Tomorrow is the 100th day of school and Baby Sister is supposed to go in dressed as a 100 year old lady.

Luckily we still have some silver hairspray left over from Halloween and she is going to wear her ballet tights ‘cos they go baggy.

“Hmm… ” I said, “…and I’ll see if I have something to paint some lines on you, to look like wrinkles”.

“Why?”,  she asked seriously.

“Because old people have wrinkles on their faces”

“Oh!” (studying me closely) “You mean like the ones on your face?”

“Yes. Like the (sigh)… ones on my face.”

“So you are going to draw wrinkles all over, all around my mouth and eyes -  just like yours?”

***

Talking of wrinkles, I have done something absurd. I just bought my first ever dryer.

To be fair, it is really only half a dryer - I bought the Euro model which as well as being half the price is a teeny tiny little number. I was hoping its small stature would encourage me to (cough) only use it when really needed or for emergencies, as my lack of dryer has, until now, been more or less my only contribution towards saving the environment.

But now I fear it will just have me swearing on a daily basis as I try to cram all the contents of my XXL Texas-Sized washer into it in one go.

And I bet all that cramming will negate the whole reason for the dryer, which was to eliminate wrinkles.

I mean, wrinkles in my clothes.

I saw a photo of myself the other day and the last time I had seen myself looking so puffy in the face was when I was 9 1/2 months pregnant. It was no surprise - The Daddy and I have been pointing and laughing at each other for months now, usually as we meet on the way to the kitchen for another cookie or bowl of ice cream. We know all about da fat. And it’s not really an issue.

Except when it is, like the threat of having to buy whole new wardrobes when the ones we have are not even halfway to being worn out.

The Daddy, trying to be helpful, found a diet for me in a French magazine which promised to have me looking like a young Kate Moss, in just 30 days! It involved, well, mostly not eating. I could probably fast for a month and it would be easier than following all the complicated routines laid out in the magazine article, like spinach and broccoli are OK for lunch but no green beans or tomatoes.

In any case, I have never been able to diet. My metabolism just doesn’t allow it. Plus my children do not enjoy being shouted at and the The Daddy hates the crying fits. (And that’s just when I miss my afternoon snack). So right now I am following a modified eating plan involving lots of protein throughout the day and just a little bit in the evening. I have had to reduce the sugar and carbs for this one, people and OMG this is difficult.

(Sugar in tea doesn’t really count. Honestly it doesn’t. Once it has dissolved it is not sugar any more, right? It becomes part of the tea! And yes, I am suddenly drinking a lot of tea, so what? Did you notice the weather is cold???)

After only two days I am starting to wonder if it is really worth it. It’s slightly less painful than planned exercise though. Exercise is The Daddy’s weight control method of choice, which is why he has decided to stay fat until it gets warm enough to start running again. Don’t laugh - he will run every day for a week during spring, after which he will have lost about 20lbs, following which he will run for an extra week to get a six pack.

It’s just not funny, having to live with him. It’s enough to drive me to cookies.

Last night I once more forgot I was wearing my slippery socks, which led to me falling down the stairs. Don’t worry, I wasn’t hurt - at least, no more than usual.

But I did think it would be nice to take a warm bath afterwards, in the hopes of getting some of the feeling back in my left shoulder. Also, to warm up. The temperatures around here haven’t improved much. The T-Bot is predicting another Ice Age and I quite understand why.

I probably hadn’t taken a real honest to goodness bath for over a year but thanks to my family-in-law (thank you!) I was very lucky in the bath salts, soaps and body lotions department this birthday. A long, scented soak seemed very appealing.

And the long, scented soak proved to be all it promised. I didn’t even get bored as I usually do. Next Christmas can someone please send me one of those bath pillows so I can just sleep in the tub…

Feeling very pleased with myself I got out, dried myself, and took a deep sniff of my new scented hand lotion. Unfortunately, as I inhaled, somehow I managed to squeeze the bottle.

