22 Mar 2011
by Tamsinin Slightly Insane Tags: Husband, Mommy, Turning 40
So yes. I had one. A midlife crisis. A full on mind blowing, heart bleeding ball of crap. I judged where I was in my life. My home. My weight. The singularity that has become my butt. It was pretty weird and intense.
I can see why people go slightly off the rails and wander off with hot Latino men on motorbikes. Although that seriously is not my cup of tea. The Husband drives me nuts but he is adorable.
I am vile at motorbikes, as my brother will tell you. When he tried to teach me I panicked, forgot where the brakes were and jumped off the bike. Sad, sad, sad.
So those options were out.
The next line of midlife crisising took me down the route of the pneumatic blonde. Yeah. Couple of issues there. Firstly I don’t have a secretary, much less a hot blonde one, and secondly I am not entirely sure that a faintly poor wordsmith is what those types go for. I’d need a BMW in my non-existent garage at the very least.
So it became a journey of thought. I read up about Woman vs. Midlife Crisis. I had meaningful baths. I ate cake. I ate even more cake (I now regret the cake). I shouted at things.
Then I decided to do one thing I have always wanted to do. I decided to get a dragon tattoo.
No. Not like the movie. I am older than her.
Since I was 12 I loved the Anne McCaffrey Pern series. I desperately wanted my own telepathic link with a dragon. I was gutted that they were not real. They transported me as I read, re-read and read them again and again.
I am re-reading them now. Again.
I realised that, at the tender age of 39-going-on-40 I could actually turn off my father’s voice in my head that said, “You will NOT get a tattoo!!” and actually just go and get a tattoo.
So I did. Last Saturday I went into the tattoo parlour and started the outline of my dragon.
Now it took planning. I didn’t just amble down the road and think, “Oooh needles!” and bounce gaily into the tattoo parlour, stripping clothes as I skipped.
Nope. I spent hours searching for the artists who did the cover art. Found the cover that had me mesmerised as a child. Printed it out, and the artist then adapted it for my back. The picture you see above is without a wing on the left, my tattoo has that wing.
It hurt. Ooooh that left shoulder hurt. No idea why it hurt more than the right, but it hurt.
I don’t think it makes me white trash, or weird (ok, it probably makes me weird) or any of the other stupid stereotypes attached to big tattoos. It makes me feel gorgeous and young and fabulous.
Below is the shot of my shoulder being tattooed by the artist. The needle looks very terrifying. Zoinks, as Scooby would say…
Next week I go in for the shading, and then the next week will be the colouring. I will share each stage. There will be no scabby, bleeding, shocking back shots. Ok? I have SOME self esteem. The shot below is a bit red but, hey, it isn’t bleeding or leaking. Look if you dare.
The red at the bottom is from sticky tape. Yeah, he wrapped me in clingfilm…
11 Mar 2011
by Tamsinin Bedraggled Mum, Slightly Insane Tags: Blog, Husband, Mommy, Mother, Tired, Zombie
This is hilarious.
Boy I have been invisible of late. It’s amazing how busy things have been and how quickly I’ve come to neglect poor Saffa. You see, I have just launched another webiste and it has taken up all of my free time. The Canny Crafter is my little baby and it needs lots of TLC. Still massively in development, this site is my dream come true.
You know, one of those things that you think of and think of until one day you go, “If I don’t do this now I am going to have to take my head off and leave it somewhere.”
So off I went and did it. Boy is it scary. Scaaaaaary. I have a massively loud negative internal voice. Actually, if any of you know of a way of switching the bugger off, let me know. The voice says things like, “Rubbish” and “Pah” – a lot. Stupid voice.
I also need to thank (as if this is some kind of insane Oscar speech by a deranged lunatic) The Husband for his patience and help, and The Person for HER patience and help. I have always said that the two of them are like brother and sister from another mother, and the help they have given me (as well as the rolling of eyes) has proven that quite thoroughly.
Why the Invisible Mother? Because I am shattered. My poor offspring is spending a lot of time with a zombie. I even drool slightly. Yesterday I fell asleep on my keyboard. My computer (thanks Windows. Not…) rebooted thanks to updates and while I was waiting for it to restart itself I fell asleep. How sad is that.
So, here’s to your weekend! May it be full and fluffy and lovely. Mine is going to be about a wedding! C and K are getting married (they sound like a designer brand advert, snort) and The Husband and I are their photographers.
