The Chanel Ad- A Lesson in Magnificent Smugness.

I saw the new Chanel ad last night. Have you seen it?

Sorry its a mini-film not an ad. Directed by Baz Luhrmann  with more than a nod to The Great Gatsby which he directed recently. It’s a follow on to the  Moulin Rouge inspired Chanel ad of ten years ago also Luhrmann directed,  which starred Nicole Kidman. Now Gisele Bundchen is the star. She is just like us. 30’s, husband, kid, surfboard…….

The husband called the mini film a load of insert many swear words. I think it is magnificent.

The whole thing plays out to an achingly fucking cool version of You’re The One That I Want from Grease…….Gisele surfs like a boss in her No 5 wetsuit and Chanel surfboard. She is positively Amazonesque. Strong. Stunning. Her legs are twice the length of normal legs. When she emerges from the sea, her hair isn’t a tangled mess, its sleek. She is a goddess.

Her husband sporting a baby blue suit and a seriously high maintenance beard watches on from their fucking amazing Hampton’s beachfront home. He looks troubled though. Gisele too looks troubled upon seeing him and dashes out of the sea with her sculpted by the angels themselves body, peeling off the wetsuit and slipping into some type of  perfect white robe top, hair starting to fall perfectly into beach waves. Bearded husband’s distress is too great and he has left in his Range Rover with his driver. I want the Range Rover with driver even more than I want Gisele’s body. There is just so much coveting during this mini-film.

So then their beautiful child appears with her Nanny. Gisele gets ready, does her makeup , sprays her No5. Herself and the child have all the fun. The child asks no questions about why Mammy is putting make up on and is not continuously screeching “where are you going, why are you leaving me” and skips off with the nanny. Testament to how  far from stylish I am and how much the mini film invokes the want, but I also even pause to admire the Nanny’s coat. Anyway Gisele finds a note from hipster husband quoting the song from Grease.

We don’t know whats wrong with him. Is Gisele too focused on her surfing, her job, the child and not giving him the attention he needs? Who knows? Not us. We only see glimpses of the note which just seems to quote the song. So Gisele goes off to work to be fabulous whilst looking at the note from beardy . Then its too much and she must leave. So she hops into her fucking amazing convertible and cries the most beautiful tears as she speeds into Manhattan to find beardy in a jazz club.  He is there. He has changed from the newborn baby boy coloured clothes into a tux, bow tie open, of course. Her dress and earrings emblazoned with No. 5. Only Gisele can carry this off. Don’t try it anyone else.

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Their eyes meet.All the love it there. They kiss and no doubt live happily ever after. Magnificent. It is all so glamorous and perfect and the best type of smug. Proper smug. Not fake smug that normal people think they can achieve by clean eating or having a tracker mortgage  or never brings their child to McDonald’s smug but Hampton’s, range rover with driver, childcare staff who wear nice coats,fabulous job, perfect hair, beautiful tears whilst speeding into Manhattan in a convertible smug. THE BEST TYPE.

The rest of us cant have all of that but we can have a bottle of Chanel No.5 and a tiny sliver of this life. It is the best mini film. I have rewatched it many times. Bravo Chanel.

*whispers* I prefer Coco Chanel though and I would prefer a different Musical to provide the soundtrack to my life. Maybe My Fair Lady or Calamity Jane. 

photo credit: Josh (broma) via photopin cc

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Nap- time Interrupted

I know all my children love me. I thought the four-year old loved me the most. This is possibly not actually the case.

On Saturday afternoon, I escaped to my bed for a nap. The husband had been away all week, I was tired. Circumstance allowed for the perfect nap scenario. I was cocooned in a bed all alone and was asleep shortly after lying there and really appreciating the quiet and space. Roughly 8 minutes later

Mammy, mammmmmmmm, mama, mama, mom, MAMMY, MOMMY” I could hear it in my sleep, an urgent whisper getting louder and louder. Then I felt my eyelids being physically prized open.

photo (82)

She excels at the extreme close up.

mmmmuugggh” I replied

Can we go to town tomorrow?” she asked, not the most urgent question but she is wise and she knows the right time to make requests. This is why she thinks she is getting a kitten for her birthday. A grey one, apparently.

Ok” I whispered desperately trying to get back to the perfect nap.

Mammy, mammmmmmmm, mama, mama, mom, MAMMY, MOMMY

I was awake.

