Parenting…..the drunken/old fashioned way
Now as you Mums (ok & some Dads who get involved) know…. being a parent is fucking hard work. You need limitless energy to deal with the kids day in, day out… and somehow, remain sane.
This is why, I know for a FACT, that us Mums drink. You can’t do this every day sober. This is impossible my friends. I have tried the sober route and its just soooo incredibly painful that I swear the kids prefer me laughing and falling over furniture, than being miserable and looking bored shitless while they try to engage me in conversation. Plus I don’t mind them playing with knives, bouncing off our floor to ceiling windows, or jumping on our glass coffee table (as much) when I’m drunk.
Its unbelievably boring sometimes…. the routines, the school runs, the endless play dates, the driving to and fro to nowhere while planning my evening and when I can call my drug dealer to help erase some of the pain. The drugs here in HK by the way have taken a turn for the worse since I first arrived (not that they’ve been any good to begin with).
Not only are they expensive, BUT, you’re paying for asprin/baking soda disguised as coke. Very frustrating on a housewives salary when you discover you’ve been ripped off. Especially when you make the effort to turn up at a designated meeting place (in disguise), only to discover your drug dealer gave you a bag of shit. * DISCLAIMER. IF YOU WORK FOR ANY POLICE FORCE/SOMEONE WHO CAN ATTEMPT TO ARREST ME…. WHAT I SAY IS ALL A LIE. Its part of my artistic path to write about these things.
Anyhow… back to parenting. So there are also the boring parents evenings at the kids School which seem to take place every other week. They disguise these BTW, with “Wine & canapés (with candles to sex it up) while viewing your childs daily activities”….. zzzzzzz. Parent evenings for a two year old?!
I always make up excuses to avoid these…. I don’t need to see their paintings, pottery, glued together papier maches and stuff as (a) the teachers normally do these for them because they’re TWO years old, and (b) errr…. did I mention they’re not even 3?!, (c) they are my kids…. I see what they do every single day. Why the fuck am I going to attend a school meeting to be told how fabulous my twins are. I already know they’re the best looking/cleverest etc ones at the school.
What the fuck are teachers going to tell me that I don’t already know?
- Your sons picks his nose constantly and likes to pee in the fish tank (which is in Reception) while looking the Head Teacher straight in the eye and saying “Sum ting wong Ma’am?”
- Your daughter lines her toys up, repeats things constantly and has to have everything done immaculately just like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.
- Your kids like to make fun of the local Chinese kids and pull funny faces (dunno where they learnt that from).
- If they get into fights where someone has caused physical harm, Mummy said “If they bite/hit/punch, you bite/hit/punch back Mother fuckerrrrrrs!!!!” True but I still had to act concerned and … albeit a little surprised. Pride was in there somewhere though…. I was like “Yes!! Don’t let anyone bully you…”
- Your daughter keeps telling the Mandarin teacher, who has an issue with bodily odor and I suspect doesn’t wear deodorant, “Yu stin ki pu” before bursting into fits of giggles (again, not sure where they get this from but I find it utterly shocking). They now point out her moustache which I accidentally mentioned the last time I collected them from school (she’s got a big bushy one that a Gilette Razor will never chop through. That woman needs a proper barber shop razor/face lift. Apparently she’s only 23).
Nothing changes during these early years of parenting. Its not like you can say “Nope…sorry guys…. not today. Mummys hungover again. YES, AGAIN. NOW FUCK OFF AND STOP TRYING TO CUDDLE ME!!”
They also have these annoying magazines handed out to you at School which make you feel like some dick-head/lazy arse Mum… but you can’t help but read the damn thing anyway. Theres normally stories about how “tough” life is in Hong Kong, and other stories about some HK Mum (yes another one) who’s started up a small business selling “patchwork quilts… or Dildos” you just can’t get in Hong Kong.
The magazine itself is fine. The recipes inside, are pretty good actually. Its the annoying, self-gratifying Mums who are sometimes in there that irritate the shit out of me. And before you ask, NO, I still have no friends at the kids school BUT a shit load outside. Plus this is by CHOICE. EVERYONE wants to be my friend (I’m sure…if I was a little more approachable?!). I’d never be friends with those women at school (a) all French and (b) French. When I turn up to collect the twins, I’m all rock n roll (in my head clearly) Ive got to pretend I’m talking on my mobile, just to get out of an awkward playdate conversation with some Mum. It’s normally the Mum whose kid likes to use mine as punch bags during recess, or insists on pulling their pants down while they do show & tell. I fucking hate those kids.
Anyhow, I either pretend to be on the phone, OR, I ring The Captain who will say “Are you waiting to collect the kids at school again? Is that why you’re calling me so no one tries to make conversation?” My response? “Yes you wanker!!! I know you work 20 hour days and I have TWO staff at home BUT you try being a mother in Hong Kong. Its hard fucking work. I’ve got so many social obligations to get out of, its exhausting! You selfish bastard”.
Going back to my story… hangovers with the kids.
For a start that excuse is no longer viable as I’m forever hungover and when your Son says “Mummy’s having breakfast …. shhhhhhh” as I gulp down four extra strong paracetemol first thing in the morning …. you need to worry. He honestly thought tablets were my breakfast. He clearly didn’t notice the can of Red Bull my Helper had handed me before I did the school run. Then again, he saw one of the Helpers bras drying outside on the balcony and called that a “seat-belt”…. wise, or plain stupid? You decide.
