I have been walking around for nearly a week with one waxed leg.
I was planning to go to a salon to de-fuzz some bits but then life got in the way as it often does and I found some wax strips. And then I ran out of wax strips. That was five days ago.
It’s making me wonder how the hell busy people get stuff done.
Time is my enemy of late. Even though there seems to be heaps of it.
If the kids get up at 5 am and we aim to get to day care by 9 am, then why am I carrying sand filled, playdough stained, tiny shoes with my teeth as I run with a kid under each arm to the car? Why am I skipping the tooth brush, combing hair with my fingers, doing a spit finger face clean and forgetting to pack the baby’s bottle at 8.55 every bloody day?
Ok, the dog ate my daughter's breakfast twice, and porridge was screamed at and tipped down the back of the couch. And yes, seven pairs of shoes were rejected or peed on and we had to sift through twenty pairs of undies to choose just the right ones, which inevitably got messed up pretty quickly and we started the process again. And the refusal to accept any kind of hair brushing or styling. The desperate need to search for the teddy that she only cared about for five minutes six months ago before shoving it under something. The outrage that we are not watching the whole Aladdin movie. The obsession with inspecting every mandarin on the tree to see if any are ripe. The meltdown when none are. The picking and throwing of several green ones. The yelling match which ensues. The yelling match I regret. The long cuddle. The changing of outfits. The fight over ‘why don’t you try and go to the toilet just in case’….
And that’s just the toddler.
Throw in a constantly hungry, always pooing, non stop vomiting, yet mostly cheery little guy, and I can see where the hours drain.
There are days when I drop off each kid and get to work and can’t believe that it’s actually the beginning of a working day. It feels like it should be home time. When we start the whole process again.
There are some mums who seem to have it all worked out. They have cut up fruit in Tupperware. They make their own muffins. They remember drink bottles. They bring spare undies and nappy bags. Their kids don’t have vampire-long filthy nails or spew crusted onesies. They have two waxed legs.
They also do stuff that I didn’t know existed. I had no idea that ‘wiping down skirting boards’ was even a job. Or that sometimes you actually have to clean the dishwasher. (WHAT? – I know!) Some of these mums even have manicured nails.
They make me feel like a flop. A bit of a fraud.
But I’ve never been a colour coded kinda girl. And I have to remember that it doesn’t make me a bad mum.
Because in my house we laugh. We all laugh a lot. And that’s got to be a good thing. We also cry a lot, which is probably because we are all drama queens.
Plus, I have started using fabric softener, and that is a guarantee of being a good mum. (It’s that easy!)
So I am going to try and embrace our messy and imperfect life. I will hide my beautiful and expensive cloth nappies because just having in the baby’s room makes me feel inferior.
And I don’t have a worm farm either. And I’m not getting one for a long time.
I love the idea of going to an organic grocer and choosing fresh produce. But I will continue to shovel pale, sad tomatoes into my Woolies trolley because that’s all I have time for right now. And we will sometimes eat cold KFC.
And if I my daughter comes home from daycare again with clipped nails, I will not die of shame.
But I will try and get to the bloody shops to wax that other leg because I may be a hot mess, but I do have some standards.