Beware the 8 o'clock fairies

Yep...got bed-time totally under control.

The 8 o’clock fairies are my friends. I call on them at bedtime when my kids run rings around me with nappies on their heads (kid you not - see photographic evidence to right) and I’m gasping at the thought of a glass of wine.

The fake expat

I am a fake expat. That means I get to live as an expat in my own country. If you ask me, I’m probably the luckiest expat on this planet.

“Huh? “I hear you say. “What’s that melodramatic woman going on about now?”

Ok (deep breath). Here’s the deal…here’s my story.

Little Fairy's cash

This story was inspired by my daughter’s obsession with the things I stash in my top drawer. While mostly true, I must confess to a little ‘creative license’ with one character. At the time of writing, my husband was on a 10-day business trip, so the fictional character will be obvious (can you blame a girl for fantasizing?).

The Pilot Mum talks

Remember my blog about the Pilot Mum and my flying neurosis? Well, I did stalk her in the end and here is the promised interview. The Pilot Mum has been flying for more than 21 years for a major airline (I’ll leave you to guess which one). She also has two beautiful boys aged four and six. Here’s an insight into how she juggles the demands of her chosen career with motherhood.

Undercover mums

I recently blogged about a difficult decision to knock back a pretty amazing job at a pretty amazing company. While there were generous offers of flexibility, I just couldn’t reconcile in my mind how I would handle a call from the CEO during an awkward domestic situation:

Phone rings

Me:  “Hello.”
Amazing CEO: “Hello. This is amazing CEO of amazing company here. I need you to do something that just can’t wait.”
Me: “Oh, sorry amazing CEO. I can’t help just now because my daughter has puked and my underweight son won’t eat his burnt fish fingers.”
Amazing CEO: “Well, can’t you get someone else to clean up the puke and force-feed your son?”
Me: “Um, sorry amazing CEO, but you did promise me flexibility because I don’t want to outsource my one chance at being a mum.”
Amazing CEO: “Oh. Ok. Well, if you can’t help me, I’ll ask single hot chick who is dying for your job to help me instead. Bye.”
Me: “Bye…” sobbing

A tale from the trenches

Clean surfaces. Empty washing baskets. Tidy playrooms. Sleeping children. Time to think. My mission in life is to have these things in order by the time night falls on my daily battle against domestic chaos.

I employ a variety of pre-emptive strikes in my dogged determination to win. Routines, lists, and the hand-held vacuum are my weapons of choice. Victory often comes at the expense of haircuts, shopping trips, a toned midriff and sanity.

Despite these gallant sacrifices, I don’t always win. Take last Thursday night, now recorded in history as the Battle of the Projectile. It was guerrilla warfare – an ambush and sabotage of what should have been a peaceful night.