The Yummy Mummy’s Family Handbook. Liz Fraser
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I live in jeans or casual trousers, trainers or flats, some kind of pretty but unfussy top and any jumper or jacket I can lay my hands on that doesn’t clash with the bottom half. I also come moulded to my bicycle, which has two child seats and a large wicker basket on the front. My hair is rarely anything other than swept back into a child-friendly but unsexy ponytail and my make-up consists of moisturiser and some blusher. In short, it really is as unglamorous as you can get.
As somebody who wears clothes to both reflect and dictate my mood, and devours several fashion magazines every month—despite the fact that I cannot afford to buy any of the stuff inside them!—this is something of a problem for me. Wearing the required Family Uniform day in, day out means I can almost never get away from ‘Mumsy, family me’ and become the stylish me I know must be lurking somewhere under all the stained tops and out-of-date jeans (if I look hard enough…). But wear it I must, not only because I would otherwise stick out like a sore, overdressed thumb on the school run, but also because I would break my ankles trying to chase my son around the playground in high heels.
Wherever you live, whatever the ‘norm’, it’s almost certain that you will conform in some way, and this can become restrictive and boring after a while. So…
Don’t Mind the Mess: Simple ways of making it look tidy
The entrance hall is the first real room people see in your home, and it’s where they form their first impression of what sort of person you are, how you live and whether it will be safe to have a cup of tea without giving the rim a quick wipe first.
A quick glance around my hall today leaves any visitor in no doubt at all as to my life and personality: a pram (currently with a sleeping baby in it), a plastic fireman’s axe, a trumpet made of a plastic milk bottle and a cardboard box, sunglasses lying on top of a pile of wet children’s socks and trousers after a puddle-splashing session this morning, a pile of half-opened mail, a sticker book, five coats hanging off the banister, three pairs of shoes at the bottom of the stairs (despite there being a virtually empty shoe rack three feet away), a selection of toys, hair bands and bits of my jewellery waiting to be taken upstairs, and three sweet wrappers. It is, without wanting to do myself down too much, an absolute disgrace, and it screams: slightly hectic working mother of three who knows how she wants her house to look (the entire Elle Deco back catalogue visible in the lounge is a dead giveaway) but is fighting a losing battle on account of her own and her family’s inherent slobbishness and inability to put anything away where it lives, ever. There it is—my family exposed in one room.
The good news for anyone like me is that with some clever tricks and new habits, an entrance hall can be transformed from something that looks like a car-boot sale, to a space belying you as a balanced, well-behaved, orderly family. I don’t suggest for a minute that you stick to this at all times—who wants to always be orderly and well-behaved?—but I have learned the following from my years of pretending to have it all under control:
You’ve Got Mail: Dealing with the family admin
What is it about being a small group of people who live quite peacefully and law-abidingly together that makes so many organisations, institutions and double-glazing companies send you so much mail? Every week the contents of our paper recycling box represent the wood from a small sapling at the very least, and possibly even that of a small tree, and half of it is unopened.
Bank statements, bills, reminders (for me, usually), credit-card offers, child-benefit forms, inland-revenue notices, school letters, magazine subscriptions (oops, me again), party invitations…the list of things to deal with can become overwhelming, even for the most efficient paper-pushers in a household. And that’s to say nothing of the mess all of this paper creates.
There are only two outcomes of being flung into a sea of paperwork: you sink, or you float. Assuming that floating is the preferred option, avoiding as it does any tut-tutting from your in-laws and a visit from the bailiffs, then systems need to be put in place to help you swim. These do not involve pushing forms under the carpet, moving unopened envelopes from one table to another, or assuming the other person will deal with it. Instead, you need a family in-tray and a clear idea of who deals with what.