Protected: The tyrant is a teddy bear
Enter your password to view comments
Archive for August, 2009
A girl can never have too many shoes
A couple of years back, some of the girls at work got new trainers. They were black (always a plus when you’re wearing them with your suit on the way to the office) and had this amazing claim that they would shape and tone your body as you walked, no extra effort required on your part.
The only problem was they cost a small fortune. The sort of fortune you might otherwise spend on a pair of diamond encrusted very cheap designer shoes. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my shoes as much as the next girl, but I also like to keep my bank balance in the black. So I gave up on the idea of the wonder shoes.
Then the other day I was walking along Oxford Street. The official line was I was looking for maternity clothes. But a girl can’t help but look for flat sandals with backs so they can be worn at the office. And I wandered in to the Skechers shop. I do that from time to time, wondering if they’ll ever bring back a version of my very first pair of Skechers – a rather wedge heeled, flat sandal that was quite possibly one of the most comfy things I’ve ever put on my feet. But alas, there was no matching pair of sandals.
I did notice a rather interesting new line of trainersthough. Rather similar to those my colleagues had bought for an extortionate sum a few years back. Of course they looked like Skechers (in other words, rather funky) but they had that miracle heel. The one designed to shape your body as you walk. The main difference I noted though, was the price tag. These babies come with a much more affordable price. Like a less than £100 price. The sort of price that I could afford and would consider. But, being the good girl I was (no comments from the husband please!) I walked away and carried on looking for clothes.
But I wanted those trainers. I lusted after those trainers. I even considered spending my stash of emergency money on those trainers.
Then the other week, the lovely Sylvie from Fuel My Blog shouted out for women to try out a new pair of trainers I jumped at the chance. After all, a girl can never have too many pairs of shoes. When she sent me the link for just what I’d be testing, I nearly died and went to heaven. A pair of Skechers Shape Ups!
On Friday I gave Sylvie my shoe size and all weekend I desperately hoped those Shape Ups would arrive on Monday morning. But they didn’t. On Tuesday they were dispatched and on Wednesday morning, when K told me the Shape Ups had landed on my desk, you’d never seen me move so fast, or with such a big grin on my face. I ripped the package open to reveal my lovely new Shape Ups; they were everything I’d hoped for.
Look at that baby. Doesn’t it just make you want to fall in love? And, in case you’re particularly fussy about the colour of your trainers, they come in quite a few different styles.
When bought through ShapeUps.eu you can get a pair of Skechers Shape Ups for only £80.95 including delivery. Of course you can pay more. Other places both online and in the high street have been seen selling them at closer to £100. But Sylvie told me my pair had been dispatched on Tuesday, and they arrived on Wednesday. I reckon that’s worth paying less for!
Of course, what you really want to know is what they’re like. And I’ve already gone over 600 words without telling you that.
My first impression is that they’re rather weird. I shoved my feet into the Shape Upsand bent over to tie the laces, pulling my toes up towards me as I went. There’s no edge to the heel; your foot just keeps rolling back. I get up and walk and within only a few steps, I realise these shoes have to be done up very, incredibly tightly. And they bounce. With every step my foot feels like it’s sprining back upwards. Once I’m down in the lobby I sit back down and re-tie the laces, tight this time. It feels much better now they’re not slipping.
My first real challenge is stairs. I feel really unstable as I’m descending, like I’m going to go tumbling over and fall flat on my face as I reach the bottom. Once I’m on flat ground, things feel a lot better. I don’t feel wobbly like the instruction manual warned, but neither can I notice any difference as I walk. It’s not like I can feel any different muscles working. Walking down the next step of stairs doesn’t feel any different to the first, and just to be on the safe side, I don’t walk down the escalator on the tube. That said, standing on it felt really unstable anyway, so I might have been better off walking.
Of course, the tube is packed and I can’t get anywhere near a seat, let alone get my bum on one. But standing in the Shape Upsis strangely ok. Because of the curved heel, my feet rock as the tube does and I feel much less likely to try and knock the passenger next to me over as I fly away with the movement of the train.
Once I’m home at the other end, I take the Shape Ups off and spend some time with the husband admiring them (isn’t that what a girl’s supposed to do with shoes?) and get around to changing the white laces for the black set that was provided. But really I’m unable to tell much difference between them and what a regular pair of trainers does. Same thing the next morning when I wear them on my way to work but at least I’m a lot less wobbly going down the stairs now!
The next day, realising that I’ll never get to really try the Shape Ups in the five minutes it takes me to get from the tube station to either work or home, I decide to get off the tube a stop early on the way home, turning my 5 minute walk into a 20 minute one.
