11 January - Posh & Burbs

A trip to Connecticut, to one of those picture perfect towns where wealthy Wall St Bankers commute from whilst their kids live the small town ie. safe life and their wives get super bored. Manhattan may be less than an hour away on the train but in reality you don't keep getting into town to meet your girlfriends or have your hair done if you also want to be at home when kids return from school and so on.
We go for a tour, it's all a bit like living in Hampsted and to be honest the house of the relative we're visiting is so utterly perfect with all those new england touches, that I have to feel like an under-achiever not yet out of student digs by comparison. Even their two cars are the potent tractor and the sleek german towncar.

And their basement den and utility room are larger than my flat in London, but much as I envy the space, I don't envy the life. I don't think mine is necessarily better (not any more that age has made me drop out of any scene, and now that being 42 and a half (ahem!!) and knowing who Lady GaGa is before she's topped the charts is not going to impress anyone and even if it did, it's of no use on a practical or working level. Am not working as a style/trend or makerting or brand scout so you know, it's of no use and maybe it would be better to have the great house and the great kids and the cute dog in the posh burbs and the holiday in the themed resort in Barbados(the kids love those ones) but I just can't find myself wanting it at all. I'd run away after 48 hours (we had to spend 36, so perfect timing) and it cannot be mentioned by the couple in question that when he lived on the 30th floor of portered modern block by Grand Central with panoramic views of the Hudson (or is that the East River, I can never remember the two) and walked to work... maybe those were better times? But you have to move for ... the schools if nothing else. Well,now that all these families have had zillions of cash instantly wiped off their shares in the downturn, it's even more important to be away from the costly city thought they still have to wonder how they'll pay for Yale/Harvard when the time comes. The shares bloodbath having cleared out also the grandparents and uncles and aunties so you know ... nowhere to turn. I'm not sure I believe you have to have gone to the main uni's with some cachet, I know they open plenty of doors but I think they're overrated.

There you go, I'd have been a terrible mother, forcing my kid to inhale traffic fumes and live w/o any green spaces and going to a not so great school. I'd have never left Manhattan. I may be wistful about the odd thing but not the exile from the City one, not going there. Not till I go to the deserted beach to live just in order to read, that will be a different story.

Another family who I didn't have time to visit but met, also live out north of manhattan but on the other side. Sure, Al Pacino and Baryshnikov have houses nearby and Bjork and Matthew Barney but those am sure, spend only a portion of their time in those burbs and the rest they travel for exciting work. In Bjork's case they have their own boat to come into the city with every day perhaps as his studio is somewhere suitably matthew barney-way. For those like my friend who see their husband leave the house at 5am every day and stay behind and for those like him who leave the house at 5am every day and have to return every evening (or the wife would be upset that he stays in town having fun whilst she isn't) it's er... great. But it's the way they say it that is so not for real. They have to say it, they have to re-inforce it. In this case my friend's sister still lives in fashionable Brooklyn by the bridge and has a terrific job with L'Oreal but can't get a decent date (she's not 40 yet) and so it seems people, myself included no doubt, just chose to highlight the best of the path they've taken or had to take.

mmmhhh... Boy was I glad to hear the train announcement say we were back in Penn station.....

4 June - Kids & Parents

Back for a visit in the hometown. This entails a Saturday night dinner with the friends I grew up with. Some are my original friends, the others are the partners they acquired, often after I'd left home to go study/work, but in most cases back when they were teenagers (you know, small towns breed those kinds of relationships) only we probably never went out together as a group this much.

Over the years they've instituted a sort of tradition whereby, besides meeting regularly here and there, they go out for dinner at the weekend. This is usually at a great restaurant on the edge of town, owned by the cousin of one and the brother in law of another so it's extended family anyway. The tradition further states that they're in a separate room when possible so as to talk louder, be more free to deal with the kids and also that the adults sit at one table and their children at another (obviously not when they were infants and would be on parents laps). This was further subdivided with men at one end and women at other end of table. It's still possible to converse across the divide, as the group would be 5/6 couples at the most. It's kind of a good way when you think about it as you never have to worry about your partner being deep in conversation with one of your friends and giving rise to unncessary jealousy. And the kids only bothering you for requests (have finished, can I go out and play?) meant that you can have some adult conversations. These restaurants are always on the edge of town and kids can play outside in courtyards etc. plus there's always a smoker or two to keep an eye on them. The system also works well when a husband or a wife is away on business and the alone partner can still avail themselves of the group/ease the tension of minding the kids.
The tradition further dictates that the wife alone, gets her dinner paid for by the group. Over the years I've attended with boyfriends and also solo, in which case i was the guest. ahhh.

