Have I let MYSELF go? Or THAT self go?

Last week I stumbled on upon the blog of SuperKawaiiMama. I must admit my first thoughts were; wow she is so gorgeous and such a great writer. Not often you get that combination. How does she manage to look so good and be a full time mama?

Then, coincidentally the following day I read her post “Why Do Women Let Themselves Go?” and it got me thinking. Instead of bombarding her blog with my essay of a reply I have answered her question here and I’ll link it through.

SuperKawaiiMama is very gorgeous and very glamorous. From her photos I see that she has a lot of beautifully applied makeup, her hair has been set and her clothes are brightly coloured, perfectly cut works of retro art. Her section entitled daily outfit provides readers with a glimpse into her pretty world.

To SKM I’d be her poster girl for “women who have let themselves go” what with my dark coloured clothing, bits of beige and taupe here and there. My often washed but not set hair, my scuffed ballet flats and my scruffy tops and jeans. I certainly don’t wear makeup most days and I never wear heels during the day anymore.To me, I still look maybe a tiny bit stylish but I certainly would fall into SKM's definition of letting myself go. Yes often, I wear whatever I can grab quickly before the little one starts tearing things off shelves or emptying my makeupbox.

So, have I let myself go? No, I do not feel that I have. I think I have let “that” self go.

Which self? The one who valued appearances so highly. The one who got up early to set her hair in hot rollers, apply makeup and squeeze into gorgeous outfits and high heeled shoes. That was not MY self but rather, my appearance. To me the sense of self is a complex thing.

It runs deeper than MAC Mineralize foundation and glittering Jimmy Choos. It is who you are to you, to your friends, your family and the world. What you love, what you value and what you think… for me, it isn’t what I wear or how many heads turn when I enter a room.

Sure, having a baby has meant that even if I wanted to spend 40 minutes on my face and another 40 on my hair, I couldn’t. Why? Because I get so little sleep as it is, I refuse to get up at 4am to apply makeup and blow dry my hair and Tinker won’t sit still long enough for me to do it while she is awake. As for my clothes. Well if I am honest, there are 3 reasons for my glamourless outfits:

1. When I became a mum, fashion, glamour, entertainment seemed to pale in comparison to the depth of feelings I have about life, babies and love now. I’m just not that bothered.
2. Having always been super thin I went from 45 kilos on the day I announced my pregnancy to 73 the day I gave birth, I guess to me no matter how gorgeous the outfit is, I won’t love my appearance until I am back to my old shape. Sure I’m no oompah loompah but to go from an Aussie size 6-8 to 10-12 is a big change and if I am honest I don’t think I’m that worried about it. With my best friend having cancer and my beautiful daughter growing up and amazing me every day, fitting into a teeny tiny dress isn’t really on my radar. Life is short.

3. Practicality and comfort. Painting, cooking, playing in the sand, at the park… none of these things lend themselves to dry clean only outfits and Gucci heels. I do love nice clothes but I don’t enjoy getting dressed up every single day.

So have I let myself go? What do you think? Have you let yourself go? I suppose looking like a million bucks and having heads turn when I enter the room just doesn’t do it for me anymore so in my mind I have moved on. I think of the frum women and the Muslim ladies who wear very modest dress. Have they let themselves go or are they just asking the world to value them for who they are not what they look like?


Thank you SKM for asking this question. It really raises some interesting issues. I like to look nice but I'm not sure glamour has a place in my daily life. It is hard isn't it? To know what to teach our daughters... To value who they are as people not what they wear and what they put on their faces. I have mixed feelings. Tell me yours!

So what do you DO?

Along with the outrageous hours he works and the family un-friendly travel he has, my husband also has to drag me along to a number of a functions. It is basically the same night out, different dress, slightly different menu, same conversation, same people time after time after time.

I smile, I nod I say things like "oh so wonderful to see you again" "How is little Max liking Cranbrook?" "I heard you sold the Palm Beach house, how fabulous!" and occasionally I accept a glass of champagne instead of orange juice and occasionally I forget my corporate-wife hat and accidentally say something negative. I'm not chipper and I'm not cheesy so while I can hold a fake smile for an impressive length of time I'm not so good with the fake chipper talk.

