Well we’re a mere week into the new school year and already the shenanigans have begun. The lunch shenanigans I mean.
Every night I have lovingly cut my grade two boy fruit and every afternoon that lovingly cut fruit has been returned to be without even a nibble been removed.
‘Waste not want not’ I told him.
And yet the same over-ripe, now brown and somewhat slimy pear has danced it’s way to and and from school three times in my child’s lunchbox. It’s now at a point where I’m expecting a letter from his teacher and I’m sure when/if I do, it will go something a little like this:
Dear crap (yes that’s ‘crap’ in lower case) mamma,
Whilst I appreciate your intention to feed your child a healthy lunch by providing him with fruit every day, I’m not certain that slimy three day old pear falls under the definition of ‘healthy’. In fact the mere act of him returning the pear uneaten is probably a good indication he didn’t like it when it was fresh so therefore there’s every chance he’s still not going to like it once it has turned to cider! Please reconsider your fruit selection and refrain from practicing your recycling habits in your child’s lunchbox!
Concerned and seriously grossed-out teacher!
*sigh* I guess I should just be responsible and only let his fruit return once (or maybe twice).
Does your family do the ‘dance of the returned rotten fruit’ or are you a responsible parent and send new fruit to school everyday?
The start of a New Year always excites me. The anticipation of a new beginning. A new page turned. Fresh prospects.
Whilst I don’t normally do New Year resolutions as such, I do like to make plans for the new year. Things I’d like to improve, achieve or change. Yes I know that sounds ‘resolutionish’ but let’s not get into semantics .
A few weeks ago I was tagged by the fabulous Mumabulous in a Christmas wish post, I was actually meant to post about my 5 top Christmas wishes but time got away from me and now Christmas is all said and done……ooops! So instead I’m going to post about my New Year plans, my ‘promises’ to myself that will help ensure 2013 is a brilliant one.
2013 – The Year of Action….
Plan 1. Find the time:
Since becoming a Mum I’ve often found myself making the excuse of having no time to do certain things when the truth is if I’m organised, I prioritise and quit frigging around with things that don’t matter – I’ll find a bit of that time I’ve been missing.
I’m going to find the time in 2013 to exercise, read current affairs, do the things on my ‘to do’ list (like hang some pictures like the one below on the walls in the house we’ve lived in for more than 8 years!)…..
One of the many pics ready to hang!
Plan 2. Pay Attention:
I often live in my own world. In fact I’ve even been accused of being ‘self-absorbed’ (can you believe it ). I promise to remove my blinkers a little more and try to take more notice of what’s going on around me. I’m going to take notice of what’s going on at my boys’ school and daycare and take note of which bloody day is Library Day and Tuckshop Days!!
Plan 3. Read more:
I plan to read more in 2013. From current affairs to currants having affairs, I plan to read it. I also plan to read more to my boys, I just don’t do it enough – so I will find the time and do it more.
Plan 4. Get organised:
We live in an humble post-war home with zero storage space so I often use that as an excuse for not being organised. In 2013 I plan to cut the crap and get my shit in a well-organised sock (I’m looking at you Howards Storage World!).
From this - to this….the start of my 2013 organisation….
Plan 5. Take Action:
I’m the sort of person that tends to hang back and wait for things to happen. It’s only taken me 3 or so decades but I’ve come to realise that if you want something to happen you’ve got to MAKE IT HAPPEN. I plan to do that in 2013. I’ve got some big things planned for next year and they’ll only work if I don’t sit on my hands.
- Image credit
Plan 6. Be More Grateful:
I often find myself always wanting more. More money, a bigger house, bigger boobs, a house-cleaning fairy…….. But the truth of the matter is, I’ll always want more if I don’t stop to appreciate what I already have. It’s time to get a push-up bra, pick up a broom and take the time to enjoy and appreciate what I currently have not what I can have.
