Red wine and the power of reflection

This week has been a bit well, shitty, really. My back is still taking its own sweet time to recover, I got a few lots of disappointing news and when I checked the scales on Friday, it would seem that the brie and pasta I have been consoling myself with over the last 5 weeks have decided to stake a settlement claim on my hips and gut - very rude. I of course dealt with this as any mature woman would by downing over 2 bottles of red wine last night with some good friends and watching the Wallabies and Springboks show each other all manner of man love on a rugby field. That's how it was looking by the time I got to the bottom of my second bottle of shiraz, anyway. Luckily, my inner hangover warning system kicked in at 4am this morning, so I was able to get up, drink lots of water and take 2 preventive panadol. Not feeling too bad right now - just a bit tired, but that can happen when your 3 year old comes bouncing into your bedroom at 6 ish, launches himself from the end of the bed onto your chest and yells in your face how much he loves you and that HE"S AWAKE!!!!!!

Anyway, we settled ourselves in on the lounge with a few pillows and blankets etc and struggled (well, I struggled, he seemed fine) our way through the delight that is Sunday morning TV programming. We had the choice of a live feed from World Youth Day, some evangelist who seemed to think that you would send in money if he SHOUTED the gospels into the microphone and the new improved version of "The Magic Roundabout". Now, I am a child of the 70s and this new version is just not the same - there is NO WAY you can imagine that Dougal the dog is just a mop end that someone at BBC stuck some eyes on and made the station an overnight success in children's programming. As such, I had time to reflect on what I've been up to over the last few years - have the feeling I had not yet sobered right up and was going through the "contemplative drunk" phase. Still, I have also sat in front of all kinds of kids TV shows stone cold sober and I reckon Tweenies would be made a hell of a lot more bearable if you are 3 sheets to the wind. So, turning things around in my slightly foggy brain, I came to the following conclusions:

1. I have done really well with my fitness and weight loss in the past, but I am starting to lose my grip on it and the weight is starting to creep back on. I need to get back on the rabbit food if I want to be able to buy a summer dress from a shop, rather than doing a long term hire of a marquee from the local events hire place.
2. Hurting myself has sucked big, hairy ones. No polite way to say how jacked off I am about this. The only up side I have had from this is that I've had more time with the family, but constant pain (even really low grade stuff like I have now) tends to take the gloss off this a bit. Remaining happy, optimistic and focused on getting better is exhausting and after a while my "up" attitude starts to shit me off. Big time.
3. I am going to have to pull a whole lot of energy from somewhere to get motivated and moving again. Awesome. To quote Samuel L. Jackson "Oh, excuse me while I just pull that out of my arse". I know I CAN do it, it just shits me that I have to. Whinge, wah, wah, wah, wah.
4. The person who came up with Barney the dinosaur was hell's own messenger. No one on God's green earth came up with this concept, no human is that cruel. And the people who put it on at 7 in the morning on a Sunday deserve herpes. Hmm, I think the panadol are wearing off. Might just have more shiraz for breakfast.

It's a hot wind that blows no good

It is the middle of winter here, but there have been a number of discussions on hot breezes at our house lately that have taken our minds off the winter chill. On Friday Grace sat me down and said she had a question it wanted answered and she wasn't sure if I could help. Wondering is this was the prelude to "the talk" that every parent dreads having with their child, I cast my eye over the bookshelf to see if "Where did I come from" was anywhere nearby. With her next words, I realised that this was something far more difficult to answer - she turned her big blue eyes on me and said "Mum, why is it that when you do a fluffy and it feels really, really hot, it always smells bad?" Oh holy jesus, give me the sex question any day. Firstly, a Friday afternoon fart discussion was not high on my agenda and second, I actually had no idea on the answer and did not want to enter the search term "hot fart" on google while my kid was watching (or ever, for that matter).

My sons wandered in and once they worked out the subject of conversation, well, it was a riot in at our place. The words "bum" and "fart" were shouted numerous times as they rolled around laughing on the floor. This was accompanied by "sound effects" and me trying to keep a straight face and explain to Grace that I had no idea and try to work out why she wanted to know. Apparently one of the kids on her table let slip an absolute cracker today and when the other kids all were choking, he explained that he had had "a hot fart, the ones that always smell bad". Cool - it would seem that biology was on the agenda for school that day and I have to say, there's nothing like prac to make sure that the message gets through. I wasn't really able to answer grace's question, but I think I might send it in to Dr. Karl on JJJ for his morning segment - surely it rates up there with belly button fluff.

Growing older but not up

Well, I am well and truly jumping around in the puddles marked "prelude to middle age" this week. I have gone to bed before 10pm 3 nights this week, am really hoping that the ads the company whose moisturiser I buy is telling the truth and my "baby girl" turned 10. I am wondering if the next logical step is to stock up on hair dye to cover the greys that will more than likely start breaking out all over my head or if I should invest in some shares in a botox company. I also know I'm getting oldish when I saw the photos my cousin took when she went to the Glastonbury festival over in England and all I could think about was that she was going to have a devil of a time getting the mud out of her clothes. Funny thing is, I don't FEEL middle aged (I mean in a sense of being - I don't run my hands over middle aged people all that often, so what they physically feel like is a mystery to me) - do middle aged people still say "fuck" regularly, listen to AC DC and find perverse joy in watching the younger people in their office squirm when you "accidentally" sing along with your playlist of 80s hits loudly on your ipod?

Funny thing it, I am not too freaked out with the whole getting older thing - as I pointed out to a girlfriend of mine when she was moaning about how old I must be feeling on Grace's birthday(with a friend like that, who needs an enema? And no, that isn't a typo) - getting older is better than the alternative. Also, it doesn't matter how old you get in terms of years, you always have the choice of remaining immature for as long as you want. In my mind, don't fight it - once you are over the age of about 25, immaturity is something that should be seen as a skill to be honed so it is available anytime you need it. After all, it takes real talent to be able to snigger at the leaflet that comes in the box with your multivitamins that has been literally been translated from Chinese into English - did you know that with one particular brand , taking it daily "will allow you to get up yourself first thing in the morning".