What about the dad's?

This makes me so angry!

So I was sitting (yes, sitting! can you imagine, what a treat - usually I have to stand) on the train yesterday morning on the way in to work, only just beginning to recover from the image of my beloved boy pleading for me to stay with him, when I stumbled across this lovely story. Apparently, children whose mothers work are less likely to lead healthy lives. What a load of crap.

I really, really hate all this working-mums bashing that goes on in the UK press. Well, of course I'd love to stay at home and nurture my child into a wonderful, caring human being. Of course I'll keep the house spottlessly clean and cook delicious, healthy and varied meals. We'll bake cakes every day and greet daddy every evening with smiles and clean faces before the happy, exhausted but fulfilled children skip merrily off to bed.

But I live in the real world. My husband doesn't earn mega bucks. And I am not a 1950's housewife. I have a brain, I've found a career and just because I have a child, why does that mean I have to forfeit that career? Why should I? I'm bloody good at my job. I love my child no less. I'm an equally capable mother whether I work or not. In fact, I would argue I'm more capable because I'm fulfilled on more levels when I work. Also, my days off are devoted entirely to fun, family activities. I concentrate fully on Miniegg when we have days off together.

And just because I have a job, why does that mean I'm less likely to ensure my child lives a healthy lifestyle? My child lives a very healthy lifestyle thank you very much. All meals he eats at home are home-cooked. The fruit bowl is always kept well stocked for him to help himself from and we spend the majority of each weekend outdoors, running around and getting as much exercise as possible.

And where are the dad's in all this? In our house, husband has as much, if not more, influence over how healthy our lifestyle is. He does all the cooking during the week and it's always super healthy stuff. Do we live in a country where only the mum's can influence the health of their children? Well, frankly, I find that a bit weird.

Give me a break. Stop bashing me because I choose to continue using my brain to earn a decent salary. My salary means that husband doesn't have to be chained to his desk for 14 hours a day. My salary means that we can afford lovely, fresh organic food. My salary means that my gorgeous boy has 2 parents that can give him their full attention without worrying about paying the mortgage. My salary gives us freedom.

I could go on and on about why we choose to be a dual-income family, or rather why we need to be a dual-income family. I could also drone on and on about all the benefits my beautiful boy gains from attending a super nursery that encourages confidence and inspires curiosity (not that he needs much encouragement to ask why these days). But, lovely readers, I will spare you.

Now can someone please pass me that stepladder so I can climb down from my soapbox please?

The one where she gets all serious and gazes at her belly button (or should that be piggy bank?)

A funny thing happened last night.

Husband and I were talking money matters as we brushed our teeth and organised ourselves for tomorrow (today). As usual, I'd plumped for the wrong savings account and husband had found a much better one with a higher rate of interest (yawn, I know).

Then, husband suggested something that, to me, was just totally unthinkable.

He suggested I just lump my savings in with his.

Image: Wikipedia

Now, I know a lot of people may think that is a very sensible suggestion, especially as husband was very clever and bagged one of the few remaining high interest savings accounts left on the market before the market imploded.

But the thought made me feel sick. That money is my escape fund. It's my ticket to a new life, far far away. It's my independence. It's MY money.

So that got me thinking. Why do I feel I need an escape fund? Husband is most certainly a keeper, even if it did take me some time to figure this out. We've been together for 10 years (well, 9 years, 11 months and 2 weeks since our first snog!). We may not always agree on everything (who does?), but we do share a basic philosophy on life and our values are pretty much identical. I truly feel he completes me.

I have no intention of running off and leaving him anytime soon or in the future. In fact, I'm desperately trying to convince him to extend our little family (yup, still broody for baby no. 2. Hurry up husband).

So where does this need to keep at least some of our finances separate stem from? To be honest, I have no idea. I am fiercely independent and the thought of being financially dependent on a man does make me uneasy. I think it's a share of power thing. I fear that if I have no financial clout, the balance of power will shift. Gosh, that sounds awful doesn't it? Talking about the balance of power. We're a partnership, there should be no power struggle. And there isn't.

I don't know if I know the answer to this one. I always felt my mum was too dependent on my dad I guess, and as much as I love them both, I was never comfortable with the balance of power in their relationship. Until recently that is, when their situation forced mum to sort of find herself. She's a newly liberated woman now and although not financially independent from dad, she is now socially independent of him. Which is lovely for her and has really strengthened their relationship.

So I guess it's over to you lovely fellow peep in the blogosphere. Do you have a secret escape fund? Or are your finances as entwined as your futures when it comes to your partners? Do share and let me know if I'm just being a weird closet feminist or something!

My bathtime haven

Oh my word. I'm all of a tizz. The bathroom renovation that I thought was months in the future is suddenly happening in about 10 days! Panic panic!

So I've had my head stuck in bathroom catalogues for what seems like days. Only trouble is, the more baths I look at, the more indecisive I become.

I think I've decided on this lovely cubic basin on top of white glossy drawers:

And this rather lovely bath tub:

With some gorgeous chocolate brown tiles, but I can't find a picture of them, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

It's going to be all lovely and sleek though. Tiling just around the bath, lovely pale almost shimmering grey walls (hmm, must see if such a paint colour actually exists - maybe this one or this one), beautiful fluffy  towels in natural shades and lovely rich dark wood-effect (note: waterproof enough to withstand energetic bathing by my wonderboy) flooring.

