A facepalm situation.

facepalm statueI did something unforgivable yesterday. Although the funny thing is, he forgave me and I kind of knew he would.

Last night I succumbed and purchased tickets to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the Musical for June next year. I had been umming and arring for the past couple of months about whether booking in 2012 for 2013 was actually too far in advance, who knows what plans may arise in the next seven months. But I used my sister’s birthday as an excuse and went ahead with it. I went to bed happily thinking I had ticked another box on my list, and even more chuffed that I received £10 off each ticket because I booked within the month the play was opening.

It was not until this morning whilst I was waiting for my train, I decided to jot down the date of the musical in my diary. At this point, the look of horror spread across my face as I realised I booked the musical on my wedding anniversary. <insert facepalm emoticon>

It took a diary entry to remind me it was my wedding anniversary, and if I hadn’t of checked, I probably would have remained oblivious. I even had a think about what’s happening in June before choosing the tickets, making sure I didn’t book it on the weekend of my FIL’s birthday. Maybe this whole fiasco makes me a terrible wife, but I may possibly score brownie points with the in-laws as a result – silver lining and all that.

I called DH, very apologetic and all, but luckily he didn’t mind too much. He did point out that if the situation was reversed, I would have been furious with him – he’s not wrong. I could have gone into a tirade about how his overly relaxed reaction must actually mean he was the terrible one… But I didn’t.

So I’ve spent all day screaming trying to rectify the situation by sitting on hold to See Tickets. Thankfully, they sympathised and didn’t laugh at my stupidity (at least not that I could hear). They allowed me to rebook the tickets for a different date and refund the original tickets. Eeee.

Hurrah! All is well with the world again.

Young and Aspiring.

At twenty-one, I am criticised for being too young, yet I am too old to be down with the kids. They say your teenage years is about identifying yourself and evolving into a well-rounded grown up, but evidently this continues long into your twenties and thirties. For some, they may never reach that stage of maturity.

Tell tale sign I am not as youthful as one may think: I can no longer drink vodka straight.

It is almost impossible to use expressions such as ‘when I was younger’ or ‘I feel like I am aging’, without an elder reminiscing their youth, dismissing your reasons for feeling like this, in an almost superior fashion. Similarly, when one frets over something, be it money, renting, jobs etc, an elder once again chirps in with some unhelpful remark of how they have ‘been there, done that’ and how we ‘have it all to come’. This line of conversation seems acceptable for most, but if I were to reverse the situation and make a comment about the other being ‘over the hill’, this would be outrageous.

Whilst I should also be dismissive and use this opportunity to embrace my youth, I am simply not that youthful anymore. I can no longer attend Taking Back Sunday gigs, barging my way to the front in hope of catching a used towel or some sort of memorabilia, only to be pressed against a barrier and kicked in the head by a crowd surfer. It is just not viable.

I have a baby, husband, a full-time job and bills to pay, such responsibilities should equate to some kind of respect. Marriage is usually held in high regard amongst elders, so I often refer to myself as ‘Mrs’ over the phone or in emails as I receive such a welcoming response, in contrast to when I was ‘Miss’ or when someone meets me in person and immediately judges me because of my age. Despite this, I do not believe that it is wholly these stages in life which makes one mature. It is the ability release yourself from your past; whether it be, what went wrong in your childhood or the idolisation of your parents/role models, from one extremity to another.

I cannot say I have matured in entirety, but I do believe my focus and drive has ameliorated from my early years. I will continue battling with myself, torn between reminiscing my youth and careering my family and I into a life full of riches.

Women of the stone age.

I had an interview today and the kind of questions they asked required me to justify my intentions as to why it is I want to work. It begs the debate; should a woman resign herself to her children and her husband, or are women equally as capable to be the breadwinner?

The conventional view that women are best suited in the home and men need to venture out and feel like they’re the provider, is very outdated. Traditionally women need to stay at home to breastfeed, but in our modern day, we are able to express or use formula milk as a substitute. I do not understand this stone age view that a woman should be subjected to the home; personally, speaking as a human-being, these four walls will not suffice. Let’s face it, we’re not martyrs. Our children do not expect us to sacrifice ourselves for them, and it is possible to raise them successfully whilst working.

I want to start working because I want to be successful in my own right. I do not think a woman can be fully complacent with her life if she has nothing more than her home. Of course DS will always have the best upbringing, by myself or my husband, so he shouldn’t notice whether it’s mummy or daddy who earns the bucks.

Lets not forget about the man in all this. For families where there is a father, it is perfectly acceptable for a man to play a role in the house. I don’t think a household should be dictated by social norms, and if a man wants to be a house husband and the wife is fine to work, whose to judge their decision?