Failed or Refused Grown Up ?

I am truly a responsible person. I parent my children, go to work, pay my credit card bill IN FULL every month, shop, cook (ok, heat up), do laundry, clean and run a house that sometimes resembles a 6th form college or on a bad day, a zoo and stand back in amazement, I even did my tax return IN OCTOBER (more capitals for emphasis)

My disclaimer, dear readers if you will.

However...

There are some aspects of my life that differ distinctly from my beautiful friends. I am seriously blessed with my friends, and I love them, there is not one of them I wouldn't give a kidney to, I have a lovely collection and they are all quite different but they are all grown ups. I have been where they are now, with my fitted kitchen with Nigella books and Cath Kidston tea towels. I have baked cakes and made kitchen curtains and I have spent hours making things out of old tissue boxes with the children. I have attended school concerts, dance recitals, rugby matches, prize givings, etc etc etc but I never did join the PTA. I always helped out at fetes, sold the raffle tickets, went to the pop quizzes and wine tastings but never became a card carrying member, it always just seemed too far from the punk I used to be.

I have realised that I will never be a domestic goddess and I'm good with that, I seem to equate that side of life with when I was married and the children were small and that has gone and I'm not sad about it. I'm not saying you can't be a mummy/domestic goddess/fab fun sex kitten all at the same time, just that my brain doesn't allow me to be.

On Christmas Day, my dear dear friend Sixy, her bidey in and their baby came to visit me and as she is a domestic goddess, herself had made me a bottle of mulled wine. So she's being very Nigella like ( except she's blond, same mane of tumbling curls but blond) in my kitchen whilst being watched by my children, entranced by the sight of a Mummy stirring serenely at the stove as opposed to me attacking the kitchen at a million miles an hour, throwing stuff on baking trays whilst yelling at them to clear the kitchen table of the debris of their day and simultaneously texting, marking and helping Mel with her man problems.

We watched this lovely sight for a while then Sixy asks me for a sieve, now I know I used to have 1 in my other life but I am completely at a loss as to where it can be, so we look for a bit and the Eldest Beautiful Daughter says tenderly " Poor Mummy, you're a failed grown up" which makes us all laugh. Then a suggestion is made that we use a pair of tights, I don't fancy this much as my hold ups cost me £8.25 per pair, I'm not using them to strain wine, do you think they are appreciated £8.25 worth ? I wonder. There is a lot of hilarity about my not being a proper grown up and I make myself feel better by realising I would rather be a champagne drinking, gig going, sneaky smoking, hold up wearing me than a me with a sieve.