This is not for everyone though. I introduced a good friend to the group and she married one of them, but coming from the city, she found the sex divide very annoying and not a bit macho. She wanted to talk to the boys too, not be relegated to the women. I had to explain that there was freedom in the separation, a bit like when you were in same sex school and did much better as a result. Plus 50% of the guys conversation is about football/sports and you can live without that.

However, the women only exchange real personal info away from this table, there are friendships within friendships and no one wants to air dirty linen in this public as it's still a small town and they're all business owners (sometimes in same field cometitive environment) and some gossip would be detrimental to business, but there's support in the opinions expressed and examples given. And all are equal despite being rich and... very rich. If you exclude me, but as the one who lives far away, I'm excused as having chosen city/fun over personal wealth improvement.

These as I've said, I’ve known all my life. The change this time is that none of their kids are at dinner. Finally after all these years, they’ve flown the coop. They're 16 downwards, and the youngest is 8 or 9 and at granny for the evening.
My visit coincides with schools' out for the year and the kids are out thronging the pizzerias to celebrate and/or at other kids' parties. The mothers express good feelings vis a vis now being back to the adults except for my local best friend. A woman obsessed by her kids and who in answer to the 'how are you?' question has always steered the conversation to her daughers. She would like her two (16 and nearly 13) to stay kids as long as possible. I have no idea how she's going to cope when the youngest will also get a boyfriend and starts hanging out elsewhere. I predict bad adjustment as she has no major interests outside the family.

This is in contrast to her husband who has always travelled far afield for work and who's busy telling Toph of his preoccupations with age. He looks good A. mainly because he's as thin as a rake and runs a lot so he's fit. I think he tries too hard but the contrast with the non runners at the table is vast. They're bursting out of their shirts and not turning 50 very well. But he tells Toph that earlier in the evening, 16 year old daugher's 17 year old boyfriend came to collect her and that he, father, had on exaclty the same clothes as teenage boyfriend and surely it's time to look one's age but he's not ready. He likes his Brad Pitt style outide the office. I am positioned on the edge of the male side of the table so I can eavesdrop more. He moves on to feeling a little dejected that now it's dawned on him that he would not be getting a shag from a 25 year old if he tried, or maybe he'd just get one out of pity/sympathy. I'm about to interrupt and say he'd get one out of cash as he's loaded but I stop just in time as his wife is opposite me and there's no reason to offend her.

I personally think it's rude on his part to discuss these kind of things however implausible or hypotetical, when your wife is in earshot. But I also think that I've more in common with his attitude to life than hers, as she plans one last holiday with her daughers alone (no dad) on some seychelles style island. I mean, that's her fantasy, there's nothing to do for a teenager in such a place.

20 March - Toys R Horrid

The mum’s given us a lists of possibilities for son’s 6th b’day. Forty minutes in Toys R Us are enough to fill me with horror. Oh to be a slave to having to buy this shit because otherwise your kid will feel he’s deprived… Of course much as my clothes are made in China and the East so are the toys. Dead cheap to produce Plastic fantastic is everywhere and of course it’s sooooo expensive. Our b’day boy is receiving £50’s worth from grandparents and uncle. Will probably receive the same amount 3 or 4 other times over from other sets of grandparents (divorced so split into another subgroup) and uncles and family friends. The annual earnings of some Ethiopian shepherd no doubt. For what? Every TV programme has toys attached. Of course there are offers and discounts… but then it’s easy for the store to make it all back by selling you wrapping paper at £2.49 for a small amount.