I don’t notice any new feelings as I begin the walk, but by ten minutes in I can feel muscles working in my legs that I never realised worked when I walk. By 15 minutes I can feel my bum as I walk. It’s a strange sensation.
By the time I get home, I realise my back should be hurting. That long on my feet walking is bound to hurt either my lower or mid and upper back and normally would do. I’m busted, but I put it down to the muggy heat more than the walking. It’s stifling both inside and out of the house. My feet feel sweaty, a good reason why I don’t wear trainers all the time anymore, so I take the Shape Ups off and wander into the kitchen. Within less than five minutes my lower back is absolutely killing. So I sit down. I have to go out to the supermarket so I put the Shape Ups back on again and almost instantly after standing up, my back doesn’t feel so bad anymore. They’re no longer getting called Shape Ups, they’ve got a new name: The Wonder Shoes.
I’ve been wearing the Shape Ups for two weeks now and walking in them seems completely natural, so much so that I don’t notice those extra muscles working. If I’d been really clever, I’d have measured various points on my body to see what a difference the Shape Ups had made. I’m not really clever though, I measure my bump nearly every day but it never occurred to me to measure anywhere else. That said, someone I’ve not seen since I started wearing the Shape Ups said it looks like I’ve lost weight (and gained more bump), so maybe that’s all I need to know.
I reckon the Shape Ups are great, but with one proviso: you have to already walk a lot or be prepared to start walking. If you’re looking for a quick fix to incorporate into your daily life without putting in the extra effort, you’re probably not going to find it. Since I’ve had the Shape Ups I’ve been making more of an effort to get off the tube a stop early and walk back from Tooting. I’m only doing a 20 minute very brisk walk, but it all helps.
That said, if you already do a lot of walking or running, or are spending all day on your feet anyway, a pair of Shape Ups is a great investment. Either way, they’re a pretty funky pair of trainers.
The Tyrant of the North Tower
The Wicked Witch of the West came over yesterday afternoon. “I’ve got something to tell you” she said, “but you’re not going to like it.”
“Go on…”
And off she went to get a chair. This was going to be bad. She sat down. “No, I don’t want to tell you” she said shaking her head like a child trying to get out of tell its parent the truth.
“Just do it” I said. “It can’t be that bad.”
“But it is.” I gave her that look that told her to get on with it.
“Well, you’re not covering in pensions next week anymore.”
“Ok…”
“You’re going to Corporate.”
“No!” It’s not that I mind, more like I’ve had enough of her shifting me around on a whim.
“You’ll be covering for N.” It sounds like this is supposed to be the bombshell.
“Who?” The name rings a bell but I really have no clue who this person is.
“A’s old boss.”
“Oh hell no!” We’ve all heard stories about A’s old boss; a maniacal tyrant who is so high maintenance she requires a one on one PA instead of the 5-7:1 ratio around the rest of the firm. The sort of tyrant who demands PAs work through their lunch hour and almost always makes sure they never leave on time. The sort of tyrant for whom it’s easier to work at her desk than your own. My heart has sunk and it may never be lifted again.
“I didn’t want to send you there.” Here come the excuses. “But there really is no-one else. All the others would get trampled over and I know you won’t put up with that. She needs someone to be strong with her and stand their ground.” I’m sure this is almost a compliment, not that I’m in the mood for them. “I know you’ll do that.”
“And if it’s really bad, we’ll see if we can bring you back here.” A chance!
“If she makes me cry, I’ll be straight back here and I’ll refuse to go back. Ok.” I say it jokingly but in truth I’m deadly serious. I’ve worked for my share of bastards in my time, all I want now is an easy life. The Witch agrees; I’m not entirely sure she realises how deadly serious I am.
Once she’s gone, I look the tyrant up on stalkernet. What I see in her picture scares me: the sort of smile that hides a snake-like ruthlessness that assures the viewer that they will be stabbed in the back the moment they turn. The picture shows a person evil incarnate and I get to work for her for the next two weeks.
Suffice it to say, there is brown stuff in my pants.
Girl Talk Thursday: Bathroom Routine
I can’t not shower. I’d go crazy. I remember once the water got cut off when one of the mains burst down the road. Everyone else had been through the shower already and I was the last to go. I never did get a shower than morning, and I felt disgusting for the whole day. It’s just the way I roll. That said, I’ll happily spend a good half a day in my PJs without showering. I just won’t voluntarily put on clothes and leave the house if I’ve not showered. Ho baths just won’t cut it; it has to be a shower.
