Life in the crazy tree

Judge Dredd or dread judgement?

2012-02-12T21:51:00.000+11:00

"put down your weapons and prepare to be judged!!"
Those words rang out from old Sly Stalloe's lips when he played the comic character Judge Dredd in a rather cheesy film of the same name. Possibly he is the only one who was authorised to do this without any input from anyone else.
What relevance does this have in this post? Glad you asked!
I have signed back up for the 12 week body transformation program, run by the trainer Michelle Bridges. This is my second "round" and I was hesitant to sign up for a few reasons. The main one was a fear of being judged (or being judgemental of others) by other participants on the forums. It happened last time and was unpleasant. Even more unpleasant was watching obviously vulnerable people being judged by others online. Online Forums can be a harsh place. Do people need to stop making excuses and accept responsibility for their weight and eating habits? Yep. Does everyone repond well to a kick up the arse, delivered online? Nope. You can come away feeling miserable, bullied and judged. Or you can come away motivated. How does the person delivering this kick know it's the right way to go? They don't. And what is worse it can be catching. You could find yourself reading something, as I did, and agreeing. I am in no better position to judge someone than any other forum member. Doesn't leave you feeling good.
Am I anti 12wbt? Not at all. It's a great program that is really working for me. What I don't like is the judgement I sometimes see being passed. Not just on the forums but also in environments like FB and even around a tea table at work. Am I a judgemental person? Yep. I just try to keep it to myself. I'm not an expert in anything, despite how I like to appear. So I think people should at least think before they judge or pass comment.
And tomorrow I will end world poverty. Or not. But it would be nice.

Mistress Pain, kettlebells and the TRX

2011-10-21T19:08:00.000+11:00

So today was absolutely gorgeous here in Canberra. The weather has been outstanding - possibly because Her Majesty and His Royal Highness are in town and even Canberra spring knows when it is licked - so it has meant digging out the sunscreen and water bottle. Found the sunscreen after rummaging around under the sink for 10 minutes. The top had that lovely "crust" that sunscreen bottles get after you haven't used them for a while, but I dealt with this by pointing the nozzle down the sink and applying some pressure. My fingers are stronger than I remember, as the crusty plug shot out of the bottle with some force, bounced off the plug hole and lodged in the window flyscreen. Great look.

Today's session with Mistress Pain hot, sunny and possibly has broken my arse. No kettlebells today (which shocked me. It is one of her favourite torture devices) but lots of step ups, TRX squats and a cardio routine she calls "Malcolm". Not sure why it is called that, as Malcolm is a fairly innocuous sounding name. The exercise is nothing near innocuous. Basically you do a burpee, run 10m, do another burpee, run another 10m, another burpee and then run back to the start line and it goes all over again. For 6 minutes at a time. I was very glad I hadn't had a big lunch, as it would have been putting in a high velocity and possibly chunky reappearance. For a "break" we would do TRX squats. fun. Love you, love your work, mistress pain.

Faster than a speeding freaked out person screaming "aaaaaaaaaargh!!!!"

2011-10-18T19:57:00.000+11:00

SO hiya readers!
I bet you thought I'd never come back, eh? Well, I am back now. Am exercising and eating healthily and mentally I am in a place which I would pretty much call my happy place. Something comes along every now and then to shake the crazy tree, but I have a pretty firm grip on the branch I am on right now and if it all gets a bit too much, I just climb up or down, out of the way.

I have officially finished therapy and am now in what is called "maintenance". It was one of those weird feelings of part relief, part sadness when my private braincare specialist finally said one day "I don't think there is anything more we can achieve in our sessions. You are as well as I think I am going to see you". It was strange to hear the words I had been longing for - I was and wasn't ready for them. On an intellectual level I knew I was really doing well but on an emotional level it was kind of like breaking up with your boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, he was not my boyfriend, but he had become a constant in my life and suddenly it wasn't going to be there. He actually "weaned" me off being reliant on a shrink, which was weird. I was worried I had become addicted to therapy, but he was confident I could make it. He does this with all of his long term patients so he knows that they are going to be more or less ok on their own. I haven't seen him for 4 months now and have been going really well. Very anxious for the first 3 weeks but now am scooting along very happily on my own.