It’s totally cloying and horrid, the way everything is displayed, the huge garden-suitable toys were grotesque, all this horror of primary colours. Probably only John Pawson’s kids have toys in muted white and cream and am sure that’s violating some kiddies human rights but you know, ban pink for girlies, ban Bratz and Barbies and ban Star Wars, Spiderman, Dr Who gear for boys. It’s just too awful to contemplate. I’m all for building kids a stash of gold. I only do jewellery. I know they don’t appreciate it… now. But it will be mighty useful for raising cash for crack in later years.

24 February - Five under Tens

That was fun. Went to visit the god-daughters.. There are 3, all under the age of ten. I had told the parents I’d be up for babysitting on the Saturday night. They were also playing hosts to two of the girls cousins. Also under age ten, I had met the lovely boys before.

In the end my friends did take me up on the offer and went to a family celebration. I thought ‘Heh? Thanks for the huge vote of confidence’ and put any apprehension at the back of my mind. The 4 older ones were watching a DVD in their bedroom after which they were meant to sleep. The little one had sucked on her milk bottle and was happily snoring on the sofa next to me. I settled down to an evening of Sky TV and in between 6 trips up stairs to try and get the kids to finally stop whatever they were doing and sleep, I watched Hot Fuzz, Catch a Fire, and part of something else that I forget. And thank god for that gizmo thing that allows you to rewind a movie as I’d have missed out large chunks with the trips upstairs. In the end what did it was having had the presence of mind not to open the gifts I’d brought when I arrived but having ‘saved’ them. This meant I could use the blackmail card of ‘If you don’t cut it out and sleep NOW, I’ll take the suitcase with the gifts back to London'. That did it, but I felt a pang of guilt about the cousins who I had not catered for. The following day H. was distinctly underwhelmed by the Patty Shelabarger outfits I’d brought her as she’d been expecting TOYS or a fun activity. Ah well, I don’t do toys, and we did the zoo last time and I’m against just going to shopping centres and mum has already done a morning of cutting out coloured paper to make frames to be decorated with assorted ribbons, glitter and other decorations…

All in all I discovered that Nintendos (and the like) are like portable TVs to kids. L. had just got her first one as a reward for doing the 12 x 12 table with not a single mistake, and they were all fighting over it but the boys had a different one and basically, they very much left you alone to concentrate on those. Even the 2 year old had a go as she can switch it on and off and draw squiggles on the pad! Incredible but true or perhaps only incredible to me as I didn’t know that toddlers were so IT advanced. Having said that she can also use a word like ‘enthusiastic’ all of her own accord. Ok, she’s 2 years and 1 month to be precise but surely that’s out of the ordinary? Clearly I had no responsibilities vis a vis homework and food was sorted so I was a kid-lite experience. I’d have an ok time with the cooking/cleaning/sorting out clothes, but less so if I had to invent activities and follow homework. Having dropped by on painful homework sessions a friend of mine had to endure with her totally useless daughter for about 9 years of her life, I just thought… ‘Why struggle, not everyone has to go on to study, let her be a hairdresser… I know you’re a family of millionaires but there’s always an underachieving one no?’

My journey back alone with a book was totally enjoyable and the best. I still think no kids works best for me.

28 January - Prams & Parks

Am staying at a friend in Queen's Park so naturally I go exploring the neighbourhood on a Sunday morning, close to lunchtime. It starts well enough along Harqvist Rd. There are a few parents and a few prams but nothing much, though we remark that they're already more than the number spottend in a week lower down in Portobello. This includes a famous writer who for sure never looks in the mirror before he steps out. Hideous, though BF says one of his books is not bad.
But when we decide to cross the park is where the full horror strikes you. There's cars parking and leaving and disgorging little families of various colours and backgrounds. But inside the actual park it's a riot of prams and toddlers. The cafe' seems out of bounds. Though later on we spot the 'quiet' garden. It says 'no dogs' but that must mean no chilren too surely? There's a youth in there on his mobile phone but he's talking quietly.

When did this happen? When did all this people move here cause they couldn't afford a garden more centrally and have made all these houses upwards of 3/4 mil? I thought mortgages were high and you couldn't have kids but maybe all these were born before the latest money crunch? Good luck feeding them during the downturn in economy.
We cross at speed and decide to check the Farmer's Marked we've heard of. Not my idea but someone is hungry as someone doesn't really do breakfast before leaving the house. Here the suprise is the prams (still, and the papooses or whatever those little harnesses are called) but also the price of farmers things and... the accents. Last time I looked this area was perilously close to things I never planned to visit, like Willesden. And now all these clubby/posh whites are ... everywhere.

