Why? Well… when you have THREE KIDS …its a pain in the vagina (literally).
Plus… zero thank you’s make me an angry woman. I’ve been cooking, drinking, eating…judging… judging some more….. but… Im such a dumbass…Ive not logged anything.
I’ve had “three baby’itis”…. i.e.. I can’t do shit and all I want to do is sleep. SLEEEEEEEP. Yes, I have help. Get the fuck over the Help situation people. I HAVE HELP AND I AM STILL FUCKING TIRED. WHY??? WHY O WHY AM I STILL TIRED??? I AM SPOILT. I WANT TO SLEEP. I WANT TO SLEEEEEEEP. WHY DO I FEEL LIKE EVERY CONVERSATION I HAVE INVOLVES EXPLAINING, WHY, IM SOOOO FRIGGIN TIRED????
WE ARE MUMS AND WE ARE TIRED. YES… ok… we have Help…so we can’t open our mouths and moan as much…BUT…. we are tired!!!! IM TIRED!!! its not like I can hand over my 2 month old baby to someone, and say “ok..Im off to bed”. Thats not how it works in my world. I hand over baby , then I watch what is going on, the SAME AS IF I WAS LIVING AT HOME WHATS different? We pay help here. PLus, we abuse family at home and we don’t/shouldnt do that here. Legally anyway… people frown on that shit. I do.
I ‘ll tell you why I feel sooo bad every time I want to relax……Guilt.
I ring home and my conversation goes like this…
“I know I have HELP….but I’m soooo tired”.
Friend, “Oh, hon its sooo easy where you are, you spoilt bitch. Get over it. You over botoxed, wierdo. I barely get to the bus-stop without my kids being difficult. You are soooo lucky and spoilt. SPOILT. Where IS your husband this evening? Is he out AGAIN??! You are such a whore!!”
Me..”But I’m soooo tired”
Friend….”But you have LIVE IN HELP…you are a spoilt whore who has no concept of reality. Get over yourself. Silly cow. I had to wake at 10am on Sunday to deal with my 18 year old son and his 15 year old crack addict girlfriend. My Mum was already in Wandsworth prison so it was I, dealing with my kids…. I went to prison on Sunday to collect them. You are soooooo spoilt by being so easy with your kids and having help. Gosh. I couldn’t imagine having anyone in my house ever….. judging me. ” Oh FUCK OFF YOU JELOUS ARSEHOLE.
Me: “but, did I mention, Im sooooo tired… since I got home from Bali? My villa had no live-in staff or anything. I had ONE massage a DAY!! “
Friend: ” You are a fucking arsehole who has been indulged too much. Go fuck yourself. Darling.”
Friend again… “Do you not recall when you were a young student and ran out of toothpaste and asked me to loan you money, just so you could buy Tescos own brand?”
Me...”(a) It was CONDOMS not toothpaste and, (b) lending me 50p is not a huge hardship. What the fuck is wrong with you lately??”.
Friend…”Oh you have soooo changed since you arrived in Hong Kong. Like you’re better than us or something…”
Me: “Are you fucking kidding me?! You are such a let down as a mate… “.
If you think that us “stay at home, lazy arse mo-fo-wanker-Mums-with Help” do fuck all…. you’re having a laugh. Do you know how much GUILT is involved in leaving the kids, even for a 10 minute coffee trip to meet a friend? I don’t even LIKE people.
BUT, I am sooo desperate to leave the house and be normal, I go for coffee. I DONT EVEN FUCKING DRINK COFFEE. Im a tea person….OK…thats a lie…. I’m obviously a Vodka/Wine/Champagne person but thats not the point.
FYI CAPTAIN…. I DONT DRINK COFFEE. Its been nearly 10 fucking years. I don’t have sugar and I don’t drink coffee. Yet, still… you ask me if I have sugar with my coffee. No sugar. No coffee. * Sorry….just needed the old balls and chain at home to get that tiny piece of information stored for future reference.