Yes, I also think they are NUTS for choosing me, but hey…
We are off to Bath for three days of shooting, bonding, chatting and laughing. And celebrating the marriage of two amazing humans. Wahoo!!!
I promise to update here more often, and to try and be more entertaining. Promise.
21 Feb 2011
by Tamsinin Fascinating Things, Slightly Insane Tags: Fascinating, Hairy, Turning 40
It was while I was in the shower. I was quietly shaving my legs when I realised that Big Foot is not a myth. Big Foot exists.
How do I know this?
Well, it is stunningly obvious when you think about it.
As I get older I get hairier. It’s as if the injustices of wrinkles, sags, creaks, groans and grey are not quite enough for nature. No. She threw another ingredient into the Old Age Pot – hair.
And as I stood there shaving my legs I realised that I had done this exact activity over 1000 times. Here’s the maths (not my strong point) – if I have been shaving my legs since I was 15 that means I have been shaving them for almost 25 years. With 52 weeks in a year, shaving once a week (usually more), that makes 52 x 25 = 1300.
I have shaved my legs an average of 1300 times. That’s excluding extras for dates or under the arms (yes, I shave there. Sorry, am not android).
It was enough for me to down tools, jump out the shower, and run down the street screaming.
And then it hit me…
BIG FOOT! Big Foot is actually a bunch of middle-aged women, probably just past the age of 40, who did exactly that. One day they were standing in the shower when they realised that if they removed another hair ever again, they would kill themselves.
So they got out the shower, flew to the Pacific Northwest region of North America, took off their clothes, put on comfy animal slippers, and buggered off to live in caves.
They probably form a healthy and happy community of women who hiss at the sight of razors, knit happily around the fire of an evening, and occasionally run in front of cameras to entertain themselves.
04 Feb 2011
by Tamsinin Slightly Insane Tags: Cake, Husband, Turning 40
It’s true. You did. And here is why…
You didn’t faint with amazement at the sight of my new haircut.
I am looking at you shop assistant with whom I have casual greeting acquaintance and with whom I exchange pleasantries. I look amazing. You should have said so. Next week I buy my bagel from someone else.
I did a whole 25 minutes on the step machine this morning, someone should have taken one look at me and gone, “I wish I was her.” Nobody did. That is why I am upset.
Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmo – not one editor strolled past me in my hurly burly urban life and asked me to be on the cover of their magazine because (and I quote), “You look fantastic for your age and no, it doesn’t matter that you don’t wear make-up.”
An agent hasn’t read my blog and offered me a book deal.
I discovered a new facial hair. One lonely bugger of a follicle sprouting quietly From A Mole. Like a bloody witch. Husband, yes, you, Husband, why didn’t you tell me? No sex for a month. You upset me with your failure to ensure that I don’t look like someone about hijack a broom.
Most of you are thinner than me. I understand that you don’t understand the art of eating cake but it isn’t that hard. Thin people let my cuddly self down. If we all ate cake then there would be no size zero to compare us to. It upsets me that none of you are noble enough to take responsibility for yourselves.
That is all.
31 Jan 2011
by Tamsinin Slightly Insane Tags: Fail, Husband, Mommy, Work
Last week I…
- Accidentally called one a publishing house that regularly commissions me. While on the toilet.
- Sent an overly familiar email to a commissioning editor that made me sound like buck-toothed, horsey laughing nutjob. Am expecting restraining order in post any day now.
- In Poo Emergency #9986733 my removal of her clothing got aforementioned substance all over toilet, floor, clothes and me. Urgh.
- Replied to an email saying, “Grrrr, now what!” It was supposed to be forwarded. To The Husband. Reply from lady was remarkably restrained. Felt like a total twit.
- Tweeted a very personal opinion on the wrong twitter account.
- Ate too much cake
One is hoping that this week is better and that one’s visa to Abu Dabi comes through in time…
28 Jan 2011
by Tamsinin Slightly Insane Tags: Books, Guilt, Kindle
Let me count the ways…
- Your light, light weight that fits into all my handbags. Oh, joy. No carrying of heavy tomes, just millimetres of technological beauty.
- The books! The books! 200 books are held within your light frame. 200! And you still weigh less than my right thigh. Awesome.