Stop doing that” she demanded

Doing what

This” she replied and inhaled and exhaled

Breathing?” I asked

“Yes, stop breathing. I don’t like it”

The nap was disappearing rapidly.

IF I STOP BREATHING I WILL DIE

Ok, thanks”

IF I DIE YOU WONT HAVE A MAMMY ANYMORE”  

Admittedly this wasn’t very nice of me but it was the perfect nap that was being destroyed.

She laughed.

But Daddy would just get a new wife and she would be my mammy” She explained like I was the small child and bounced off the bed.

I rolled over desperately trying to resume the nap.

90 seconds later, her face appeared again.

Mammy, mammmmmmmm, mama, mama, mom, MAMMY, MOMMY”

“Yeah?”

“YOU KNOW I’M ALL ABOUT THAT BASS, IT’S NO TROUBLE” complete with finger-pointing.

Grand.  She went. I lay there thinking about the husbands new wife, would she love the kids?What would she look like? I imagined all the scenarios how I would die, fought off the anxiety, fell back into another restless non perfect nap and got up again.

She did assure me later that evening when I was clearly breathing in a more acceptable fashion that she really really loved me and that I was her favourite . No doubt in her head she added on a “for now“.

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My Stupid Car

Stupid Car

When we bought our ozone destroyer ginormous car a couple of months ago from a person who looked like a gangster, I did not have many expectations. I knew that buying a car with 7 full seats, with my limited budget, was not going to lead to glamorous driving. I knew I was going to spend a huge amount of money on road tax for the tank and while I expected fuel costs to be high, just how high they are continues to be slightly eye watering. I knew my ugly fuel guzzling car was going to be ugly and it came as no surprise that when driving it, if I put my foot to the floor on a motorway, I am lucky to get up to speeds of 80k per hour. I knew all this. I did expect it to fucking start though.

The first time it died was during the summer. It went back to the garage. Then it happened again. Then it went back to the garage again. Then a few weeks after that it happened again. Clearly, and not all that surprisingly, dodgy garage hadn’t fixed it properly. Anyway the issue turned out to be a loose wire. That is a mechanical term. The husband was able to flute around under the bonnet when it died two more times and fix it.  All fine.

Then one morning last week, at 8.20am, whilst trying to leave for school, it died again. I was thrilled. I kicked it and left it. The husband fixed it again that night. The next morning, kids loaded into car , car started, all good. I don’t usually drive all the way to school but this morning for the first morning this school year, I decided to, as the baby was still asleep so I didn’t get dressed properly or dress her, into the car and off we went.  Kids went into school. I hopped back into the car. Dead.

The car wasn’t strictly in a parking place. I wasn’t able to leave it there. I rang the husband in work. He told me to open the bonnet and wiggle the wires. That’s another mechanical term. I opened bonnet. There were about 678 wires. I phoned him back. Which one I asked. He didn’t know. So I leaned in under the bonnet and started the long process of jiggling all the wires. In the space of five minutes pretty much everyone I have ever met walked past me. I saw neighbours, friends, people I went to school with, people I worked with. They just kept coming, sympathetic smiles, offers of lifts, offers of help. I continued my line of “I just need to jiggle the wires, its grand” and started to sweat.

As well as streams of people I know passing me, random strangers did too.

“Car trouble?” they asked my arse. It’s a big car. I had to lean right in to get at all 678 wires so only my arse was on display.

People sure do love to state the fucking obvious.

I eventually gave up. The husband rang back. Rather awkwardly we weren’t actually talking after a stupid fight the previous evening. Thankfully he is a bigger person than I am and he chose to ignore my arseholeish behaviour and came to the rescue. He arrived after half an hour. The crowds ( no exaggeration, it’s a big school) had dissipated. He wiggled the wire. The car started. I came home. Half an hour later I realised the leggings I was wearing had a hole in the arse of them. A hole that would have been largely on display to hundreds of people when I was playing mechanic. At this point, I seriously considered having a drink.

I ignored the car for the rest of the week. Too fearful to get into it again. A garage assured us it was a very small job and the car was booked in for the small job yesterday. Shock surprise the 40 euro job turned into a job that cost five times the amount. When I collected the car, reluctantly, at this stage I would gladly never have set eyes on it again, the mechanic started to tell me about potential problems with the clutch. Being mature, I stuck my hands over my ears and started singing loudly.