Actually, paracetemol isn’t strong enough for my alcohol induced pain. I’ve started bulk buying Nurofen Plus in the UK (they don’t sell that here). NOW, that is a business some annoying Mum should set-up!! I’d be buying that weekly. Nurofen Plus has a calming valium-like quality which also gets rid of headaches and works wonders when you can’t sleep if slightly high. I LOVE IT. In fact, its my wallpaper on my iPhone (yes… over my kids and The Captain….none of which give me the lovely feeling Nurofen Plus does).
Recently, I had to go back to London and left all three kids with the two nannies, Dumb & Dumber…..oh, yes and of course, The Captain. FYI, he accidentally strangled our daughter with her bib last week during dinner time while fastening the horrid plastic thing around her neck …and taking a call on his iPhone at the same time. He didn’t notice her chocking despite her pleas/yelps that her bib was “Too tight Daddy!! Help!! Too tight!!”. It took me, with my Superhero hearing ears (I developed these when I gave birth to the twins), while sat on the loo having “quiet time”, 3 rooms away, to run and save her from chocking. The Captain? He didn’t even realise what the commotion was about… he was taking an important call (from his mate back home).
Anyhow, both Helpers are very sweet but I worried the whole time I was away as there are certain things these women do that drive me mad.
The main thing is giving the kids anything they want which I fucking hate …. “Chocolate for breakfast? Okey dokey Me make you now Sunshine boy! You want marshmallows for lunch? Ok, I go get now girlie”
” Want to wear your massive disco sized Princess dress from Halloween to the Playroom? Ok you look very sexy”. Who tells a two year old they look sexy by the way?! My Helper does and my daughter (Rainman) thinks this is a good thing.
They also LOVE carrying my kids around. Who wants to be carried everywhere despite possessing legs? Why do Helpers in Hong Kong insist on carrying kids everywhere?!
I’ve seen children as old as 15 being carried across the road by some poor, exhausted Helper while her Boss (usually Chinese) keeps prodding her with a stick to hurry up and walk quicker as the “child” pokes her constantly in the eyes or mouth. Yuk. Make your kids walk people!! Stop Helpers doing this “carrying” bullshit. It makes kids lazy and then, very, very annoying to me when I have to stop myself beating them in the playground for being horrible spoilt Hong Kong brats.
Anyhow, my two Domestic Helpers also have zero intelligence when it comes to safety in the home. Ie. my son was happily sticking a knife in a plug socket when I got home yesterday…. a plug socket that simply needs to be covered with those ugly white plastic things when they finish vacuuming/ironing/something domestic. BTW, the photo below is not from my house, nor is that my vile 1980’s tastic wall paper.
Even simple things like, putting those spongy door protection things on the door to stop doors closing and trapping fingers. This is simply too much for them to do. I will come home to find those half moon shape rubber sponge door protection things hanging on the bedroom door handle.
My Helper would say “Sorry Maaaam, I forget we put these on door. I thought it for toilet seat”.
The what??? WTF?! The kids also have those horrible toilet seats to stop them falling in when they go to the loo and of course this is also faaaar too much for my two Helpers to comprehend.
They keep placing these directly on the toilet bowl. You know… where your Husband pisses and never puts the fucking lid back down so you end up falling in at 3am in the dark, and find your thighs covered in piss. Lovely. So my son inevitably fell in the loo the other day as the seat was not secure. Ok, yes, I did laugh my head off but only because he was trapped (yes, I’m his Mother, judge me) and this was my one moment of joy for the whole day, seeing him stuck and unable to move/kick, but really!??! How dumb can you be? Or maybe they just want to piss me off?! Who knows.
The twins are almost 3 years old now and slowly becoming more interesting. Ok, thats harsh. I’m their Mum and I’m actually great at doing this (most of the time) but, this is not an easy job people. They talk, they play, they fight, they bite. They drive me mad. This role, that us stay at home Mums have (where other working Mums make you feel like free-loaders for not working), is hard work. I’m educated, over and above. I’m a fucking LAWYER by profession. Thats SEVEN years of work and study. Ok, I didn’t love it but I loved having/spending my own big fat salary. Now…. I’m a MUM.
M. U. M – AKA… Makes you mad (ok, a “Y’ instead of “U”).
As I take them to school every morning, hungover like a mother fucker, sunglasses permanently fixed on my face, a can of Red Bull in my cup holder….. all they want to do is sing songs and be cheery. If they weren’t my kids, I’d be like… “Get the fuck out my car you happy little, ungrateful, bastards. You’re doing my fucking head in”.
But alas, one cannot do this. So what does one do when they have to drive every day for an hour with two singing, sometimes screaming, kids? Play games, sing songs, try teach them the days of the week, colours, new words etc fucking etc.
Oh… the fucking joys of parenting. If only I had a driver….. I’d be pissed 24 hours a day.
Domestic Help…in Hong Kong (or anywhere)
So can I be honest without some left-wing (ok we’re not in the UK) party having a go about what I want to say? Right now… I have two domestic staff working in my house (yes, how very posh of me) and one of them is doing my fucking head in.
This bird is soooo miserable that she moans all day/afternoon/night, doesn’t crack a smile at all (unless The Captains home) and tells my kids off (in front of me without even twitching an eye brow).