The good news is that my foot problem also got a firm diagnosis. I had fractured my TMT joint in my left foot and although the bones healed well, the cartilage in the joint was completely rooted. The pain I get now is the result of bone grinding on bone, which tends to tickle a bit. This means no more running or high impact for me, probably EVER. There are plenty of other exercises I can do, so I am concentrating on them. Let's just say kettle bells and push ups have become my friends. Ever since my podiatrist got me into MBT shoes, I am now also able to walk up to around 10km at a time, so the cardio is also going well.

I bet you are wondering about the title of my post. Well, those of you who have read my blog before are well aware of my love/hate relationship with Mt Ainslie. Well now that my foot is better i have started walking up there again and on Monday I got some extra motivation to do it extra fast. A farking great brown snake came out across the path at me and I took off so fast I bet it looked like one of those loony tunes cartoons where the shadow stays in place as the person runs off. I reckon I did a time over 400m that would have made Usain Bolt proud and my feet hit the ground maybe 8 times in that 400m. I also made some high pitched, not-very-brave sounds that got the attention of a few of the other walkers on the mountain. I think I meant to say "gosh, everyone take care, there is a brown snake on the path" It came out sounding like "farking phoooo phaaa snicky snack snack". I'm sure they got the general idea.

Who says motivation can't find you??

The worst 10%

2011-07-11T22:47:00.001+10:00

Ok this is a bit heavy and the first thing I want to say is I am a LOT better since I wrote what is about to follow. It was part of my work I was doing with my shrink about changing my perceptions of myself and how I thought of myself. I had an exercise called (surprise) "the worst 10 percent". This is where I had to write down the absolute worst I felt about myself. I have aslo thrown in some of the good stuff, just so people don't think I am about to go an jump off something high. Not the case at all. I am a lot further along than I was - it's just where I was at that time was a bit nasty.

This is a tough one for me and something I have been working on, by myself and with my shrink, for the last 6 months. I have broken it down into "the good and the bad"

The good - I have come to realise that a vice or belief is only as strong as I let it be. God, if it was only the simple, eh? it sounds simple and in a way it is. Finding and then continuing to have the strength, resolve and courage to change and challenge them is what scares the cr*p out of me. Seriously. Bit by bit, day by day and sometimes hour by hour, I have built up my emotional armour so I can fight when I need to, walk away when it's the right thing to do and learn how to shield myself from my own destructive habits. Like the shampoo, doesn't happen overnight, but it DOES happen. Most of the time. Which is a butt load more often than it used to be. I have also learned that throwing my hands up in the air does not achieve much except making me temporarily taller. Doesn't mean I DON'T do it, but the big change now is that afterwards I go "ok, tantrum over, back to it". Most of the time. I say that a lot these days. And I am slowly becomming ok with it. Instead of I MUST BE AN INSTANT SUCCESS IN EVERYTHING I ATTEMPT, it is ok if what achieve is "most of the time". Negative thinking and talk was one of my big vices and MAN it has been hard to give up. Harder than any food.

The bad - This is a bit ugly and raw around the edges. there is also a bit of swearing. Just letting you know in advance so I don't shock the pants off you or anything. I would fight like a demon for my husband, children and family to protect them but what have I done to protect myself? From the bad thoughts, the self hate, the destructive habits and the emotional pain? I have lashed myself mentally for almost as long as I can remember, hated the way I looked and as a result, fulfilled my own farking fat prophecy. Even when I was slim and healthy (75kg, running every day etc) I HATED myself. TRULY HATED. there were times when I would lie in bed and think I was not worth the oxygen I used. Days where I would lash myself into a state of such strong self loathing I couldn't even walk past glass windows for fear of seeing my disgusting, reviled reflection. It figuratively and literally paralysed me. And where did this hatred come from? NOWHERE. I wish i could tell you i had a crap childhood but I didn't - I had a great childhood, an upbringing anyone would want and I could not find better people than those who are my family and friends. I wish i could tell you I had massive, traumatic events happen to me but I didn't - no more than anyone else has in their life. My life is freaken AWESOME. And guess what? I didn't think I deserved to be happy!! I didn't think I DESERVED health and the benefits of a healthy body. For me food IS NOT reward - it is PUNISHMENT. I stuffed food of all kinds down my throat to punish myself.