My recent conversations have included….Oh…”wheres your 9 month old baby boy?”
My reply..” She a girl and she’s nearly 14 months”.
“Oh… how are ALLLLL your children?”
My response…”in the loving arms of my helper…who they now refer to as “Mum“.
If I was at home, the kids would refer to the help (Grandma) as “Satan”. But, no. Here I am a spoiled, manicured, idiot, who has 3 kids, 2 Helpers, 1 husband, a lover (yeh right…as if I have time.) and all I want to do…is fucking sleep. SLEEEEEEP. Be alone. Read a friggin $80 magazine (seriously… why do the good magazines have to be sooooo bloody expensive here? Yes, they are imported but its not like they’re flying First class for fucks sake). Sit in a dark room with a Cosmopolitan, read a book/mag/watch porn… not talk to anyone about nappy rash/people/husbands/helpers/helpers doing our husbands…. and breathe….
Also, do I write about how much I HATE the bullshit that occurs at school when I collect the kids? NOOO. Ok yes, sometimes. Its sooo fucking boring, I would rather stick needles in a taxi drivers foreskin. Do I write about how much I HATE being a Housewife that needs to explain what I do daily? NOOO. I DONT GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE. Yes… I have lost the will to live.
I have …..BECOME MY MOTHER.
Do you know what? Fuck It.
I LOVE being a parent (most days). Yes, I have HELP here. SOOO WHAT?!?! I’m not going to be an idiot and say “Oh no I would rather do it all myself“, especially when we can actually afford Help here. This is what living in HK is about. If you want to judge, fuck off my site and go write about this shit somewhere else.
I arrived here… all…“oooh… its soooooo not me”…. and now…. if i could take back every stupid word I said, I would. Life here is MADE for women, and men.
I LOVE HONG KONG…put that on a bumper sticker.
I HATE parent chit chat at school (Im sooo bad.. no one even knows who my kids are… they are usually amazed that I have 3…) I HATE the MOTHERHOOD group. I AM SHIT AT THIS. I am sooooo awkward….and far too sexy for this stupid group.
The convo at school collection goes like this…
“oh HI!…how are you?” (Mum to me….never the other way around. I actually act as If Im really busy on my phone, sending important texts to my Helpers about washing and food).
My response: “yeh…fine. the usual hangover day. you been working out or something?”
“OH YESSSS (telling EVERYONE WHO IS ARRIVING AT THE DOOR IN CASE WE DONT HEAR THIS MUMMY)…”IVE BEEN DOING YOGA. I’m training to be an instructor. Im also setting up a fine needle company where I import needles from other countries that you just can’t get here”.
My response…. “WOW” .…thinking…. “Get the fuck out my face crazy needle import lady. I just fell asleep while you were talking to me”…
How DARE these women who WORK OUT during school time… make ME feel bad because I GO HOME TO BED. YES, I SLEEEEEEP people. I go home and instead of writing lists, emailing people, talking to the Captain, harassing my Helpers, negotiating stuff….I GO TO SLEEP. IM SOOOO Tired.
These little people (the kids I mean), who are in our lives every day (with HELP!!!), exhaust me. I feel guilty when I brush them off, I feel great when I do stuff, but mainly… I just want to sleep. I want to sleep ALL the time!!! Im a bad person without sleep. I do bad things if Im tired like not speak, moan, drink, cry, and eat chocolate. I love my kids…. but sleep…. we all need friggin sleep people. I can’t explain how tired I am.
Thank fk for great Helpers here who act as are our Aunties and Mums at home. Be kind and nice to them, like you are at home… and its all fine. Im not here to moan about our Helping angels (much), but I am bloody, exhausted. And, I HAVE HELP!!!
Ok, Im off to sleep now. May have a bottle of red to ease me in…
ps. The photo of the bird on this post was from a stupid “sake” evening in Kyoto, Japan. Google trip advisor and look for my comments. I was not very nice….