As an extension of my ‘be more grateful’ promise, here’s a shout out to a very small handful of my blogging friends and colleagues for their support and friendship throughout 2013. Please stop by and pay them a visit when you get the chance:
Penny from Wildlife Fun For Kids
Cass from Cass Can Sew
Nee Née Say
Denyse from Ready Set School
Trudy from My Vintage Childhood
Anne from Domesblissity
Vicky from Life on the Hill
Do you have any plans or resolutions to implement in 2013?
Camping on Fraser Island recently we had read and heard all the warnings of dingos being particularly aggressive this year. We were vigilant and cautious but not necessarily fearful. With 3 small children in our family we were undeniably aware that we were carrying our very own dingo bait.
Signage everywhere warned us of their presence. Not to mention the clear message conveyed by our campsite owners of the particular aggressive behaviour of dingos seen within the campgrounds.
Don’t leave your children alone.
Don’t walk alone anywhere at night time
Carry a stick with you everywhere.
We were under no illusions they were around.
But the kids weren’t too worried. In fact 3 year old Mayhem was certain when he saw his first dingo, if it came near him he was going to ‘punch it in the face’ then ‘stab it in the heart’!
We aren’t a violent family………………..no seriously.
But regardless of how aware we were and how prepared we felt, my sphincter puckered violently on two of the many occasions we encountered some of the most beautiful but dangerous Australian native fauna, the dingo.
On the first occasion I was early morning beach fishing with neighbour and friend Brenda and her 9 year old son. As we fished along a line of about 7 other fishermen, up to our knees in the cold salty ocean we heard the familiar call travel along the line of men
Dingo. Dingo. Dingo. Dingo. DINGO. Until the bloke beside me pointed up the beach to a lone dingo meandering toward us.
I felt the adrenalin strike my extremities as I glanced back to my four wheel drive 20 metres away. I could see the face of my 3 year old peering through the back window and I felt small relief that he’d chosen to sit in he truck and play with my iPhone rather than brave the morning chill.
I watched the dingo approach each of the fishermen starting from the other end of the line. He approached every single one of them. Some were wary and moved deeper into the ocean with their fishing rods ready to strike if necessary. Others remained still waiting for the animal to move on.
At the end of the line Brenda and I stood poised, alert and anxious wondering what the dog’s next move would be. Brenda ushered her boy behind her, her maternal protection over-riding any conscious thought.
The dingo came towards me, eyeballed me and with the handle of my rod at the ready I held my breath. But he moved on to his next interest, the boy. This time instead of a passive sniff, the dog’s behaviour shifted.
I could almost see the change in his face.
His lip turned up to a snarl and he jumped towards the boy. From the outset it appeared like a dog playing, but from where we were standing this was no game.
Holding her ground Brenda shoved the handle of the rod toward the dog. The dingo backed away then returned for another attempt, lip still raised and teeth bared. Again Brenda stomped toward the dingo and within seconds the dog’s attention was drawn to a flock of seagulls and without further thought he raced up the beach away from us, leaving us trembling and instantly curbing any urge to continue fishing….
The second ‘dingo experience’ was a few days later within our campground. Walking together with The Chook Whisperer and our 3 boys we had just growled at our elder two boys for running too far from us. We were very aware of the dangers of the kids being more than a few metres from us even within the bounds of our campgrounds.
The Chook Whisperer lagged just a couple of metres behind us, walking beside 2 year old Mischief who insisted on traveling at the pace of an injured snail…..
As we walked, enjoying the morning crispness, we were unaware of the stealth-like animal that crept up from behind my husband and youngest child. Head low and eyes on his target he headed straight toward our toddler, clearly the smallest in our group. Out of pure luck or perhaps a small instance of mother-instinct I turned around to check on The Chook Whisperer and our youngest boy to see him being stalked by the dingo.
Clay. Dingo! I could hear the high pitched panic in my voice as I quickly looked back to my eldest children and directed them to stay still.
Startled my husband jumped around to see the animal so close to his son he could have reached out and touched it’s wet nose.