There is an order to these things as well. I’ll never step in the shower without first brushing my teeth. I guess it runs back to childhood when I’d be known to step out of the house with toothpast foam around my mouth or down the front of my shirt.
Then the shower. Kick the collection of dinosaurs, transformers and happy meal toys to the end of the shower and shampoo first. Usually whatever happens to be on offer. I favour L’oreal or Herbal Essences, sometimes Tre’semme, Fructis or Sunsilk. Never ever present me with a bottle of Pantene or Dove. Once upon a time I used Trevor Sorbie’s Straightening Addict duo, but aside from smelling nice, it didn’t really do much that cheaper stuff wouldn’t.
Then whilst that shampoo’s working I’ll blow my nose. Yes. In the shower. Because why bother wasting tissue when you don’t have to. More seriously, because I have a very dry nose which tends to bleed if I don’t use get my friends to bring it back from Brasil nose drops before I go near it with a tissue. An ENT gave me that answer when we were out in Brasil. That an Beconase or some other hayfever combating nose spray. I doubt I can keep using the spray now I’m pregnant, but discovered that it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference anyway. Seeing as I don’t exactly have easy access to the drops, completely soaking my nose once I’m in the shower seems to have just about the same effect. But enough about that.
So rinse the shampoo. It’s very rare that I go back and repeat. I wash my hair every day anyways. If I don’t, it might look fine when I leave the house, but you can guarantee that an hour later it’ll look like I’ve not washed it in a week. Hell, I can’t even wash my hair every evening because while it might look ok in the morning, it certainly won’t after lunch.
Face wash next. A quick once-over with whatever showergel happens to be on offer. (Yeah, there’s a pattern here). Then conditioner. Usually whatever matches the shampoo that happened to be on offer. Whilst that’s working cover up in face scrub; Avon’s Clearskin Professional Deep Pore Cleansing Scrub, complete with salicylic and glycolic acids. It’s nasty stuff that should not, under any circumstances, be put near your eyes, mouth, or even up your nostrils like I did this morning. It doesn’t sting, it doesn’t burn. Instead it freezes and makes your eyes water even though the closest it gets to them is your cheekbones. It is, however, the best thing I’ve found to combat my spotty, blackhead prone mess that I call skin.
Leave the scrub to work whilst the rest of me gets washed and then face scrub off, conditioner off and persuade myself to leave that lovely warm water.
Of course it doesn’t stop there; that would be too easy. A quick swipe from an Avon Clearskin Professional Clarifying Toner Pad and then all the potions and lotions that soothe my various ailments.
Deoderant, and moisturiser. Nivea’s Intensive Moisturing Cream on my lips and eyes, Avon’s Clearskin Professional Daily Correcting Lotion on the rest of my face and neck. Simple’s Intensive Relief Lotion on my legs because without spending a fortune on Eucerin, it’s the best thing for stopping my eczema flaring up. Then Palmer’s Cocoa Butter Massage Lotion on the bump. Last time round I used a really nice cocoa butter stick from the Body Shop but they don’t make it anymore. I picked this up and figured I’d give it a try but will never do so again. It’s only there until the bottle’s finished cos it’s like slathering chemicals over your skin. It absolutely stinks, and I’m not sure it’s doing any good anyways.
I don’t tend to bother drying my hair but will often just throw my head upside down and blast the roots for a few seconds. If I’m going to do a proper job on it’s I’ll use Boots Expert Heat Protection Taming Serum which actually does what it says on the bottle.
That’s me. I’m done.
Holiday Blues
It started last night when the mother in law called. I can always tell when it’s her calling; I’d spoken with the mother less than a week ago and the grandparents were up in Scotland. Everyone else texts or calls the mobile. I was in one of those moods: not particularly inclined to let her speak to the husband. She calls multiple times a day and by the time I get home in the evening, he’s usually sick of hearing from her.
She only wanted to know if the repair guy managed to fix the dishwasher at the hub. He had. Then, because she can’t stop talking, she started going on about their week away at the house in Derbyshire. They’d found some puddles and gone splashing in them. It reminded her of doing the same thing up there with him.
I reminded her that she could’ve taken the boy with her. She was going to. They were going to go up the week before and take him too. Then they put it off for a week. That was fine; he was still excited. But then at the last minute she decided they were going to go alone. Suffice it to say, the boy was more than a little upset.