I wonder if being a parent means you have pram envy, you know, you go out and other families seem better kitted out than yours or you wonder if they already have secured a place at such and such a school ... But they all look like they have enough left for a skiing holiday and we know a couple here with one child and one on the way and the 1m house already. To make it worse the pubs around here are child friendly and so you know... you can't really read the paper in peace at the Salusbury can you?

I'm moving into Bloomsbury if at all. I hope that's full of fusty, dusty old people and academics and Ukranian refugees from 50 years ago. I really do.

10 November - Missed calls & Tedium

A colleague’s wife’s mobile dials his number. I answer and it’s a missed call sort of thing but am fascinated by what I hear and I listen for nearly 40 mins as she ferries the kids from some after school and there is another woman in the car so the talk is mother to kids and to friend and back. They drive to the pool. She’s very patient and then again her two boys are very well behaved but .. I’d rather slash my wrists than spend my afternoons ferrying kids to and fro their activities and having to be inquisitive and supportive about their schools and their goals and successes…. I notice from his diary that tomorrow the kids have football practice and some visit to the teacher. Oh dear god, thank you… I may have other whinges about life, but having to deal with kids for 15 years of my life would have killed me. I know of course colleague’s wife doesn’t do a stroke of paid work and lives in a huge house in a nice area, but nothing and nothing would compensate for the tedium of checking school work, relationships with their little friends and forced friendships with other mothers. Give me ‘me’ time any day of my life. And why don't I ever come to listen to some intriguing missed call instead? Some political plotting? Some planned heist? Because come to think of it, I also get regular missed calls complete with car and kids conversations from one of my friends in Bristol who takes them to church (would you believe) on Sunday mornings. Thank god it' s not the earliest service is all I can say.

8 November - Dad & Babes

Spend a couple of hours with an ex lover and one of his babies. He’s of the school of ‘the mothers want them, then let them look after them’. I mean, he can deliver them and support them, think he does it more for the boy than for the girl because technically he’s only the sperm donor for the girl. But an entire day with one when he's back in the country from his various pursuits, is … boring, which is why I get the call on the off chance I’m available, (I am) and whilst he’s with me he’s lining up the rest of the afternoon aunties or uncles.

Ella is stunning because she seems otherworldly. I didn’t feel much of a connection when I saw pictures of Connor who’s a sort of angel looking boy of 3, but this one year old is like Samantha Morton in the pool in Minority Report, you can’t look away she’s so mesmerising. All huge blue eyes, dreamy eyelashes and wonderment. She’s very amenable and friendly and not whingeing or whining and has a way to say a little ‘ooooohhh’ regularly as if all things are just a big pleasant world out there. She bops to the music when I walk into shops and touches garments when I lean her over to do so. She does so without grabbing at the fabric and as if she was evaluating the quality. Clearly she’s not mine but she could be. I wonder if she would be this gorgeous if I’d put my half of genes in there, though he clearly input three quarters. Must ask ex lover to show me pics of the mother, though that did not occur to me to ask on the day. I suspect she’s the usual ten years younger than me at least.

Ella is now clad in a new gift I bought her. Blue, to get away from all the pink she’s already saddled with. Minutes earlier dad and I were in a lingerie shop where am trying to encourage him to buy the same frilly knickers for both the women in his life (well two of, there are more) as he still bonks at leas one of them, and then we’re buying kiddie clothes and then we’re in another underwear shop. Not my fault, the little arcade had them to offer. He makes some comments about how lucky my boyfriend is as I buy my own electric blue frilly thong for later (I feel in the mood for colour) and thankfully does not remind me of anything past. Though he’s thinking about it perhaps. Is it possible to be more handsome I think? This man is going seriously gray and losing some hair but the swagger is still there, that’s what did it. Those articles that say that confidence is what gets the girl are true but this is confidence backed by perfect teeth and perfect... lots of other stuff. And it’s so sweet he’s apologising for the not so good leather jacket he’s wearing, says it’s not his. Blimey, I am truly the fashion police to my friends. Have no idea how I’d feel if Toph didn’t exist and was waiting for lunch at home.

