Milk Retrospective: According to Karren Brady you can have it all

I thought it was time for another Milk Retrospective because i have bugger all new ideas i was really concerned some of my later readers might have missed some early gems.

This post came early on in Milk’s career at a time when i was, shall we say, just a little obssessed with the question of whether women could have it all. Angry – for feeling a bit let down by all those people who’d told me i could and would be able to, amazed at how other women seemed to be doing it, resigned – to giving up a career i’d worked hard for but was unprepared to make the sacrifices for.

Now, having gone back to work on a contract part time doing what i love, i have to admit it’s maybe not all the doom and gloom my early Milk self wanted to believe. My hopes are up (just a bit) and i’m experimenting. I’ll let you know what i find.

In the meantime, enjoy.

As if answering my post Having it all Karren Brady was interviewed in yesterdays Daily Express stating defiantly “My goal is to have it all” with a photo of her looking more than a wee bit smug. I read on hoping to be enlightened. Just how did one of the UK’s most successful business women (MD of Birmingham City Football Club at 23) manage to find a life balance between her high pressured career, and raising 2 kids (now 13 and 11)?

She talks passionately about wanting girls to believe they can do anything they want “brain surgeon, engineer, scientist” clearly believing, no doubt through experience, that women can succeed even in the most male dominated industries. Acknowledging that she has a “hectic family life” she goes on to boast that she “doesn’t have any full time help”. I am impressed.

Apparently the key, according to Karren, is to share the childcare with her husband (also a football manager) and to work as a team. Hmmm, no real insight here. I read on, hoping for some tangeable hints and tips on how she actually makes it work. However, this is where the cracks begin to show. She advises the reader that it takes sheer hard work to get to the top and sacrifices along the way like missing swanky nights out (ok could deal with that, not much of a party animal anyway), .. all the christmases …., the holidays, the….”. Hold on, did she say christmases? I can’t imagine missing one christmas day with the kids, let alone plural.

And so the truth comes out. In the end, it is still all about making choices. Work or kids. And as Karren finally admits: “If you choose work you can’t sleep at night, because you feel bad you’ve not been there for your kids”. Sounds like she’s got a lot of experience in that department. Thanks Karren for finally coming clean.

It seems even Karren Brady doesn’t have any real answers. You might be able to “do” it all, but that is still a far cry from “having it all”. I suppose, in fairness, Karren Brady did just say her “goal” was to have it all. She never said she’d succeeded. I stand by my original post.

Click here for article in full

Naughty Milk

I was having a conversation with @seasparkle_x the other night discussing, with some shame, how Aiden from X-Factor was really quite cute. Obviously the subject of age came up. I’m 33, so i was hoping to find out he was somewhere in his early to mid 20s. That seemed reasonable. Just about.

In fact he’s 18. I’m a little shocked. Shocked i’d feel even slightly attracted to someone who could be my son. Admittedly i’d have to have started pretty early (15) but feasible still.

This has come a week after admitting, on Facebook (why do i do it?) to a secret crush on Zac Effron from High School Musical fame, except i felt the need to elaborate that i no longer fancied him because “he looks a bit old now”.

When i say fancy, i don’t mean in any kind of sexual way (i never think of anyone else besides Mr Milk in that way of course). It’s like i’m 18 again with a silly teenage crush. I’m looking at this boy and i’m fantasising about how i know i would have felt at 15. Lamenting my lost youth. So i’m more saddo than cradle snatcher really.

But it’s got me to thinking, are our preferences programmed to mature as we get older? Is the natural order of things for us to fancy pre-pubescent boys before we are ourselves “awakened”, lust after 20-somethings as young adults, secretly fancy a bit on the side with greying Malcolm from Accounts, and will we find Percy a bit of a Jack-the-Lad when he’s flirting with us from across the room in the nursing home? By considering a youngster even slightly attractive, am i deviating from the norm? Going against nature?

Looking around at my friends and their husbands, tastes have definitely changed as we’ve aged. Many of the men are now hirsute and dressing more and more like Mr McGregor, my physics teacher from high school. In fact, what i would have put down to really sad taste in clothes in my teens (corduroy, brown leather shoes) i’m looking at now in wonderment at the particular nuances of offbeat fashion. And i know from the total lack of street walking attention that i’m no longer a 20-something’s object of lust, though i would hope on occassion to still being my husband’s.

