All I want for Christmas is will power.  That’s odd because I don’t celebrate Christmas at all and I know that you can’t be given will power.  But I am hoping for it anyway.

Every night I go to bed with the clear understanding that the next day I will be “good”.  I will eat fruit and when I tire of that I will chomp on vegetables , I’ll drink tons of water and I wont even go into the same room as a chocolate bar or a bagel

Every morning I go wrong.  And then I continue to go wrong.  And when afternoon comes and I get home from work, in between preparing dinner, winding down, eating dinner and going to sleep – I eat the contents of the kitchen.

I go to  Weight Watchers and I understand the programme better than some of their “leaders” do. I know that I am eating to cover a raft of emotional stuff – I just don’t know how not to do it.
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I think I used all my will power up when I gave up smoking, and although that’s a worthy cause I wouldn’t mind a drag or two of a cigarette in return for having a day where I don’t feel awful about the food that I am literally shoving into my face.

I don’t need diet tips, and I don’t need to be told that I am an obsessive emotional eater – I know all that.  I don’t want to hear about the therapy I need to stop myself punishing myself with food and I don’t want to hear little tips like filling myself with water and leaves so that I wont want to eat.  I don’t even want to be told that I don’t need to lose weight.

I just want some will power.  Got any to share?

Before my son was born I was a corporate girl, I worked long hours, I loved my job and I had a good life.  I was comfortable in my corporate gear, my 9am –  9pm days, my life of high rises and after work drinks.

When I eventually had a baby I was happy to leave North Sydney behind, the commute across the bridge every day, the long hours and the countless powerpoint presentations. I was delighted to be living a life of nappies and breastfeeding,  toddler antics and toys.  I loved being home with Little Pencil as he grew up.  Although  I did miss the after work drinks.

I was really fortunate when Little Pencil got a little older and I started to do some work from home.  I was able to work while he slept and at night when I should have been sleeping.  Then when he went to preschool I took on more work, more hours and more adult stimulation.

But I always worked from home.  I never HAD to get out of pyjamas (although the kindy teacher would have baulked at my Garfield pyjamas at drop off time).

On occasion I had a meeting out of the house, once or twice I even had to attend a conference and for a very short period of time I worked two days a week in a job share position in a real office where pyjamas were frowned upon.  But I wasn’t fulfilled in my work, I didn’t feel like I was working, I felt like I was a mother passing time.

But now I am working full time.  I go into the office three days  and I work from home two days a week.

Yesterday was a work at home day but I attended a seminar at the Art Gallery of NSW in the afternoon.
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I drove to the gallery and as I turned down the road with the Botanical Gardens on my left and the Harbour beyond that, past the Andrew Boyd Charlton pool and the Woolloomooloo wharf on the right I forgot for a minute who I was.

I made a mental check: did I have suntan lotion? Then I remembered that I wasn’t going to need to put suntan lotion on Little Pencil as he was at school and I certainly wasn’t going to need it myself in an air conditioned auditorium.  I panicked when I remembered that the picnic blanket was not in my boot, then I realised that the rest of the seminar attendees would probably move to have me arrested if I walked in and tried to spread a picnic blanket over their heads.

It was a strange feeling walking past the park without my Little Pencil, it was weird walking through the Gallery without Little Pencil’s small hand in mine. I felt like a traitor in the park with high heels and no child.  I felt like everybody at the seminar knew that I was just a mum without my child.

But they didn’t.

They never knew I had a high bounce hand ball,  a Nintendo Gameboy and a Kinder Surprise in my bag.  They never knew I was looking at the clock to see what Little Pencil was doing as I listened to the presentations.  They never knew that I was a mother – they just saw me as a woman at work, at a seminar at the Gallery.

My mother role and my career role briefly collided in the Gallery yesterday and I came out thinking how lucky I am to have the best of both worlds.

Mr Pencil and Little Pencil have gone camping to some place that sounds like the residential address of Dr Seuss.  I have elected not to go because I do not relish the idea of giving up a night’s sleep to the great outdoors, even if the great outdoors is cordoned off by a canvas tent.  I am rather partial to walls.  And floors and ceilings, not to mention a bed with linen and soft pillows.  Oh and a bathroom with hot and cold taps and a kitchen with a fridge and coffee maker…..

So, because I like living indoors with access to provisions I was not even consulted on the preparation for camping.  Apparently indoorsy people like myself do not know how to cater for a camping trip.  And I can see why – after my husband had put aside the provisions he needed for TWO nights not including food or clothes, I breathed a a grateful sigh of relief that I was not assigned to be his Sherpa .  Believe me it was a lot of stuff to take with you when you are going away for a weekend.  I mean if you were going to work for two months and your job was to create an outdoor conference centre from, scratch and you had to provide your own supplies, and this is what you were taking, I’d get it.  But for a weekend away  ?  No.