Yes… I’m “lucky” to have someone here to help me in my house. In the UK, this would NEVER EVER be an option. Why? Because it would cost an absolute fortune for a start. Plus, you’d get some pike from an unknown Estate in Scarborough who will rob you blind, beat your kids and shag your husband. If you want to be “safe” in your home…hire OLD (plus 48), UGLY, hairy, women. Even then, there are no guarantees if your husband turns a blind eye, when “drunk”, and mistakes one for you. The fact he can mistake a hairy, old, ugly bird for you, is sign enough that there are issues within the marriage.
Yes. I said it. Why the hell would you hire some young 20 something who walks around in cut off jean hot pants that show her thong, while serving your husband and kids breakfast… with a smile may I add?? While you, lay in bed… exhausted from doing fuck all. My friend recently hired someone HOT (15 years her junior) as she considered them a reflection on herself. Mad. The fact, I’m picking old, spinsters says it all about me then eh?! Why the HELL would you want someone more attractive than you in your home?!?! Men, are, men. They are not God. When I was pregnant with the twins… my hormones reacted like a mans do. I wanted sex 24 hours a day. I would have humped a bicycle if it gave me the eye. Apparently it was due to the male hormone in my body. Jesus Mary & Joseph, if that’s the case…. us women are screwed because they (men) are walking around like this all the time (dogs full of sexual urges they can’t control). It’s not their fault either…. shame. Forgivable? No. Of course not.
Anyhow… back to sleeping…. I’m tired the whole time. I now know why. It’s because I’m not doing anything!!! I’m bored to fucking death. I’m sooo bored, I now know how Queen Elizabeth feels…. she’s frigging knackered. All she does is have people wait on her day and night and I BET, all she wants is to be left alone in her palace for a few hours, so she can raid the wine cellars, call her mates without someone listening to her calls (Queen someone in Spain/Nicaragua) and shag Prince Philip on the floor in the stables without being caught (he tends to say some corkers which embarrass the Royals). Plus she wants to manage her own kids without some Filipino telling her “oh no Maaam…. they don’t like that”. Since when do my kids not like me cuddling them, woman?! WHO ARE YOU , TO HAVE THE BALLS TO TELL ME THAT?
Its annoying having someone in your home 24 hours a day. AND they think they know my kids better than me. This is where I have now become a bitch. Yes…. A BITCH. My face no longer smiles. It barely smirks in her direction. I’m fucking annoyed with her. Who do you think you are?! Seriously? And yet, the minute The Captain arrives home, there she is giggling away, nothings a problem. Yet, first thing in the midafternoon when I wake and ask for a simple cup of Earl Grey fucking tea, what do I get? Dishwater. Not proper tea but shit , can’t be bothered tea. I don’t let her make any food for me out of fear she’ll fuck it up. Plus, I’m a good cook. I have some new recipes to put up but I’ve been preoccupied lately with my annoying Helper.
So… while the Captain is out at work… I’m busy, doing, nothing really but err.. “mothering” at home… with two women who also try to mother my kids in totally the wrong way (one shouts the whole time it makes me want to punch her, the others smothers).
One is particularly good to the point I may need to kill her and write it off as an accident. She sings songs, reads stories, loves sitting on the floor and playing with them… has patience with every single thing they do (no matter how annoying). She listens to everything they say and they LOVE her. I love her too but because they LOVE her… I’m jealous… so I may need to discredit her somehow… still trying to decide how as she kinda resembles an old Saint.
The other (her Devil, lying niece) has zero tolerance (kinda like me) but as she’s employed by me, you’d think she’d try to hide it… a little. Nope. She shouts at the kids, has no idea what the fuck they want. Looks at the baby like she’s an Alien (she’s got 2 kids of her own BTW). She has no idea. But she’s shrewd. Unlike Saintly Helper 1, Helper 2 adds things on the shopping list for herself (“Oh sorry” she says, with a smirk).
She hates having me in the house, asking me “Will you be going back to work soon?” My response “No fucking way”. It took me two years to have twins via IVF, and then number 3 showed up as a massive surprise…. Work?! Why? Would that make YOUR life easier if I wasn’t here? So you could sit around all day, chatting in Filipino so my sons language skills are becoming more stunted (half English/Half Mandarin/mostly Filipino)…..
They hate me telling them “Only English!!” in the house when I’m there. I dunno what they’re saying?! They could be saying “Look at that cow just waking up from having 16 hours of sleep while we cook, clean, look after her kids. She doesn’t even smile”! They are semi correct. I don’t give a shit. Why? Because since I arrived in HK, I’m still semi-not loving it. I’m half annoyed to be here but I know we’d be gutted to go back to freezing cold England. I’ve just never settled here. I need my friends. My family. Good air to keep my skin clear.
I’m also very fair, don’t let anyone take the piss and to be honest, when Number 2 isn’t here…lifes much easier. It always was. I lived without help for the first 8 months of the twins life back in London (family BTW is not help…its hindrance). I cooked, cleaned, washed, fed, shagged husband (see photo below) and did everything else. I felt good about it too.
Here…. they’re kinda making me feel redundant. Maybe I need to get rid of one. The miserable one obviously. But then…. I’ll never get to sleep or relax. Go to Pilates or have coffee mornings without a kid strapped to me. Shit.
If we move home…. London….. I will literally be stuck doing what everyone else does…. looking after my kids full-time. My Mum-in-law will end up moving in….she’s fun. I may need to keep her intoxicated though so it works for us both.