But deviation from the norm obviously does happen. Boy marries mother’s friend. 18-yr old girl falls in love with 50 yr-old man. It’s not common of course. But is that because our tastes usually conform, or because we’d be too embarrassed to admit to an irresponsible crush?

If it’s the latter, am i resigned to a life of hiding my amorousness from my son’s friends? Luckily, these moments of irresponsible fantasy are rare and shortlived, I’m really pretty certain i’ll never find spotty Darren from scout camp an absolute dish, and i do have to admit to finding maturing Mr Milk much more attractive than the drunken student one.

So i think i’m safe, for now. I just better watch out for those mid-life hormonal changes. I’ve heard they can do all sorts.

When i grew up we had no shoes

My husband and I are forever arguing about our relative gentility. He says I’m upper class to his working class; his sole argument? Occupation. My father was a management consultant and his father was/is a skilled tradesman. I say this point of view is laughingly outdated and that it’s now all to do with values. Society is less rigidly structured, there is more social mobility, more communication and sharing of ideas and attitudes. We are both middle class because we, and our families, all have middle class values. (Whatever those are, something to do with liberalism with a dash of “we don’t believe in private education, but would send our kids to private school if we really really had to”).

So i’m forever regaling him with stories of my father being brought up in the east end singing songs around the piano, or the times we cooked on a table top camping stove when we first moved into our family house, or that when we first lived there Balham had prostitutes on every street corner, and all the pubs were filled solely with the giro-happy.

And it’s not just us. Everyone’s at it. “We were so poor when i was growing up my mother struggled to put meals on the table.” “I never got any clothes of my own it was always hand-me-downs”. “We had to share one pair of shoes around the 6 of us”. I’ve heard radio presenters doing it. Politicians even.

I’m not talking about people that have really struggled, been born with little or found themselves in difficult situations. I’m talking about clearly middle class people trying to make out they were born with short trousers and a dirty face. Using vastly exaggerated stories of struggle as a kind of social points scoring.

I’ve no doubt it’s the circles i move in. Bloody middle class liberals. We want to be seen as totally “getting” other cultures, races, classes. Not so posh we’re out of touch. I’m sure that if i was born a little further up the social rung, went to Exeter and shared a detached cottage with 5 of my sloaney mates and a chihuahua called Your Majesty we WOULD be competing for whose silver spoon was more polished.

But i didn’t (thank the lord) Now, where did i put those shoes? I dare say old chap, i do believe it’s my day to wear them.

Get back to work Milk!

I got a message while i was living the highlife at Haven from an old friend of mine i used to work with in my Manchester/Liverpool days. He needed someone to help him deliver a marketing project for 3-4 months and he thought i’d be ideal.

Ego – kerching!

So there i was muddling along quite happily, having dealt with some of my own demons over the past year or so, and finally settling down into the life of a SAHM. I’d pretty much resigned myself to the fact i would probably be doing it until the littlest was at school, and i was okay with it. Sort of. Then i got the phonecall, and i saw the job description and these butterflies starting fluttering around in my stomach that i thought had long dissipated. A part of me that had been hibernating for a few years, initially subdued by force, seemingly lounging in acquiescent slumber. I realised that maybe my career drive hadn’t quite left me, temporarily or otherwise.

I was immediately up for it. More than that actually. I felt a sudden selfish urge. Sod the kids. How was i going to make this happen?

Ok so my motherly instincts did kick back in at some point, and i starting weighing everything up and working things through sensibly. And luckily i was able to make sense of it all and put the relevant plans into place.

So i start this week. Exciting. Coffee breaks and heels, what more could a woman want?

And i never knew its appeal until an opportunity came and smacked me in the face.

Now i’ve just got to work on the husband. He’s got off scot free on the homemaker front these past few years. I’ll have to get his marigolds back out and clean his pinnie. The nice one with the breasts on it.

We’re going back to the interesting and befuzzled division of roles of the modern-day world for a bit. Wish me luck!

Remember your obligations woman!

First, read this:

Tough life for stay at home mums?

I’d love to throw this woman to a lion’s den full of us blogging mothers and see how she got on for just a minute. As if filling the dishwasher was the hardest thing we encounter on a daily basis.

BUT, if you can, pick your jaw off the floor for a minute and try and see past the misogynistic and deeply patronising undertones in this article. If you can do that (and it will take some doing) she does raise a very interesting question that i think is worthy of some discussion.

Now come on we’re adults here, stop calling Ms Schlessinger a *tch for just one second and listen.