Last year when the GFC hysteria had really taken hold we were at a rather glittery corporate function. Tinker had been tricky that day and I'd forgotten to have lunch so by the time I arrived I was starving. Of course canapes were tiny and champagne was flowing. After maybe two glasses of champagne Mr Elderly I'm Worth About A Gazillion Dollars strolls up to our little group. He launches into this impromptu pep talk about putting clients first in this state of flux and no matter what happens you need to get yourselves out there and make sacrifices for the firm.

For a split second I was back at work. I was the young female solicitor in the room full of old male barristers and I'd forgotten my corporate -wife hat again. I was back to being the loud opinionated one and before I knew it I had interrupted Mr Moneybags with "well that's all fine and good if you haven't been fired isn't it?"

My husband gulped, the other wives froze and Mr Money blinked twice, clenched his jaw slightly and being the polished banker that he is, continued his speech as though I wasn't there and I hadn't spoken. Once he'd finished talking the others dissipated so it was just me, my empty glass and my husband standing there. "Oh was that bad darling? I just thought in light of half the team being sacked right before Christmas and with many of us unable to keep our houses I might just say something..." I can't remember what his reply was, but I was on my best behaviour after that.

For the rest of the night I did a fair bit of smiling and nodding and for a change whenever anyone asked me "so what do you do?" I just gave them the answer that would stop further conversation. I'd answer: "Oh I'm at home, we have a little baby girl". Normally I'm quick to follow up with "but I was a lawyer..."

Why? Why am I so quick to defend a role I was always so looking forward to having? A role I actually really really love? A role I genuinely prefer to my "proper" professional job... It is strange isn't it? What do you say when people ask you what you do? Are you proud, embarrassed or a bit of both?

The type of job my husband has makes it hard for both of us to work. If we did, unless I had the type of job where my hours were fixed, then I'm not sure we'd ever actually see each other. We would probably end up being weekend parents and while it works beautifully for a lot of families, it just isn't the answer for our little family. I have always wanted to be a full time mum and wife and despite what people assume, I did love my professional job as well. I just love this more. Really. Most people raise their eyebrows when I say that. They assume my job was awful or maybe I'm not truthful. I have absolutely no reason to lie at all. I loved it, but I love this more. I really really do. I don't even miss my job. I think of it fondly but I have never wanted to swap back.

Often people remark that I wasted my education, all that time and money on law school and all the training I had to do on the job. I don't agree. My studies, my work experience and my outlook make me the person I am today. The wife I am and the mother that I am. So to those people, I say thanks but no thanks. I've wasted nothing and gained more than I could have ever imagined. Is it so hard to believe? Very few people seem to accept my take on this. What are your thoughts?

My Very First GIVEAWAY

After a rather feisty discussion about "leashes" I am pleased to announce something fun-Stepford Dreams' very first prize giveaway. I know I announced it ages ago but we have been getting it all organised.

I spent ages trying to come up with a prize that somehow reflected my funny little blog and I decided it had to have something to do with the domestic science that is housewifery and it had to be something pretty and it had to be something handmade. Don't worry it is nothing I've made. I'm not that cruel. That would be a boobie prize.

I was as pleased as punch a while back when I found Heather one of my lovely readers who has an awesome blog called Bebe & Alice and a fabulous Etsy Store by the same name. I love how every single thing she sells is a beautiful handmade treasure reflecting Heather's love of re-using and recycling gorgeous things. Heather says:

Each item that I create is unique. Since each item is primarily made from recycled, vintage and repurposed materials I am restricted in making repeats. The beauty in that restriction is that I am always creating unique items for unique people! I am energized and inspired by other artists that enjoy piecing together the past, present and future to create their art! My favorite type of design is Rework, which uses unwanted clothing and turns it into a stylish fashion piece of entirely different nature.



My gorgeous giveaway is this pretty Bluebells Half Apron below:

About it Heather says... Something about this apron makes me feel like I finally arrived at the dream farm I've imagined since i was 11 years old. The color is dreamy, the fabric is soft like the down of the resident goose and the design came straight from my great grandmother's hope chest.

It seemed the perfect choice for my first giveaway and I really hope you love it as much as I do. There is something lovely and wholesome about pottering about in an apron while you debate whether watching 2 episodes of Teletubbies in a row will ruin your child's IQ or whether you can pretend not to see the dog wee on the floor while you finish your last sneaky piece of store bought brownie that you pretended you made. This apron is perfect for the Stepford Dreamer in all of us.