So recently we’ve had ALOT of change going on in our home. New baby, twins going to nursery for 3 hours (on their own) three times a week, me not drinking (as much) and generally….I feel like I’m back at square one here.
I’m not going out (blame new baby), not sleeping well (blame new baby), can’t get into any of my old clothes but maternity stuff makes me look like a fat lump (new baby’s fault too)… the list of stuff is endless. PLUS, I’m contending with difficult stuff at home (London) i.e.. a not so well parent kinda puts everything in your life into perspective. This DOES NOT, however, stop me drinking which the Captain helpfully pointed out when the oven clock chimed 6pm and I ran to grab my daily “evening drink/medicine”. Hey, the kids were practically in bed and story time is waaaay more fun when Mummy’s had a few drinks….plus I do accents to make the kids laugh! And, if I pass out before then, well….I’ve got two nannies….who can read Filipino stories.
We decided the best thing to do with alllllll our recent stress was to go away for a long weekend with just the twins. No help. Yes, you read that right. Not one nanny was in sight…. plus our hotel had a kids club and nanny service on hand which we abused fiercely. I mean, we’re away on holiday for Christs sake! I need a frigging break from the monotony of my usual life back in HK.
I’m soooo bored of school runs to Tai Tam from one end of the Island to the other, playmates, endless Doctors appointments (the last one consisted of my daughter clinging to my leg while my Son screamed and I was trying to soothe our 8 week old while she got her jabs). The nurse patted me on the back before throwing me out the surgery. All those waiting Mums must have thought I was a local Gypsy with all my young, unruly kids, plus my hip flask of neat whisky was hanging loosely in my baby nappy bag next to the wipes for emergencies. So a trip away was needed but I tend to break out in a cold sweat whenever the Captain suggests a holiday. Theres just sooo much shit to organise whenever we go away and I’m getting fed up of walking around with a clip board and whistle ticking off everything from swim bands to enough travel toys to stop us going mad on the flight.
Baby number three didn’t have a passport until recently so she wasn’t coming with us. Our Helper in Hong Kong (who I swear thinks this Child belongs to her, keeps telling me things like “oh she started smiling when you were away”….FUCK OFF). As long as she doesn’t start calling her “Mum”, I don’t give a shit right now. Anyhow, as her passport hadn’t arrived, B3 had to remain in Hong Kong. I was therefore mortified to discover the photos the Captain had managed to take with our Helper while I was away, for her first passport. Thanks to the Captain holding Baby’s head up to capture the photo, his hands managed to stick her ears out in the process. A LOT. She now resembles a cuter version of Shrek in her first passport with a halo of light flooding in from behind her head which makes her ears simply look MASSIVE. Baby number 3, AKA “Forgotten one/Dumbo”, we are so sorry.
Anyhow, The Captain and I took Itchy and Scratchy away for 4 long days to Malaysian Borneo, to a place called Kota Kinabalu (yes, seriously). We stayed at the lovely Shangri La Rasa Ria Resort and had a wonderful room by the pool (Ocean Wing darling, not the cheaper Garden wing rooms).
So…. after arriving with the least amount of luggage ever (the twins now eat normal food, like pasta and err, pasta, and shit ALOT less than before), we arrived. We left Hong Kong nearly 3 hours earlier, so I was pretty impressed. The flight over wasn’t even that painful. I’d forgotten the all important drugs I use to knock the twins (and sometimes The Captain out) but it went ok.
Captain took our Son (Satan) who was actually being a little irritating by licking everything in sight (yes, his shoes too) until he finally passed out (we booked the flights to work with our Gina Ford routine). Our daughter on the other hand was sat with me on the other side of the aisle and needed constant entertainment. After giving her stickers (which had a book to stick them all in), she decided it was time to redecorate the entire cabin and there are now Princess stickers all over an Air Asia flight to Kota Kinabalu. I was friggin exhausted by the end of the flight and needed a drink to take the edge off (well, that or a Xanax). She finally decided to fall asleep as we were landing so was not a happy bunny when I had to wake her and go through customs.