But no, this was their holiday, because they never get to go away. I know the feeling, I told her. But apparently I’m always going to the mother’s and always going away. We went to Scotland. True. We stayed with family. We squeezed into my cousins’ tiny flat along with my sister. We spent time with the family because we hadn’t seen them in a year. Yes, it was a holiday of sorts, but we didn’t really get away. As for a night away from home without the boy, we’ve not had one since he was born. In fact, the last time we had a night away from home together was our honeymoon. Five and a half years ago.
It wasn’t till the boy was almost four that he got his first holiday. In the past I’d taken weeks off of work and spent them at the mother’s. It didn’t cost anything and I could borrow her car, pretend it was like a holiday when I took him to new places.
Finally we went to Brasil. We were hoping to go, saving for it. We wanted to land in Brasilia, spend time there and then São Paulo. We wanted to take a mini holiday either to Ilha Bela (where we spent our honeymoon) or to a beach in the North. We were wishing, hoping.
But then the sister in law decided to have her wedding in Brasil. We couldn’t afford to go. We had a little money saved already, but it was going to be nowhere near enough to get more than one of us out there. The mother in law had to pay for the rest. It was that or we didn’t go to the wedding.
We spent a few lovely days in Brasilia and then headed to Salvador for the wedding. I was miserable for most of the time. The depression that had plagued me when we lived in Brasil returned with a vengeance as I was faced with the issues we’d returned home to get away from. I hadn’t had the chance to work through them, to get over them, and there they were, bubbling away at the surface again.
Things improved with our return to Brasilia for the last week and a half but we still had to deal with stress and other matters that made the holiday far from ideal. By the time I returned home with the boy, I was exhausted. I didn’t feel like I’d rested at all.
I took a few days off at Christmas, not that you can call such a stressful family event a holiday, but since then I’ve only taken an odd day off here or there and mainly because I’d got things I had to stay at home and do. At first I was saving my holiday days. I was hoping that if I got a bonus this year, it would go quite some way to giving us the money to go to Brasil at Christmas (and save the inevitable arguments over where we spend the holidays). Then we decided it would be best to save the days for maternity leave. With only 18 weeks at full pay, and extra three or four weeks holiday at the start will make quite a difference.
I’m tired. Not sleepy tired, not the sort of tired that a couple of early nights will fix, but tired in the way only a break from life for a month or two will solve. But we don’t have that luxury. In fact, the thought of a holiday (even driving up to Scotland and staying with my cousins again) is a distant dream that neither of our bank accounts will allow.
We’re struggling away, taking each day as it comes. I work all week and then help out at the cafe where I can at the weekends. The husband works at the cafe from Tuesday to Sunday and although Monday is supposed to be his day of, he spends it running errands for the cafe and keeping up with the design and website work he’s doing on the side. School has helped with the issue of childcare; at least in the term time we know that for six hours a day we can both work without hassle. The holidays have been more challenging though. The boy has spent his days at the cafe. He’s taken toys there, he has access to the internet and a portable DVD player but he’s been getting very little attention. He’s bored, and there’s still another four weeks to go. The strain is clearly getting to the husband.
He suggested a weekend away. Even if we could dream up the money, who would look after the boy. The mother in law used to be our fallback, but now she’s working at the cafe too (and the place does have a tendency to get busy at the weekend). From what I’ve seen, she’s completely unable to multitask. She makes most of the salgados that are sold in the cafe, but when she cooks, she’s unable to keep an eye on the counter for any customers. We’ve even turned up once to find the place locked up during the middle of a Saturday. What happened to opening, I asked? What happened to cooking, she responded. If she can’t do both at once, she certainly can’t look after the boy at the same time as well.
There’s always the sister in law, as the husband suggested. But she’s notoriously unreliable and would likely allow us to book something and be obligated to pay in full before she decided she wasn’t able to look after the boy. The sister is too busy; she works three or four days a week and her Sundays are full. While I don’t mind leaving the boy with the brother, he lacks the confidence to look after a five year old and works over the weekends too. The father often spends weekends working and when the mother isn’t working she’s trying to look after a house that would otherwise run away with itself. There’s always the grandparents, but they’re old. While I’m sure they’re capable of looking after the boy (and lets face it, they’ve looked after us grandkids enough), I just couldn’t unload him on to them for a weekend.
Last night I cried. I left mascara on the husband’s pillow and everything. I feel stuck, unable to move and in desperate need to get out, if only for a few days. But I can’t. We can’t. And I don’t know how much longer either of us can take.
I’m not closing comments on this post, because that’s just not how we roll. But just to warn you, I probably won’t be responding. Unless you’re offering me a holiday with free childcare thrown in. Then I’ll just jump on you!