This is not an option…maybe I should go back to work? Not much call for Middle Eastern Escorts in HK though…
Being a Mum sucks arse
Getting ill and trying to still be a full-time mum….
As most of us Mums know, getting ill when you have a household to run, is not an option. In fact, its impossible. Unless you are actually dead, or in a coma, you still have to get up and do your crummy, painful, groundhog day, monotonous, shitty, underpaid, “is this really my life?”, how did I age so quickly(?), job. WE GET NO BREAKS!!! We’re Mums. It comes with our thankless, shitfull (my new swear word of the month) kiss-my-arse, no one gives a crap, job.
Can you lay in bed, drinking hot lemon tea (with a shot of Whisky) and recover in peace while watching crap “E Hollywood” TV? Nope. All you can hear are your children running riot outside your bedroom door while your TWO Domestic Helpers and husband (who is gutted you’re ill for selfish reasons) chase after them screaming at the top of their lungs. What can I do, aside from step out of my bedroom, looking like the Devil himself, with tissue stuffed up my nose, eyes streaming, and a look that says “FUCK OFF”. I hide under the duvet and hope everything just goes quiet…. even 30 minutes…. 30 for fuck sake!!!?Q!
Yeh, a great way to sleep off a bad cold. I would rather be given some sort of “pain-killer” to help me doze off but as my Doctor has decided to become bloody conservative lately (maybe I pushed it asking for Morphine), I now have to buy Panadol Extra like every one else and live with the noise/toys every where/moaning husband/miserable Helpers/hairy legs that haven’t been shaved due to a runny nose. What a shame… it sucks arse.
Drug dealers are also selling aspirin/baby laxatives for coke. I’m totally destroyed as there is nothing to alleviate my pain. Being ill in a house with three small children (under the age of 2.5), a husband who resembles a cavalier teenager and two unintelligible domestic Helpers who need constant management/English language courses, getting ill is not an option.
The minute I step out of my bedroom, the chaos stops in a millisecond. Why? because I decided a loooong time ago, to rule MY household by fear. YES, fear. I’ve read my latest parenting book on my beloved Kindle and it was the only one that worked for me. The title …. “Is Beating the kids wrong/really that illegal?”
Basically it said… “DONT TAKE ANY SHIT FROM THOSE LIL’ CUTE MO’FOS!” My kids get one warning and then that’s it. “Time out”, toys taken away for the day, and basically nothing they want to do for a certain amount of time, equivalent to their age.
I don’t scream… All I say is “What a shame? What a bummer!” (American Book obviously, because us British would be saying “What the FUCK is wrong with you kid? Get to your fucking room now and piss off while I drink my can of Stella and decide what your punishment is”)). But they get it. They HATE hearing those words “What a shame” (the Captain & and I actually say it to each other now which is a bit sad but fuck it) and plus it keeps me cool (ish).
Yes they react with statements like “Nooo Mummy…no “What a shame!!” but it’s too late. One strike and your out. There I am, clucking around like Queen Bee on friggin Prisoner Cell Block H (if you don;t remember that Aussie prison show…you’re too young to be reading this) showing them how crap life can be… . It’s either that, or me going fucking mad and screaming at them to go to their rooms for “time out”…. long enough for me to open a bottle of cheap white wine (used later in the evening for a domestic fight with the Captain).
Bringing up kids is hard work people. I am basically talking and explaining things, non-stop, allll fucking day long. Do you know how mentally exhausting that is??? Talking all day to someone who doesn’t even pay you a bonus for your good work?! I HATE talking. I hate the phone for fucks sake and now I have to talk allll day long?!! To people who barely reach my hips and don’t give a shit what I’m saying. Yes, I love them to bits. BUT, they’re driving me mad. Gone are the days of lunch-hours and frivolous bar crawls.
Everything now is about teaching my kids. ie. “Dont lick the floor!!
“Why Mummy?” “Because you’ll injest crap from outside which will make you ill and will inevitably involve me having to drive you to the hospital.. which doesn’t work as ive had an afternoon drink… actually a bottle of wine” . Selfish friggin kids.
“Dont bite you sister?” “
Why? Because I said so…. you irritating fucking monkey (yes, Mummy loves you)”.
“Dont tear your books? Why? because they cost money you annoying little person who I gave life to!”
‘Dont shit on the floor.” “Why? because I’ll rip your head off if you do!! Plus,your nanny will have to clean it up while giving me that knowing, irritating look that says…”You’re his mother…you clean it up“. Yeh…right. Next I’ll be making dinner.
In Hong Kong…Not only am I now feeling and looking like complete shit, but my weight loss regime which was pretty much sorted (drinking booze, zero food and working out, the Rachel Zoe way) has gone down the shitter.
Why? Well, after being on holiday with The Captain and kids in Bali a few weeks ago…. my body (and mind) decided “Fuck it!! Enjoy yourself! Where’s my drinks bitches!!??” So … we ate loads, drank every chance we got (yes even at breakfast to fade out any noise, I screamed across a busy restaurant for a Vodka with my OJ) and those last 5 (ok 10) baby pounds crept back with a vengeance.
Not only do I have to re-start my whole workout and diet thing, but I also have to find the actual will to do it. I can’t be arsed. The only reason I’m still thinking about it is because my old clothes feel too tight and my maternity clothes are absolutely massive. Plus now I feel unwell, all i want to do is lay in bed, eat chocolate (I was never into chocolate!!??) and dream of cosmopolitans. I LOVE COSMOPOLITANS. Yes, more than wine or Vodka.