On arriving at our fabulous hotel 45 minutes later, The Shangri-La Rasa Ria, we were all greeted and taken to our amazing suite which had a huge marble bathtub outside our room on the terrace (we took a ground floor suite for safety reasons with 2 crazy liberal toddlers running around). The toddlers travel cots were made and ready for use along with a toy for each child (Orangutan).
The staff all knew the kids names and the Captain had arranged for a babysitter (selfless fellow that he is) to watch the kids during their belated nap time while we lounged around the pool. Me in a very unsexy “Mummy Marks & Spencer’s tummy taming swimsuit” and the Captain all toned and missing a baby belly pouch. What is it with our C-section scar that causes this horrible skin to pop right over it like a bulge? I used to have a stomach you could bounce coins off. Now my tummy swallows those coins up and you never see them again (not for long. I’m heading back to Pilates next week). The lunchtime menu and cocktail list was excellent and daily rose drinking (by The Captain I hasten to add) was essential to stop us being grouchy bastards. I had strong double Cosmopolitans every time the kids went off for their naps. Just because I felt like it.
Our time at the Shangri-La was lovely. We ate well, slept well (bed by 9pm every night!), they had a great Kids Club, swam every day with the kids and went to the Orangutan Sanctuary.
A word to the wise … the Orangutan Sanctuary is not for kids aged 2 years or under, as you walk in 40 degree heat through a jungle (a short walk but still) to watch Orangutans eat their lunch. Did they perform? Nope because they are meant to be wild. Therefore the kids barely looked at them for more than a few minutes before my Son (Satan) decided to punch his Dad in the leg continuously and then scream and cry after the Game Keepers had told the entire group that this is when we are meant to be “very quiet”, so the orangutans would come out.
Sure we got a few stares from those annoying arseholes who act like they’ve never seen a child cry (or have really fucking annoying kids who are well-behaved & are usually ginger haired) but after 15 minutes (actually, it was more like 10), the Captain and I left. Screaming at each other and pouring with sweat as we hot footed it down a path in a jungle carrying our now deliriously hot and crying toddlers back to five-star Shangri-La safety and back to the Kids Club right away. So fun.
*Photo above of the Kids Club from inside. This place was very well run and had a little farm outside with Goats, chickens, a play area etc. The staff were all very well-trained too. They also had a video room (photo below) for the kids and a different timetable every day with anything from arts and crafts to music. Anyone under the age of 3 must be accompanied by an adult. So we lied and said the twins were 4 before dumping them and running to the bar (joke). We actually used a wonderful Nanny who works for the hotel. She was around 60 years old and had SIX kids at home. She also could do CPR and deal with anything. So whenever we needed to be alone, in came our lovely Nanny to the rescue.
Anyhow, going back to the story with the Organutan Sanctury ….. Remind me not to do that ever again.
I can’ recall how many times I have specifically told the Captain to do a site “recce” before we go somewhere with the kids. FYI “Recce basically means visiting a location to work out its suitability for the job in hand, including access to necessary facilities and assessment of any potential lighting or sound issues” (* quoted from Wikipedia). Or in our case, issues relating to our twin toddlers!? For instance, does a double buggy fit on these roads? Will the kids like where we are going? Can I feed them there? Is it hot or cold? Will I fucking hate the place?! You get the picture. Know your audience for fucks sake. I hate going to shows. Therefore dont drag me along WITH our toddlers on a boat, train and bus to watch something that will bore us shitless after 2 minutes (I can barely stomach the adverts for Glee).
Men do not think for one second that maybe these issues are important, although mine is learning very quickly.
The Captain once took us on a “pleasant” walk up the road when we first moved to Repulse Bay, Hong Kong, which turned into a 1.5 hour walk with roads disappearing. We have a twin Out n About buggy and were basically walking in winding roads on the South Side of HK where cars speed into you (the Taxi drivers here are also fucking nuts). This walk also took place when we were dying with a hangover and the twins were thirsty (they were 8 months old) in 35 degree heat.
