One Day.

A warning: the following treatise may only apply to mothers at home, juggling all sorts of balls which ( not being one right now) a working mother may not have to deal with. I apologise for the pathos,the drama and the sheer domestic drivel up front but I say persevere BECAUSE THATS WHAT MOTHERHOOD IS ABOUT( I may have read that somewhere though I try hard to only read Harpers Bazaar )
This is how I get through it...I start with the sentence One Day .
One Day I will sketch a whole lot of cute drawings, have them framed and decorate the girls' room.
( To replace blu-tacked prints torn in one corner.)
One Day my friend and I will start an internet business which will eventually rival Microsoft.
One Day I will sort all the washing out before it actually leaves the bed and starts taking up room on the floor.
One day I will read the children their stories in a slow and enjoyable manner instead of speaking very fast in an edgy -thats -it -mummie's out of here- sort of voice. Maybe we could act them out and have fairy cakes afterward.
One Day I will sort out all the accounts and file them alphabetically and possibly find some uncashed cheques to assist in paying off Christmas 2004.
One Day I will fix the corduroy skirt/mend the ballet dress/make up Diane von Furstenburg style wrap dresses for summer.
One Day I will match all the plastic containers with a lid and stack them so that when you open the cupboard door an avalanche doesnt happen.
One Day I will write a novel. ( only if anyone is asleep/absent and its still daytime.)

Do you get the picture? Do you feel that whole lifetimes slip through your fingers between dawn and dusk, where the only sure thing will be unpacking the dishwasher twice, loading the washing machine and shouting " Mummy is doing work" while you are surfing the net for villas in France?

Let me introduce myself. I am 39, female, married with three children who are 5, 4 and 2. Two daughters and the youngest is the Boy, an assertive and talkative lad, despite not yet having the full English language. The little girls are very cute ( if I say so myself )and spend equal amounts of time roleplaying intense games with Barbie or fighting over my jewellery and makeup.(Stolen goods add zest to the struggle)

Despite the wonderful school system, we are often alone - the three of them and me- for maybe two or three days at a time, stranded amidst the detritus of Fisher Price and Charlie and Lola, wading through twelve hours of what should be blissful mother child(ren) interaction but in fact is more like a slow and painful atrophying of all 5 senses...
Way too ridiculous, but no one told me what being at home with all these truly gorgeous children would really be like.
Why despite all your best intentions, the tv is your best friend.
Why doing craft is okay at first but by no. 3 paint is banned and playdough is OUTSIDE EVEN IF ITS RAINING.
Why you will do literally anything to have a latte/cappucino/milkshake, at a small and uneven table, ending up costing $37.00 just to get out of the house.
I think its a conspiracy.... or perhaps more honestly a long delayed form of brain damage that occurs in the early child rearing years. In awhile, when they are all at school and I am ( take your pick here- playing tennis, learning french, having facials,studying something useful in order to contribute to family income)occupied, I will come across other mums who are in this phase of life and I will smile sympathetically while they tell me the awfulness of it all , and in my mind will come a blank.. a sort of momentary picture of toddler smiling in the sandbox or sharing without being asked.. and I will just nod and say
" I know,...but it goes so quickly. Just enjoy it"
THIS IS WHAT PEOPLE TELL ME! I dont mean to shout but often no one will listen otherwise. Does this happen to anyone else?

I have a lovely husband who works hard - nowhere near the home ground if he can help it - and mourns daily the amount of money that could be going toward a small property in Vancouver or on a number of vintage aircraft, which instead appears to be sucked up, as if by an alien force, toward cheestix, wiggles dvds, kindy fees, anti -aging creams, shoes - that would be a girl thing - and wine because a glass of wine can be just what Mummie needs .
Anyone reading this who has an issue with alcohol and kids should stop now as mine are nearly able to recognise a De Bortoli at 10 yards. ONLY KIDDING. Though we did pass the bottle shop on the way to Kindy(8 am) last week and the 4 yr old said to me very sadly "The wine shop is CLOSED Mummy" Ummmm.

I think this blog is to try and halt the atrophying thing-I really love being a mother, being at a place where I am doing this stuff, being at home as I feel very strongly that if one produces children its your job description, being domestic, being - despite huge internal resistance- often quite GROWN UP. I just didnt get that it would be unrelenting, unrewarded, misunderstood( especially in groovy cafes )and sometimes very lonely.

So here's to the wonderful world of the blog,revealing the inner workings of a mind gone soft, surrounded by very old copies of Vogue, unmatching socks, and alot of Mermaidia teaset pieces full of sand...feel free to comment, advise, re-read that advice, offer all sorts of parenting tips we may have heard before but didnt listen to( because no one was shouting)
Not to mention your view of the world.
Cheers.