M.O.D.

I have just found out a friend has just had baby No. 3.  She is recuperating in hospital after a C-section on Saturday.  My thoughts are with her as I remember the pain and lack of sleep which accompanied Jonty's birth.  One afternoon when my C-section scar was still only 2 days old, The Accountant came wandering in to spend time with mother and baby and commented that Jonty looked a bit like Mr. Magoo.  The pain of trying not to laugh still haunts me to this day.  It is right up there with sneezing and coughing after a major operation.

I was also remembering how much easier it was knowing that my role as a new mother included entirely devoting all of my time to raising my children.  A newborn baby is so time-consuming that you notice little else.  However, after about seven weeks I was ready to don my dance gear and get into the studio again.

Now it is different.  Baby is now about 21 months old, and I have two big boys at school.  But since I do not have 25 hours of dance work waiting, I have been unwittingly sucked into housewifeliness.
It goes like this:

1.  Take care of children.
2.  Operate family taxi/walking service.
3.  Domestic duties (53 of them).
(Numbers 4 - 26 other stuff).
27.  Make dance classes for current work.
28.  Find a job.

Unfortunately in the real world there is no solution to the work/life balance.  There are either women drowning not waving or those who are just getting on with it they best way they can.  
Otherwise it would be like this:
M.O.D. "Hello Ministry of Dance can I help you?"
Me: "Yes please.  I would like a terrific dance artist job which combines my skills as dancer/teacher/choreographer in the Camberwell area."
M.O.D. "Are you a mother?  Would you like flexible hours?"
Me: "Yes that would be great.  I need to be able to pick up the boys from school.  Jonty only goes to childcare 2 mornings a week.  So would need to be pending the place around the corner...."
M.O.D. "We'll fix all that for you and get back to you with about 20 hours of stimulating dance work.  How does that sound?"
Me: "Great!  Thanks a lot. See you next week."

Yoga

I have recently joined a gym for the first time in about twelve years.  Obviously I have not been sitting on my sweet ass all that time, but the amount of dance and yoga I used to participate in made joining a gym unnecessary.

After a not so fruitless search I discovered that the best and cheapest yoga classes were to be had by joining my local gym.  As many sessions as you like for $15.00 a week.  So I would only have to attend one class a week and not feel like it was money down the drain.  I still stand by what I said in one of my first ever blogs about Melbourne.  Ladies who exercise here take their kit seriously.  Only the best and most expensive gear is seen in the yoga class.  And you see hordes of these women having coffee during the week wearing their exercise gear (sweaty!) including matching trainers and leggings WITH PIPING just cut off below the knee (yuk).

Allegedly I dance for a living (ha!) and you would think that after all these years I would own some pretty swanky kit myself.  Every contemporary dancer reading this knows very well how lovely it is to dance in your old favourites.  Ripped, torn, re-stitched and re-fashioned a bit like a well-loved teddy is how I would describe my dance and yoga outfits.

I probably stick out like a sore thumb amongst the very matching outfits sparkling with newness and money.  The yoga teacher is absolutely the coolest lady - mid-fifties, just the right side of hippy, she wears her dangling earrings with flair and her hair loose.  I just love a rule-breaker and anyone who is not conforming to the usual trends.  She is certainly something to aspire to.

There is one irksome thing though.  After every yoga class we have chanted, breathed and stretched our bodies and filled our minds with good and positive thoughts.  The first thing these women do (and it is always women) is get their bloody mobile phones out and start the ritual checking, texting and chatting.  I hold that unless you are Hilary Clinton, NOTHING is that important.  And even Hilary would have the good sense to at least wait until she has rolled up her yoga mat.

Northcote

Last weekend I had a free Saturday night.  Well who doesn't when you have three small children? Sad isn't it?  No but what I mean is that The Accountant was between business trips.  He walked in the door from Hong Kong.  And I walked out to yoga.

By the evening I had my groove on and was dressed up in my favourite outfit of the moment - a funky jumpsuit I bought in Oxford on my last trip back.  Of course my Best Gay Friend said it was fabulous and I just had to have it.  However I can never wear it on date night with The Accountant as apparently I look like an Oompa Loompa (his words not mine).

I was going out in Northcote with two gay men anyway, so I wore it with confidence.  I drove out of the leafy but dull as ditchwater suburbia, and knew I was heading towards something more akin to the Cowley Road of Melbourne when I saw a guy skateboarding.  In the middle of the road.  Wearing a poncho.  I felt right at home.

We had a great night starting with a drink at Kitty Somerset - which sounds like a Bond Girl but is a bar with a cool vintage/art deco vibe.  Then dinner at a vegetarian restaurant.  Fantastic.  Just what the doctor ordered for the lady who has been trapped in the house small boys for company.  You may think me ungrateful but I will give you an example.

Whilst I have been typing this I have had to time Henry as he races around the house and reports back to me after each round.  Rufus has been telling me about his "buddy" from school and how glad he was that he did not get the crazy buddy or the crap buddy.  Jonty shouts out MAMA every now and then.  God knows where The Accountant is, but this is the family's version of leaving me alone.  Everything from brushing my teeth to going to the loo and even doing up my bra has to be done whilst talking or reasoning with a small child, who may or may not be clinging to my legs or going through and slowly wreaking havoc amongst my special things whilst I am otherwise occupied.

I had better make sure that jumpsuit and my heels are ready for another trip soon.  I am going to need it.