- Your memory is far better than mine. You remember what book I was reading, what page I was on, and you go there with just one click. How happy I was to dance around a bonfire of bookmarks. Those vile things that betrayed me the minute the book pages accidentally slipped open.
- No more horror on the faces of other humans as I carefully folded a page to mark where I was. Sorry, folks, I hate bookmarks and feel no remorse for folding a page.
- I don’t have to stop buying books. I can get books for free. I can have as many as I want because they won’t be cluttering up the lounge. YAY
- The husband is happy because he no longer has to hastily hide my crappy taste in books with his educated and impressive ones. Star Trek Encyclopedias hastily covered up with The Readers Guide to George Orwell. Or something.
- I can read as many books at once as I like. You remember where I was. Bliss
- I can write notes INSIDE you. This avoids the “Bugger, bugger, bugger where DID I put my notebook, shit, bugger,” that inevitably followed previous attempts at taking notes.
- Bye bye Dust Bunny because these dudes collect no dust. The Kindle does, though. Still, you can’t have everything.
- Instant Gratification. This is the big one. Sitting in the bush in South Africa? Have a sudden craving to get a book on Hippos? NO PROBLEM. Whispernet and 3G have it to me in seconds. At a coffee shop with a fellow mum? She mentions a book that you MUST read? Open Kindle, get book. No forgetting the title the moment you get home, then forgetting to ask her every time you next see her, and irritatingly only remembering both at midnight when it is too late to do anything.
The Shame
I love real books. I love them. The way they smell, the way they feel. I ADORE walking into an enormous bookshop with books piled higgledy piggledy across the shelves, where I can get lost in the rows, and every second book is something I need to own.
A morning spent in a bookshop is a morning to treasure. Carefully taking out each book I’ve bought and lovingly re-reading the blurb and carefully choosing which one I am going to start on first, is a pleasure.
So, to compensate for the fact that I have utterly betrayed the medium that has comforted, loved, inspired, excited and transported me, I beat myself with my Kindle cable 12 times before bed.
27 Jan 2011
by Tamsinin Bedraggled Mum, Slightly Insane, The Blob Tags: Cake, Fat, Husband
I am, quite frankly, crap at dieting. I can’t walk past a bakery display without wanting to bury my head in the pecan tarts and go, “Whooobbble whoobble whooobbble“. Seriously.
I am also starting the very first chapter of CMA – Chocolate Mothers Anonymous. To be a member of this club you need to suffer the following symptoms.
- You eat really well during the day. In fact, you approach 6pm with a level of smugness that can only be seen on yoga instruction videos. You are The Master of Your Cravings.
- You collect your kids, you make dinner, you do a rudimentary tidy/dish wash/polish, you listen to The Husband’s day (your husband, not mine), you place your offpsring in bed, you sit down on the sofa and your entire body goes, “OOOFFF”.
- You sit on the sofa/chair/bed for approximately fifteen minutes. Then it starts….
- After twenty five minutes the desire for chocolate has reached the same level as a nagging itch in a place you just can’t reach.
- You prowl the kitchen. Nothing. Your smug shop during your smug day saw no fattening foods enter the trolley. Your house has fruit, nuts, vegetables and healthy snacks.
- You don’t want these but you manage a half-hearted nibble of a piece of fruit. The itch intensifies.
- An hour later you’re back on the sofa with a packet of chocolates, sweets, fudge which you bought from the nearest open shop.
- You may or may not share this packet with your husband.
- You will go out as late as 10pm to satisfy this urge.
So far there doesn’t appear to be a cure for this, ahem, disease but I’ve found that talking about it with other afflicted humans helps a great deal.
We have three members and have achieved nothing more than a level of competitiveness over who went to the shop the latest. 10:45pm is the winner. The winner chooses to remain anonymous.
24 Jan 2011
by Tamsinin Bedraggled Mum, Slightly Insane Tags: Turning 40
T- Minus 6 months and 11 days.
- I have to hold small print (like on prescription bottles) away from me and do that face. You know the one. The expression that looks like you might be having a “special moment” but is actually your “Shit, I can’t read this AT ALL” face.
- I got a hair cut and my entire head was salt and pepper. I dyed it but may go the George Clooney route when the colour grows out. It’s kind of awesome.
- My ass has lost the war with gravity and has formed its own functional orbit.
