A Lesson Learnt

Last night I thought it was time that son1 who is approaching 3 years old, deserved to be upgraded to a bed from his cot. He's almost cracked the whole potty training thing, can converse with anyone about anything, (usually Mickey Mouse related) and from a selfish point of view I thought he could come into my husband and I in the morning rather than announce loudly from his cot that he's wide awake while we bicker as to who's turn it is to get him.

 

Boy, did I make a huge parenting mistake. To be fair, I was warned, my best friend told me whatever I do put a stairgate on his bedroom door to keep him from wandering or get a bed-guard for the sides of his bed to avoid him getting in and out, oh and falling out too. But hey like every mother I thought my child was different, he has a head on his shoulders, he's 'so advanced' and the excitement of having his 'big boy' bed alone would keep him happy and content to stay put, not to mention his new Cath Kidston linen. I didn't once consider the freedom that this child has just been handed and now me (and my skin) are paying the consequences.

 

Be warned mums, for once don't turn your nose up and listen to your fellow mums. When they say leave the transition from cot to bed to the latest possible time, do it! Poor son2 he'll be applying to universities before he's let out of his.

Blooming Gorgeous

You can always trust Jo Malone to add some excitement into your everyday life. I used to think it was simply the pristine packaging and the gorgeous gift boxes all beautifully tied in her signature black and beige paper bag, but it's so much more. Any woman who appreciates 'real' fragrance has a bottle of something Jo Malone on her dressing table. Her scents are classy, chic and far from the premium designer brands that we're so used to spritzing on daily. Jo's scents are treasured and kept for those special occasions.  

As a beauty editor I was in the very fortunate position of getting a preview of Jo's latest concoction and as ever I wasn't disappointed one little bit. The venue was decked out in fresh bluebells, doll-like models fluttered around the room in delicate blue mesh dresses and blue Afro wigs mirroring the new and first advertisement campaign of Jo Malone Wild Bluebell Cologne. It was like walking into a mesmerising fairytale. Perfectly dressed, polite and of course good-looking waiters (all the normal criteria at events like these) served delicious drinks such as apple and rhubarb juice with a splash of mint that made a healthy alternative to my usual morning caffeine-fix. A delicate and floral smell lingered in the air, but without that heady smell that reminds you of  your granny, you know the one. This scent was modern, calming and chic, almost like springtime in a bottle...(but launching in September!) 

It's no wonder I'm already excited for the next launch. .

Little Suckers

My mum was never an advocate of dummies. In fact all six of us (yes she bought up six kids and yes all the same father) had different comforters, mainly pieces of rags that ended up damp and dishevelled as time went on, but never dummies. I however, when son1 was born, decided it was modern day and he was what the midwife referred to as a 'sucker' and needed a soother of some kind. While I was breastfeeding for what seemed to be 23 out of the 24 hours of the day, his dummy came in good use for his nipple-free time. 

Forward nearly three years and he still relies on his dummy to get him to sleep, ease his bumps and bruises and more. I'd love to take it away but I admit I don't know how and if I'm bitterly honest, I can't face the tantrums, the tears and energy that would be zapped out of me (and him) for a bit of plastic, however precious. 

As every mum with a dummy-lover child knows, you don't leave home without a dummy or ten. It pains me though cause you can bet we somehow return home with at least half the amount of dummies we left with.

My main concern is hygiene, call it OCD or simply health and safety, but when son1's dummy falls on the floor, it needs to be sterilised under boiling water before placing back in his mouth. Obviously this is almost always impossible when you're out and about, but I've recently come across Tommee Tippee's super-handy Soother, Teat & Teether Wipes, claiming to kill 99.9% of bacteria, which is good enough for even a hygiene-freak like me. I highly recommend you keep some in your baby's changing bag, car, handbag or likewise, it will change yours and your baby's mood when that dummy accidentally hits the floor plus you won't lose all those other just-in-case dummies you've shlepped along for the ride.

The Future's Bright

Today started off well, clear blue skies, birds singing, kids behaving..ish and husband making me tea a.k.a pouring hot water over my herbal teabag (you'd be quite surprised how this simple act can be quite a challenge sometimes.) But not long after the tables turned on my walk to the train station when my left flip-flop suddenly broke. I mean, just like that, the thong (on my flip flop that is) came flying off and I ended up with what resembled a flipper rather than a flip-flop. It was simply impossible and noisy to walk even two steps, let alone another mile to the station. If I wasn't waddling already, thanks to one too many spoonfuls of Nutella, this broken footwear would definitely guarantee a jiggle or two.

My husband simply reacted with a, 'calm down,' which only fired me up even more. I explained the nearest Office shoe store was 4 miles away, you try hopping on one foot for that distance. Typically this scenario if it happened in Oxford Street, would be a godsend, almost a sign if you like that I need and really mean need new footwear. Even more fabulous if it happened outside Kurt Geiger's shop window, but now I'm getting carried away with a dream. But alas, I was in a suburban street with filthy pavements and a husband who also thought it was also the right time to point out what he referred to as my 'chipped and poo-coloured' toenails.