To win all you need to do is check out Heather's store and leave me a comment below telling me which item you like best and why. I will put your names into Tinker's hat and she will pick the winner. If you choose to come over here and bribe her with a biscuit then so be it. I will be like an Balinese gaol guard and turn a blind eye.

Winner to be announced on Friday. x

Exciting News

This is just a quick post to say I have found the perfect seller to collaborate with for Stepford Dreams' very first prize giveaway. I'm awfully excited! Will be back with details in the next few days, stay tuned.

Now for a quick laugh or lesson depending on your feelings about folding clothes. This is a video teaching people how to fold a t-shirt:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=An0mFZ3enhM&feature=related

I know, I know I should stop posting videos about folding! I just really like things to be neat on shelves. Sad I know.

Ok I'm off to treat myself with an extremely early night. Once upon a time a treat might have involved something tangible like a new outfit, a nice dinner, a day at the spa. Now it is getting a really long night's sleep. Small pleasures!

Tell me, what are your small pleasures?

Fromage

I was at the supermarket this morning for what I call 'housewife happy hour'. 9.30am -10.30am the aisles are full of mothers getting in early, either with their babies in the trolley or having just dropped their older kids at school & daycare.

I go alone, my little cherub doesn't like shopping. She demands full 1 on 1 attention at all times and will not tolerate her mama looking at anything but her, so she visits Grandma while I get the groceries. Anyway I was gliding up the dairy aisle. Yes, gliding. For a change I didn't have the trolley with the bung wheel and I didn't have the child in the seat so it was quite a light ride really.

Housewife happy hour is great because the deli items are fresh and all the shelves are fully stocked unlike Sunday night shopping which I do in desperation sometimes. Anyway I was in the dairy aisle when I heard someone speaking French to their baby. Baby talk in french is slightly cuter than baby talk in English. Anyway she was asking the child whether she enjoyed sitting in the trolley and then she was telling her the name of each item as she packed the trolley.

"Du beurre" she was saying as she put some butter into the trolley. I turned to see which butter she had chosen since I do like a good quality butter. I was horrified to see she had in fact chosen a dairy blend. Not even real butter? What? How on earth could a French woman choose fake butter. Horrified, I turned back to the yogurts. I was carefully scanning ingredients to find the best one for the little miss when I heard the French mother saying "fromage" to her child. Curious, I looked up. She hadn't chosen a cheese at all. She had chosen a packet of floppy pale yellow plastic.


Kraft Singles. Not cheese. Never ever would I even think to put this rubbish into the cheese category. Fake Cheese. Yes, it can go in the FC box but no sir, it should never ever be called cheese and definitely not fromage said in a sexy french accent. Horrible, how horrible.

That lady had totally ruined the reputation of glam French yummy mummies everywhere. They were not whipping up amazing gourmet yummies for their babies. They were not choosing real food they were buying awful fake plastic cheese. Hmmf.

Suddenly I felt slightly wholesome, slightly superior. Maybe I am a yummy mummy after all. I make food from scratch, I buy good ingredients. Ok so maybe I'm still sporting a massive post baby muffin top 15 months after giving birth but I glide up the aisles and I never ever call Kraft Singles fromage.

The Von

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from a very serious and socially debilitating disease. Chronic Foot in Mouth Syndrome. I say it is a syndrome more so than a disease because there are a number of different features that define it, one of them is no matter how hard I try I always say the wrong thing. Most of my friends have been dining out on my shocking faux pas for years and I'm sure for many more to come because as far as I can see, there is no hope of a cure.

I was reminded the other day of a very funny one, it happened a few months ago at a to la-di-da corporate dinner where I was supposed to play the perfect corporate wife. You know the type that smiles, nods, laughs at lame jokes and says the occasional upbeat chipper comment about something harmless and lighthearted? Never the cynic and absolutely never the grump. The corporate wife has no worries and only thinks pretty, happy and friendly thoughts. I always set out to be this person, not because I feel I should but more as a challenge for myself.