Grab him! I yelled to my husband. Pick him up! The Chook Whisperer picked up the un-phased child and slowly backed away. I can’t be certain but I think the words that came from the 2 year old were ‘Nice puppy. Here dingo‘…..
It took a couple of attempts of me growling and running at him to chase to the confident hunter away and we eventually backed away safely with all extremities attached and undamaged. After having reported the incident to the local rangers we later found out that there were another two incidents involving young children with the same dingo that morning.
The experience left us more hyper-vigilant than ever. Whilst the Chook Whisperer and I lost a few nights sleep over the incidents, the boys were happier than ever to have a grand tale to tell their friends!
Two of the many experiences we had with the dingos on Fraser Is during our most recent camp weren’t particularly positive but it reinforced the work of the Wildlife Rangers in educating locals and visitors on safe behaviours when in dingo territory. The Rangers made almost daily visits to campsites checking on and talking with campers.
With almost every conversation we had with the rangers they each expressed frustration at tourists ignoring extensive signage warning not to feed or engage the dingos. The rangers clearly indicated that much of the dingo behaviour is caused by people either feeding the animals or leaving food/food scraps unattended which attracts the dingos and makes them less cautious and sometimes aggressive around human when food is no longer available. I guess the message is simple, read the signs and follow the rules. Oh and and keep your
dingo bait children close by.
Whilst this post is not intended to generate debate on dingo management on Fraser Is I just found a recent ABC article that gives an interesting perspective on the Fraser Island dingos if you’re interested.
Random acts of kindness and helping behaviour are one of those things that can turn your day around immediately. Whether you’re the helper or the receiver. The self-satisfaction that comes from helping someone when they need is often immeasurable. There’s been days when I’ve helped elderly ladies with their groceries, women with prams, children who are lost or collected wildlife from the side of the road…….I enjoy helping others, not because I’m this wonderful person but more because it’s the right thing to do.
This post relates to an incident that I experienced some years ago and I’d really be interested to hear what you think. It’s based on a time when I was the person receiving the ‘good deed’ but I was left with a mild distaste in my mouth after……
Some time ago I took my eldest child, then three years old to our local farmers’ markets. Knowing I was going to be loaded up with quite a few groceries I travelled lightly carrying only a water bottle and snacks for my boy. With him in the pram, I popped a $50 note into my pocket not even wanting the extra burden of carrying my purse with me. The $50 was the last of our grocery budget for the fortnight but I was certain it would stretch far enough to buy me a small coffee and my boy a cheese stick to compliment our little early morning outing together.
Deciding to walk to our local market, I powered with my boy in the pram knowing I had only a finite amount of time before he decided being a passenger wasn’t quite as exciting as getting lost in a crowd.
As we hit the market I immediately slowed and let the familiar smells wash over me. A mixture of baked bread, fresh spices and smokey bacon infused my senses. I love the early morning market atmosphere.
Standing directly in front of the ‘Banana Man’ stall I pondered how many ‘nanas’ I planned to get at the then exorbitant $9.99/kg price tag. I unconsciously felt in my pocket to check my $50 note……
…….my heart skipped a beat when I found my pocket empty bar half a toothpick and a bit of fluff.
Confused I checked my other pocket. I checked the pram, the near vicinity, I even checked under my boy. But I was out of luck, it was nowhere to be found.
I’d lost it. Fifty dollars!
Angry at myself and sick to my stomach I frantically spun the pram around , all market-induced bliss removed, and started to retrace my steps. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance I’d find where I’d dropped it. I hastily retreated from the markets, my eyes scouring the ground ahead. But I knew the chances of me finding a $50 note in a crowded market were slim.
By the time I made it to the outskirts of the marketplace I had resigned myself to the fact we wouldn’t be buying anything that day. Disappointed I pointed the pram towards home and begrudgingly made my way back. I still looked for the note ‘just in case’ but I was sure all hope was lost.
Then I noticed a middle-aged man standing about 50 metres away in the direction I was heading. I realised that he had been watching me the whole time I had been walking from the markets. As I approached closer to him he stared directly at me ‘have you lost something?’ he asked.
