Mummyfried

 Since February, I have been strutting into a fabulous office, to do a fabulous job, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to conquer the day at this incredible award winning genuinely professional communications agency.  And let me tell you, this place is like the Olympics of professionalism—energetic, dedicated, and responsive, just like yours truly. Let's talk about the boss lady. She's like the superhero version of who I want be when I grow up—smart, hilarious, down-to-earth, and has enough energy to power a small city.  An inspirational leader (who is younger than me, but let's leave that alone). I'm not exactly living that glamorous life. I'm a single mom to two not so tiny terrors who make mornings feel like a battlefield. Getting my moody teen out of bed is like trying to convince a bear to do ballet. And then there's the epic showdown of getting dressed, where I'm basically the ringmaster in a circus of chaos. Meanwhile, the 11 year old baby is wa...

The participation trophy for playing the game of corporate life without a rulebook, a map, or a decent budget is packaged up into a signed documented and a meager financial thanks called Redundancy. The lone ranger is out of commission. After seven years of undying dedication to a company that seemed to thrive on the philosophy of 'No Direction, No Budget, confused with micromanagement and thousands of ridiculous rewrites came - the role, and the person suddenly to a screaming halt. The late nights that had become friends were now waving goodbye, the fun weekends that had become myths were going to come back, the 14-hour day - over, done, no more. The sweetest cherry on top of this professional sundae was the reminder from higher-ups and the incompetent replacement higher than you, that you were in their eyes, after all the years of delivering, aiding mergers, profits, and recognition, about as competent as a fish riding a bicycle. So what that your role was carved up like ...

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...

Not unlike other paid and unpaid working mummies, my human fuel tank has its needle stuck somewhere between exhausted and seriously exhausted to the point of vague. My batteries are rarely recharged.  My spark plugs like my home, need a good dusting and once over. I often leave for work before my babies are awake and return home just before their bedtime. It is awful. Below are ten confessions that I suspect many paid and unpaid working mums relate to - but perhaps rarely admit to: 1. The ankle biters do not take baths every night 2. I don't know if they really brush their teeth every day - despite threatening them that if they don't brush their teeth, they will fall out 3. I empower my children by giving them options:  'Brush your teeth, or they will fall out. You choose'. 4. I clean only what I can see, on the weekends 5. I iron only the ankle biters clothes because I don't want them going to nursery being the scruffy untidy kids 6. I don't iron m...

I suffer from PTSD. Yes, another ailment to add to my many. No, I have never thankfully been in the line of true fire, and the following does not intend to be disrespectful to anyone that has ...but being back in work environment occasionally gives me flashbacks to a work environment of a few years ago.  And the story goes like this... I sit at my desk and feel my heart beat faster each time she walks past my office. I wonder why, at age with years of experience under my belt I experience such a knee jerk, projectile vomit, knot in my tummy reaction when my eyes follow her as she strides by. I loathe every moment I have to interact with her. The trenches were dug and war announced before I even had time to warm my desk chair. This woman had her war cry entrenched in her psyche years before she joined this work battlefield. She has 'Warning, Armed Mean Person' tattooed on her forehead. I observe her guarding the CEO's office, waiting, watching for her opportunity t...

Since 1 January 2015 and perhaps a little before then, I have been missing in action (MIA). Aside from close friends, Mr Lucky and the ankle biters noticing, my MIA status suggests the following state of play: 1. Every one else has started the new year with much gusto and madness and they haven't had time to notice I am missing. Let's face it,  2015 to date has been operating on warp speed - I haven't had time to notice if anyone else is missing too. 2. My stats regarding my readership or followers are incorrect - nobody reads my blog.  I don't really want to explore this further but there is an ever so slight suggestion (I really hope not) that my blogs are.... floating in dead, unread, uninteresting space in the WebSphere. In January I submitted a public service contract role application and got the job. The job, while mostly in English, requires Greek. This, like my readership statistics is a challenge and requires some attention. Also since January I: Packe...

While I was on maternity leave, pretending I knew what I was doing with Little Miss, my role became redundant.  I loved that job even though I had worked ridiculous hours in a very unhealthy environment.  I had been looking forward to going back to work and its challenges but dreaded being away from Little Miss.    I went into mourning and started to wear more black. I looked for other work but couldn't secure a role that offered flexible work hours and seniority, something I would have had, had I returned to the role I left, or lost. Recruiters advised that I should take a full time job and work my way to flexibility after a year, more likely two years. Some even advised I just take a role less challenging / demanding. My black dress code soon became mixed with angry. I secured a part time role that was challenging.  I was made to think and juggle an enormous workload. The role lacked seniority and bells and whistles associated with that....