The Frustrated Hippy Woman

I’m taking a break from cleaning out my clothes drawers. I’m being fairly ruthless, even though I don’t have a lot of clothes (mostly because I don’t like clothes shopping, but also because we just don’t have the space to store them). I have mixed feelings about this. De-cluttering is really cathartic but the issue I’ve got is that my body has changed since I’ve become a Mum and try as a might, I can’t get rid of the baby weight, even two years after. So I’m getting rid of the clothes that don’t fit me anymore. I don’t look THAT bad when I look in the mirror, I’ve only gone up a size, but it makes shopping frustrating because according to the retailers, I’m on the verge of having to go to plus-sized clothing. Plus sized! My size doesn’t even begin with a “2”. But this brings me to a huge beef I have a huge beef with clothing manufacturers and retailers. HUGE. (as is the case with a lot of women, I think). The average woman, especially if she’s had a kid or two, is curvy, hippy and the average size of women in general has increased over the years because of better nutrition, healthcare and that sort of thing—science has proven it. OK yeah, the proliferation of junk food might have something to do with it, but let’s not go there shall we? But my genes, unforunately, are that I naturally have “good childbearing hips” and will never be Kate-Moss-thin because a lot of women in my family are the same way as me. Esepcially now, the shape of my body has changed. I am pretty sure that my ribcage has expanded because of being pregnant, and well, I will spare you the rest of the analysis. But I don’t REALLY look that bad when I stand in front of the mirror. And, let’s me honest, if you do people-watch in shops, there are the really stick-thin women of course but most women are not. So why the *&^% do I find it so frustrating to find clothes that fit, that a lot of clothes are cut really tight so I have to buy up a size? Why do I want to come out of the changing room in absolute tears, wondering what is wrong with me, why I feel like I look horrible and huge and see only that I’m not “perfect”?

Society tells me that I should go on a diet, get a personal trainer, and obsess about my weight. There’s the whole mythology of the size 0 that has sprung up which I seriously don’t like. There’s the whole celebrity-Mom thing which dictates that the average mother should look glam and gorgeous because so-and-so can do it…but, the kicker is, only WITH the help of a personal trainer/chef/nanny which is what most other mums definitely do not have. I wish I could get out to the gym but we don’t have the luxury of childcare and we are just too exhausted during the evenings to think about running on a treadmill. I do enough running after a toddler during the day to exceed my 10,000 steps thank you very much. I go for at least one walk a day. My weight repetitions involve picking up said toddler countless times a day. And even though it bugs me that my body shape has changed and I’m not as lithe as I was during my University years, deep down, I know that I am doing the best I can to take care of myself and take care of my family. The last thing I want to do is obsess about every calorie I take in, even though I try to cook nutritious meals—because I do not want to be a slave to the scale or the number of fat grams I consume when I have far more important things to concern myself with.

I think a lot of women GET this, but it’s those stupid clothing retailers and fashion mags and dare I say the media that doesn’t. All they succeed in doing is making women feel like they aren’t good enough unless they can fit into super-skinny drainpipe jeans and they are only happen when they enslave women to diets (and even diet pills) and obsessing about how they look.

And that’s not how I really want to be. So I’d better get back to cleaning out my drawers. Boy, some charity will really hit the jackpot with the clothes they will be getting from our house!

Carla Is...

…spending waaaaay too much time on Facebook. Why is that thing so pickin’ addictive? I guess it’s because for me I can just jot a really quick update down. I also feel quite safe posting photos on there. So anyone who reads my blog and isn’t already on there, I will friend you or vice versa. Friends I’d like to see on there but don’t think are at the mo: Stinni, Jennie, Beth, Jay/Bon, Sharon, MrZ…I’m (aherm) POKING YOU TO JOIN FACEBOOK! Can I be any more subtle than that?! It’s been really nice to catch up with people I haven’t seen for years but on the other hand, I am still quite shy ‘approaching’ people to friend. I guess it’s the whole adolescent fear of rejection—funny how it can stick around years after the fact. But oh well. I just can’t believe how much I’m hanging out on there. Sad, really.

Other than that, I’ve been running after a very active little boy. The game has totally changed. He’ll be officially two on Sunday (Father’s Day—how cool is that?) but he’s already “unofficially” a toddler already. I’m loathe to use the adjective “terrible” to describe toddler but he is just one huge ball of energy, and doesn’t like to hear the word “no” and I’ve had to resort to using reigns when we go out, because walks have just been too traumatic and after he ran out in front of a car I knew I had to do something. So as a result, I’m always tired, I feel like a grumpy, frumpy housewife half the time because I do get discouraged at this parenthood thing, and I don’t have time to blog that much.

So I’d better do a bit more tidying before he wakes up from his nap. And I’d better get off of this thing before I can’t resist the pull of logging into Facebook to see what my friends are up to.