My breath caught, ’yes I’ve just dropped a $50 note on my way past here.’
‘I thought so’ he said as he produced a $50 note from his hand. A smile crossed his face.
I was gobsmacked. Not only had someone found my money but he had returned it. I thanked the man profusely, grateful for his honesty, explaining what we’d planned to do with it. The man appeared smug and after a polite moment we left him and returned to the market to get what we had originally came for.
Leaving the man I was left with a feeling of wanting to reward him in some way for his kindness. I was certain he wouldn’t be there when I returned but I looked back anyway to see if he had left. I was surprised to see he hadn’t moved. In fact he was staring directly at me like he’d watched me the whole time I had walked back into the markets. It left me with a sense of expectation from him that made me uneasy.
I went directly to the newsagent within the market, bought two $5 scratch-its with my $50 note and walked the 300 metres back the to man. He was still waiting; standing outside his car intermittently looking back at a woman in his car who I assumed to be his wife. I thanked the man again, gave him the $10 worth of scratch-its for his honesty and returned to the market. When I looked back the man got into his car, a black BMW and drove off.
I couldn’t help but think the man was waiting for some kind of reward for his act of ‘goodness’. That it was expected. The whole situation felt a little bitter-sweet. Whilst I was so very grateful for having my money returned, I was also somewhat resentful for the expectation and apparent lack of appreciation for reward.
I don’t believe that acts of kindness should come with expectation like I experienced on that day. The reward itself should be the intrinsic satisfaction of helping another ‘just because’. In fact I’d go so far as to say that a good deed done with some expectation of reward is probably not really a ‘good deed’ at all…..
What do you think? Does one good deed expect another? Should I have just been grateful to get my cash back?
Today I’m hanging out with a gorgeous blogger and friend Melissa Suger Coat It (yes that’s how she spells it – just ’cause she can)
Suger Melissa blogs about fashion, food and living life to the full.
She also runs a regular feature called ‘Friends of Suger’ where all her glamorous friends and co-bloggers have the opportunity to share their unque style. However today I’m filling in because there were no glamorous ones around…..
Because she’s extraordinarily clever, Melissa even had this snazzy button done up………….now go on and click on it to read all about my idiosynchratic style (or lack there-of)……
Thanks for having me at your place today Melissa, I hope I didn’t leave a mess
Being a family that frequents shopping centres, we are well-versed in public loo usage with kids in tow. If the shopping centre maintains a kiddie toilet complete with matching adult and toddler loo in the one large cubicle, well no more needs to be said - we’re set. But for centres that don’t have those sorts of facilities (or when those facilities are occupied) the humble wheelchair loo is the next best option.
Now I realise using a wheelchair facility is has the potential for social incorrectness but in fairness I think it’s really an unwritten rule (well in my mind anyway) that it’s perfectly acceptable for parents with small children to use them. Especially if they’re towing a trolley or a pram.
And let’s face it, if you’ve ever tried to squeeze another person along with yourself into a normal sized public loo cubicle AND also tried to close the door, then you’ll know that you’re always left wishing you hadn’t eaten that last cinnamon doughnut prior to your child deciding they need to pee immediately!
Now whilst wheelchair loos are convenient for parents, they’re also fraught with danger for the uninitiated. Most of those loos have that little red automatic door opener on both the inside AND the outside of the cubicle to assist our wheeled friends to get in and out with minimal fuss.
Being an automatic door, it opens at the speed of a snail on phenergan to prevent ‘clients’ from being ‘taken out’ by a rogue public loo door. Consequently the door also shuts at the same pace so God help those with children ready to pee themselves as they frantically wait for the door to shut all the while their parent yells at them ‘NOT YET, NOT YET!!!!’
As soon as the door shuts another button (usually right beside the door opening button) needs to be depressed to lock said automatic door. Without flicking that little switch the chances of being caught with your pants down is high.