More than my kids? Somedays… So, I have discovered that to be a good writer…. you need to be honest. How does one be honest? DRINK!! I can’t see any way around it. Yes, it’s very Welsh of me but really…. to write, and be honest about what I find amusing, I have to be slightly inebriated. It’s the truth. The Captain will be horrified and not happy about this “discovery”. BUT, one must do what one must for their craft.
On a separate note, I have been having fun/fights with Helper Numero 2 in my household. The woman is driving me fucking mad. Rude? Yep. She has a look on her face sometimes that says “You drunk bitch, you should be ashamed”…sometimes… I dunno… Im too drunk sometimes. The point is… she’s really fucking annoying me. She lies about everything. She smirks. She shouts at the kids (a big No No). She irritates the shit out of me when I open a 1990 bottle of vintage vino from…. I dunno where. She laughs and jokes when the Captain is home and then scowls when its me (that alone is asking for a slap)… the list is endless. SO…. I have decided to be a complete and utter BITCH in response. It keeps our house in order and if you really knew me… you know this wouldn’t be my natural way. BUT… I live in HK so things change. Who gives a shit! anyway? I don’t know anyone well enough here to care how I react…. unless it’s the police.
Searching… for a new Domestic Helper
As the shit hits the bucket, it turns out, I need not ONE but TWO people to help me run my household. Did I insist on this bullshit? Of course not. I’m not some arsehole that tells their husband “I NEED HELP RUNNING THIS SHIT HOLE SHIP”. I like my privacy and anyone who can name and shame me to the Child services Dept in Hong Kong would be long gone. I actually like being alone (plus you can drink without judgement). My best friend recently stated (& I love this statement) ” I don’t drink ON my own, only ALONE”. Genius.
Sooo… I’ve been interviewing people and guess what?! We have had some right characters walk into our house (surprise eh?). One Helper who intervied told our current (& lovely Helper) “Your Maaam asks ALOT of questions”. For the record, I asked her why she was leaving her job & where she had last worked. This was the same person who turned up at ours looking like, well I’m gonna say it “a Lesbian” and then told ME how to cook the kids food (my toddlers are on Annabel Karmels food…although I’ve had it on good authority that she’s actually a bit of a knob), the kids, didn’t eat a shred of her food and then she picked up a clove and asked me (I’m, FYI, the daughter of a Chef) “What is this?” When I told her it was a Clove, she looked angry and kept cooking.
Once I left the Kitchen and asked our present (and lovely) Helper to speak to her (to see if they get on), this bird turns around and says “Your Maam asks a lot of questions” (ie. why are you leaving your job”). Stupid bitch. We also have cameras in the lounge, kitchen & nursery. Yes, I do and why the fuck not?! Every single place I’ve worked in, there are cameras. It’s no different. If you are going to piss, shit or most importantly, beat my kids, this is the main area to do it. Get over it luv. She asked our Helper “Why the cameras? What did you do?” I don’t like the cameras”. Why? Because shes a silly cow.
So… being lazy old me, I have spoken to about a dozen people who advertised themselves on Asiaexpat stating they can “cater for dinner parties”. A big fat lie as it turns out once you speak to anyone who goes “oh yes, I can cook omelette”. The bird who showed up at our appartment told me, she had “soooo many interviews” she didn’t now who to choose from, which is why she came to a household with twins and a newborn on the way (full of shit clearly). The Captain lets me interview people as my past job as a Defendat Litigation Lawyer lets me weedle out the bullshit from the truth pretty quickly. Plus, I rely on instinct, and who can make a good cuppa tea.
We have found one person who is wonderful BUT she presents new problems…. (a) she will make our current Helper look very bad (b) she will make me look like a lazy cow, and (c) she likes to run the show. So although this woman is clearly a “super Helper” (her new nick-name when we talk about her), I can’t have this shit going on in my house. Otherwise, I’m redundant & our current Helper’s flaws will be highlighted (shes terrible at everything but the kids). Today we interviewed her very lovely neice. She’s nice, kind, polite, good with the kids and states she can cook & “follow recipes”. Who knows but, I need a happy house. Why? I don’t want someone being the boss of me in our own place.
Plus, I’m at home. A very new thing to me but something incredibly important as its obvious when I’m NOT here. The kids play up, they start speaking Filippino and no one does what they’re told. If my job (and I think its one of the most important…and underpaid) is going to work, I need to be here. Until the kids can feed themselves and wipes their own arses,. The thought of being kept “indoors” for another 3 years is killing me though BUT, I was raised in a house where, I, in effect, raised myself. Therefore, I HAVE to be here. Drunk or sober. They’re lucky to have me!
Nannies… do you get one, or not?
Nannies… do you get one, or not? Now to me, this seems to be the dumbest question on earth. I mean, if you can afford one, why the hell not?!?!? Yes, I know there are lots of Mums out there who want to do everything themselves, but really, who the fuck is going to thank you for all your efforts? When the kids are teenagers and your running around like a mad woman, trying to be Superhuman (and working too, to pay the mortgage), just think…”Why the fuck am I doing this?!”
