Tag Archive | Domestic Helper

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!

Can’t fuckkkking w r i t e!!

So since my last piece of shit post (ok it wasn’t shit…but I reckon I’m losing my touch quickly minus booze & drugs to assist my creative juices)…. I’ve been stuck in boring shmoring pregnancy limbo.  You girls who have been pregnant and were previously considered “party girls”….you know what I’m talking about?!  No booze – tick.  No drugs – tick, wimper, tick.  No fun – tick.  Arguing non-stop with anything that moves (usually The Captain) – triple tick.

I’M PISSED OFF AND BORED!!!  What the hell am I supposed to do?!  I’ll tell you what.  As of today, I started “nesting” (it was either that or fucking crying into a pillow for hours…or until one of the kids found me).  I basically re-organised the apartment (ok, one third of it), delegating our Helper to do various chores in the process and even now, considering I LOVE being tidy (yes, its my only geeky thing I promise), I’m still fucking bored out of my mind.  I even took photos of all the Captains shoes, printed copies off and stuck them onto the cardboard boxes.  Yes, I DID.  To be fair, this is also to stop him bitching constantly about not being able to find any of his shoes and then deciding the ONLY way he will locate the pair he desperately needs that day, would be to open every single friggin box until he found it.  Does he clean up after he’s made this mess, despite stating to me matter-of-factly “Dont look at me like that, I’ll clean it up!”?  Nope.

I’m lucky if the Captain manages to find the kitchen to return a plate. FYI, before The Captain and I joined the joyful institution (funny they call it that eh?) of marriage, I “trained” him (yes, like a dog) to put the toilet seat down (label on lid – “Now shut”), close the cap on the toothpaste that was forever dried out (“Now put lid on”), not burn the apartment down by turning the gas off etc.

So what happens to me the other night while half asleep and off to the loo for my millionth visit because this 3rd child of mine is making me piss non stop?   I almost, no joke, fell into the fucking loo.  Don’t you just hate sitting on a wet/cold toilet when the seat is missing? Especially in the dark.  I, of course, woke him at 3am and told him he was a “selfish wanker” for leaving the seat up. Bless him, he thinks it’s my “hormones” that are making me this angry.  I hate messiness.  Fact. The Captain LOVES mess.  He has had moments where piles upon piles of clothes have built up in the middle of our bedroom and for some reason, assumed, I was the one who was going to tidy this pile of crap up.  You would literally have to climb over it to get out of the room.  I never did tidy it of course, as, and I have pointed this out to him on numerous occasions, I’m not his Mother.  He, being the messy git that he is, got the cleaner to do it instead.  Yes, I still love him but I hate mess which makes me want to hurt him on occasion when I see it.  If I have just tidied up a room, The Captain, without fail, will walk in and start putting crap down everywhere ie. socks on the floor, underwear in my bathroom sink (we have double sinks so why it’s in mine I dunno), putting his electric toothbrush on the black bathroom counter despite the BIG plastic cup I placed there especially to stop him marking it constantly, packets of chewing gum (not chewed) everywhere and change from a million countries strewn across all countertops so the kids can choke on them.

Anyhow, this week The Captain has left Hong Kong (no mess) for a work trip to New York (FUCKING LOVE NYC) and I’m stuck here with my little monkeys (Itchy & Scratchy) and now, Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum (AKA our Helper & her niece who is here to do a “trial test-run” over the next week).  We want to see if she’s any good for the job as we need an extra pair of hands to help out once Baby number 3 makes their appearance.  As it turns out, she’s worse that our Helper ie. can’t cook, doesn’t speak English and thinks I’m invisible when I’m talking to her. She’s good with the kids though.

Anyhow, the reason we need this 2nd Helper (aside from the fact i could never afford one back in the UK), is that as all you Mums of Multiples will know, to do anything with Twins under the age of 2 years old, you are usually legally required to have “one adult per child” for all activities.

So the new Toddler/Nursery group I go to (after leaving the shitty, snobby, cliquey, arsholey, “what are we going to do today kids?” one in Repulse Bay) also still requires me and our Helper to go along to everything.  Not that I would ever send her on her own in any event as the woman is not fast at anything.  The amount of times we have had accidents because she’s forgotten there are TWO children of the exact same age running around, is numerous.  I on the other hand, being their mother, am fully aware of where each child is at any given moment.  I also rule with an iron fist (kinda like Margaret Thatcher but with better hair) which means I kick their arses (not literally obv) into shape and they don’t misbehave.  My son however, when he spots a woman with a weakness for him, will play on it and before you know it, has them carrying him around (& my guess, breastfeeding him), despite him being only 18 months old.

In the past, my Helper has looked at me in shock when I’ve told her time and again “DONT PICK THEM UP!  Stop carrying them around! Stop babying them! Let them eat glue, they’ll learn eventually”. Basically, she thinks I’m a mean Mum.  I’m not, but I am strict.  So, the other day, when the Captain and I took our kids to some massive indoor play area that would be hell if you were hung over but is actually great for toddlers and kids up to approx 5 years old.  A boy of approx the same age as my 18 month old, pushed him and kept taking his toys.  After about 40 seconds of this little bully pushing and shoving and taking every single toy car my quiet little boy wanted to play with, The Captain heard me state very loudly (I’m apprehensive to use the word shout) “NO PUSHING!! STOP IT NOW!!” (little shit) at someone elses kid.  He’s lucky he didn’t see the back of my hand that little arsehole.  Anyhow…out of nowhere stomps his mum who towered over me and had AT LEAST 400lbs on her.  I actually thought for a minute that she was either (a) going to kick my arse (b) eat me.  She was in fact, a total sweetie and swiftly took her son to another play area (probably to get him away from me).