So for now, the car is working again. I hate it. Stupid car.

I am buying myself some driving gloves like these to make it better. Next month though obviously. There is no money left this month.

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School Socks

Where did you go?

Its only been four weeks since you were removed from the packet, all shiny and new.

All 15 pairs of you, so unspoiled and full of promise.

And now you have all disappeared.

You’re not in the laundry basket, you’re not stuffed down the side of the couch.

Socks, I even climbed under the beds looking for you, you weren’t there either.

I naively evenly checked the drawer you are meant to live in.

I found one of you.

Dirty, obviously.

Alone and rejected. Discarded. Lost.Questioning where it all went wrong.

Similar to how I feel after spending 45 minutes looking for you. Like a tool.

Fuck you socks.

photo (73)

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Shopping – From Enthusiasm to Desolatation In Under Three Hours.

The planets must have aligned briefly, the other morning, as I found myself in a shopping centre with some disposable income and only one placid child dozing in her pram. I had money to buy myself a belated birthday present and it was a Tuesday morning. I discovered, whilst on my first maternity leave in 2006, that Tuesday mornings are the optimum time to shop. Shops are empty, there is no queuing and everything is fully stocked unlike a Saturday where you will find an abundance of size 6 and size 20 clothes  but not a lot in other sizes. It is the perfect time to shop. I arrived in Dundrum, bright-eyed and enthusiastic and positive.  The following happened and I left a sweaty, desolate, poorer mess.

I wanted to be this happy stock image shopping woman. It wasn't to be. Via

I wanted to be this happy stock image shopping woman. It wasn’t to be. 

 

I had to collect some things I had ordered online for the new child, I done that. Then I bought her some hats. Then I went to another shop and saw more baby hats so I bought more. Then I wandered around a bit more.  Then I bought some writing paper and envelopes. Then I spent 25 minutes debating with myself ( in my head, things aren’t that bad yet) did I need a gold jumper and was it a bit Joan Collins esque or actually lovely. It took a while to find something in all the shops that wasnt pastel coloured. Pastel is the A/W colour this year apparently………Pastel colours are no friend of mine though, are they the friend of anyone who is not their goal body weight? Anyway I decided that really I had nowhere to wear a gold jumper to so I put it back. I then realised two hours had passed and time was running out. Mild panic set in. I was meant to be buying myself nice things.

Ten minutes later found me still in  Tk Maxx looking at dog clothes. There is no size guide on the back of them so I was trying to hold them up and judge which would fit a labrador. I have never bought dog clothes or dressed a dog so its pretty hard to call. I then caught sight of myself in a mirror holding up a dog jacket. “Put it fucking down you silly bitch, the dog does not need clothes ,you need clothes, buy something” I had progressed to arguing with myself out loud at this point. I put the dog jacket down.

I went to leave, saw another baby hat, queued to pay for it, picked up some more stationary whilst in queue, left Tk Maxx. I had a pang of regret about leaving without the gold jumper. I had 30 minutes left. I went to Penneys. The pastel fairy had been before me and vomited pale pinks, blues and grays everywhere.

I bought a leopard print bra which wont fit me out of pure desperation.

Pastel Fairy who turned all the clothes into pale unflattering for chubby people colours via rebloggy.com

Pastel Fairy who turned all the clothes into pale unflattering for chubby people colours
via rebloggy.com

Nearly three hours in I now had bought writing paper, notebooks, 6 baby hats and a leopard print bra in the wrong size. I started to sweat. MAKE UP. I would buy make up, I needed make up.  The downside to the empty shop Tuesday morning shopping is the immaculate women who work at make up counters have very few customers and they were waiting, waiting to pounce. They terrify me. They are so perfect.They have perfect make up and perfect hair and perfect smiles and they make me buy things I don’t need  nor know how to use . I have a mild real fear of them and their perfect powers to make you spend. I spotted two of them approaching. ” No I don’t want to spend 8k just to avail of a free gift in a shiny make up bag ” I repeated in my head as they came near me. “NO THANKS I JUST NEED FOUNDATION ” I roared, as they closed in on me. My voice came out louder than anticipated in the quiet shop. It was because of the assertive pep talk I had been giving myself in my head. One perfect woman started her spiel. I grabbed the foundation smiled and walked away. It wasn’t the exact colour I wanted but I had frightened myself and no doubt the perfect women with my roaring and it was a panic buy.