- I make that “Ooof” sound when I get up from places that are low down – like the floor – and I. Have. No. Control. Over. It. Mortified.
- At about 3pm I get the urge to have a nap.
- I stare in horror at the clothes kids are wearing. And mutter to myself about them growing up too fast. I DID THIS.
- I I look at photographs of myself taken four years ago and think, “I looked so YOUNG back then“. This may well be due to the fact that I am actually considering botox. They are having a special offer down the road and I am seriously pondering taking advantage of it.
- My wattle has a wattle.
- I am bewildered by the crap they call music nowadays. Where is the real music? Everything sounds the same. (I have turned into my parents)
Six months to go. I can’t afford a sports car or a hot blonde secretary. I am not entirely sure what kind of midlife crisis a midlife mother is supposed to have, nor am I particularly worried.
Actually, the only thing that really makes me sigh a little bit inside is the face. The aging face. The rest of it, especially the salt and pepper, is kind of fun.
07 Dec 2010
by Tamsinin Fascinating Things, Slightly Insane Tags: Husband, Squidge, Weddings
I do weddings.
I realised this on Friday when I was at my third wedding this year (still one more to go!) and my second where the only people I knew were my husband and the marrying couple. Two shots of tequila, some champers and a glass of wine and I’m your bona fide entertainment.
I had people stroking my faux fur white coat, laughing at my attempts at walking in my zombie shoes (not easy after a tequila), and my pretending to be a zombie while the DJ played Thriller. No, I am not kidding.
By 31 December this year I would have done Four Weddings. I spent a good two days panicking about the Funeral until I decided that the lice mass grave from Half Term sufficed. Mwaahahahaha. Etc.
The wedding we travelled to on Thursday last week (and the reason I’ve been incommunicado for AGES) was that of The Husband’s best friend ever. The venue was at Hengrave Hall, an incredible and magical place to say the least. Utterly stunning. I can’t recommend it enough.
I drove on frankly terrifying roads to get there on Thursday last week. Actual sliding on ice terrifying. Thank all the heavens that Squidge was safe and sound with Grandma at home.
I am not good at being terrified. This is how it went…
Me: OH MY GOD we are [insert rude word] sliding on the ice! [rude word] [rude word] truck overtaking me! [rude word]
The Husband: It’s ok, baby, just drive slowly and when there is a gap in the middle lane, just drift over. Don’t brake hard.
Me: [rude] stupid do you think I am? OF COURSE I WON’T BRAKE! [rude] [censored]
Five minutes later…
Me: totally sheepish
The Husband: (sad) I was just trying to help…
The wedding…
At a wedding where one lawyer marries another lawyer you are pretty much going to be surrounded by lawyers. It was the SAFEST wedding EVER. Seriously. Although I did allocate a drunken minute to pondering whether I would, as a venue owner, let over 100 lawyers loose on my property. One accident and you’re sued.
The wedding was fantastic with honest, real, live choral music courtesy of the best man, the groom’s brother-in-law and a choral group from Cambridge. The evening was alcoholic, the laywers were utterly brilliant fun and were very kind about the fact that I thought it hilarious to run up to them and go, “Let me guess what YOU do for a living…lawyer, right?” and then collapse in hysterical laughter.
As you can see it is best that I don’t drink on any sort of regular basis. In fact, I only do drinking at weddings. So if you’re on the lookout for someone to entertain your intelligent guests by saying stupid things and wearing strange clothes, please do get in touch.
01 Dec 2010
by Tamsinin Fascinating Things, Slightly Insane Tags: Christmas, Fascinating, Free, Portable North Pole, Squidge
There are some things that I love in this world and one of the biggest things is technology. How I adore it.
I adore the iPad that is currently stuck in the snow on the M25 (not really, pure conjecture, but the thought amuses me), the Kindle that I kiss goodnight every night AND the software that makes it possible to create a message from Santa for Squidge.
This is the best idea EVER. I love it. I heart it. The portable north pole and Santa’s message to your child, completely and utterly personalised. I can’t wait for her to get home so I can show it to her. Giggle. Grin. Chortle. Snigger. Chuckle.
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So yes. I had one. A midlife crisis. A full on mind blowing, heart bleeding ball of crap. I judged where I was in my life. My home. My weight. The singularity that has become my butt. It was pretty weird and intense.
What you said