Almost officially unemployed

Tuesday's email from the MD

Subject: Update
While discussions to secure the business are being finalised we regret that the payroll is not going to be administered tomorrow. Matters are coming to a conclusion and there will be a further update by Friday at the latest.

Yesterday evening there was an article in Retail Week saying the administrators had been appointed, so it's fairly obvious what the 'further update' is going to be. I expect I'll be officially unemployed soon, get my P45 and hopefully get some closure.

I've been going through a cycle of emotions about losing my job and what the future might hold but throughout the last month I've made a conscious effort to stay positive. I've hovered somewhere between stoical, sanguine and resigned to it all, but recently I've been giving in to frustration and anger.

I feel angry towards the people who employed me. It goes without saying this is probably unfair. I know that we're all victims of the Icelandic bank collapse - ultimately the lack of funding from our Scandinavian investors is what tipped us over the edge. And I also know our company directors have lost more than just their jobs. And I know they've been working very hard in extremely stressful situations. And finally, I like them as people. At least, I think I do.

But I'm angry nevertheless.

When I was being interviewed we were going to have a new website and open 40 stores. A few months down the line and we couldn't even afford milk for tea. The impersonal nature of the MD's email is what set me off. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry guys, I know you've been holding out to see if we've pulled together a rescue package and whether you can get paid this month but unfortunately it's not going to happen. I'm not able to tell you details right now about what the future of the business might be but expect a more detailed update before the end of the week.'

Fuck it. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry.'

Annual Michelin Star Pilgrimage

Every year, once a year, the bf and I pledge to visit a Michelin-starred establishment so we can pig out on some world class grub and reminisce about life BC. For once, the credit crunch worked in our favour. Bf needed to use up holiday so took some impromptu time off, I'm at home being unemployed and since we're in the middle of a recession, we had no problem getting a booking. This year it was the turn of Maze, part of the Gordon Ramsay empire. It didn't disappoint. Nothing disappointed. The whole experience was sublime.

En route to the resto we also saw some seriously cool Blue Plaque type activity. I love Blue Plaques. I love the way you just stumble across them whilst going about your daily business. They have this way of shouting "Oi, you! Whatever important thing you think you need to be doing right now just stop, pause and remember that at this very place something way bigger than you and your tiny life happened: a piece of History was being made."

We've also used the time together to visit Hatton Garden to do some engagement ring research (via Smiths of Smithfield of course) and also see Slumdog Millionaire. It was a stunning film. And powerful. And emotional. And funny. And tense. OMG was it tense. I bawled the whole way through and I was still very shaky at the end. And in the car home. In fact, it took me a good couple of hours to recover. Very rarely does a movie affect you that much - emotionally and physically. I hope it creams the Oscars. An absolute must see.

What with lots of outings and getting engaged and luxury birthday earlier this month, it's been a very decadent start to the new year for unemployed, credit crunch babymomma.

Found the catch with Montelukast the wonder drug

Something's up with Jambeans. She's basically had 2 modes all weekend - either outright anger, or teary moany barely audible wimpers. It started with the big crying fuss at Sophie's birthday party over the balloon (my balloon, my balloon, MY BALLOON... waaaah and so on. Obviously, it was so not her balloon) after which she wailed, in the middle of lunch, at top volume "Want to go home. Want to GO HOME! Sob. Want. sob. Hooome." And she's been a total handful since then.

I know this sounds like typical toddler behaviour, and that's definitely an explanation, but Jasmine is what one would describe as a 'good kid'. She certainly has her diva moments, but they're infrequent and easily manageable. Bf and I are quite relaxed parents, but Jasmine hasn't really given us reason to be more disciplinarian either. Then suddenly, this weekend, a switch flicks inside and she's good to qualify us for Supernanny.

We think it could be the Montelukast - Jasmine's been on it for the last 5 days - and some of the side effects include tiredness, restlessness, agitation, aggressive behaviour and irritability. So we've taken her off and will see if we get our lovely daughter back or whether the Jekyll and Hyde monster is here to stay.

Top Trumps: Being a Girl vs. History in the making

Thank heaven for Sky+. Obama started his inaugural address about 2 minutes after I dashed out of the house to pick up the kids, so yet another Peppa Pig re-run took precedence over history in the making, but I was able to witness it with the bf later.