If you know a bit about me you’ll know i’ve been pretty hacked off recently at realising that I couldn’t have it all. Or at least i wasn’t prepared for all the sacrifices i’d need to make to get there. I do feel a bit that women have shot themselves in the foot . Not that women shouldn’t have all the rights and opportunies that men have, but that so much is now expected of women. To pursue their own ambition and achieve professional success, whilst still (in most instances) raising a family and submitting to that huge responsibility. We’re not HAVING it all, we’re just DOING it all.

And of course, this expectation and drive comes from nowhere stronger than within. The critical voice saying that we must do it all, have it all, or we risk sullying the name of those that went before us and fought for our freedom.

We’re raised to believe, as women, that we can do anything, achieve anything if we shout loud enough and are single minded enough to compete against the men. Only to find ourselves later struggling to over-ride the urge for self fulfillment, to downplay our own needs and wants when a child is born. Are these two drivers, one selfish, the other selfless, ultimately in conflict?

And so, returning to the lovely Ms Schlessinger for a minute do we just expect too much nowadays? Are we too selfish in our pursuits? Have we become all about the having rather than the doing?

People will say rightly so. But returning to me just for a second (yeay my favourite subject) this having/being/wanting over doing hasn’t made me very happy has it? I wanted a successful career, a happy family and it’s smarted a bit that i couldn’t have it all. And actually, in some small way my life has been simpler, less stressful, calmer since i embraced my SAHM status and stopped rallying against the responsibility that i sometimes feel is suffocating the selfish me.

So should we just get on with it and stop moaning? Put our children first without questioning where that leave s us?

Now we’ve pondered that for a bit, good. You take her arms and I’ll take her legs. You in the corner, get those pooey nappies ready for hurling. Right. One. Two. Three….

Which supplement are you?

I’ve always said you can tell a lot about where someone’s at in their life by the parts of Saturday’s Guardian they read (extrapolate out for other newspapers if you must).

No prizes for guessing that i currently identify with the family section most, though more recently the Gardening section has made a surprising new entry into favourite Milk reading material. A few years ago i was more Work and Money (when i worked and earnt money of course). Before that, in my twenties, The Guide. Actually i like to pretend i still am The Guide, hip and current, down with the latest music, drinking and cultural establishments. Truth is i skim to the back to read the interview with this week’s cultured celebrity. I may not go out anymore, but I can still spot a mainstream celebrity at least.

Very occasionally, if Wimbledon or the Olympics are on, Sport might get a second glance. And i suspect when the kids start school i’ll be browsing travel for holiday ideas (hopefully by that point i’ll be back and earning so i’m not obliged to purchase “The Daily Mirror – you’re no mirror to MY soul” for their Haven 2 for 1 vouchers) .

At some point in the future maybe i’ll be able to concentrate for long enough to read The Review, though i can’t quite see the day myself. But if I get to Motoring or the curious new “New York Times” supplement before i’m retired, give me a good kick up the bum and thrust a copy of Dazed magazine into my hands quick.

From j to l

I’m having another identity crisis.

No, this time it’s not about my status as stay-at-home mum.  This time it’s physical. I’m having to readjust to a significant bodily change.

I have small breasts.

It may sound extreme, but i’ve always been defined by my ample bosoms. It was part of how i saw myself. How others saw me. From the tender onset of puberty. 17 long years of heavy weight scaffolding.

You spend your teenage years learning to accept what nature has given you. I  looked at other girls with smaller bosoms with envy as they paraded around in teeny tops without bras, while they stared jealously at my ample cleavage.  Typical teenage grass is greener syndrome.

You learn to dress appropriately.   What to avoid.  High neck tops disastrous. Push up bras humourously cartoonish. Tops with cups ridiculous lest they finish at the nipple.  What to seek out. Bikinis sold as separates, and tied so tight they leave painful gauges on your shoulders. Sports bras to prevent earthquakes (in my case two worn together).

So by my twenties i pretty much knew what i was doing.

And now it’s all changed.

Okay so the change is not just volume (of course not, i’ve had 2 children), but if you have the filling it’s amazing what the right packaging can do.  No bubble wrap and you’re pretty much stuffed.

The other day i wore a maxi dress. I was absolutely delighted because for the first time since i was 16 i was able to wear a strapless bra and not have breasts like the letter J.

Delighted that was until i bent over in front of the mirror.

Nothing. Except a subtle bulge of bra padding.

Absolutely no cleavage. I looked like a pre-op transexual. A pre-op transexual with a nice strapless bra on mind. But pre-op nonetheless.