Now taking untoilet-trained kids into a wheelchair toilet whilst they’re strapped to a pram or a trolley is a cinch to deal with. Get in there, lock the door, do the business and get out. But the occassions that require a child to be ‘set free’ in the wheelchair loo particularly whilst a parent occupies the facilities leaves the said parent in a vulnerable situation.
Being large enough to manoeuvre wheelchairs, usually the loo door can’t be reached by a person poised on the throne. This generates all sorts of issues particularly when a cheeky toddler or ruthless pre-schooler hovers their hand over the ‘unlock’ button. On those occasions your frantic ‘NO’s and threats of be-heading incites the child even further to depress those inviting door buttons. And because the door is automatic, once its on the ‘open run’, there’s no chance of stopping it.
To date all of my public loo ventures have ended well with the kids (not without lots of threats and an occasional hasty upheaval). However today I must admit, I questioned whether the danger of using wheelchair loos came from mischievious kids or from members of the public.
On one of our usual voyages to our local shopping centre, we made the usual trek to the usual wheelchair loo. It appeared to be occupied but my husband noticed an elderly lady fiddling with the outside of the locked door. She then hit the ‘open’ button. I watched as the door slowly started its unstoppable opening journey. What layed beyond the public loo door upon opening will stay with me forever…..
A young mother perched on the loo, looking slack-jawed at the now open loo door with a child in a pram in front of her. The young mother must have thought she was safe as houses to pee in peace whilst her child was firmly strapped to the pram. Little did she realise that she was to fall prey to an old woman with a full bladder who forgot to wear her ‘Depends’ that day! God knows why she would unlock a locked door, but she did and I don’t think that mother will ever be the same.
I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation afterwards, only because it wasn’t me. But to put myself in this poor woman’s situation leaves me feeling mortified and I’m not quite sure what the old woman was thinking to unlock a locked toilet door!
Needless to say, heed the warning – use public wheelchair loos at your own risk – particularly if there are elderly women in the vicinity drinking copious cups of tea.
Has anyone else been caught with their pants down in a public loo?
cover image from here
Because three young boys isn’t quite animalistic enough, seven chooks form part of our crazy family. We used to have eight but our Labrador Milly apparently preferred odd numbers…..
Chooks are marvellous pets to have around. Apart from the obvious egg-laying capabilities, chooks eat next to every scrap of food that is wasted in our household and they produce some of the best fertiliser around for gardens and veggie patches (just don’t put it on your garden fresh or you’ll kill everything).
And the kids just love them. As you can see from my recent Wordless Wednesday post – our youngest son Mischief might just love them a little too much. They’re not that fond of the way he shows his affection for them but most of the time they tolerate him without too much fuss.
Not only are the chooks cruisy pets for the kids but The Chook Whisperer (hubby) just loves them too.
Thankfully he doesn’t love them quite like Mischief but he has from time to time been spotted walking the chooks a short distance down our street (yeah you think your household is crazy!). On those odd occasions he can be seen walking out our driveway and to our neighbour’s house with his little chook harem following him. At the same time he’s been known to call ‘heeeeeeeeeere giiiiiiiiiiiirls’ in a voice that sounds like someone has a firm grip on his testicles.
It’s like an egg-laying, feathered version of the Pied Piper.
Now The Chook Whisperer is proud of his girls. He shows them off to anyone who’s willing to listen to his crazy rants about pure breeding, broody chickens, fowel housing and egg-shell density. But recently he’s been a little perturbed by them. His white chooks haven’t quite had the lustre he expects from his girls (and considering they give themselves a dust-bath at any given opportunity-no wonder).
So today he decided to bath them.
Yes – BATH the CHOOKS!! Can it get any nuttier in this household??
Now to his credit he didn’t go off half-cocked, The Chook Whisperer actually did a bit of research and God forbid there is a certain methodology when bathing our feather-breasted girls.
Chook bathing apparently requires not one bathtub but THREE!!