Let me try to explain - I have a very dear friend who is a self harmer. By this I mean that at times she will be so overwhelmed by her emotional pain that she will pick up a knife and literally cut herself. This shocked the sh*t out of me and I couldn't understand it. At all. Until about 8 months ago I said something about it to my shrink and he just replied "well, isn't that what you do to your body with food? You tell me you get no real - only fleeting - pleasure from it and all it does is make you feel worse. You are cutting with food". I nearly fell on the floor. And then denied it. It is only recently (last 5 months) that I have come to realise that yep, that's pretty much it. I was self harming with food I had such a low opinion of myself that I was putting food into my body that I knew was all wrong. And why? Because I felt I should PUNISH my body and myself. No good reason. It was just something I did. I say did because I am further along now and most times can resist, but not always. This is what the hatred does - my feelings of self hate were so strong that it ended up manifesting itself in the form of self punishment. Not pretty. And farking hard to deal with. I am making progress but the good news is I have more good days than bad. Food is now something I enjoy and (on the whole) it is much easier to feel positive. Not everyday. But most days. I would say that the times where I find myself literally crouched in a corner, stuffing 2 minute noodles or KFC chips down my throat at a rate that would make a perosn sick and feeling sh*t house are now down to about 3 a month. It used to be 4 days a week, so that is good progress.

in conclusion, the good news is I am a lot better than I was, especially mentally. Giving up my negative thoughts and emotions vices has been tough and doesn't always work. but that's ok. I am the one that gave them power - I can also choose to take that power away.

something old, something new...

2011-06-07T20:32:00.000+10:00

So I've been off on a rather rocky journey the last few years. A few things haven't changed but I've got more information :

I am still in therapy and taking anti depressants. My Dr tried to wean me off them twice and let's just say it didn't go well. So long term drugs could be what I am facing, which to be honest is something I don't have too much of a drama with. I've been taking medication for epilepsy since I was 14, so chucking pills down my throat doesn't flip me out all that much.

I have been diagnosed with GAD (general anxiety disorder) with some indicators showing I have tendencies that pre dispose me to depression and addictive behaviours. This is why alcohol is not a great thing for me - I do tend to self medicate with alcohol when I am not coping but all this does is stuff me up and to be honest, just makes me feel like crap. It also doesn't help me when it comes to weight loss, so it's on the "treat with respect and caution" list.

A few extra things have happened in the past few years and I'll blog about them so you can catch up but let's just say it's been good and bad and a whole pile of more or less normal. I have not lost any more weight but not put too much on (am currently 127kg) and have joined a group on facebook who are really supportive. I did balloon out to 139.9kg last November, which scared the shit out of me and got me moving again, but it's been a slow process. More about that later.

I'd better dash - one of the kids is having a meltdown in the lounge room and it sounds like someone might be about to die. That or a ferret has jammed its tail in a door.

Back after a few years off

2011-05-28T20:34:00.002+10:00

So, after a few years off on some weird kind of fat generating sabbatical, I've decided to return to the crazy tree. I find it a comfort really. I have been blogging somewhere else (I know, I am a blog harlot) but that has finished now and also the tree is so much more comforting. Lots more branches to swing from. Stay tuned - I plan to blog at least once or twice a week
Em

Another challenge

2009-02-21T21:28:00.003+11:00

I bet you all thought I'd died or been mistaken for an illegal immigrant and been locked up, didn't you? Nope, just slack and doing nanna type things like going to bed early or had a gutful of computers (I work on them all day) and wanted to do weird, deviant stuff like read a book or (and this will shock some of you who are addicted to myspace or facebook) TALK to my family and friends. You know - face to face. Freaky.