Am totally enjoying this little foray into strolling along with big daddy and doll in my arms, though arms are knackered within the hour – silly girl for insisting on carrying doll, he has sling ready to take her. Ex lover tell me he’s fascinated by how different the kids’ mothers are and Ella’s mum is very disorganised compared to Connor’s. Yet she's the lawyer and the other is the designer. I have no idea which one I’d be. Somewhere in the middle I think, organised but relaxed. I hate neurotic mothers, they make their kids a mess.

Anyway, time is up, we’re at the tube station. I suddenly remember that at a recent friend’s 50th, her younger sister, 46, was being congratulated on the bump that contains triplets. Yes, at 46. Way to go. Though surgeon ex lover says highly likely one won’t survive so that will sort out the problem of how to deal with so many. He’s surprised it’s not IVF but when I say it runs in the family and she’s got 3 grown ups already, one at Uni, such fun, he’s less awed.
Three kids, I find it sort of a mad enterprise. Then again, I always did. God I’m looking forward to my coffee and book back at home by the time I wave him and doll goodbye.But I hope to see her again

28 August - Baby girls

An early morning text from Dear John to announce the birth of his baby daughter. Ahhhh, finally the Bun is out and she is given a lovely Latin sounding name. I text back congratulations and then think ‘Should I cry now?’ and I decided I should. A short little tear shedding moment, which gets buried in the BF’s shoulder. I hardly ever wished for a kid (maximum three times over more than twenty years and it was never a strong enough wish to do anything much about it) and am comfortable with that, but a baby is a baby and they receive so much love from everyone around them and more to come and smiles all around, and sometimes you just wish that were you. Freshly born today and with another 80 to 90 years ahead to take you to 2100. It’s always comes down to ‘me me me’ doesn’t it. Sorry about that. but if little new princes G needs me, I’ll be here. DJ you just have to ask.

1 March - Spring & Toilet Training

I was reading someone else’s blog, as you do and yes it is a mistake not to link to any on mine, I find most of the ones I read as links from other people’s blogs, though having said that I lack the loyalty gene and I don’t go checking them again and again very often – I do a splurge printing of all I find that month or in parts of their archives, take it home, read it, make the mental notes ‘Is it better than mine, same level or worse’ and forget. I save some url’s on the computer but then again, don’t check them. I remember some names (CatinRabat for example) but not others. I guess lisataylordiary is not that memorable but haven’t come up with a better title yet. Am always astounded at the pen names kids use in their myspace pages for example. I want them all: no bra, so sick, angelfood, miss murderer, anyway, I could be there all day.

So this woman, blogger in the US, does quite well as she’s a web designer so it all looks great and she uploads daily photos which are pleasing on the eye though for some reason I don’t care about seeing other people’s flats or flowers or pets, but am hard like that. She makes money out of her blog. Love that. Soon you’ll see a paypal box on this and you can donate in multiples of 99p so I can buy music downloads that way. My new thing is trying to barter between my usual purchases and new ones. I’lll only book a riding class if 40 people who read this pay 99p each.
Anyway, she writes well and a lot about her family. She’s a recovering Mormon, v. funny, had first premarital sex at 22 but waited to taste her first cup of coffee at 23... well I think it’s funny!

So, I read a post about toilet training her 3 year old (or failing to do so for various reasons) and the post had over 250 comments. I just couldn’t believe it, so mug that I am I (no kids, no need for toilet training tips), skim read through most. Bewildered that this subject got more comments than, I don’t know, Britney shaving her head. So I don’t know, but thought I’d write about this, put toilet training as a tag and see how many women (they were 99% women) get to my blog that way. Wonder why no men commented. Either they don’t already read her blog or they don’t care about toilet training and therefore search for those words, I can't think that they may have a further kinky meaning (you’d think they do tough... the sooner kiddies get off stinking nappies the better non?) or felt they didn’t want to enter such a fraught arena and believe me, it was fraught, lots of arguing. Kids, who needs them.