What am I going to be when I grow up?

First I was going to be a writer. Nooo doubt about it. My first novel was the diary of a heavy metal dude called Thanasi who listened to Slayer and was kind of fat. But I never finished it because I discovered... clubbing! Yes thats right. Carried away by the rhythm of the night I decided that no way could I be a writer. I had to do something active. I was going to become an actress! Off to drama school with me!

But I was shit at learning lines. And I hated naturalistic acting. I preferred to prance around the stage wearing a mask or better still a red nose. Not quite enough to pull off a successful career right? No worries. I would become a

singer! Ah I loved being a singer in a band. Until I realised it was actually *work*. Work that didn't pay. So I decided to be practical. I would teach. I was to become a drama teacher! I had found my calling! Finally I knew what I was to do with my life...

But it wasn't enough. I wanted more. I directed professionally. I got good reviews! But on a personal level? Not for me either. Then I got pregnant. Left teaching. Left teaching drama that is. And started teaching yoga. I love teaching yoga, but do I have what it takes to do it full time? So here I am, blogging and embroidering away and asking myself: what am going to be when I grow up? :(

Maybe not so Domesticated Bee

Today is the second time in one week that lunch was more poo than food. In an attempt to pacify a tired wired toddler (we had people over last night till late) I tried to quickly throw something together that would hopefully taste like liquid pizza (don't ask) and it surprisingly enough it turned out disgusting. This is bad. This food is bad, said the 2 year old.

I hardly ever blog anymore because I have become obsessed with embroidering. Any spare minute I have I sit staring at threads and internally debating over color combinations, sketching any new idea madly while lentil soup quietly sticks to the bottom of the pan in the kitchen.

Because my time has been filled with embroidering which by the way takes bloody AGES I no longer practise dynamic yoga but a nice breathey form of hatha yoga which makes me smile at the end. But then when I look in the mirror there ain't no smile at all because my clothes look two sizes too small! I stand in front of my wardrobe pulling things out trying on outfit after outfit while little K pulls my jewelry out of the boxes and loads his trains with it till I lose my patience with him and the stupid clothes. 'Go and watch Thomas on television!' I spit, reminding myself of Don Draper's wife Peggy (from the show Mad Men thats set in the early 60's). And I wonder...am I normal? Is this normal????

I was talking about this with my (amazing) friend Maria who has three babies is a succesful childrens book writer to boot* and she said (hip hip) its normal! So maybe there's hope for me after all...

*http://www.mariasbooks.com http://www.mariasbooks.blogspot.com