Who is looking after your children?

Recently I was lucky enough to go out carousing with a group of fantastically fun and gorgeous women.

I turned into hyper party Jane and spent the evening talking to a great many people that I had not met before, including a number of men.

After exchanging  pleasantries, they invariably asked me the standard questions about marriage and children and jobs.

And after I informed them that I had three children, they ALL, yes ALL, asked me “Who is looking after your children?”

To which I dutifully replied “Their father” (like duh, who were you expecting, the Queen or something).

I have come to realise (for this is not the first time I have had these comments) that this mother-out-on-the-town situation is rare and slightly bizarre for it must always be commented on and examined by those possessing a Y-chromosome.

For no-one would ever enquire of a father of three children who is out on the town “who is looking after your children?”  for it is so bleedingly obvious that it will be their lovely wife who is possibly pregnant, maybe barefoot, and definitely at HOME.

So I would like to make a little point.  It is OK for women to go out on the town, without their husbands.  Healthy in fact.   Men are totally and utterly capable of reading a book to a child and then tucking them into bed.  In fact, men are more than capable of being active, involved parents and I know many who are (see SuperDad!)


			

Happy Present-Mongering, Dear Friend

There are many seasons to a life, don’t you think.

One season which is highly enjoyable, yet at the same time irksome, is the present-giving season.

In quick succession, your once single off-the-wall friend, can be engaged, married, knocked up and then the proud caretaker of a wee babbie.

If the indignity of watching your friend turn into a sleep-deprived milk bar (or partner of one) wasn’t enough to bear, there’s the requirement to celebrate each step along this path by giving them a gift.

There’s the Engagement Present.  The Kitchen Tea present.  The Wedding Present.  The Pregnancy present.  The Baby Shower Present.  And then of course, the present for the wee squealing thing itself.

Now I’m not against present-giving.  Not at all. I adore both giving and receiving presents.  However, during this particular season of a friend’s life, it can be a bit much, no?

I heartily support the wedding present, and despite my preference for purchasing a tangible gift, do understand the wishing well affair that is now so popular since we shack up well before we marry these days.  You only need so many toasters and towels.

Also, the baby present.  There’s nothing cuter than buying OOO clothes again, or even a lovely pampering gift for the new parents themselves. Not that’s it about me of course.

However, the Kitchen Tea and the Baby Shower ? Meh.

I should be clear here though.  I LOVE parties.  Any excuse for a party.  I love dress up parties, dress down parties, cocktail parties, Christmas parties.  Any party really.  So if you’re going to turn your Kitchen Tea into an uproarious celebration, I’ll be there, literally with bells on if you’d like.  But a present?  You’re getting one in five minutes at the wedding darling, keep your shirt on.

And the Baby Shower?  Well, in my opinion, it’s a little hard to kick up your heels at the Baby Shower.  As much as I enjoy decorating a teeny little singlet…. actually scrap that, I have zero interest in decorating teeny little singlets.

The prompt for this post was a friend’s bewilderment at what to put on the card for a baby shower.  I suggested “Happy Present-Mongering” which she thought hilarious but probably less than PC.

Having said that, I’m off shopping now.  My children are attending parties for 4 little darlings tomorrow, so it’s time to brandish the Visa.

That’s the next season.

To those who persist in wearing their slippers in public

This is going to make me sound like a crazy lady, but it’s true.  On Saturday, while walking through the shops, I had a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to tell an otherwise well dressed young lass that the ugg boots she was wearing were dreadful, totally dreadful, and completely ruined the effort she had gone to with her hair and makeup that morning.

You see, I love ugg boots, and for mothers day I was given some beautiful quality warm and snuggly ones of my own.  I’m wearing them as I type and they are just lovely.  But they’re SLIPPERS.  And slippers are for wearing round the house, that way their soles stay nice and clean, see?  Their soles are delicate and rubbery and designed for navigating cold tiles and floorboards in winter.

The only times they should be seen in public is for a weekend morning dash to get the newspaper, preferably with stripy pyjamas to match; or for late night collections of children from tennis and netball and the like.

I know I sound like the AntiBogan but I don’t care.  I am aware that the tide of public sentiment is against me, and that even Hollywood celebrities have been seen in public wearing their slippers, unashamedly, often with a pooch and a ridiculously large beverage in tow.

The fact is, in my opinion, they look terrible.  While cosy and adorable worn inside your front door, out in the wilds they make you look incredibly frumpy. They make your legs look short, fat a la tree trunks, and really as if you don’t give a damn.

So if you don’t give a damn, that’s fine, wear them as you will.  But if you do give a damn, even a little damn about fashion, please keep them for winters at home while you laze in the front of the fire, on your bear rug, with marshmallows and hot chocolate and Ryan Gosling.