Children's Skiwear

High Maintenance Mummy is 35, but doesn't mind pretending to be 38, in order to draw admiring comments on how good she looks for her age. She and banker hubby have a blissful marriage, helped only by the odd shot of botox, weekly wine deliveries and his bank balance.

They have 4 children, Ned, Bronte, Matilda and Ava, and live in a Georgian terrace in a highly desirable neighbourhood. HMM's interests include yoga, gossip with the girls and blaming everything on the au pair. Tune in monthly for her unique guide to parenting.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow – or so the song goes. I say: let it go, let it go, let it go. Away! Pretty though it may be, snow, in a day-today sense, is highly inconvenient and has nearly been the undoing of my recently Botoxed face this winter.

Frowning and shrieking are never becoming but honestly, you’d scarcely believe the robing, disrobing and re-robing involved with making sure that four young children are temperature-ready, not to mention the mess that they make of the entrance hall when they come back in.

And when the DHL driver is unable to deliver an HMMs latest my-wardobe purchase because of adverse weather conditions, that’s simply the final straw.

Not that HMMs are immune to the charms of the white stuff, nor to the healthy and, crucially, sleep-inducing properties of fresh air and activity for the children. But everything in its place. That place being our chalet in France, to be exact.

Naturally enough, an HMM’s child will have been skiing since they could walk and it’s vital that their slopeside sartorial style should be worthy of their advanced level of skill. Skiing, I’ll have you know, is 10% skill and 90% style. Of course, practicality comes into it too – there’s nothing stylish about dripping wet bottoms or frozen fingers, so for technical gear that also looks fabulous, HMMs head to etailers where high-performance is served with a healthy dollop of panache.

Tilly gives those metallic-clad toddlers quite a run for their money in her pretty-as-a-picture jacket and trouser suit (pictured top, left) while Bronte, who has recently moved beyond that phase where everything has to be pink, is cutting quite the figure in eye-catching crimson (pictured above, right).

And Ned who, naturally enough, is now eschewing skiing in favour of snowboarding, is ‘shredding it up’ (or so he tells me, to my mixed amusement and horror) in a suitably ‘urban’ jacket (pictured left) and pants (pictured below, right) combo.

Ava, of course, is far too tiny for active participation this winter, but she looks just adorable and oh so cuddly in her snowsuit as she snuggles on my lap in the mountainside café where, as any HMM knows, the hot chocolate is rendered virtually calorie free by skiing.

An HMM can’t be too protective of their angels’ eyes – crow’s feet from squinting against the glare would never do, especially not at such tender ages – so good goggles are essential. Cute hats, toasty gloves, and snug boots are also vital.

After all, warm extremities can make the difference between a holiday where an HMM feels inordinately fond of her children and an insufferably whiny one where she’d quite cheerfully leave them dangling from an endlessly-revolving chairlift.

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