Time up. I left. I had no new boots or no new jeans. I had stationary, loads and loads of fucking stationary. The writing paper ( two sets) is really lovely but I have nobody to write to and even if I did have to write to someone instead of emailing them, I never have stamps. I have an ill-fitting bra. I have new foundation in the wrong colour and my child has loads of hats. They are all a bit too big for her and wont fit her till next Summer probably at which time she will have no need for fabulous cosy winter hats unless her head goes through a remarkable growth spurt in the coming weeks. Fingers crossed.

The money is of course gone now. I had an opportunity to spend it and I took that opportunity and stamped on it. Stupid shopping. If anyone would like me to write to them, let me know, in the meantime, I will be making lists in my notebooks with my new pens whilst encouraging my child’s head to grow not wearing lovely new boots or a new coat or even a Joan Collins style gold jumper.

It could have been me via NearlyVintage/Tumblr

It could have been me
via NearlyVintage/Tumblr

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The Fourth Trimester

I have been very ranty and giving out a lot  of late and have been told I am too self- deprecating…………

So here we go, something I learned to be very good at.

The new one- a few hours old.

The new one- a few hours old.

I enjoyed the newborn stage with all my children. With my first child it was a mix of awe, panic, sleep deprivation and wonder. With my second it was just as wondrous but we worried  way too much about making sure the first-born wasn’t excluded . When my third was born, I was fully relaxed and I enjoyed that time even though it was chaotic with three children under four but I know with all three of them I put unrealistic expectations on myself and I got stressed or worried about things that I really shouldn’t have. Then came the new one who is now four months old and finally I mastered the fourth trimester.

Granted I had some luck on my side, her birth was awesome and I think as a result of that everything in the first couple of weeks just fell into place. The high after she was born lasted a lot longer this time, every day, I wondered would the bad crash and all the hormonal tears arrive but they never did, life was easy. I had no physical side affects, no physical recovery and feeding was completely problem free and remains to be. Luck has definitely been with me this time as well as experience.

I don’t think she knew she had been born for the first ten or so days of her life. We took a lot of baths together and she would curl up in the bath with my hand under her head and sleep, every so often moving her hands and legs around slowly. She looked like how I imagine babies look like in the womb. She slept a lot the first ten days, I watched her sleep some of the time and I slept some of the time. Her brother and sisters held her tiny hands and she was kissed a lot.

Real life resumed but for the first time I said yes to absolutely everything that was offered. People brought food, friends and family helped out with the school runs. Some days I got dressed and went out because I wanted to, some days I had to. Other days I got back into bed with her. I done what I wanted most of the time.  When my other children were born, I turned down a lot of offer of help, stupidly. I think I thought I had some point to prove, that I could manage or something ridiculous. I could manage this time too but jesus help is brilliant, I said yes to everything that allowed me more time to sit on the couch with the baby or lie on the couch with the baby or sit and eat all the food with the baby on my lap. I didn’t quite conquer the whole sleep when your baby sleeps but I definitely conquered watch box sets when your baby sleeps and eat more food when your baby sleeps.

HMC2

I also learned to just say no this time to things I couldn’t go to. I remember having a complete meltdown in my bedroom a couple of weeks after one of my babies was born. Trying to express, trying to find something to wear, trying not to cry because actually I didn’t want to attend a party I had said I would go to. I have learned that friends will understand if you just say no I can’t make it. No excuses just no and that has made things easier.

I also learned ,out of necessity, that I can just leave the house with the baby and a nappy and a muslin. We have hardly used the pram yet at all this time, we just carry her everywhere. She is tiny. This is fine.

The husband looked after me a lot. He came home from work and cleaned and cooked and done everything. I think our maternity leave is ok in Ireland of course it could be better but its ok but we really need paid paternity leave. Someone needs to fix this. The husband didn’t get enough time to sit and just look at the baby like I did.

Just everything this time has been stress free and easy and really just lovely. The only difficult part was naming her ( she had four different names and was six weeks old before a final one was decided upon, I am not proud of this)  Some of this comes from me being older and having more confidence in myself and a lot of it comes from experience. I am a little sad though that it took me four goes to fully get this stage right. I am loath to give parenting advice because I vary from good to average to pretty damn poor at parenting depending on the day but I do wish I could go back and tell the me of 8, 6 and 4 years ago how to enjoy the newborn stage fully because its goes so fast.