I asked The Captain if he had ever done this “pleasant” bullshit so-called 15 minute walk before and he confessed that some arse monkey at work had recommended it. I asked if this idiot recommender (yes I’m aware it’s not a word) had a twin buggy? He confessed that “no, he doesn’t have twins” and the guy who recommended this shitty walk had one 2-year-old child. ONE child who is a toddler is very different to twins who were 8 months at the time. This same arse monkey suggested to the Captain that we take the twins to the Orangutan sanctuary. I told the Captain never ever to listen to this twat again. He clearly has a very advanced child and as there is ONLY one child, its fucking easy between two adults (unless one of you is drunk or incarcerated).
Anyway, going back to the Hotel…. the beach was lovely as you can see from our photos above. There were lots of sandflies though so make sure you cover up unless you want to develop bites the size of mine (I looked like the Elephant Mans wife by the end of our trip due to my severe allergic reaction to bites).
All the swimming pools were clean, not too cold (I hate that!!) and never felt crowded. The grounds were beautiful and the restaurants (especially the Buffet meals where kids go free), was very good (I’m not a fan of eat all you want but this was great value!).
I must add, the flight back was fucking horrendous as the kids decided to go insane. Not only did they climb over seats, cry non-stop, put stickers all over our allocated seats. Besides all that…. the wouldn’t friggin sleep (which is why they were going mad). And what did The Captain do during all of this mayhem? He put his iPad on and started watching “Up All Night” (Christina Applegates new show….friggin hilarious). It was at that point that I cracked, grabbed his iPad and put on Baby Einsteins which settled the kids very quickly.
Back soon as I’ve got a girls night planned and I’m hoping to get arrested for drunk and reckless behaviour…just like the good old days before I became responsible (ahem).
So far, the holiday has gone a little better than expected, (a) Mum-in-law thinks we are actually mum n daughter which makes life loads easier and to be fair… I’m fucking easy peasy to get on with (b) I keep getting Mum-in-law drunk…. something I forgot I kept doing when we were back in London.
It turns out… I’m a friggin genius at turning people into drinkers…. even for the night. I’m like the cheeky female Devil on your shoulder that says “Go on, just one more…bottle!” Works like a Gem every time!
Plus, I hate drinking alone and I LOVE banter with women. We have soo much fun when blokes/men leave us alone to have a giggle. This is a FACT and a reason why, up until I turned 30 yrs old (yes, 30.. a couple or so years ago…), I never had boys, save for my best male friends who are pretty much gay anyway, even if they are in denial and chasing tits ‘n arse everywhere, at any birthdays. I recall one friend of mine saying she never, ever laughs, like she does with the girls.
Its true. My Best friend made me laugh soooo much once. We were 14 years old and had just been to some dingy, feet sticking to the carpet, basement, back street “Disco” in Ealing, South London. We ended up in a random flat (d0nt ask) but she made me laugh sooooooo much, I wet myself. We woke the following morning with my stupidly long socks (they covered my Fk-me-boots) drying on a radiator of some half-way house for ex-convicts (I lie not!!!). This made me laugh again. I was greeted at 6am by a big black guy called “Jim” in the loo, smoking a massive spliff. I was soo unsure whether to run or stop for a chat (he seemed interesting and actually quite funny…. probably trying to decided whethere to kill me or not). I ask her (my best gal that is), even to this day, what the hell were we doing there?!!? She and I have a place, where stories can only be told where the participants are present are the only ones who know what happened. We laugh so much, even now. I love that.
Ok… thats me for now. Will I be this kind of cool/chilled/go out & shag ’em parent? When Itchy (my daughter) comes home from “Space” in Ibiza and says she got so pissed /fuckedshe woke up in a Monastary surrounded by wanking locals who are meditating while smoking giant spliffs full of mind spanking skunk (I love it, sorry but I do) … what do I do?!