No idea how that happened, but the experience was second only to the time I had got the giggles while drinking a beer, and it all came pouring out my nose. And wouldn’t stop. It was very embarrassing. People were present.

Fortunately no people were present for this event, unless you count the cat. But the inside of my right nostril must now be very soft, supple and appealing. If anybody would care to look.

Today is my birthday. If you like you may try to guess how old I am.

First Prize will be My Undying Gratitude. The winner will be the person guessing “29″.

You may wonder why “29″ and not “21″ . Well, because I officially stopped the clock at 29 and so if you say “21″ I will know it is a lie and you are just trying to flatter me. I don’t take too kindly to being played for a fool. Even if I did get ID’d when buying beer a couple of months back.

So, 29 it is then.

You may also wonder why I don’t say “40″ especially as I have always maintained that my best age will probably be 40. The answer: I am as vain as the next person. I want to be 40, not look 40.

Actually,  now I come to think of it, I have been reviewing the “29″ thing. I think the hands of the clock have crept a little. What did I know when I was 29? I was still so immature, such a baby. At 32 I was much more wise without being too, too wrinkly.

OK, let’s make “32″ the new “29″.

Good. Lots of clues there. How old do you think I am?

(P.S. It’s my birthday, remember. I am counting on you to be flattering)

P.P.S. No, you do not get a photo. That would make things too easy.

I tried to distract the kids from all the amazing and not-to-be-missed programs on Saturday morning TV by taking them to a garage sale around the corner. The T-Bot got a snorkel. The Wictor got a plastic killer whale. But Baby Sister hit the jackpot. For $3 she came away with a whole box of 1980s and 90s Barbie clothes and furniture. One original owner.

Baby Sister is always asking me to tell the True Story of how when I was little I only had one (1) Barbie, which wasn’t even a Barbie, it was a Daisy doll. But since there was only one Barbie model available and my sister also had to have one… Yes, I was that seriously deprived growing up, so it is no surprise that the moment Baby Sister’s back was turned, I couldn’t help myself:

First I spied a Baywatch outfit and I just had to see what it looked like on.

Oh. Nasty flashbacks to every single time I try on swimwear. Although she looks fairly resigned to having ELEPHANTINE THIGHS.

I am all for the campaign for real bodies for Barbie, but it does raise the problem of what do we do with all those tiny 1970s/80s clothes.

In the end I had to turn to circa 1981 Barbie and her spendiferous figure to model for me. She actually managed to pull it on pull it off.

Wow. Doesn’t she look natural?

And then I spent a blissful 15 minutes picking outfits for these girls. Many are Designer Clothing,  by Ken himself, who was obviously a Fashion Ace for a while before he went back to being a Beach Bum.  Mostly dresses because although some of the pantsuits were rad! and hip! they wouldn’t fit over any of the new Barbies knees.

Ken, you have a lot to answer for.

Now, smile for the camera ladies!

Don’t they look lovely?

The worst part is there is still half a box of clothes left.

And the lime green fluro mini skirts and acid-washed denim jackets are calling to me.

My grandmother was a seamstress. Actually she was Parisian-trained and could cut a pattern freehand.

(At one time she employed ten other women to do the actual sewing of the seams for her. In these times she would be called a “Businesswoman”. But those were the days when men were men and womens’ efforts didn’t really count. So, a seamstress).

We left for the other side of the world when I was six. Before we went, she only had time to teach me how to sew on a button.

My favorite casual shorts. They have been like this for a year.

I wear plenty of long t-shirts, and sometimes band-aids on my fingers.

I know my grandmother would be proud. But not of my efforts in the button fixing department.

- The day is bright and sunny.

- The children have been watching PBS Kids for an hour and there have been no screams.

- Last night I finally broke the back of my current horror task : Inputting 5 months of business transactions into Quickbooks. (Yes! I am clever! I shift to new software in the middle of the financial year!) I only got 4 hours sleep but it was worth it.