It will be my haven. All plastic bath toys will be hidden from view and only products from The White Company or Jo Malone will be visible. Sigh.

Oh I feel much better now. I'm off for a bath.

Wild child

 

Our wild child, exhausted from adventures while camping during less turbulent times

Originally uploaded by eggdipdip

We're exhausted. We've had a weekend full of tantrums, pouting, feet stamping and many many tears. Battles were fought at every opportunity. Sob. Wail. Sob.

It's tough being 3 and a half. Especially when you have a nasty tummy virus and nobody notices until Sunday lunchtime.

Note to self: When usually wonderful, happy darling child turns into Wild Child, there's usually a virus-related reason.

Oops. Negligent mummy. You are hereby sentenced to 2 hours of soft play at the nearest smelly soft play centre at the earliest opportunity.

Hope you all had less turbulent weekends than we did! 

What colour am I?

How cool is this? Click on the image for a closer look then do your own one here. I had hoped for more green, but hey, you can't have everything! Thanks for sharing Julochka.

Tuesday musings

 Ready, steady, jump! Anticipation is half the fun.

Just a quick post today - works is suddenly a wee bit hectic. But I'm hatching a plan for a new project.

I have a birthday coming up. It's not a major milestone in the traditional sense but I do feel a bit apprehensive about it. You know, tick tock tick tock. The old body clock is ticking louder and louder and I'm getting a tad anxious about it.  Sure, technically I have many more child-bearing years ahead of me but my gorgeous boy is 3 now and desperate to be a big brother. Tick tock tick tock.

So, to distract me a little from all this anxious fretting I'm going to turn my apprehension into anticipation. I think I'm going to attempt a little blog project. My goal will be to do or find 33 things that feed my mind, body or soul (little hint at the impending birthday age there!). I'll make a start in a couple of days, so stay tuned folks!

Was that the last of summer?

Call it Monday morning blues or lack of sleep, but I'm feeling a bit melancholy this morning.

It really feels like Summer is gasping her final breaths while Autumn waits in the wings ready to swoop in and take over.

I love Autumn (birthday season!) but feel like I've hardly seen Summer this year. Which is odd really as we've spent every weekend possible camping, picnicking, adventuring and embracing the outdoors.

Maybe I am just tired. Even the Vente latte with extra shot of expresso that is sitting by my right hand is failing to revive me this morning.

Sigh. Let's see what the day brings. Maybe a wee trip to Liberty's at lunchtime will brighten things up a bit?

That Sunday night feeling...

As the end of the weekend draws near, I like nothing more than making sure we start the week with a clean slate. It doesn't always happen that way of course, but tonight is one of those rare nights that it has.

We have:
:: clean sheets on all beds
:: clean child in clean pyjammies in clean bed
:: clean floors
:: empty ironing basket
:: homemade soup for dinner tomorrow night
:: wild blackberry crumble leftover in the fridge
:: packed lunches ready in fridge
:: 2 exhausted parents ready for an early night

Simple domestic pleasures.

This girl

Baking with my favourite quality controller
Originally uploaded by suzi8

This girl is a magpie, a hopeless romantic, a drama queen.

She is champagne cocktails, strawberries dipped in chocolate, crushed meringues with raspberries.

She is a fiery redhead with freckles, with an unhealthy appetite for red shiny shoes.

She is family picnics (even in January), old fashioned home baking, and proper home-made marmalade.

She is swishy skirts made for dancing, bunting outside a village hall and garden parties.

She has a yearning for the simple pleasures in life but adores frivolity.

She is afternoon tea with cream cakes served on pretty china.

She is brunch at The Wolseley and lunch in the park.

She is vintage buttons and pretty ribbons and all the colours of the rainbow, but mostly emerald.

She wears rose tinted glasses and her view is never shades of grey.

She values honesty and loyalty but is a shameful gossip.

Her tea cup is always half-full, in fact it frequently overflows and for this she is eternally grateful.

She likes to think she is a writer, but is often easily distracted.

She is a mac not a pc, hates being labelled but covets labels of the luxury variety.

She is a mum and a wife and loves being who she is.

A promise to my beautiful boy

After a lovely but busy weekend camping, it's a bit of a shock to be back in the normal world today.

We had such fun camping (after a shaky start - Miniegg was too exhausted from adventures with daddy to be sociable for the 1st 24 hours) and really played together as a family. Silly mad imaginative play where we pretending to be bulls and charged around a field, sweet heart warming play where we all pretending to be a family of bunny rabbits and good old fashioned boys love cars play. It was beautiful.

So I've promised myself to be more aware in my parenting this week. I'm going to kiss and cuddle at every opportunity, be silly and spontaneous and make Miniegg laugh out loud, be patient and thoughtful when Miniegg is grumpy and tired. I sometimes forget that this wonderful, talkative (almost insightful), energetic little person is actually only 3 years old. And 3 year olds have a tough time when it comes to understanding hunger and exhaustion.

So Miniegg, I promise to be the mummy you deserve this week. We'll read all your favourite stories at bedtime, we'll have cuddles and we'll make each other giggle. We'll drink bambino cappuccinos and talk in silly voices. I'll try really hard not to make excuses or be grumpy - housework can wait.

You're my special, wonderful gift and I promise to cherish you more.

xxx