what we mums really want in these enforced-loitering situations is to meet other mums, with like-minded outlooks and reasonably clean children. At the moment, my only experience of loitering is at the practice 'School Gates' (my son's nursery) which I'm treating as a sort of apprenticeship to see what skills I can learn over the coming months. Mostly, I look for completely shallow clues as to who might make a nice friend, so I spend a lot of time checking out 'the wheels' of other mothers. For me, it's a bit like the mum's version of 'What car do you drive?' and what it says about you. If I see a Mamas & Papas Pliko Pramette, I know I'm on fairly safe territory.

But then you have to add the children into the mix. Or as a friend pointed out to me the other day, it should really be about the children: which ones my son enjoys spending time with and who he might like to invite home. But when he selects a kindred spirit and then asks to have them over for the dreaded first play date, it all feels a bit like blind dating on my part; door bell rings, mouth goes dry and you pretty much know within seconds if you're going to get on with this mother, or if it's going to be an hour of stilted conversation about which type of weaning you did and when your baby first slept through the bloody night (I can always lose that one, hands down). Equally, I've spotted mums I like the look of, loitering in their skinny J Brands and Uggs, and have been about to bound over to them like an excitable puppy, only to see their child is the snotty nosed grubby little urchin whose just hit mine over the head.

Like so much of life, I guess the politics of The School Gates is a fine balance. It's a bit about the mothers, it's a bit about the children. It's about making an effort without trying too hard. It's about smiling sincerely not grinning desperately (or frowning sternly!) It's about learning to loiter with dignity and intent.

Since our local primary is in an area where there are more Boden mums than you can shake a catalogue at, I definitely need to be wary of my school run attire before stepping out of the house (see August's 'I Can't Take Me Anywhere' post). So, I have exactly a year to perfect the understated, not-made-an-effort look (which takes more effort than any other look). Oh, and to learn how to smile in public.

Wish me luck.