One for soaping them up, one for rinsing them in plain water and the last one for rinsing them off with a mixture of water and vinegar to bring out ‘their true show shine’ (ours aren’t show chooks by the way). There are specific measurements of water to other mixers so if you have chooks and are nutty enough to bath them the info can be found here.
Oh and the water had to be warm too…..streuth!!
So away he went, with his sons as his accomplices The Chook Whisperer whooped his dirty chicks into a less-than-foul state.
He caught them, he cuddled them, he sang to them, caressed them and then he lovingly bathed them in his correct temperatured, PH tested, triple bath……..I didn’t know whether to get call the RSPCA or to get jealous!!
Instead I just captured the moment….
One of the goals of this blog is to make others feel better about their families by showing them how crazy ours is. I think I may have surpassed that one!
I’m hooking up again this week with Trish from My Little Drummer Boys
There’s so many lines that I can use about boys picking up chicks – but they’ve been done before so I’ll just let the pics speak for themselves…….
Happy hump day everyone
As parents we spend so much time instilling a caution of strangers in our children. A healthy caution, but caution none-the-less.
Don’t talk to strangers.
Don’t take anything from strangers.
Don’t let strangers touch you.
But along comes Christmas and all that stranger-danger stuff goes flying out the window.
Put an unknown fat old bloke in a red suit on a stage in the middle of a shopping centre and not only is it okay for our children to speak with him, but we practically throw our children at him. We expect our children to sit on this stranger’s lap, tell him their deepest wishes and then they’re usually allowed to accept a present or lolly from him. The moment is so special that another stranger is allowed to photograph it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not anti-Santa in our household by any stretch of the imagination. In fact we’re pretty tight with the white-bearded semi-retiree considering we call him on the phone every second day to increase or reduce the amount of presents he’s delivering to the kids depending on their behaviour (yeah I know, we’ve got the best parenting techniques!).
But I do find it ‘interesting’ when our children exhibit fear of this apparently jolly festive man, that many of us will still ‘encourage’ our crying and often terrified children to sit with him so that moment of fear can be captured.
It’s abhorrent when you think about it.
Why do we do it? Why?
So of course as the responsible parents we are, we took a stand.
Actually we stood alongside the rest of the Santa-consuming population indulging 20 bucks for a poorly-coloured over-priced picture of our boys with an over-weight present-wielding stranger. And it’s an adorable pic (if I do say so myself).
Now the ‘stranger-danger senses’ only appeared to be tingling for our 3 year old who could only be convinced to stand near Santa and there was no way in hell he was sitting anywhere near the vicinity of Santa’s over-used lap. The other two were quite happy to smooch the hairy old guy!
Have you got a pic of your kids with Santa yet? Are you going to?
Considering it’s been the first week of school holidays, this week has been a fun one. Between playing hide and seek, tiggy and generally running around with the boys the FIT (Fitness in Ten minutes) philosophy has been given a good workout.
A great option for getting active, having fun, cooling down AND getting the kids involved is through water play. With just a couple of water pistols, pool squirters and a bucket of water you and the kids could be running around for the whole afternoon having a great time and getting FIT.
Whilst we vigorously discourage violence in our household, when it comes to water pistols and water-wars, well let’s just say that doesn’t count!
An all out water fight complete with ambush attacks, covert tactics and prolonged chases has the ability to get everyone’s heart-rate up, increase those ‘happy endorphins’ and keep in mind – it’s a great forum for parental revenge!!
Just remember the whole idea behind getting FIT is to be creative, have fun and if you can include the kids – well that’s an added bonus (especially if it means blowing their ears off with a water pistol)!!
This was an absolute cracker of a game- but I must say that I ended up being wetter than everyone else and considering the three boys all ganged up on me – no wonder! Great team-work guys!
How was everyone’s week this week? Did you manage to get FIT??
Just on a side note, this will be the final FIT Friday post. Thank-you to everyone who commented and/or participated, please keep up with your FITness (as will I) – it’s so worth it.