I’ll tell you exactly what I would do (aside from confiscate the drugs for my own personal enjoyment… yes, I’m gonna be a kill-joy Mum too. Shoot me but I dont give a shit). Firstly, find this place and secondly, go live there forvever. Thats when The Captain takes over as our staff will have long gone by then (unless I have another 2 which I keep threating at the moment…. I think I’ve got mild amnesia from the 2 epi’s the Dr’s administered when I gave birth!)
Hope you are all well out there girls!
Ladies, ladies, ladies….. now before I sound like a right old, ungrateful, spoilt, ex-pat cow… please listen to the evidence below and then pass your own judgements. I stand by everything I say though.
Am I the ONLY woman in the world who finds it the MOST stressful thing to do, when I have to pack for a long holiday with 15 month old Twins?! I mean, Itchy & Scratchy are STILL not eating solids properly (well…unless you count those Organix Carrot sticks which cover anything/everything in orange. Or those Hard Teething biscuits which have potential for choking). Therefore, what do I have to do EVERY bloody g-d damn holiday?!? I have to go and buy soooo much fucking food/nappies/wipes to last the flight and whole trip. For the record, I usually cook ALL the kids food, ALL OF IT, from scratch. They’ve just got a taste for lamb which I’ll add to the recipe file as it works without all the sugar etc you, apparently, sometimes need to entice the little buggers.
On a separate note, I want to kill myself from the stress of packing/shopping/packing some more and making bloody boring endless lists of shit to make sure I forget nothing. *NB. For those potentially suicidal types, I only mean this in a general sense, so please don’t go doing anything stupid and claim I should be held liable.
Anyhow, the baby food in Hong Kong is NOT cheap…. in fact, it’s a bloody piss take in how much they increase the price of everything. I have to still use my currency converter otherwise, I’d be buying Hipp Organic Milk for £20. Its definitely not like at home, where you pop into Tescos and buy 5 Organix jars of baby food and get 5 free, on special, for like £4.99.
Everything in Hong Kong is expensive and all I spend money on at the moment, is food for the kids (ok… and a lil bitty itty bit of booze for Mamma). Well that and a Helmet for Itchy called a “Thudguard” as she keeps falling face down while walking and scaring the living shit out of me.
FYI, this Thudguard was delivered to me within a day and is the best thing I’ve ever bought my daughter as she is bloody nuts and bangs into everything. Unlike her overly cautious Twin brother who acts about 80 years old and will not let himself get hurt in any way.
Anyhow, I especially HATE shopping in general (unless I’m ordering my clothes online with Asos…. who I love & they deliver to my door without faffing around big stores). Yesterday, I spent over 3 hours (yes, 3 frigin, bloody long, painful hours), wandering around Ap Lei Chau‘s “Bumps to Babes”, buying baby food, swim nappies, Teething granules, Teething gels, mossie cream/bands/patches, new sleeping bags and other crap I suddenly realised the kids needed. I then bought myself some extra strength Panadol, en route home… which I downed with Vodka. Hey, its fine…. the kids weren’t with me in the car, and in my mind, driving off a cliff would have been a bonus yesterday.
The Captain, however, simply CAN NOT get his head around the amount of shit we have to take. He’s like “err…. all my friends go on holiday with their kids and they never have any problems?!? CHILL OUT”. CHILL OUT?! ARE YOU KIDDING, MR, “Domestic Helper please pack my case”?! He is a MAN. They pretend they “understand” and “feel your pain” (“White Men can’t Jump” also has a lot of shit to answer for). I dont care. I work hard every day, just like Captain and he would go FUCKING INSANE doing what I do. E V E R Y D AY. But, we are meant to be, what?! Superhuman women?! I’m tired. I get guiltily bored girls too. I want to be with the kids, but also without. How does this shit work?! I call my Mum and sometimes, shes all 1970’s hard “Get a Grip!” and other times, she tells me “ohh… I was soo upset, I left you with our alcoholic nanny who worked at Dad’s restaurant and went back to Iran for a few months because I was homesick”. Thanks. So, we are never going to get it totally right, BUT, I’ll be damned if our kids turn out like my Husbands family (he thinks they’re perfect in comparison to mine), nor do I ever want my parent’s life on them. Lets pull our shit together. Its called Evolution. We grow over our own parents, because we accumulate knowledge. Its how the world works.