I saw my Mum do this for years with all of us kids. She still does it now, with one man-child still at home and my Dad to constantly look after. Off she goes to work early every morning (5am), comes home (6.30pm), cooks, cleans, irons (yes, apparently people still do this at home when they don’t have a cleaner. I personally like putting clothes under the mattress until they just flatten out for wear) and all she does now is complain about everything she did for us. Her exact words are; “You bloody kids ruined my life”. Well, that and my Dad pisses her off daily, just by breathing. It’s hilarious as people in Hong Kong will ask me why my Parents don’t visit me together, and I’m like “err…. they want a holiday!?” I hate those weirdos who grew up in a loving, happy, normal household where their parents do shit together, even now. It makes my arse twitch. I just didn’t grow up in that sort of environment. Which… in hindsight, is probably why my kids will grow up in one of those annoyingly happy, sing-a-long households I never had. Everything in our house, BTW, is a song. EVERYTHING!! If you have toddlers who love Little Einsteins (yes, mine watch telly from time to time – shoot me), Handy Manny, Dora The Explorer, Baby Einstein and now, that annoying program “Wiggle & Learn”…. you sing to everything, and dance constantly.
Sorry, I digressed …. so recently I’ve been chatting to all and sundry about whether having a Nanny, or any form of “Help” in the house is essential. Now, I realise in Hong Kong, every other person with young kids, does have a Domestic Helper working for them either full, or part-time. I personally would have killed myself slowly with a blunt object or by overdose of white wine/vodka/nail polish remover, if I didn’t have someone relieving me of my duties from time to time. I mean, I’m still human for fucks sake!? I need time out to go and chill. And if I spend my time, relaxing in a bar, who is anyone to judge? He who throws the first stone and all that shit. So, its fair to say that I have had a mixed bag of experiences I will share with you so that you can make up your own minds. What I can say is that I hate those judgemental types, especially those who are back home in the UK (normally my frenemies), who say things like “What do you need a Nanny for? Why can’t you do stuff yourself?” or “G-d I’d HATE to have someone in my house all the time. I like to do things myself anyway”. I’m like, “Yeh, you’re just jealous luv”.
Right, where do I begin? When The Captain and I discovered we were expecting Twins, our reaction was complete and utter joy. We were soooo happy to be expecting two babies after not being able to have any for 2 years, we were giddy with it all. Lots of our friends on the other hand, who had kids, snickered quietly to themselves as they knew we were in for the biggest shock of our lives. Bastards. They could have warned us not to buy white furniture eh?! Especially as every piece of furniture eventually got covered with bed sheets once the monkeys arrived due to their Reflux and non-stop vomiting.
Anyhow, this dumb joy did eventually turn into worry when on the same day we discovered Itchy & Scratchy were coming, The Captain was also made redundant from his banking job, as were sooo many others all over the World. What did we do when the shit hit the fan? Well, being two completely irresponsible juveniles, trapped in adults bodies, we decided to go travelling (there was still only the two of us after all). I gleefully packed in my swell-paid, yet shitty job, which I fucking hated…. (bull-shit sales with a bunch of arseholes. Yes, I’m slagging those cows I used to work with off, simply because they were sooo unkind while I went through IVF).
The Captain and I sold our nice sports car (the new owner almost drove off with the Captain hanging onto the roof, crying & wailing, “MY CAR. MY BEAUTIFUL CAR!!” and bought a Mini Convertible to do a 3 month trip across Italy and Spain. Yes, people. Me, lugging around 2 babies inside my ever-expanding tummy, and The Captain, drove and ate our way across Europe. * NB. European tales to follow in a different post in the future.
It was sooo liberating to just say, “let’s go travelling!” (our families were mortified) and I managed to wipe the smug look off my soon to be ex-employers faces when I said I was resigning. I used to work for ladies who resembled those on the Kings Road and Sloane Square (SW1 London). You may not know the types (for those who don’t come from London) but these ladies are usually called “Sloaney Ponys”. You can see them poncing up and down Chelsea with their blonde hair tied up in a pony tail with a big black hairband across their heads, Chanel Handbag tucked under their arm, Penny loafers on their perfectly manicured feet and Blazer on (usually with a Family Crest stitched on the front). A silk handkerchief is also usually seen expertly placed around their necks (helpful when you feeling like strangling one of these snobs). Anyhow, my boss, a Sloaney Poney, was like, “oh, *rah (*English posh slang) but The Captains lost his job and you’re pregnant dahling. Surely you need to work, yah?” Yeh, right. These are the same people who introduced standing up until you made all your sales calls for the day … then you could sit down. Who gives a crap if you’re pregnant or not? I was soooo happy to leave and unsurprisingly, they lost all their original staff (7 resignations in a matter of weeks), due to their horrible work ethic. Anyhow… apologies, I’m digressing again.
So…. The Captain and I first organised a Night Nurse before we left the UK, so that she would be on hand from the minute the kids arrived out of Hospital. The Captains lovely Dad, gave us a night nurse for a month as a baby present (sod everything else anyone ever offers to buy you. This is THE ONLY gift you ever need in the UK). So, after a few meetings and calls, we picked someone we thought was hugely experienced and knew what she was doing. Alarm bells should have told me otherwise when she kept calling to catch up with me prior to the birth. I just thought, “Oh isn’t she nice from checking up on me”.
As it turns out, we hired the biggest Nutbag in NW London. This crazy woman turned up, the day I arrived home from the hospital, with 3 day old Twins, and started showing my Mum and the Captain how to wash bottles, sterilise everything etc. At first we all thought she was ok, but then my Mum (whose had 4 kids) walked out saying ” this womans crazy”.