I have also been nursing wounded pride (and toes) after running at high speed into one of our lounge chairs at William's birthday party in January. Did you know that modern lounges have surprisingly solid bases and as you approach 40, your turning ability and reflexes are not what they could be? Came as a shock to me too. So, now that my toes are no longer black and purple (one or two have healed in interesting positions) I am back to running and working a sweat up at the gym. I am also slowly taking off the weight I put on when I hurt my back, so I can now look down and actually see my toes, which is very exciting. I am also working hard on a plan which involves me only having to do 10 hours work a week and still get a good salary, but to be honest, most of those jobs involve painted on latex, spanking and high heels. To be honest, I have enough trouble with sweat pimples in unfortunate areas (be sure you want to know before you ask where) and latex is just not going to help. And my toes are still too sore for super high heels.

So, as I have obviously been off my meds (not really, still on the happy pills), I have signed up for yet another "challenge" at my gym, which starts in a week or so. I have been put into the "echidna" team, which I think means by the end of my first hard training session I will be a grumpy, prickly, odd looking freak who will curl up into a ball at the first sign of my personal trainer. No different to normal, really. It looks a lot like the one I did 2 years ago (you can read it at the start of this blog) but I reckon this time I will post a list of "things you really need to know before you sign up for something like this". Do you think "Run screaming from the building" would put people off?

Heatstoke and other fun stuff

2009-01-07T22:38:00.002+11:00

Now that the new year has come and gone, I have joined the many others at the gym and out pounding the pavements, atoning for the multitude of festive season "sins". Still, really, in my book, I would not see champagne and mince pie consumption so much as a sin as essential survival supplies for getting through the enforced cheerfulness that is Christmas. You all know what I mean - the awful feeling you get when you either feel ambivalent or even a bit depressed (for any reason) and everywhere you go you are faced with messages about how FABULOUS Christmas is and how YOU WILL ENJOY YOURSELF. When faced with the Crisco hamper woman on TV, all I want to do is ring up and ask if they do a latex hamper with extra tinsel and paint on body chocolate.

Anyway, back to post silly season exercise. I am back on the wagon again and so far this week have slogged out for lunchtime walks and some fun at the gym (my PT calls it fun, I call it cruel and unusual). Yesterday I discovered that going for a 4-5km walk in 35 degree heat is not always a great idea. Resulted in my needing a lot of water, a jolly good lie down and some panadol. Always a good way to spend an evening. Also good for weight loss - when nauseated from a touch of the sun, you don't feel like eating much. Still, I think tomorrow I'll do my walk in air conditioned comfort. This must be why gyms, fans and the person who brings around nice, chilled towels were invented. Yay.

Lawks a lordie, it's nearly the end of 2008!!

2008-12-30T20:44:00.002+11:00

Well, stuff me, that came around farking quick. I can only think of 5 occurrences where blackout from alcohol consumption can account for lost time, so either I have been abducted by aliens or I well and truly lost track of things. Will stick with the aliens theory for now, as it provides some comfort and excuse for not being at all geared up to usher in 2009. It may also mean that I will get a visit from David Duchovny, who I have had a crush on since I saw in in Twin Peaks all those years ago... sigh.

This has been an interesting year, has it not? I'm not sure about those of you out in blog space, but 2008 has had its share of ups and downs for this crazy tree dweller and I find myself sitting on a slightly lower branch than intended when I started out this year, but I haven't completely fallen out out and landed on the ground with a thump, so life is not completely sucky. On the down side (get the shitty stuff over and done with eh?) : have spent a year with my depression seeming to enjoy the odd sojourn back into my life to smack me around the head a bit, steal my handbag and drink my champagne, which tends to leave me feeling a bit down, roughed up and raw around the edges (what girl wouldn't be without her champagne?). I also managed to have a small slip at work, which resulted in two bulging discs in my lumbar spine. To anyone out there who has done a similar thing, you have my complete sympathy. For a slip that did not even result in a fall on my bott bott, I ended up spending June to November in varying amounts of pain and not being able to do much at all for a few months. This put a serious dent in my exercise regime (and sense of humour) and as a result, nearly all of the weight I had lost has crept back on, with the exception of 5 kg. This is a blow, but shit happens and no point in dwelling on it. Does that sound as though I've convinced myself? Hmm, more positive thinking required.