Then I noticed a sheet of paper, covered in writing.   No white spaces remained.  This was the list Mr Pencil had made himself so that he did not forget anything.  Let’s just say that the sheet of paper was big enough that he could have used it as a tablecloth.  That seems like a lot of things to remember for a weekend away.

Mr Pencil was assigned the job of catering for two breakfasts on the trip (he is camping with lunch and dinner makers) so he took two aisles of Coles with him as well.  He also took a wardrobe full of clothes for Little Pencil in case it was cold, hot, snowed, rained, or indeed if the weather was mild.  He seemed to forget that he was going away for two days and that we have access to the Bureau of Meteorology website.

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I reminded him that he also had to fit Little Pencil in the car.  His face fell even further.

I know that some people love camping and clearly I am not one of them but I just cannot understand why you have to take so much stuff to get away from everything.

I have a favourite perfume.  It is  Addict by Dior just in case you would like to surprise me with some aromatic gifts. But don’t stack up for my next birthday yet.  I am very easily influenced and am likely to change my mind if you offer me something better, or even just different.

In fact as I write this post I am forced to look at the most hideous colour nail polish you have ever seen.

I went to the Dior counter to buy said perfume and there was a gift with purchase if you bought two products.  I bloody love a gift with purchase and when the woman at the counter told me the gift was a little silver bag with a new mascara “that really really lengthens the lashes” I almost fell over her trying to get my second item and gift with purchase.

I took a look at my nails as I grabbed the gift with purchase and they were looking particularly seedy so I told her I thought my second item should be a nail polish.  The lovely Dior lady handed me a shade of nail polish and told me I would love it.  I believed her for some reason I cannot explain. Although she knows nothing about me, what I like, what I wear, what I do – I believed she knew that I would love the nail polish so I bought it.

It is awful and I hate it.  Oh and the mascara that “really really lengthens the lashes” is no different to any of my other mascaras that really don’t do anything other than colour my stumpy lashes.

The problem is I am very easily influenced when it comes to beauty products.  Which is weird because I am the biggest cynic when it comes to anything else. I regularly read the packaging on food and I laugh hysterically – for instance I have just made my husband a cup of tea – the tea is described as a green with “with the luscious flavours of strawberries and cream”.  I know that the tea will taste of tea leaves.  Nothing else.  I know that tea doesn’t taste like strawberries and cream and I know that this is a good thing.  But if someone told me that you could use the tea to shrink your pores and smooth your wrinkles – I would buy it

I believe the women who stand in the department stores spruiking their expensive potions know everything there is to know about developments in beauty science, I briefly choose to forget that they are getting paid to sell their product and they really just want to help me by giving me smooth wrinkle free skin , sleek shiny hair and perfectly long eyelashes.

And if you leave me near a magazine I am likely to go into some sort of trance by changing my mind completely every time I turn the page.
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This blind faith in the beauty industry goes against everything I know to be right.  I know they “exaggerate the truth”, I know they use lyrical language and pretty packaging to lure me in.  I know they pray on my insecurities but they look so good and they promise so much.  And what if they do work ?

I have paid ridiculous amounts for potions and lotions to make my freckles disappear .  When I enquired of my husband whether he thought it had made a difference he said he didn’t realise that I had freckles in the first place.

I have put what I can only describe as acid in a gorgeous container on my eyelashes to promote their growth.  My eyelashes are the exact same length as they started only my eyelids are sorer.

I have tried almost every lipstick known to mankind to come to the realisation that my lips are resistant to colour and any colour that I do try will last approximately 14 seconds.

I have tried  blue eyeliner, green eyeliner, black and purple eyeliner, even white and silver eyeliner.  I know that eyeliner cannot change the size or shape of my eyes but I am prepared to try.

I have tried all these things and none have worked as promised.  Yet tomorrow if I see a promise of long eyelashes and smooth skin  my faith will be renewed.

I think I may have a problem.  Do you think there is a cream for it?

Most days my little boy is a real boy.  Well actually he is always a real boy anatomically but there are times when he really acts like the stereotypical boy.  He loves wrestling, he is rather keen on standing behind doors and shooting when I walk past (okay this is not sounding so good), he has a ball attached to his foot whenever he walks outside – no, it is not some medical condition that causes him to grow a ball on his foot – he just loves to kick a ball.  He makes fart jokes, he laughs at his father’s pathetic dad jokes and he thinks girls have germs.

All very 9 year old boyish.