And was blown away. Normally I'm a bit of a cynical old bird. My admittedly liberal standpoint tends to hover somewhere around the belief that history is cyclical and nothing ever really changes on a grand scale; therefore we should always be prepared to be let down by global leaders and big businesses as they will always act out of self interest by necessity. This is balanced by a personal resolution to try and make a whole bunch of small differences every day - to our lives, and those of our family, neighbours, community and friends, because that's where our individual choice, responsibility and power really lies.

But maybe because of his eloquence. Or the freshness of someone new. Or maybe because we all need a bit of hope to get through bleak times. But I let myself get caught up in the whole refreshing spirit of it and welcome the new Obama era. Particularly his commitment to 'restoring science to its rightful place and wield technology's wonders,' his belief in restoring people's dignity, and the call to responsibility - 'the price and promise of citizenship.'

But then, today, my buddy Alex and I revealed our true colours on Facebook, demonstrating that in the top trump contest between "Being a Girl" and "History in the Making", "Being a Girl" totally wins:

My buddy Alexandra: (Greece) wrote at 3:13pm 20/01
Obama, come over Greece for a while. Beautiful beaches, feta, tzatziki, souvlaki, malaka, syrtaki.

Babymomma: wrote at 3:04pm 21/01
does it make us look too superficial to admit that Obama's more than a bit attractive? obviously there's the whole 'men in power' thing going on, but does it take away from the fact we are intelligent, thinking women who are still able to objectively participate in and comment on the processes of democracy whilst fancying the leading players at the same time?

My buddy Alexandra:(Greece) wrote at 3:13pm 21/01
Τotally agree. Dont think it is superficial, I think it is crucial. Also I would seriously argue that Obama not only is attractive, he is hot. H-O-T. But I guess he knows that. Unfortunately for us, Michelle also does...

Babymomma wrote at 3:19pm 21/01
you see, I have to be careful what I say here because my husband-to-be could easily read this. but i do agree with you on the H-O-T front.

(with apologies to the boyfried... I don't really think he's hot. He's definitely not as hot as you.)

Separation Anxiety - the conclusion, we hope

After 1 night of sleep training (go in, lights off, no eye contact, lay him down, soothing talk, hand on tummy, leave asap, wait 10 mins, repeat ad nauseam) Felix has been going to bed and sleeping through. I was wrong about marine boot camp, it was more at the Kids from Fame end of the scale.

In which babymomma reminds everyone what the rules of engagement are

Rules of engagement:

1/ Don't leave it so late that I will be too old, fat and wrinkly and will look crap in the wedding photos.

If you leave it too late I will know you never planned it properly, ran out of time and popped the question at the 11th hour. In this scenario, the answer will be a firm no.

If you need more help in working this one out: getting married at 40 is way way way way way way too late for me to look good in photos, so deduct a good couple of years from that to work out when the latest you can propose is, and make sure you propose A LONG TIME before that.

2/ Don't go on bended knee.

3/ Don't buy me a ring. I'd like to have input.

That's it.

And he followed them perfectly. Mainly by not planning it in the slightest, but just seizing the moment when it came.

Lucky me.

In which bf follows the rules of engagement superbly

4th Jan 09

Last stop on the luxury birthday tour was Stonehenge.

Stonehenge. Sigh. Stonehenge on a crisp Winter's day. Deep Sigh.

Simply my favourite place in England.

Which makes it all the more fitting that bf proposed to me at Stonehenge.

It was very sudden, very short, very sweet and went something like this:

B: (carrying Jasmine, who is wriggling) Girlfried?

G: (a bit distracted. jiggles Felix up and down in the bub carrier) Yes?

slight pause

B: (with meaning) Girlfried. Will you marry me?

micro pause

G: (agog) Boyfried. (places hand on boyfried's arm) Are you seriously asking me to marry you?

Boyfried nods

G: (realisation dawns - this is one of those moments I'm going to remember for the rest of my life so I blurt out:) Of course I will. Of course I will.

Smiles. Kisses. Big family hug. Girlfried blubs copiously.