- Yesterday the T-Bot said to me “I like spelling! I didn’t know spelling could be fun!”

(yeah, me neither, but I’ll take it! I’ll take it!)

- Miraculously, I am having a good hair day. In summer. Of course I haven’t been outside yet, but it’s a start.

- My cat is proving to be a good roacher. Is that TMI?

- The T-Bot could hardly swim three months ago and now he can do all the strokes. He can now also jump off the diving board. That one may be more relief than celebration.

- We are in the week between school groups and camp groups. At least I hope none of the schools are going on field trips in the last week of school. Because today I am taking my three children to the Childrens’ Museum, where I haven’t dared set foot since I lost the T-Bot there three times in an hour in 2007. I expect it to be quiet. I am celebrating in advance on this one. Positive thinking and all that.

- After weeks of failure I managed to post a comment to Jessica Bern’s blog. Her blog does not like my comments. Today it even said something mean about my data, but I tricked it. Ha! I was on the verge of emailing her last week to ask if she was blocking me except I was too scared because what if she emailed back “Yes! It’s because I don’t like you!” ? Now that I don’t have to read those words from her, I can celebrate.

What are you celebrating today?

This Mothers Day I wished for flowers, plants for the garden, a gourmet meal, and lots of sparkly jewels.

And I got…

Flowers from The Wictor:

Actually I got nothing. He made himself this card for Mother’s Day and a lovely flower brooch too. He was so proud of his artwork he kept repeating “The Wictor colored it in!”. And then he refused to hand them over. So, when he wasn’t looking, I stole it.

Here’ s the inside:

Obviously, he knows me well.

Moving on.

Plants from Baby Sister:

Baby Sister made some Mother’s Day gifts at school too. It all came home on Friday with strict instructions not to open anything until Sunday. But I could see the little pea plant sticking out of the paper bag and although I totally respect my childrens’ wishes I did feel obliged to open it and give it just a few drops of water. If nobody saw me doing it, it didn’t happen, right?

I also got a baby food jar of colored sand and a hand print from Baby Sister, and she accompanied her father to the supermarket to purchase

A Gourmet Meal from The Daddy:

Some of my favorite things in the world: Licorice Allsorts, Birds custard powder and a bottle of wine.

Baby Sister chose the wine, for obvious reasons.

And last but not least:

A Very Rare Diamond from the T-Bot:

The T-Bot felt left out so he “bought” something from Baby Sister’s “Store”. She assured me it was “velly velly expensive” but she loves the T-Bot a lot so she gave it to him for free.

Awwww. Somebody loves me.

Who would have guessed that we don’t really celebrate Mother’s Day at our house? Bet none of you lot were so spoiled!

Uncool: I realised I have forgotten my 7 times table.

Cool: I have a calculator on my laptop and one on my phone. Plus ten fingers to count on if I really get stuck.

Uncool: At a meetup of moms in the park, Mom1 started yelling at the Mom2, in front of all the other moms and our children, for a decision she had made, one which didn’t actually affect her at all, using words like “you can’t do that!” and “that’s disgusting!”. (For the record, disgusting didn’t actually have anything to do with the issue).

Uncool: Although I thought Mom1’s behavior was atrocious and her stance ridiculous,  and I totally sided with Mom2, I didn’t speak up in public. I didn’t do this because I had just been through a 10 minute grilling by Mom2 which involved phrases like “if he doesn’t go back to school now he will fall so far behind he will never be able to go back” and “he should be getting specialist help”. I was feeling rather bitter and unhelpful.

Uncool: Mom3 managed to add her voice wherever it would be the most unconstructive. As in helping criticize Mom 2 and me.

Cool: All this made me take stock of my situation and have some constructive talks with The Daddy, and I emerged from the process realizing that I am totally satisfied with the decisions we have made and the way we live our life, and am in fact the happiest and most fulfilled I have ever been. So there is absolutely no reason to look outside the family for any guidance.