I have 2 problems with this unbelievably ignorant/ungrateful/typical 1950’s Dad, comment. Firstly, none of his mates EVER bought or packed sod all for any of their holidays abroad with their kids, who were all usually a few years apart in age. In fact their wives used to scare the shit out of me (before we had our Twins) saying, “same daily routine, different location, except the Husband demands more sex”.
Secondly, NONE of his lucky mates, have Twins with acute/silent Reflux and our Twins can still puke all over you at any given time. In fact, my daughter recently did a nice big milk puke while we were sat at that über cool Bar on South Beach where everyone is all “Hi, yeh, hi…look at my toned non-baby baring arse, tummy, 20-year-old thighs”… while they play anything from Cafe del Mar, to Dance music.
So, I sat there covered in my daughters puke and while The Captain laughed at me in this super cool/bar/cafe, wearing his annoying fucking Aviators (Top Gun has a lot to answer for, aside from Scientology) …. I pulled off my top and revealed a very skimpy vest top beneath. You gotta be prepared as a Mum of Twins after all …. even if it means layering your clothes to save space in the baby bag.
And you know what girls…. before the twins… I was one hot mutha (and in my mind, I always will be… even if I never was!). I have the confidence to knock any wanker off their feet that tells me I can’t do what I want, when I want or chose. I’m not saying I’m ANYTHING amazing. It’s the attitude of those arrogant bastard men, that I walk around with. I think I’m better!!! Wrong or right, who cares but i will never ever let my girl/boy destroy anyone on this kind of bullshit appearance crap. If you have faith & believe in yourself, let go of any potential “oooh… Im too fat/skinny/ugly/wotever” crap. If you feel great… live it. I do and I’m not an arrogant arse. I’ve just had so many years of fab therapy with someone who told me… “it’s not you, its them” + I’m not talking about Men. I cleaned the floor with any Man who tried to top me. The captain included. I love that. Anyhow, during the puking incident, The Captain laughs, then turns to me and says, “errr… babe… your boobs are very revealing in that top. Cover up?!” I didn’t of course …. his eyes we fixated. I want his eyes… RIGHT ON ME. I’m not putting that top on, even if Jesus suddenly appeared.
Anyhow, all of The Captains comments alone made me want to fucking hit him with Itchy’s new Havaiana flip flops in baby size 19 (yes, I bought my daughter some super cool flip-flops …. along with some sunnies, Baby Banz today).
So now, here’s the question for some of you Mums who want to kill your Partners before you go on holiday with them, and they utter those fucking annoying tomes “CHILL OUT”. Pack lots and lots and lots of Valium, unless you have the balls to smuggle other things in via certain orifices I can’t name for legal reasons. Then, arrive, book into the spa and spank that bastard Credit Card until it hurts him. I’m soo good at NOT doing that, but my word, recently…. It’s the only place that seems to hurt him/any man.
Our new place of destination is, Bali. My new friend/girl crush, Parental Parody, if you are reading this…. any advice/suggestions on how NOT to harm my hubby (or his family…. who I will never match or be above) would be much appreciated and noted.
I’m sure we will all have a swell time together. Me, the Twins, in-laws & extra family joining us. Can’t bloody wait. Joy.
ps. YES IM FUCKING UNGRATEFUL but… I’ve had terrible insomnia again girls and its killing my writing buzz (which is the only thing keeping me sane on this Island, that is Hong Kong). Shame…. I still see myself back in freezing, shitty cold, taxing London. But at least, I was never alone.