So….how do you Mums deal with this sort of shit as I can see myself losing it if someone is blatantly bullying my kids?  I’ll be one of those crazy mums storming across the playground and having a go at some 4-year-old for being “mean”.  Any advice on how to deal with this would be appreciated otherwise I’m sure I will be pulled into many a HeadMasters office pretty soon to curb my big gob.

That’s it for me at the moment. As you can see, my last 2 posts (apparently the last one didn’t go out to all my subscribers so maybe have another look when you get this one), have been waffle.

Why waffle? BECAUSE IVE GOT FUCKING BABY BRAIN AND THIS IS ALL I CAN WRITE ABOUT!!!  Where’s a cold glass of white wine/Rose/bottle of Vodka when you need it.  I mean, if there’s ever a time you need booze, it’s when you’re pregnant.  At least I’d be happily ignorant of my body changing and all the hormones as I’d be blind friggin drunk.  Shame I can’t stomach the smell of booze, eh?

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.

Holidays without the kids…

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?!

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.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Creative Commons License 

Domestic Helper … at it again!!!

So… while I was meant to be resting my eyeballs last night at approx 1am and the whole apartment was asleep …. I was sat up, writing away on Doris (AKA my Laptop) and looking through Asiaexpat for anything new or funny.  Ok… that’s not entirely true…. I was searching to see if our ex-Helper (very evil & a HUGE liar) was on there.  I then pop onto GeoExpat and, booooom!  There she is…. LYING HER ARSE OFF!!!!

In her advert, she is claiming to be a University Graduate, and has worked for a family with 9-year-old Twins.  Our kids were approx 8 months old and she was gone before they turned One.  SOOOOO…. her advert states she is still working for us?!?! I MEAN ….HUH!?  And the reason she’s being let go is because we are moving “back to Europe”  but we would apparently be happy to give her a reference.  Now… yes, I’ve had baby brain quite a lot since I fell pregnant (and yes, I sometimes forget the kids names/where I live…)   BUT, this is bullshit.  I mean, who the hell is going to be the reference?!?   She has clearly found someone to give a fake one but everyone MUST check all references, always.  I keep going on about this but if any Helper was good to a family, you would of course be happy and more than willing to take a call from their new Employer.

I sat there …. stunned… staring at my laptop (“Doris”) thinking… who the hell is this cheeky bitch who made our entire life (from the moment I arrived with Itchy & Scratchy), really uncomfortable until we finally got rid of her.  I told the Captain on what became a daily basis (& I’m sure just made me look like an ungrateful moany ex-pat wife but by then… I didn’t give a crap) … “This bird is doing my fkin head in!! She’s rude, she sleeps during the day (seriously for 3 hours one afternoon while I was organising my cupboards), she went out clubbing some nights until 4am etc”.  

AND when the Captain was away “on business”, or so he says… although if I was him, I’d be booking myself into a luxury Spa Hotel & pretending it was for “work”, our “Helper” went out every night (I’m obviously a very hard/scary/mean boss) and would get in absolutely wankered on alcohol at 5am.   She started work at 6am (or was meant to but this eventually got later & later), although even then, you would have to bang on her door if she wasn’t up by 7.30am.    So to my amazement, there she is, with her annoying face staring back at me in this advert on Geoexpat…. lying to everyone.

This is the same Helper who, I just discovered, was also telling random people at a play-group I used to take Itchy & Scratchy to, ALLLL about our family (nothing juicy obviously but shit no one really cares about).   Our new Helper came home last week and said someone had interrogated her at a bus stop in Central Hong Kong and knew right away who we were once she realised we had Twins?!!?   I’m like, WHAT!?!?  WHAT HAS THIS SILLY COW BEEN SAYING!!??  I would love to name and shame her for the protection of other families but I can’t.  She on the other hand, is out there telling people we let her go because we are leaving Hong Kong. NOT because she was soo unbelievably rude, had her mates over during the day mid-week, “borrowed” things without asking, g-d the list if fucking endless.   

Anyhow…. last night I sat there dumbfounded, in the silence of our apartment ….  well aside from the constant banging coming from the Twins nursery.  Now, I swear the Twins do it to wind me up & scare me shitless, as the minute I run in there … with my Torch strapped to my head, yes like a fucking Miner… there’s nothing happening.  Both kids are faaaaast asleep, although they somehow manage to move across their Cot beds with excellent skill and are usually very close to the Head Board (hence, the loud banging which must be their little heads).   I had started padding the ends of the cots as my Daughter in particular, seems to be a little bit, erm, Rambo’esque (not Gay, just Tomboyish, although I wouldn’t give a crap either way).  However, its dangerous and she tends to sleep in the weirdest positions a toddler can ie. Face down, or nuzzled into her Comforter Cuuski … literally terrifying me if I find it over her face.  My son, although called “The Window Licker” seems a little bit brighter when asleep.  He knows to move his face if it’s slightly smothered.  In hindsight, this is probably why I don’t sleep much …. 

Anyhowsle … I see this bull-shit advert from our Ex-Helper, claiming she still works for us, and I think…. “how am I going to catch her out??”   

Hmmmmm….. So, this morning,  The Captain giggled his arse off when I told him my cunning/Genius plan…. I can’t divulge it just yet as I need to check legalities.  He then looked at me with what appeared to be love/confusion/endearment and said…. “You’re a little twisted babe … but fucking funny”.  He may get a blow job for that one later as I took that as a bit of a compliment.

Watch this space people and in the meantime, PLEASE CALL ALL REFERENCES GOING BACK AT LEAST 5 YEARS AND WITH AT LEAST 2 OR 3 REFEREES.  Just because people have left the Country does NOT mean they no longer own mobile phones!?   You are relying and trusting these people you hire with your entire life (your kids/home/money/crap).  

Make sure you get the right one so you can sleep soundly at night.