And the photo story goes something like this:

It was sub-zero so I put my cashmere gloves on Felix' feet to keep his tootsies warm. It looked so wrong. Like a mutant chicken. People would look and burst into hysterics. I had to take the gloves off in the end it got too much, so thankfully, Felix the mutant chicken-boy was not present when bf proposed, but Felix the gorgeous boy-bub witnessed it instead.

My engagement day. Jasmine still steals the show by looking cute. Typical.

Big grins, plus a pouty look from Jambeans.
Spot the almost honest woman on the right.

Haircut time again

Aren't they just heart-meltingly adorable?

Recruitment consultant

Today I went and sold myself to a recruitment consultant. I think I came across OK. She was very helpful - gave me a few tips on my CV, knew her stuff (so many don't). But the marketplace is very quiet out there...

Separation Anxiety - further developments

Felix had been alternating the night time screamfests but then we had 3 in a row - lasting for over 3 hours each. Horrendous. The parents of super-compliant-sleep-anywhere-sleep-anytime kids will just never, never ever understand what we're going through on a nightly basis. I keep harking back in desperation to the pre-bragging days when he would pop down like a dream. That was only a few weeks ago. I'm going to be a zombie wreck by the end of this week if it continues.

It's clear that whatever tactics bf and I have been using have failed to achieve anything. The idea is to (a) get him to calm down (b) get him to shut the eff up (c) reassure him his parents are still there (d) but not get him dependent on our presence, cuddles or physical contact for any of the above. After about 3 hours of trying to settle him my resolve breaks and I normally give in and cuddle or co-sleep.

So we came up with a plan yesterday - consulted all the books yadda yadda - and it basically means sleep training again, though this time it's going to be much, much tougher. Marine boot camp tough, as opposed to kids from Fame.

Luxury birthday part 3 - that walk

Our walk was memorable for all the wrong reasons. We found ourselves on a ridge in the middle of nowhere, on the most perfect sunny, frosty, cloudless Winter's day, as Jasmine and Felix both screamed their heads off, at such volume I thought my brain would burst. True to form, Jasmine refused to walk and was wriggling for Britain - wouldn't go on shoulders properly, wouldn't do piggy back properly - so I ended up carrying her in my arms whilst bf wrestled with the 'instructions' (our luxury accommodation being too tight or stupid or both to provide us with an actual map which found us relying instead on 4 sides of typed A4 rich in mundane content about local history but somewhat lacking in useful information to tell us where to turn) TTOS (the rucksack containing the 'Ten Tonnes Of Shit' you need to carry around with you, went up to 'Twenty' after Felix was born) and Felix (still screaming).

On we ploughed - tension knots already well and truly formed, now warping and twisting further - totally incapable of enjoying the perfect weather and on the brink of a furious argument. We just looked at each other and thankfully both burst out laughing. The kids screamed on. Trying anything and everything, we found some manky kiddy crisps in the TTOS - popped one in Jasmine's mouth and suddenly she just stopped. Popped one in Felix' mouth and suddenly he fell asleep.

Utter calm descended, the tension ebbed away. Felix slept and we fed Jasmine crisps all the way home. Enjoyable walk after all.

Two words spring to mind: 'jail' and 'bait'

Jambeans and daddy - before the walk

Squealycops - also before the walk - little did we know what they had planned for us

What could be more perfect?

Felix equals his record

Five poos today. Oh yes that's FIVE whole poos. What a lot of shit to clean up.

Schizophrenic blog

Recently this bog has become a lot more schizophrenic in nature. One minute I'm fretting about the recession and unemployment, the next I'm cooing over Felix and delighting in Jasmine's language development. It feels like I'm two different people. The blog is reserved for the yummmy/slummy mummy in me - that's why I started it. But I really do need to "talk" about what happened at work - I'm going through such a mix of emotions - so writing it down will help. Catharsis and all that.

Maybe.

I've always set my personal rule never to divulge who I work for, or reveal details about work that could compromise either myself, my colleagues, or the company that employs me. I'd find it difficult to post anything on the death of my company without naming names...

So we'll see.