A Message To Joe Public Who I Come In Contact With

When you are out and about and a little tow-headed boy smiles at you and gives you an emphatic “HIYA!” please at least make a wee effort to acknowledge his presence. A smile and a “hiya” back would be even better. Please do not look at the little boy like he doesn’t even exist, or look at his Mum suspiciously like she is about to mug you (or even worse, give them that up-and-down look, scoffing inwardly that neither the Mum or the boy are dressed in designer gear…nevermind that you yourself are puffing away on your fag—-sorry, cigarette—dressed in a pink velour tracksuit sporting lots of gold-toned bling in order to detract from your “muffin top”) . Perhaps, just perhaps, they are being friendly and want to get to know people in the neighbourhood! And maybe, just maybe the Mum is trying to show her little boy that being cheerful counts for something, that there are indeed nice things in the world and going out for a walk and blowing dandelion seeds into the breeze is just a nice thing to do. This is ESPECIALLY directed at you fellow parents. You seem to be the worst offenders in this game of Competitive Parenting. So much for parenthood softening your heart.

And for those who do take the time to speak to that little boy and perhaps even his Mum, THANK YOU. You may have just brightened their day and restored some hope that humanity (at least in a certain Cheshire town) isn’t as calloused as previously thought.

My Fifteen (Milli)seconds Of Fame

I wish I could be a famous blogger or newspaper columnist, just so I KNEW that somehow, something I might be saying might be reaching a wider audience and be considered worthwhile. BUT I received a little confirmation that I do have something to say—whether or not it is worthwhile is up in the air!

I read Reader’s Digest. I actually have a subscription to the Canadian one which keeps me in touch with Canada a wee bit. I know that might be kind of tacky to admit, but it’s actually not a bad read. (I think the Cdn version is much better than the British one, btw) I read an article a few months back about the riddle of how to bring up boys—the old chestnut of whether men should be tough, or tender or if it’s in their genes to be totally at odds with how women think and feel. The article was thoughtful but I feel that it didn’t go deep enough, that it was open to misinterpretation. The article was also the topic of the online forum for that month, where readers can sound off their opinions on selected articles. So I wrote my tuppence worth, thinking nothing of it. When lo and behond, a few months later, my comments appeared in the March issue! If you can find a copy of the magazine, you’ll see my name in print. Go down to your local Doctor’s or Dentist’s clinic, I’m sure you’ll be able to find the magazine, ha ha!)
But for those of you who don’t have access to it, here’s what I said…

“As a mom of an 18-month old son, I admit that I was intially frightened because my husband and I didn’t have a clue how to raise a boy in today’s world. Do we raise him to be tough? To be tender? Are boys supposed to be “rough-and-tumble” or should we raise our son to be softer and gentler? But at the end of the day, the ultimate goal of parenting should be to raise any child to be a productive member of society and to contribute to making the world a better place.”

Gosh, it’s so weird to see my name in print! I don’t think I’ll make a habit of commenting on Reader’s Digest articles in future, lemme tell you, but it was a nice suprise for them to pick my comment to print.

I’vealso been delving into Facebook which is actually kinda cool (it’s all Desiree’s fault. I blame her! Just kidding, Des). I’ve had fun getting in touch with people I went to school with and it seems way more mature than MySpace (ie users on there aren’t all 18 years old). It’s a nice adjunct to blogging as you can just post brief comments on there and I’ve felt comfortable posting photos on there that friends can see but not the whole world. So I hope that more of you sign up and I’ll friend you! It’ll be nice to chat with you on a different level than blogging.

The Big Three-Five

I’ve just celebrated a major birthday. Turning 35 really bugged me and I don’t know why. It kind of felt like New Years, when I tend to reflect on what I have/haven’t done etc. I really feel ancient because now, the 80s are officially considered retro. A shoe shop had a big display of its new line of retro shoes—which meant hot pink stilettos and the shade of bright green that will only go with one or two outfits. But, RETRO! 80s! OK, I’m getting off on a tangeant here.

But as far as birthdays go, it was alright. My son was nice to me, I got to sleep in til 6:30 AM (luxury!) and it was a pretty typical morning. G had the day off. I didn’t get any pressies but that was totally OK as I buy myself litttle treats during the year, and I don’t go out anymore so don’t need a lot of clothes, and I have books that I haven’t read yet so didn’t feel like buying any books so it wasn’t a big deal to not get any pressies. I could be really cheeky and put together an Amazon wishlist for people to buy me presents but does that really work anyway?—and I just couldn’t be that crass. We decided to go to Manchester by train, as G needed to go to the jeweller where we got our wedding rings from to see if his could be repaired so we thought we’d better do that while we had the chance. So we went after J’s nap and after we had lunch. J was a bit shell shocked on the train but seemed to relax when he discovered that he wasn’t strapped into his car seat :) We just had a walk around, we didn’t buy much at all which proves that we’re more “browsers” than “shoppers”. But to be honest Manchester felt really grubby; it had the really posh stores like Harvey Nichols and suchlike but walking down by the Oxford Road train station it just felt like Manchester consisted of grubby takeaways and pubs. We haven’t been to Manchester for ages but we don’t really feel the need to go back for a while if you know what I mean. A few hours there was enough, J was starting to get grumpy. We went to Marks and Spencer in Warrington to buy some nibbles (spring rolls, chicken wings, that sort of thing) instead of going out to eat which was nice and I felt relaxed by doing that, and just hanging out. I fed J, gave him a bath and put him to bed then we sat and nibbled and watched a bit of telly. I didn’t get a cake but we bought some chocolate mousse and some pannacotta (which is like a thick vanilla custard dessert topped with rasp. sauce) from M and S which was a treat so that was a good compromise.

So now it’s been back to reality. I haven’t been able to get out in my garden much because of the rain but it appears that the slugs and snails haven’t ravaged it—yet!