Hobbling along in a very undignified manner, I managed to get to a relative's doorstep who thankfully lent me some shoes, a size too small, but hey I was desperate, we've all done blisters in the name of fashion, I'll do it in the name of not being late. It's a characteristic I hate, in fact, I think it's incredibly rude, but that's a whole different blog.

Finally, having arrived at my meeting, it was as if the beauty PR spookily knew about my footwear disaster (or perhaps it was just the limp I was suddenly sporting from painfully walking in the wrong size shoe.) I was introduced to an array of amazingly bright and gorgeous shades from the new Rimmel London Lycra Pro Finish collection, with not a 'poo-colour' in sight! With names such as Pink Amazon, Show Off and my favourite Aqua Cool,  both my day and feet were instantly brightened. Whoever challenged the wonderful effects of colour therapy?

Parklife

Why is it that as we get older, our inner child becomes stronger? I love nothing more than spending a sunny afternoon running in the park chasing my sons around swings and roundabouts and kicking the latest favourite football of the month- May is all about Mickey Mouse, April is now considered old school with faded images of Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy. I look around the playground, thankful that my Cutler & Gross sunglasses hide a multitude of sins and their dark lenses give me the wonderful advantage to stare at others. But then it dawned on me, there's no mums here, instead there's a sea of young, slim, foreign nannies using childcare as a means to live and breathe London. I wonder, with a tad bit of jealousy, where are these children's mothers? Do they work full-time or are they just getting their talons manicured? But those envious seconds quickly pass when I look at my two sons running freely and proudly smiling at each other about their climbing frame achievements. I soon realise, I'm the lucky one standing here, these days fly by far too quickly, with a blink of an eye they'll soon be snogging girls on the park bench nearby. (And mums please note, have your nails groomed by all means, but 1. donkey grey nails is so last season and 2. please pick nannies whose waist circumference is larger than the average British girls thigh.)

Grey Matters

They say that in face-to-face conversation you should focus directly to the person opposite and speak directly into their eyes. Perhaps it’s just good manners or just something to focus on when the conversation gets a little too boring. The thing is, my grey hairs that seem to be sprouting typically at the front of my hairline are a major distraction to all. In fact, friends, colleagues even the checkout girl at my local Tesco, glare a second too long at the top of my head for me to think it was just a coincidence. They can deny it till they’re blue in the face and pretend they hadn’t noticed until I point the little buggers out myself. But it’s true, my dark locks are turning grey, I like to call it silver, sounds far more glamorous.

The thing is I don’t have the time nor the money to sit in a hairdresser for three hours to get my hair coloured. Those good old days are long gone. I used to love nothing more than sitting undisturbed flicking through glossy magazines and eavesdropping on the conversation beside me while dunking my mini wafer into my skinny latte. These days, I not only have to think of booking an appointment way in advance to get a convenient slot but also a babysitter too and then there’s the travelling time to consider and the added Kerastase ritual treatment of course.

However, thanks to the wonderful and talented bods at Headmasters, they’ve cottoned on to the fact that Sunday opening is just as essential as every other day of the week, so there’s no babysitter costs and no sense of guilt for the time out, just a warm feeling that my husband is having a taste of what it’s like to look after the kids single-handedly.

So really, things are not so grey after all.

Toilets and Tribulations

I read somewhere that mothers have an inner intuition or smell or call it what you like, that means they never feel disgust at changing they're children's soiled nappies. My husband chuckles!! Toilet training my son has been a challenge that I wasn't aware of when i signed up to motherhood, though I keep being told by fellow mums, girls are so much easier to train, they don't quite get that this doesn't help me or make me feel a better mother when I have sons and no daughters. So, we've done the treats, the star chart, the special presents, the lot and still when it comes to time to doing a poo, let's just say we're always far from a potty and toilet and always near to my favourite Heal's furniture. Oh, did I mention that in his playgroup son happily uses the potty without an accident in sight. Three words come to mind, wrap, little and finger. You work it out!

Sleepless Beauty

I never thought I'd say it, but I miss waking up to an alarm clock, even that damn beeping sound is kinder to my ears than son 1 or 2 crying to let me know they're awake. You just can't press snooze on a child! And if like me, there's always a million and one things to do once you've put them to bed and that inner promise to be tucked up in bed by 10pm is just a dream.

With my skin as dry as a bone, my body physically exhausted and my mind full of clutter and to-do's, I turn to my best friend, my beauty cupboard- a stack of lotions, potions, makeup and perfumes that make me feel 'normal', well as normal as a mum-of-two can feel! The answer comes in a silver tube labelled Dermalogica Multivitamin Power Recovery Masque. Slap it on before bed, then rinse off when you wake. With the words 'power' and 'recovery' on the label, it ticks all the right boxes for my glowing complexion. Surely, it's not a crime to look like your coping, even if your not?