Luxury birthday part 2 - the bathroom

Our luxury birthday bathroom at Bishopstrow was simply amazing. It was HUGE. The bubs loved it and literally spent hours in there. I kid you not - we couldn't have asked for a better play room. It had wastepaper baskets to play with and window ledges for cruising and a wide step for clambering and an enormous shower for hiding in and rubber ducks to chew and baskets full of toilet paper to unravel and a gigantic bath to play in with a telly. Even bf was in seventh heaven and spent a couple of nights having a soak and avidly watching the darts (yes - the darts) simply "because he could".

Some language firsts

This morning Jasmine burst into the dining room and panted "We're going to soft play... lay-ter." Then squealed "I'll wear my new red coat..." and concluded "be-cause it's cold."
We've never heard her substantiate before - it's amazing.

Later on, in the car, at exactly 9.31 on 10th January 2009 she asked for the first time:
"Are we nearly there?"

getting on with it

so, we may not be officially in administration yet ('notice to appoint' period expires today we think - as yet unknown if we get an extension) but i'm happy to report that i've updated my cv and have started to send it out to colleagues, contacts and recruitment consultants.

once that's done... the anguish begins. and the reality will hit of just how bad this recession is.

twitter moment

right now I am contemplating the stickiness of Felix' poo, reminiscing about life BC and feebly pushing the thought of chocolate biscuits out of my mind.

Housewife malfunction

Oh bloody hell our tartrazine dusters are still wreaking havoc. All of Felix' bibs have come out putrid yellow. If this were a professional task I wouldn't have made this mistake - further proof I am simply not cut out to be a housewife.

Luxury birthday part 1 - the injustice

Our much-needed, long-anticipated, 35th birthday luxury jaunt to Bishopstrow House started with my head down the toilet bowl puking my guts up with food poisoning. Cursing our shitty luck, and after a terse argument about inadequate travel insurance I retreated to bed and the discomfort of my aching limbs, wondering if I was going to die, whilst the others sat tight (inasmuch as a toddler and a baby know how to do that) and waited to see whether we would have to cancel, lose our mini holiday and still have to pay for it, or whether we should risk it and go. After a vomit- and diarrhoea-free couple of hours we threw some bags together and got in the car. Felix screamed at full volume for roughly half the journey down so we arrived in pissy, stressy and achey mood, turned the corner and were immediately struck by the breathtaking stature of our country manor - home for the next two nights.

New Year

I'm not big on New Year celebrations. I've had a couple of most excellent ones, but the remainder are too full of memories of feeling single but hopeful, then single but hopefully drunk, then single and lonely, then single and desperate and so on. Now I don't drink and have not-one-but-two-adorable-but-pain-in-the-arse-children who get up religiously at 6am I just can't see the point in joining the freezing cold masses in a giant piss up. I'd never stay awake long enough and enjoy it anyway.

So this year, we stuck two fingers up to tradition and went to bed nice and early. Yummy.

Separation Anxiety

When Krusty and La Gitane came to visit bf and I foolishly bragged about how easy Felix was to put to bed. It was all smugness and "Oh we just put him in his pjs, pop him down and off he goes to sleep" la la la.

How stupid we were.

From the minute they left Felix has been paying us back by screaming blue murder when we put him to bed... for about an hour. Then waking up once or twice a night and screaming blue murder when we try to settle him... for a couple of hours or so. It's exhausting.

For a few days we had no clue what was going on, then bf sussed it was separation anxiety (some good words on it here). Not that knowing what it is helps stop the clinginess and crying. I started by letting Felix fall asleep next to me and then putting him in his cot, and by co-sleeping in the middle of the night. Easier than it sounds. I reckoned Felix would just lie down next to us and go 'oh, Mum and Dad are here, that's alright then I'll just go back to sleep.' No such luck - he wriggles and moans and gets up and tries to climb over us and all sorts.

After consultation with the trusty book I've learned that it's best to get Felix to sleep in his cot without reliance on cuddles and falling asleep in our arms, so now begin backbreaking hours of leaning over his cot, eyes diverted, rubbing his tummy and shushing whilst we pray he settles. Then tiptoeing out lest he wakes, but invariably I make too much noise and his eyes open wide again and he starts whining and back I have to go...