Happy Friday everyone! I hope you’ve all had a cracker of a week and managed to get FIT (Fitness in Ten minutes). After posting about last weeks meagre efforts I managed to pull my finger out and fit some exercise into my week. In fact I ran like an elite athlete this week…………….okay okay maybe like a retired elite athlete, who’s over 80 years old and has had two hip replacements – but I ran none-the-less
I thought I’d change FIT Friday around a bit now (and I’m very open to suggestions) so rather than me re-hash what I’ve been up to every week I thought I’d throw in some creative ideas for making exercise fun. For thinking outside the square with exercise and even involving the kids.
So here’s the first idea – Baby Bench-Press…….
If you’re looking to tone your chest, biceps (arms), triceps (backs of your arms) and shoulders (the things on top of your arms) then Baby Bench-Press might be for you.
Done with the nearest little person (preferably really little), use them as your weight and lift away……
Here’s one I prepared earlier:
It’s a lot easier of you have a young, scrawny, compliant child…..unlike mine…..
If not and your child resembles a baby cow – then just be rest assured that you’ll be building muscle and toning up A LOT quicker!
Note – this is probably not the best idea if your bubs has any of the following:
- Reflux – noone wants to inhale vomit during exercise
- Gastro – see above and include crap in that comment
- has just consumed fish or dairy products or a mixture of both – again see above…….
Just remember to have a little fun with it.
Probably not best to do it with a bigger kid……..
How was everyone’s week? Did you manage to get FIT?
I’m linking up with Trish from My Little Drummer Boys this week again for Wordless Wednesday.
In tough times it’s important to take tough measures. It’s moments like these you need double dummies!
Happy Hump Day
It is with relief that we head towards the end of our very first year of ‘the school experience’. At not-quite-six years old, Mr Cuddles is seemingly very tired and really looking forward to a long break after graduating from Prep this Friday.
When I look around at his little buddies at school I notice that they’re all a little slower, a little quieter and don’t quite have the bubbly energy that they exhibited at the start of the year.
When I look at his teachers……..well let’s just say they’re ready for holidays too.
In the past couple of weeks our usually excitable Mr Cuddles has been sooky, teary and almost absent-minded. In fact to get him to do any of his usual basic tasks now requires repeated and constant reminders and encouragement.
To get him to make himself breakfast in the morning is usually like removing one’s fingernails on any given day, but now that he’s feeling a little worn-out, it’s even worse.
The following conversation with our 5 year old will give you a bit of an insight as to why we’re really looking forward to school break:
‘Mate can you please make yourself some breakkie?’
‘Ok.’ Stands in one spot staring at the TV.
‘Mate, please go and make yourself some toast, the bread is right near the toaster’ I turn the TV off.
‘Near the toaster!’
‘Where’s the toaster?’
‘Where it usually is!’
‘Oh, Ok.’ Heads over and places 2 bits of toast in the toaster and stares at it cooking. He doesn’t get any condiments, no knife, no plate, just stares mindlessly at the toaster.
After continual reminding about the things he requires to make his toast, Mr Cuddles stands in front of the fridge with the door open. I’m assuming he’s getting some butter and jam….
‘Muuum, can I have one of these lunchboxes to take to school next week?’ He says as he’s obviously been sidetracked after spotting his younger brother’s lunchbox in the fridge.
‘Yep, no worries. Now close the fridge and look at me. Do you remember what you went into the fridge for?
‘Do you know what you need to get to put on your toast?’
‘Oh yeah, butter and jam.’
‘So where does the butter and jam live?’
‘In the fridge.’
‘Ok great (now we’re getting somewhere) so what are you going to get out when you open the fridge again?’
Bring on the school holidays……….(although I must admit that some of his absent-mindedness may have been inherited from *ahem* his mother)
How are everyone else’s kids going in the lead up to school holidays?
I’m sad to report that my week of FIT has been a pretty slack one.