But then there are days, like today when he is more in touch with his sensitive side.  Today Little Pencil put aside the x-box and the gameboy. He abandoned the TV and even ignored the lego all in pursuit of the rather large fluffy toy collection that I have stashed at the top of his cupboard.  Admittedly he came to the fluffy toy collection when he was looking for something “big and soft” to wrestle, but that is just where he started.

I took down from the cupboard about 30 fluffy toys – many bears and dogs, an elephant, a tiger or two, a swan and a couple of monkeys and a very special bear and platypus.  Little Pencil lovingly placed the toys on the top bunk and then created some complicated system that the animals could use to climb to the top of the bed.  He was very gentle and caring and compassionate and kind. But I was standing at the door with my hands clenched and my breath held.

In amongst Little Pencil’s collection lie Milton and Pooky.  Milton and Pooky are my oxygen and my water although to the casual observer they look like stuffed animals – in fact a platypus and a bear..  They have been with me for a very long time and they have been with me through some extremely tough times.  Milton is matted with tears (and maybe even a bit of snot from some particularly hysterical bouts of crying) and Pooky is er, he is very well loved and he looks it.

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When it came time to clean up I could not reach the top cupboard to stack them neatly so I asked Mr Pencil to help.  I instructed him that Milton and Pooky should lie next to each other and face forward, not be squashed and have nothing hard on top of them.  They should have room to breathe and to move and they shouldn’t be uncomfortable. He, not being in touch with his sensitive side today, looked at me like I was on drugs.  But he often looks at me like that and I knew he would take good care of “my boys”. He always has.

And now that Milton and Pooky are fast asleep at the top of the cupboard I am remembering how much comfort they offered to me and how much I needed them when I was growing up.  And really – I just want to climb up and bring them back down.

And I would if I didn’t think my dog would eat them.

Not long ago I was saying how young I felt.

That changed after I went to see the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards on Friday night.  In fact I now feel ancient

We arrived early to see the Orange Carpet.  I heard shrieking and immediately I thought that there had been a huge accident.  I had forgotten that young girls shriek when they see someone on a red carpet, even if the carpet is orange and even if the person is a security guard.

There was a cast of thousands lined up to see the orange carpet.  My friend and I were the eldest people there.  Including the stars and the security personne (and I am older than my friend)

The kids (and by kids I mean the hordes of people under 30 including actual kids) were shrieking and taking photos of anybody that stepped foot onto the orange carpet. I  had no idea who anyone was until the moment I saw Amanda Keller.  I almost wept with joy that I recognised somebody, even if no one else recognised her, she being a radio personality and all. In my day she was a TV person, she presented Beyond 2000.  Yes, I understand the irony in that.

The hordes of people were standing precariously balanced on tables and chairs around this brilliant orange carpet.  I, being the responsible (and um, older)  person worried a lot about the weight of these people on the tables that had clearly been built to hold only food.  I was visibly relieved when security came to tell everyone to get down and I mentally yee-hahed.  I was aghast when the crowds climbed back on as soon as he turned his back.  I was so very tempted to tell them to get down…but I was petrified nobody would listen to me.

One of the lowest points of the night came when we spotted Lincoln Lewis.  I had NO idea who he was, but he was signing autographs and posing for photos so I assumed he wasn’t an audience member. Little Pencil wanted his autograph, as you do when you are nine and everyone else is doing it.  So we fought the crowds and went to get his arm signed (we had not come very well prepared).  Little Pencil is little (hence his name) and he was being ever so polite in trying to get Lincoln’s attention.  I thought it was never going to happen so I kind of er, indicated he was there.  I cringe at the memory.  I may have been a little effusive in saying “please can you sign his arm”. And Lincoln Lewis who must be about half my age, chastised me.  And he told me to “Calm down Mum”.  I am still crimson with shame.

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I tried to point out all the awful things about standing in the mosh pit. Telling children that they would have to stand for the entire performance is not a deterrent.  Nor is telling them they would get covered in slime and be sticky, gooey and probably smelly.

Anyway the security was tight and there was no way they were getting into the slime mosh pit so they adjusted to their plight and ran down to the front of the section in which we were sitting and found themselves “better” seats.  At one point I went down to check on them.  On my way back to my seat I noticed that my friend and I were sitting slap bang in front of the entire cast of Australia’s Next Top Model.

It was around then I started to feel even older than Methusela.

And when I got bored (and tried to hide from the super models sitting behind me), I took out my phone and started checking comments on Mamamia . I felt like I had a starring role in Revenge of the Nerds, then I remembered that everyone around me was too young to remember Revenge of the Nerds.

Have you ever been anywhere that made you feel ancient?