Ok girls…. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I didn’t miss my munchkins (Itchy & Scratchy). Plus, The Captain doesn’t appear to care as much as I do that we have (1) left them with our Helper in Hong Kong (yes, shes wonderful & yes we have cameras….) (2) time alone together just us … well…. it’s a bit harsh no? I mean, we’re meant to be getting on brilliantly.
I had images of him chasing me into the ocean waves, or strolling in the sun hand in hand, laughing, joking, gossiping (basically… I was imagining a gay friend, I had the bonus of having sex with). BUT, the reality…. we have just agreed, we want to literally harm each other. The Captain told me to “go ahead and order another Cosmo” as I’m such a joy when drinking … which of course I did (hey, you don’t need to tell me twice), and I told him “sometimes I’d like to hold a noose round your neck and keep tightening it”. YES I SAID THAT. Big fucking deal.
Who isn’t married and comes out with worse comments… seriously? I’ve actually edited some things that took place at lunch-time today. I was in a very jovial, almost over happy mood after indulging in my new book by Russell Brand (my not-so-secret celeb crush), “My Booky Wook” and was enjoying myself, laughing out loud (he’s fucking funny), until HE (AKA “The Captain”) turned up to “talk” about my behaviour (hey, for the record… I wasn’t sat there without a top on indulging in any sexual/illegal act….well…not today anyway).
What is it with the new age /metrosexual man and their need to chit chat!? What happened to just relaxing with a cocktail and no feelings chit-chat bullshit? After a row at lunch which involved many a familiar line about how I hated his family, him mine (people staring at us both while this took place, but The Captain always does like a good dramatic scene) and how neither of us can agree on anything…. I then text my troop of fab girls back home who told me “I’m loved” and then I wanna cry and jump on a plane back to London, Heathrow ASAP.
Even on holiday in the Philippines, I want to be home. I want my family (who drove me maaaad), my girlfriends (who I always, always love being with) and the biggest loves of my life, the kids. The Captain and his brood though… well at the moment… I’m all done on exhausting arguments about family, and whose is more “normal, better, wierd” etc. I’ve always had to spend more time with his than mine, mainly because mine like a quiet peaceful life, and the Captains love drama, have more religious holidays, followed by arguing and me always feeling like the odd Duckling in the crowd (I didn’t say Ugly, I said Odd). That will never ever change, nor do I want it to.
I am now stuck between a rock and a hard place. Does anyone know what that actually means because it sounds to me like I’m pretty much fucked either way?! I want out of the whole non-stop arguing. I’m not “lucky” or “ungrateful” because of my new bull-shit fake affected life in Hong Kong. I’m alone, I have 2 small babies (who I have had to leave in HK to “prove” my love to The Captain) and I miss my Mum (yes, I’m also a big girls blouse…. anyone know where that saying comes from?!). I wanna go home. If anyone reading this can give me a ticket home (plus enough space for 2 babies) and no Legal crap about an additional accompanying adult for baby no.2 (any infants under 2 can’t travel without an adult), please email me.
I want to go to London without ANYONE but MY family & friends knowing. I want to go home. The Captain today… well… he just sealed the deal on how hard this relocation business is. I thought I was doing really well until he told me I was “ungrateful”.
Ungrateful!? Have a look at our Twins from 2 years of trying IVF. Have a look at your new home that I moved us into, once again (for the 3rd time…he didnt unpack anything but his underpants), have a look at how happy and chilled your kids are (they get that from me/wine). Have a look Captain. I have done everything you wanted and i tried very hard. Today…. I’m mentally packing up and heading home ….. even if I do have to live with your Mum as shes the only person who has any room in her house.
Damn it… I need to re-think things or start playing the fucking lottery.
ps. As I’m writing this, the family on the next balcony to ours is KICKING OFF. Big fight between Mum/Dad about “respect” (I’m drinking my freebie bottle of red vino and blatantly staring!) So you see…. EVERYONE is fighting and yet we all put on a fabulous bull-shit, we’re so fucking happy show. I feel better now….. right…. errr… where’s The Captain?!