Mummyfried

Below are key messages I would like to deliver to management... That's right, to Mummyfried (the boss of the boss:  my own alter ego)  the big boss upstairs, the vertically challenged bosses I gave birth to, the bosses at the paid place of employment:  To Mummyfried:  Stop the 60 -70 working week and dreams about really being a tall, blonde, athletically thin, dedicated houseproud yummy mummy and fabulous friend. It's not working. Take a stand. Get to it and sort it out. (Stop being a slave to the system, eating, and start exercising! the rest will follow). To the ankle-biter bosses: The days of empty threats are over. You fail to pick up, I promise to throw out!  My feet deserve a lego free walking path environment!  To the boss upstairs. Give me a break. Please? Like, a real one? A lottery ticket, a wealthy uncle who wants to hand it all over, a warm hug, and some hot chocolate? Please? Don't carry me leaving footprints in the sand, if I fail to act on th...

Until yesterday, I looked at my angels and saw two mini versions of me.   Mini-Me 1:  A pre-baby body.  A pre-Mr Lucky, pre-debt, pre-stress, and exhaustion from cleaning cooking working, and caring (not in that order). A fit, healthy, rested body - a result of sleeping in till 2 pm after five nights of solid clubbing, hence laughing, exercising, flirting, and genuinely enjoying life. An occasionally clumsy, happy, cool cat that moved in different social circles with lots of friends.    Mini-Me 2: Post-baby body. A doughy soft, perpetual beginners level yogi, with a LOVE  of good food, a select group of very very good friends sprinkled with a blessing of earth angels who have made me laugh, be grateful for what I have, and who encouraged me to appreciate the small things, and become someone filled with endless buckets of positive affirmations, a sun worshiper in a bikini with that 'I know, I shouldn't, but I  am happy and it's comfortable' fa...

Another year passed and then another - and here we are. An accomplishment in reflection. The recent years have been a very bumpy uncomfortable ride. I haven't had the luxury 4WD to navigate my way through it smoothly. My beat up little car that stalls and rolls backward on hills, that sounds perpetually out of breath is just that. Out of breath. Throughout the hardship - and I mean American TV soap opera drama I have looked at my two little rays of light.  The two little beings that breathe air into my lungs, who make me throw back my head and laugh wholeheartedly and who make me forget all my woes and remind me that life is for adventure, cuddles, giggles, and love and I am thankful and finally inspired. I am back. Not in full, but in part. Peeping out and waving madly around the army of boring routine, work, bills, stress and consistent ball juggling.  Can you see me? If no, never mind. I am writing for a tiny little audience this time..me. My public declaration...

So yesterday Little Miss decided she wanted to walk home from the park wearing one shoe and despite the elements refused to wear her coat. I transitioned from gentle coach, encouraging coach, firm mummy, scowling mummy to I can’t take the screaming any more, let her win this one mummy. Determined to draw more attention to us, she sang loudly, belting out her show tunes with the determination of a performer auditioning for that one role that was theirs since birth. Ok, she's not belting out her show tunes, they are mine.   The very show tunes that replace frowns, tiredness and scowls with sunshine, smiles, hope and Grease style dancing.   After she worked her way through Hairspray’s soundtrack (at only 3, her version is generally quite short. She doesn’t know all the words) She turned her attention to the Sound of Music. All the while, she carried her pack of cheese sticks in one hand as though they were fragile chicks. Each person we walked by smiled   or patte...