Whilst I managed to squeeze in one lowly run, it was with two kids in a pram and a teary 5 year old on a scooter bike who complained for the whole run duration. So my one run turned into me walking pushing a heavy pram with one hand, holding a scooter bike in the other and pleading with my 5 year old to keep walking just so we could get home.
The rest of the week was filled with a few power-walks to pee at work and occasional push-ups and dips before I jumped in the shower so needless to say I haven’t quite participated in the level of incidental exercise I’d anticipated.
Between having the day off work with a tummy bug, a migraine chaser the following day as well as having a toddler AND pre-schooler both deciding to be high maintenance for the week my level of exercise has been underwhelming to say the least.
But you know what? We’re all bound to have ordinary days and weeks from time to time and this has been my week. It’s important to look forward and not dwell on the past week. There’s always today, tomorrow and next week to make up for it.
So if you’ve had an ordinary week here’s a little reminder for you (and me):
Remember the spirit of FIT - and that’s to find some level of exercise/fitness in just ten short minutes throughout your day.
Make the exercise align with things you already do throughout your day; make it incidental.
Remember that 10 minutes is better than nothing!
So here’s to a better FIT week this week.
How was everyone else’s week? Did you manage to find some time for ten minutes of exercise here and there? If you’ve had a great week, please share and let us know what you’ve been up to.
Happy getting FIT this week everyone
I’ve spent years trying to maintain some semblance of bowel regularity.
The Metamucil, the fibre, the grainy everything.
There’s nothing worse than going a few days without offloading ‘excess baggage’.
I must say that I’ve managed to keep ‘on top of it’ providing I eat well, drink lots of water and maintain a decent level of fitness.
Many experts recommend an atmosphere of relaxation and quiet in addition to breathing exercises and appropriate buttock positioning on the ‘throne’ to produce swift exodus of by-product materials.
Since having kids there are certainly a few unexpected hurdles that tend to impede the ‘smooth exit of our unwanted passengers’. And maintaining any semblance of the above is next to impossible.
There’s no time for breathing exercises, peace or quiet. Hell it’s a miracle if I get to poo with an audience of less than two!
So now, as with most things, it’s get it done as quickly as possible so you’re not caught with your pants down because generally, the sheer act of my backside touching our toilet at home is usually a catalyst for things ‘turning to poo’ so to speak.
As soon as I sit down you can guarantee someone will punch, kick, scratch, bite or otherwise injure themselves, someone else or a passing innocent domesticated animal.
That being said, timing is now everything. Toilet trips are now planned to ensure the least amount of time possible is spent indisposed.
A clear example of things going bad was when a recent trip to the loo left me with a 3 year old sullenly clinging to my lap whilst I watched our 21 month old toddler suck on a tube of toothpaste just out of reaching distance.
He grinned at me cheekily as his mouth started foaming, knowing there was no chance of me removing his little minty treasure whilst I was perched on the porcelain.
As I intently listened to my three year old master bum-wiper kindly provide me with tips and techniques,my nearby toddler lost his footing from a kid-step he had previously been pirouetting on. The toddler somehow managed to flip himself onto his back on top of the upturned step.
He actually resembled an over-turned tortoise unable to get up with his arms and legs flailing. The child cried his little heart out because clearly he’d hurt something and as his mother it was tough to watch helplessly wondering if I should reach for him or wipe my bum first.
Conducting an initial injury assessment I ascertained that no blood had presented (yet) from the fall so I swiftly ‘removed waste residue’ (taking into consideration the tips the 3 year old had provided earlier) and then reached for the child who was still trapped in the upturned step.
I realised in that moment that I hadn’t yet washed my hands and on the scale of grossness, that was quite high so I paused mid-rescue to ‘de-germ’ myself.
When I eventually got to the howling child he’d turned into a cry-induced snot-fest in desperate need of a cuddle and an ice-pack. At least the tooth-paste he’d been previously consuming left his breath minty-fresh.
Oh to be able to poo in peace.
Does anyone else suffer from toilet-induced trauma or injury?