Thursday, 14 January 2016

Grown-up glamour vs real life

At the moment I'm fantasising about a life in a clutter-free house, where the floor and surfaces are clear, the kitchen is ready to cook in at a moment's notice. I'm wearing shift dresses of pure wool, high-necked and form-fitted. I glide around in elegant mid-height heeled shoes, perfectly coiffed and nails always painted...

Bang. Back to reality. Scratched boobs from little hands, milk-stained cotton tops that need washing daily, sweeping clutter under furniture with my feet to clear a path to walk on. Washing saucepans as I need them, the rest are hidden in the cooker. My jeans get spot-cleaned at the start of the day, a battered sling and crumbs in my hair...

My style icon at the moment is Anna Winter. Though 30 years separate us, I totally covet her wardrobe. Stylish and sophisticated, she wears clothes with aplomb. I'm not after her hair, nor her never-changing shoes, but when it comes to the fitted dress she has it sorted.

I do realise that it's my subconscious wanting to put my boobs far, far away from little people, for a while. That's ok to say, isn't it? It's been 7.5 years and counting, they'd love a day off.

So here are some of my favourite Anna looks:

I'm salivating at the thought of silks and wools and clothes that can't be machine washed. Of clothes that you KNOW you will be able to wear multiple times before they need cleaning, because, why would they get soiled? Of tights that don't get snagged by velcro on kiddies shoes, picked at like they're an oddity, or slammed with a fistful of alien goo (and thus binned). Of large costume jewellery that won't scratch a little face, or delicate gold chains that won't get reefed off my neck...

For a day I'd like to go to fashion shows and drink champagne, nibble canap├ęs and talk shite to people about nothing much at all. I'd like to forgo the "where do we go when we die" and "why do some people have no homes" and instead discuss the merits of a split skirt vs a back pleat. 

I'd like to think about how my hair looks after walking in the wind, and not worry about how many layers they're all wearing. Three is a magic number, yes, but the constant head-counting can do you in and that's with one strapped to me, what's it gonna be like when she's walking? 

To give this rant some context I have to add I wrote this last night after a day out in town alone with the kids. On and off three buses (they insist on sitting upstairs...) running errands, sightseeing, a playground, a cafe, an art gallery, multiple shops... I was mentally finished after keeping them all alive, dressed, toileted and fed. Back in hibernation mode today, just playing, drinking lots of tea and eating meals at the allotted hours. Sigh of relief.

How's your January going?

Nee x


  1. I can totally see you in that pouf sleeve wool dress, second from the bottom :) and yup, I get where you're coming from. Meet you for a high necked tea in a few years time. X

    1. Lol you're on Mammydiaries! I knew you ladies would get it! Thanks for your comment xx


A lovely comment makes my day, please share your thoughts! xx