I went to bed which apparently also pissed the Night Nurse off as she wanted to show me everything. I know how to make up bottles and wash you silly woman!!! You’re here between 10pm – 7am to feed the kids while I recover from my C-Section. BUT, alas. It was never to be this simple. This CRAZY Nutbag, not only filled in a book every night in great detail (yes, write down what the kids drank/did) but then insisted on speaking to you for approximately 45 minutes every morning as you came downstairs bleary eyed to deal with a whole new day of everything. This woman got sooo angry at us, that she made me cry 4 days in after one of the babies had become unswaddled when she arrived and she yelled at me, “NO DARLING, YOU DID IT WRONG!!! The baby could have died!” What a bitch.
Now, if we hadn’t been sooo desperate to sleep, we would have booted that stupid crazy cow out of the house right away, but we needed her. Plus, I was soo hormonal and didn’t know my arse from my elbow, let alone realise this woman was a bully. She was, however, very good with the kids (we had cameras at home too). After a week of non-stop craziness, the Captain (who was still out of work), and I would argue about who would go down in the morning to deal with her (we had her 3 nights a week for the first month). Neither of us could face hearing her annoying screeching voice, and her description of “poo” every morning.
I recall one morning, begging The Captain to go down and deal with her & the nightly handover. He begged me to go, I begged him more. I couldn’t deal with the “shock” of it all right away. You know, seeing the kids and starting another WHOLE day of puking, being covered in shit and sick. And the lack of sleep. Wow, that alone can kill you. Plus, this Nutbag, complained that no one offered her a cup of tea in the morning. I mean, she also slept… it’s not like she was awake all night (not unless I slipped the kids some sugar just to wind her up). She used to state, “Some of my ‘Mummies’ (thats what she called me but I swear it’s because she couldn’t remember my name), will make me Tea and sit for a chat in the morning”. I’m like, errr… Fuck off out my house now. Which crazy Mum, whose barely slept for a week, will then want to sit with this stupid, crazy cow first thing in the morning after a broken nights sleep to chat shit?!
Suffice it to say, I emailed my Twins club the following week and was given the name of an amazing lady. She in turn, arrived at our home one evening, took over and told us to sleep. She even threw in extra hours free of charge, when she knew we were exhausted. This amazing Angel of a woman, who could have taken us for a lot more money, told us to contact her friend who trained Maternity Nurses so that we could get some proper help. This was THE best advice we ever received.
We swiftly got rid of Nutbag (who funnily enough never had any new clients call us for a reference) and we ended up with an abundance of help 6 nights a week, giving these “Trainee Maternity Nurses” experience with Twins. When I say Trainee, I don’t mean 16-year-old young girls. These are all grown church going women, with kids and grandkids, looking to earn some real money later down the line. They didn’t want any money but just their travel costs (£10 at the time but I hear this has now increased). One even knelt down in the middle of our lounge and said a prayer for us when she left in the morning (I admit I had to cover my mouth in order to hide my giggles). This was , however, the same woman who also said The Captain looked like “Barak Obama”, and he really actually doesn’t (as in, he may as well be Ginger, he looks THAT different). I loved these women and the lady who set this whole thing up is still training nurses now. She is an actual Midwife and would come to our house with some trainees to show how to properly change nappies, staying hygienic when dealing with babies, how to breast feed a stubborn baby, deal with Reflux and how to bathe a new-born etc. We were their guinea pigs but in return we got pretty much free, lovely staff. We had help for nearly 5 months, using 4 different lovely ladies (one of which became our part-time nanny in the UK, until we left to move here).
So, ask me again…. do I think a Nanny is necessary? OF COURSE FUCKING OF COURSE. Don’t do everything yourself and try to be a Martyr. No one is going to love you more or less. Take Help when you can get it (from family or friends, or paid if you can afford it) and rest when you need to. We all do from time to time. Also, if you can’t afford the help, don’t keep judging those who can. Thats also not fair.
I’ll be signing off for a few weeks now ladies as I’m hitting the UK for some serious party time. I’ll touch base soon….if I make it back in one piece!
ps. I’ll write more about my travels with The Captain in another post some time in the future when I get a moment.
pps. I’ve been reading up about the recent Casey Anthony Trial and am sooooo shocked at the verdict. Of course no one knows what happened, but the fact this woman didn’t report her child of 2 years, missing for 30 odd days is weird in itself. Any thoughts on this? Drop me a line. * photo above taken as we left Bora Bora in 2007.
Our ex-Helper (2nd part) & things that go bump in the night!
Ok, this story is in 2 parts. The 1st bit is about our ex-Helper (yes, again) and the 2nd part is about having a laugh with your Man and laughing soo hard, you realise, sometimes it really is the best medicine.
Soooo, my grand plan to foil the silly cow (ex-Helper) failed…. kind of. She rang our house (she stopped working for us approx 3 months ago) and at nearly 10pm, asked our new Helper how long she’s worked with us. Our new Helper didn’t understand why this woman was asking her all sorts of questions and put the phone down quickly.
I then get home that evening, and after a few bottles of wine, decided, then was the time to confront this silly cow and tell her to piss off, stop calling my house and get a life. The Hubby attempted to stop me, but I told him I knew what I was doing and to butt out. Anyway….. she didn’t answer her phone. Cow! I was all geared up too! Instead I end up leaving a pointless text message telling her to leave us alone and that was it.