Now shapeless in nature, my profile is dictated only by the shape of my bra, sometimes with odd results.

Can someone tell me why that extra baby weight snuggled so happily on my tummy couldn’t have found its way onto my bosoms?

Stay at home barbie

I used to think that stay-at-home-mums were a specific breed and that i was of an entirely different pedigree.

Stay-at-home-mums could never have been interested in a career, or ever been good enough at it. Were more interested in craft and baking, tea parties, discussing all over body tans and whether Camilla was old enough for a pony.

Stay-at-home mums liked to chat. About nothing. Endless chitchat. Gossiping. Complaining. Showing off.

They spent all their time on the phone, or shouting at their kids to get down from the sideboard.

They had certainly never been to University (otherwise they’d have wanted that career, surely).

They were either the earth mother type, all floury and flowery, or had married into money (or more of it).

And then (so unlikely i had thought) i became one.

And realised that being a stay-at-home mum is a circumstance not a disposition.

Stay-at-home mums come in all shapes and sizes. Have different stories. Different motivations and expectations.

I have met an ex lawyer, a head teacher, a secretary, a doctor, a hairdresser. All taking a career break to look after their young children. Feminists, community activists, triathletes. All just trying to make it work. Unified by luck or brevity for choosing this path.

It seems Breadwinner Ken will have to go back on the shelf next to my copy of The easy way to overcoming prejudice.

Who are you again?

This post is inspired by Megdoan.

Noone knows, or even asks my name anymore. I am “so and so’s mummy”.

To be fair, i am the same. I have become an expert at avoiding the need to address anyone by name, and can manage hours of conversation without it.

If i’m out with the buggy people wave and say hello, sometimes stop to talk. If i venture out alone, noone recognises me. I am not wearing my “so and so’s mummy” badge.

When i bump into people at the park and start chatting, it’s only because their son has recognised my son, and it seems rude not to pass a few pleasantries.

I have never before known the name of the postman, or had so much to discuss with the man who delivers my shopping.

When we visit friends they sometimes ask whether my sons would like to stay for tea. Starving, i must wait until i get home. By then i am too busy.

I find this very similar to the situation at kids parties. There is never food for the adults. And the dancing is almost always exclusively for the children too. I wouldn’t mind except it’s the nearest i’ve come to a party for nearly 5 years.

My social life begins at 9 and ends at 5, and is dictated by who my sons like. It’s amazing how much conversation you can manage when you only have children in common.

I regularly get mail addressed to “The guardians of X”. The only mail i get for myself is bills. Otherwise they are addressed to the “householder”. Do the postal service not know my name anymore either?

It seems that, for a large part of the day at least, i have become invisible. Lost my identity. My needs, likes and dislikes no longer factored in.

At least when i worked i was Henrietta for a few hours a day. I miss that.

Being a stay at home mum can be lonely. It has taken me a good long while to start to feel like somebody again.

But then again, that’s a whole new post.

Are all bloggers egotists?

When i started writing this blog my husband kept saying to me “You’re doing it for yourself, why are you checking the stats?”.

For some reason i felt silly. Guilty even. Was i really just doing this for myself?

I starting blogging as a kind of therapy. Finding a voice again after feeling like i’d lost my identity making the transition from career girl to stay at home mum.

But does anyone really, ultimately blog for themselves? If it was all just about the writing, why blog at all? Why not keep a personal diary?

Writing is, in itself, a fairly narcissistic pastime. You have to believe you’ve got something to say, something that someone out there might be interested in reading. You’ve got to think that when you read your posts back to yourself that they sound pretty cool / funny / smart. Otherwise why would you publish them?

It’s a bit like facebook. Facebook polarises people. Either you do, or you wouldn’t be seen dead. The heaviest users of facebook are also the most self-absorbed. You know the ones. Post 50 updates a day all about what they’re doing, how they’re feeling, why you should laugh with them / cry with them / love them.

I count myself as a moderate facebook user. I definitely get a twinge of satisfaction when people respond positively to my comments. Pressing the “like” button feels like someone is saying they like me, not just what i’ve said. It affects my sense of self worth. Polishes my ego a bit. Sad, but true.

So there you go. I might tell you i write because i enjoy it. I might declare a love for the english language, the cute metaphor. And part of that is true. But the real truth is, mostly i blog so that people will be amused by me, admire my wit and intelligence, think i’m pretty cool.

And quite frankly, noone can tell me otherwise. It’s my blog after all. Right?!