The Yummy Mummy Myth

If ever there was a myth created from distant legend, then that of the Yummy Mummy must be it.

Surely...

Or, more to the point, if ever there was a myth created by the male of the species then this must be the one.

The Yummy Mummy myth is the one that is causing me the most annoyance today.

Let’s be honest they do not exist, it is impossible to be one, and the whole notion has been created the world over by men in the vain hope that they might not get home from work and find their wives passed out on the couch through sheer exhaustion dressed in a tracksuit with not a hint of make-up on their faces.

Most mums would happily collapse at the end of a long day of ferrying children around, dealing with homework, discipline and trying to feed their family a nutritional meal on a shoe-string budget.

But oh no! Instead of collapsing in a heap and crawling our sorry arses off to bed, we have to be standing upright, smiling pleasantly, pretending that we love to be plastered in sick all day and that our little cherubs who are now all squeaky clean and smelling of shampoo and bubbles have not been running around like little devils covered in a day long battle against food and cleanliness of any kind.

How many things does a woman give up in the name of motherhood? Our body, our health, our own space, our sanity! And yes, we love our children dearly, more so then we ever thought possible. We would lay ourselves in-front of an onslaught of double-decker buses if we thought we could save them; but please just do not expect us to smile about it constantly, or bake cakes to celebrate.

"Yay, I am a Mum, here is the three tiered chocolate cake with fondant icing I made to celebrate!" it's just not going to happen, not in this house anyway. 

The whole situation reminds me of other 'fad's' over the years, ones which always have a suspiciously male orientated theme behind them.

For instance - Women must get paid the same as men - remember this one from a decade or so back.

NO you idiots, women should get paid a hell of a lot more than men for doing a hell of a lot more than men. Because yes, lots of lovely ladies slog their soul's out in offices all day long, battling it out to be taken seriously whilst also attempting to take under the desk calls from childcare and frantic nannies informing them of children's temperatures, detention and a whole host of other problems that can crop up throughout the day. When they leave the office at the end of the day it is to go home and put their mummy hat on and sit and give their whole attention to another being, or a whole family of other beings all of who want their fair slice of attention.

So yes, in my very humble view women should get paid more for effectively doing two jobs at once, keeping the universe spinning and being Super woman. If not super woman herself then at least a woman who is super.

Obviously I am having a cranky couple of days - it's been bad what can I say - however this evening I shall be vertical, not horizontal as I would want, and I shall be smiling, the floors will be clean and the dinner will be cooked. However the ironing basket will still be in place in the lounge where it has taken up permanent residence, although it may be teetering a little bit higher then yesterday and there will most definitely be no cakes baked whatsoever.

Yes I am a mummy, and sometimes I can make an effort to be just a little yummy (if the stars are aligned correctly and there is a fair wind) however the two things are not inclusive of each other and quite frankly I would rather conserve what little energy I have left and concentrate on being a good mummy and forget all about the yummy.

Muse

Not Muse the band - although maybe sometimes they can be involved.  I am talking about a muse ... a muse to inspire you to write. 

I guess everyone must have something, a thing which triggers or inspires the creative juices. Mine just happens to be Music. Apparently I can not write a thing until I have an inspiring playlist created. It kind of reminds me of trying to write my dissertation at Uni and being unable to write anything down until I had won four games of Solitaire in a row (this may have been time wasting!)

So now, a decade later, I can not write a sentence until I hear lyrics or a tune that inspires me to feel something, and this is the key, it is not to make 'me' Natasha Bowyer feel something, it has to make my character feel something then I can write about it. 

Here is the funny bit, I have realised that my playlists are completely backwards and this is obviously what makes every character I have written so complicated.  To write Lilah McCannon I listened to endless teenage music, lots of break up or make up angsty tunes - and this was way before I knew what Lilah's character was going to do or who she was really going to be.  All well and good, job done - sort of. 

Once the story was completed and I stopped listening to the playlist all the characters of my book left my head. At last there was peace and quiet from the incessant chatting and plot creating that takes up so much of my sanity. 

This was lovely until I realised that I was not hearing anything. Nothing. Nada.  No voices in my head at all - not even my own.

The madness behind my writing suddenly became apparent to me yesterday morning. Kiddie number two is home from school poorly. In my role as super mum I put everything on hold and jump into bed next to him to keep an eye on him (and also because I am knackered from being up all night catching sick). On the second watching of The Avengers I decide that enough is enough and I am going to listen to some music and start to listen to a new album, which I have not had the time to listen to since downloading. 

And there it is....

The song that I need. Just one teeny tiny song to create a whole new novel. Three listens and I have my main characters plotted, not in a conventional sense but they are there, striking up conversations in my head. Suddenly there they are; my friends are back they are just different ones from before, a whole new bunch of people to listen to music with and write about, strangers to me now but not for long.

Another three listens and I have my setting, I can visualise the sensation of the sand in my toes, I can smell the sea in the air and I can hear the scrape of a kitchen chair across a tile floor. 

All from one song. How powerful is that.

The irony is that the playlist I created for them last night is full of music for an slightly older audience, I am talking, songs about people who have been places, seen things and are dealing with the aftermath. Funny that my new book has a definite YA feel to it.

So basically the way my brain works is - for older people who should know better, I listen to younger music to keep the youth alive, and the with the young I like visualise them trying to understand the concepts and meaning behind music aimed at people in their thirties - things they should never rush to learn.

So my characters are all people who all want to be something that they aren't. 

Or perhaps it is me, me who with every passing year wishes that I could rewind a year.  Maybe now I am in my thirties I wish I could forget all the things that have made me learn the lessons behind the lyrics - imagine listening to 'The Scientist' and not actually understand what it means.

Maybe ignorance is bliss, but if that is true I would have nothing to write about. So I shall just breathe around the awkward lyrics that make my chest ache and instead I shall let my characters tell their tales, I am sure that they are far more interesting than mine.