HMC1

 

I would tell myself to forget about other people expectations and advice, I would tell myself to lie to strangers when they ask is it your first baby and to say its my fourth. When you tell people its your fourth baby, they don’t give the advice so much, its deadly. I would tell myself to just sit and look at the baby, count her eyelashes, hold her tiny fingers, have more baths with her, say yes if people want to feed you, say no if you don’t want to go somewhere, don’t stress and worry about what;s going to happen after maternity leave because it wont change any circumstance, don’t be the only one to watch out for pnd and know if happens it can be fixed and just be still and be kind to yourself.

In some cultures it is common for the new mother to have a period of time after giving birth to heal and rest and do nothing. Mothers or mothers in-law move in with the new mother to help her with her baby and ensure she gets to rest. Now, I love my mother and mother in law greatly but we would kill each other if we had to live with each other but I love the idea of the new mother having to do as little as possible. I am going to make a much bigger effort in future to offer to help anyone I know who has a baby, I think everyone should do that more. Just drop in food or offer to help with a school run or buy them something just for them. I am very grateful to everyone who done this for me this time and I am so grateful for my beautiful, perfect baby. I am very fortunate. Bring on the next stage, my last newborn experience rocked.

HMC4

 

 

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Vasectomy – The Trial Run

The new child is our last child. The husband has plans to get a vasectomy. He has been talking about it for a long time. His body, his choice ,yay for body autonomy, so its nothing to do with me, really. I have some worries though. The reason being is because of the trial run. The dog got done first. We didn’t actually get the dog seen to as a trial run, just to clarify, we got it done because apparently its what responsible dog owners should do and he was taking a shine to all sorts of inanimate objects and people nonetheless if we take it as a trial run, the results aren’t encouraging…………

cone of shame

Its been five months now since the dog had his testicles removed. We are starting to see glimpses of him returning to himself. Only recently though.

Firstly was the recovery. The initial doped up ness, the cone of shame, the stitches, the confusion on his face when he went to lick his balls to find his balls were gone. I had some guilt. Then he recovered but his spark seemed to have gone. Before, when we came home he bounded around enthusiastically, delighted to see us, post testicle removal, he lifted his head in acknowledgement of our appearance.

He sleeps a lot now. Most of the day, all of the night. He finds his only joy in food. We used to be able to see his ribs through his lean strong body, he is chubbier now. The tennis ball used to be his best friend, he still enjoys catching it but again with a lot less enthusiasm.

He used to sneak off with the kid’s rag doll and show her a good time. Now he uses her as a cushion for all the sleeping.

He has developed a fear of small dogs. When out for a walk, he will cower and put his head down when he sees a yappy little dog approaching despite being 10 times the size of it.

His life was pretty much joyless for a while. Like I said, I have felt guilt. In the last few weeks though his enthusiasm is returning and not just for food. He seems a bit happier and even jumped up the other day with happiness. Of course as well as getting his balls hacked off, we got a new baby shortly afterwards. He isn’t allowed too close to her. Her siblings had no jealousy at her arrival. The dog has had some.  More guilt.

Anyway he is almost back to himself now. Or his new, powerless to procreate, self. It took five months though.

This got me thinking what if the husband takes fives months to recover. Worse still what if the five months were dog months, you know, like dog years so 5 x7= 35 months, so it was more like almost three dog years of recovery time . That is a long time for everyone involved.

It has made me question if vasectomy  is wise contraception choice after all. Will there be months and months, maybe years of zero enthusiasm? Will I have to share all my food when I want to eat my feelings?  Will sleeping become the only thing he takes happiness from? Will my body become only a cushion? In fairness it makes a good cushion due to my excessive eating. So many questions though.

Of course, the procedure is  not invasive for men, not like the poor dog. There will be no actual removal of bodiy parts nor will there be stitches or cones of shame  so it will probably be grand. The dogs experience wouldn’t sell it to you though. He has been zero craic for the last few months, he is back to himself now though.

P.S. I had a look online for images to accompany this post. I am really sorry I did.

If anyone wants to share their experience of vasectomy- personal, spousal or pet wise, please do. Its good to overshare. 

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