the horrors of marriage part one

the in-laws

i was always aware of 'in-law' jokes as a child, particularly mother in law jokes. of course, i never understood them or the adult preoccupation with the subject, nor why it was a universally humourous theme among men.

now i'm married, now i understand. the horror of marriage part one is when you realise that you have been catapulted and cut adrift into another family by marrying the love of your life. It's immediately apparent that the in-laws (who probably seemed quite normal in their dysfunctionality before marriage) now expect you to do things their way.

this can range from deferring to the elder female ( the mother in law) in all matters baby or home related to being lectured on the practices of good family relations by people you would not wish to share a cup of tea with.

yes, i am bitter. i like my own family far too much and see them far too little to have to put up with the endless streams of drama and discontent from my in laws.

due to the abundance of mother in law jokes i know i'm not alone in this, but bloody hell the horrors of marriage part one are truly a baptism of fire.

sniffy noses and sore throats, it's the winter cold season once again.

the little thing and i are both suffering from a lingering cold that neither of us can seem to shake off. the doctor's assured me that she'll get over it without a prescription so we will wait to see. the husband comes back tomorrow night after a short working week away. we'll have friday together then off to cambridge for his cousin's wedding on saturday.

i feel dreadful. tired and sick and drained of energy. i'm already curled up in bed with my lap top and a lemsip about to tuck into my latest read, Maharanis by Lucy Moore. it's the most fascinating story about four generations of Indian princesses but it is written in the most random and rambling style.

tomorrow is mum's birthday so i'm taking the parents and the little thing out to lunch at a fabulous restaurant in town. the food is so exquisite that i haven't had the desire to eat at any other restaurant since.

oh god, i wish the husband was here. feeling ill on my own is awful.

why i love waitrose (and the organic veg box)

i've always hated supermarkets. parking, other people, other people's children, the aisle traipsing and trolley rage led the husband and i to ban weekend visits to sainsbury's very early in our marriage.

my alternative is the internet shop. i've tried all the big names and the current love of my life is waitrose. deliveries over £75 are free, so i make sure to spend over that amount every two weeks. the food, booze and nappies is delivered to the door - the fridge door - by a handy (and once a deliciously tattooed) helper.

thus the weekly shop is reduced to clicking on the waitrose website and waiting until the alloted hour with the thrilling prospect of opening my front door to the tattooed one and pointing him to the fridge.

but that's not the last word in my labour saving slummy mummy ways. the second, and slightly more wholesome delivery habit of mine is the organic veg box.

every thursday ( after a few more clicks online) a recyclable brown box filled with weird and wonderful fruit and veg is delivered to the door. in one swift move, any decisions over which veg to buy, what to cook and what to test or try is made for me. of course the choices are seasonal and nothing's imported by air (say goodbye to any thoughts of exotica over the winter months) but the delivery still ticks my box.

as for price, i spend an average of £15 a week on the box scheme. put together with my waitrose bill i'm spending less on food per month than i ever did with my weekly visits to the supermarket. and i'm expending no energy in getting my produce - excellent in slummy mummy term and er, good i think for the environment.

my new dress is a very old dress


we went to my favourite shop in town today to buy a new dress for next weekend's wedding. oh, joy. the forerunner in my handful of try-ons soon became clear. made from a double layer of light silk, it's a shade between royal and midnight blue with a small square cream motif embroidered all over. the style is very 40s, knee length with flared sleeves and a plunging neckline.

something about the material, the print and the hemline got me thinking. i couldn't put my finger on what it reminded me of until i had a thought of what i'd be dressing Baby in on the big day. i had a flashback to a much littler me, probably around the age of 5 years. i'm singing in the school's carol service and wearing an emerald green silk dress that falls to the knee and is embroidered with silver stars.

the dress had been brought back from pakistan by my father who had been visiting his family. in my 5 year old life it was an exotic and beautiful thing, so unusual, so special, so different.

i now know that the trip my father had made was to attend the funeral of one of his cousins. they had been the closest of friends as children, the man had died suddenly leaving a widow and two young children. and i wonder at what point did my father think to choose a certain dress for his daughter back in england.

i remember the creeping feeling that i was to become well acquainted. that despite the fact that i knew the dress was a thing of beauty, it was to act as a marker of difference between my classmates and i as it wasn't normal. it hadn't been bought from a local shop, no-one else had one and it looked slightly 'off' compared to the other girls' machine made party dresses.

my heart breaks for the little me in my green dress singing carols that neither of my parents had ever heard before. the sense of awkward self awareness that i was not quite like everyone else in the class has vanished now that i have become a mum. somehow it's not important to me anymore. my only concern is to make the right choice in educating my daughter so as to make it clear to her that dresses, people and cultures come in many different colours, all of equal beauty.

today it's fabulous friday.

the little thing's at nursery until lunchtime, the husband's coming back tonight after a working week away and I have a beauty therapist arriving at 11 to give me a pedicure and facial. I'm sitting here eating peanut butter on toast, listening to Xfm and thinking that it's a perfectly slummy moment to update the blog.

the grass is frosted with an icy edge and the trees are finally shedding their leaves having held onto them for so long. We're going to a wedding next weekend and the sudden change in weather has nixed my autumn outfit plans. I'll have to buy something new. That's ok as we're somehow a lot richer this week than we were last week - all to do with us both working freelance. But I'm reluctant to spend the money as I'm DREADING the wedding. It's the husband's side of the family, international clique that they are. However, some traditions surpass all boundaries and I'm expecting that unbeatable British wedding cocktail of too much drink, horrid food, hideous occasion wear and of course, a fight.

Now, put it like that and I'm quite looking forward to it.

let me introduce myself

I had my baby 11 months ago. Since then I've done extensive research and field practice into the role of the modern mum. I'm married, live in a gorgeous town in the South of England and work as a freelance journalist having given up my full time job.

Frankly, I have it all - or all that I'm interested in having - but I never felt that the 'YummyMummy' badge quite fitted. I felt cheated, felt that I was missing out. And then, I found a gang of my own. The Slummies.

I have designed a quick test to see if you too can join us. Simply answer 'Yes' to one or more of the statements below.

- I love my baby more than life itself but swear not to bore others with the details

- Some of the worst words in the world are 'childbirth', 'breastfeeding' and 'when can we start having sex again'.

- I would spend 5 spare morning minutes putting on make up rather than having breakfast

- I will never, ever go to a supermarket as long as Ocado deliveries exist

I do hope you've joined me. Welcome to the world of the Slummy.