I like to test myself to see if I can actually sit through one of these poxy dinners without saying one inappropriate thing. Anyway at this particular dinner a certain famous Australian actress was in attendance. One who seems to poo-poo commercialism except when it comes to a certain Japanese cosmetics brand. Anyway that's a whole other story. The night started out quite well apart from my awkward bathroom encounter with the above mentioned actress. You know those moments where, being under 5'5 you often walk straight into people's chests? Anyway I have those a lot. She was coming out and I was going in. Then we had that awkward encounter where one goes to the left but so does the other then the right then the lest and you end up looking like pair of pins in the bowling alley...

Ok so I was introduced to the wife of one of my husband's business acquaintances. We got chatting about surnames I can't remember why. She was saying she had a friend who changed his surname to his wife's first name. I thought that was interesting but asked why he didn't choose to take her surname, it was Bottom. Fair enough. Then I said my best friend and her husband both changed their surnames when they married, they chose a name that had special meaning to them. I said I'd probably choose something super toff, something with a von involved like last year's youngest billionaire Albert von Thurn und Taxis.

You all know how this story ends don't you? Madame with the perfect blonde quiff smiles pitifully at the poor washed up housewife wearing her mother's unironed sack of a dress (yes I really did wear one of my mum's dresses. Let's not even go there ok. Baby weight is hard to lose and nothing of mine would fit!) and she chuckles condescendingly, "oh my sister's married name is Von ...." something or other. Of course she is. Excellent.

Honestly you just can't take me anywhere!

Oh and for the single ladies, here is Albert, 25 and worth $2.0 bill. You'd think he could afford a nicer shirt.

image credit bittenandbound.com

Stitches

So there are plenty of things one can master without bothering to enrol in formal lessons. Cooking, I think, is one. Sewing, is not.

Well not for me anyway. I am an absolute dunce and even when I think I have made something half decent it only takes me a minute to either see an awful fault in my latest offering or I happen to stumble upon something one of my friends has made. Seeing the work of my fellow housewives who sew really reminds me that sewing is just not one of those things you can fudge.

It was December 2007 and I was extremely pregnant, extremely hormonal and as high on idealism as I've ever been. My husband asked me what I might like for Christmas. -A sewing machine, I answered. For what? He asked. -For sewing, darling. But you can't sew. -I know. So will you use it? He asked. -Oh yes, of course. The only reason I can't sew is that I don't have a sewing machine. Oh ok, I'll get you one then.

So he did. Days later, our tiny girl had arrived. It was about 40 degrees in the shade, we'd just moved into our new house. We had no airconditioning and about 65 million boxes to unpack. I figured once the house was sorted I'd be able to switch on the machine and whip up some dresses for my daughter, new curtains for the windows and maybe a dress or a skirt for myself.

Seriously.

Months later I unpacked the machine. My mind boggled. So I went straight for the manual. Not much better. Must be the sleep deprivation. Surely it is the baby's fault. I'll try again tomorrow. Nope, still no luck. So I called up a sewing machine shop and paid $40 for a grumpy old lady to show me how to thread the machine, how to switch it on and how to change the needle. If I wanted to actually learn to sew I'd have to enrol in a course and she didn't run courses anymore so that was that. I went home and whipped up a blanket. When I say "whipped" I do not mean for you to imagine any sort of efficient, successful outcome. No, it was pretty shonky.

Since then I have tried to make a dress for my daughter, a number of very wonky soft toys for friends' babies and I have even attempted to mend a shirt of my husband's. Every single thing has turned out badly. I've seen a few online tutorials, I've even unpicked my own clothing to get an idea how things are out together. I just can't do it!

Fine motor skills do not come easily to me. I think I am clumsy, also I am impatient. Either way, I need some serious sewing help. I keep trying to psyche myself up. I remind myself of the many years I spent at university, of my so-called intellect, of the millions of uneducated simple women folk who have been able to sew since the dinosaurs... still, I cannot master this skill. It is time to find a course.

Today I made a doll for my best friend. She isn't very well and needs some cheering up. So instead of flowers or chocolates I have my idealistic hat on for the day. I am a housewife dammit. I should be able to cheer friends up with freshly baked cookies and home made dolls. I have created a home made chemo companion. Her name is Polly and she is very very wonky. She is made of pretty materials so that is one good thing. She also has one of those "cancer bands" like Lance Armstrong. That's got to work in her favour. Other than that, she is another piece of evidence to support my argument- I need to do a course. "Husband, darling... the only reason I can't sew is that I haven't done a course."