Cool: It might be fun to find myself some new friends.

Cool: On Friday afternoon The Daddy came home early and I managed to get to the hairdressers.

Uncool: I think she gave me a Rachel.

Cool: At least I don’t have so much hair now. And it will eventually grow out.

Cool: I went to a friend’s art exhibition on Friday and saw lots of awesome new canvases.

Uncool: I met a friend of a friend who is no longer a friend because she is so apparently so appalled by homeschooling. She was desperate to get away and used the excuse “I just have to …um… see the paintings in the other room”.

Cool: I then found lots of very interesting people to talk to while she seemed to be drifting around the room alone. (Insert very immature raspberry here and maybe a casual flip of the bird, or as we Antipodeans would do, The Fingers.)

Uncool: On Sunday the T-Bot’s Sunday sport was cancelled and nobody bothered to tell us.  We were the only ones to turn up with 60lbs of gear to find the field empty.

Cool: So we went as a family to the park instead. We took the bikes and the T-Bot finally mastered the art of 2 wheeled cycling (I know, I know, it has taken a while. We are not big on cycling). He was so determined to do it and so proud of himself afterward.

Cool: Then we went for a walk and found frogspawn. The children were captivated by our stories of raising tadpoles when we were little.

Uncool: The frogspawn disappeared and we realized it was probably just bubbles of pollution.

Cool: We went to get ice cream and sat in the sun and everybody was happy.

Here is a little word to the wise:

Let’s just say you move into a new (to you) house and you love it except that the paint colors are all wrong (and half the major appliances old and about to stop working but let’s skip that part for now).

Now let’s imagine that you can’t wait to start repainting so you indulge in a little DIY. If you do this, DO NOT, whatever you do, decide to paint the dining room a bright, cheery yellow. Especially don’t do this if the dining room is open to every other room in the house.

Because if you do, when the time comes to repaint the rest of your open plan house, you will find that you have to match EVERY OTHER PAINT COLOR downstairs to BRIGHT YELLOW.

I promise, you will. And puh-please do not try and tell me that yellow matches everything, because it doesn’t. At least, it might do if you have a modern house, where anything you slap up on the walls will look highly funky and probably end up (sob sob) in the pages of Dwell. But those of us with mock-georgian piles complete with crown moldings and details everywhere have to pay a little more attention, especially if we chose the house partially for those details in the first place.

Next, when your husband, who you love very much, tells you he wants ALL BRIGHT COLORS, do not spend two precious days trying to oblige him. You will - I repeat - WILL find yourself rocking and babbling over the fan deck while holding great fistfuls of your own hair.

(Just believe me when I say that our chosen bright colors put next to each other make the whole house look like a nursery. Which, in effect, it is, but let us pretend a little, OK?)

Another thing: do NOT, under any circumstances, hold a last minute group consultation with your friends who all live in beautifully curated houses that look like they stole them out of a Pottery Barn catalog. Unless, of course, you are willing to paint over your bright yellow, forgo your bright green, and settle for living in a Pottery Barn Catalog.

A look, which, by the way, I LOVE. It’s just not us.

Another NOT GOOD IDEA: In a fit of pique caused by said friends agreeing that there is no solution but to paint your double-height entrance way CREAM (the color of a decades worth of rental houses - a color you swore you would never grace your walls again), you should not waste an afternoon trying to find exactly the right shade of GRAY. Because at this point your significant other will arrive home, shrug and say “you mean all gray like the inside of a dungeon?”. And you will suddenly realize that he is right.

Oh, and another word to the wise : do all this color research BEFORE you call in the painters and agree on a starting date IN FOUR DAYS TIME.

I am sure nobody noticed that I was away. But that is where I have been. Oh, and my final color scheme?

Some bright colors. And CREAM.

Job done. The painters arrive tomorrow. I am off to pack for the asylum.