The next day, The Captain rings her new mobile on a withheld number, she answers, and then denies ever calling our place. She then admits she rang to “see how the children were” (yeh, because she gives a shit) although she didn’t ask one question about them. The Captain asks her “Why are you calling us and interrogating our new Helper? Why are you lying on Geoexpat and Asiaexpat about your experience? etc”. She’s telling people she still works for us too, the cheeky cow. He told her to leave us alone, stop calling our house, leave our Helper alone too and to stop making up lies about our family (like we’re the Mafia).
Since then, we have had a few random calls at the apartment. One call yesterday went something like this; “You Filipina? You are silly woman?” This was the 3rd call in 2 days. When I reply, with gritted teeth, “WHO THE F@%K IS THIS?”, the caller starts laughing down the phone. It turns out The Captain likes to think he’s a bit of a joker. Nob job.
I pointed out, there’s only room for one of those in our family (Me), although our Daughter has also started to show some of her mummy’s flair recently with pulling faces, biting her brother, kicking her daddy in the ball sack if he sits in front of her while she’s trying to watch Little Einsteins etc. Anyhow, the phone calls have ceased, although our ex-Helper is STILL advertising her services on geoexpat, stating she worked with 9-year-old twins and we are going back to “Europe”, but that’s the end of that…. for now.
As a result of being wound up by the Hubby with his fake call, it became my new calling to catch him out (by scaring/winding him up) and last night, I finally managed to do it.
As most of you mummy’s know, the window to wash your hair after a loooong day with the kids, cooking, cleaning, shopping (yes, I have a helper but she’s old and not as quick as I am) running around…. well, time for you is minimal. So…. I had a shower at about 11pm last night, and as it was soo late, I went to bed with a HUGE towel wrapped around my wet hair. I have über thick crazy hair which is a nightmare to blow-dry unless you have 4 arms, in which case you should really be in a Circus (yes, very Un-PC…bla bla). For the record, my Hubby thought I had straight hair for nearly a year when we first met, until we went on holiday and he discovered I actually have a huge Afro that needs taming, especially in humidity. Two words for that now though ladies, HAIR SPRAY.
Anyhow…. I wake up at about 3am with horrendous (& I mean, AWFUL) pain from what The Captain describes as “the painters, decorators, arrival of Satan” every month. I have two very large fibroids in my body (while I was pregnant they were incredibly prominent) and these cause me a lot of pain, every month for about 3/4 days. They can’t be removed just yet, in case we decide to have more kids. Yes, I have twins but there is potential to add another duo sometime (yeh right).
Its hardcore but I’m good with pain (I’ve got Twins for crying out loud!) and get on with it. I explained to the Captain that if Men went through what Women do, nothing in the world would exist and there would be no procreation.
Plus, I believe in reincarnation and in my next life…. I wanna come back as a Man. It looks waaaaay easier and a shit load more fun. Boys road trips, Steak dinners, farting openly, burping even louder (& laughing about it), cooking BBQ’s only but your wife cooks all the rest of your food, Vegas, Strippers, being a Bastard, no make-up, no blow drying your hair (unless you’re a total Metrosexual, in which case, welcome to my site), no ceiling on your earnings (yeh yeh like times have really changed that much), if you date someone 20 years younger you get a big slap on the back, AND you look better with age.
Sorry, I got sidetracked. So, back to 3am last night….
I wake, in agony, and stumble to our guest bathroom in the hallway so as not to wake the Captain in our en-suite (no, we don’t live in a posh flat but we have a spare loo… shoot me). Oh, I also forgot to point out, that pimples (or potential ones) seem to arrive at the same time every month which means I was looking absolutely gorgeous with Oxy 10 Spot Cream on parts of my face (this white stuff is amazing and zaps spots in a day) and my huge turban style towel wrapped around my head.
While sat there in the darkness, the door creaks open, and standing there in the moonlight, is The Captain, stark bollock naked…. about to go to the loo (well, until he saw me on it thankfully) and he SCREAMS, physically jumping back. He then stumbles back to our room (possibly to hide?!)
Now as I write this, I still can’t stop laughing about it as it has to be one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen a person do in aaages (especially someone as poised and controlled as The Captain). I climbed into bed after the incident, and couldn’t stop giggling on/off, for one hour. The Captain did too and later explained what had terrified him.
Basically, he was half asleep, and not wanting to wake me, had stumbled, bleary eyed, into the spare bathroom right outside our room (he’s clearly considerate, like me). As he pushed the toilet door open, the light from the streetlights outside the bathroom window, shone onto me and he thought he saw, “The Devil”. I’m actually quoting him!! THE DEVIL!!! I laughed so hard, it actually took away the period pain for about a millisecond.
When I woke this morning to tell our Helper the story (which must have annoyed her as I was laughing soo hard when I told it & these stories are never that funny for other people), but she starts laughing too, though I don’t think she really understood me. The kids are both staring at me (bless ’em) and they then start laughing too (pretend laughing) but only because I’m laughing soo hard, I’m making snorting sounds and have tears running down my face. I guess you just had to be there….
Anyway, that said, whenever you feel even a little bit down now, I suggest you remember one of those times that made you laugh soo hard you can’t speak/almost wet yourself. That image, last night, of the Captain jumping and SCREAMING, is something that will last me a few weeks…. absolutely priceless. 
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