On the plus side, the kids are going great guns at school and childcare, Tim has just finished his 4th year of teaching, we have attended 2 lovely weddings and as I said earlier, I made up for being down in the dumps by having a few great parties and self medicating with champagne cocktails. I know, all of the health freaks out there just had a sharp intake of breath, tut-tutted me and will be sending me links for AA, but if you could save your time and just stuff your well meaning advice, it will save a whole heap of time and grief. Also, a friend of mine is about to have his first book published (GO GARTH!!!!!!!) and I encourage you all to buy it. Will do a separate blog about it later. The other plus is that I made it back to the gym in the last 2 weeks and today was able to complete 60 minutes of "run 1 minute, walk for 3" on the treadmill. It is back to basics, having to retrain my body in all forms of exercise. Also, having the vision of my exercise physiologist standing next to me saying "switch your core ON! BRACE YOUR CORE!!!!!!" means that no matter what I am doing, my core muscles are working their, um, butt off all of the time. This is very tiring - try it sometime.

So, on with 2009 (hee hee - originally left a zero out there). Hope you all have a great evening tomorrow ushering out the old year. I plan to go to bed early and catch up on sleep. Does this mean I have become and old fart and should I list this in the positives or negatives for 2008? Hmm, where's Mulder?

How to burn those extra calories...

2008-11-13T16:01:00.002+11:00

Those of you who are regular readers (thankyou!) are well aware that over the years I have struggled with my weight, gone on and off various diets, exercise regimes etc. You also know that I am recovering from a recent back injury, which put a serious dent in my aim to lose weight and run 10km by Christmas. Now, the weight loss is back on track but the 10km run is unlikely to happen, unless there is the promise of something like a free massage once a week for a year, or the kids set fire to the Christmas tree again. Yes, I KNOW it was an accident, guys, but the memory is still pretty fresh. One I will run towards, the other away as quick as my chubby, pink little legs will carry me.

After getting the all clear from the Dr to resume most activities pre back injury (except running, which is off limits until at least early January), I have been out and about walking at lunchtime, bike riding etc. The walks up Mt Ainslie are at a fairly stately pace at the moment, with me not talking much at all on the ascent (hallelujah! It's a miracle!!!) as I am concentrating pretty hard on not having a coronary, but I know it will get easier. Maybe. One day. I am also riding a fair bit on the old stationary bike. First lesson I learned was that I had lost my "bike seat conditioning" or as I like to call them "buttocks callouses". 1st ride was fine until I got off, when I realised that it felt a lot like how someone (say, Julie Bishop's speech writer) who has been booted up the backside for 45 minutes. More imitations of walking like a duck and involuntary noises when lowering oneself onto the toilet.

I have found a great website though, which answers the questions that EVERYONE asks themselves but you never find in the exercise books. It is how many calories you burn during sex - one of my personal favourites is the use of fudge. Oh yeah, and the trapeze one. Get motivated and, um, enjoy!

A great holiday and shy sausage

2008-11-12T21:44:00.003+11:00

Tim and I got a chance (thanks to my wonderful parents - mum and dad, you rock!) last weekend to escape with no kids to a lovely area of Australia called Hyams Beach. It was fantastic - a cottage all to ourselves with a great view of the beach, sleeping in both mornings (woo hoo) and just having some of that rare stuff called "time together". The simple joy of having a coffee together where we knew that Cameron would not get Will in a headlock and in the ensuing struggle, knock the table over and send sugar sachets flying out over the cafe patrons like a cluster bomb was quite relaxing. Also, wandering through shops where a number of twee, incredibly breakable and expensive items were arranged at toddle height without the blood pressure steadily rising was also a novel experience.

Other highlights included :

A mother humpback whale and her calf coming right into the bay. We sat on the beach and watched them for hours - it was just amazing. An added bonus was that the money I was going to spend on a whale watching tour I was able to blow on a pair of cowboy boots. So cool!
The local high school had a food fair and fete. So loud, great food and the reassurance that all teenagers are just raging bags of hormones, ready to swarm.
A pizza that had us laughing for most of the weekend. When we picked up our order, the slip came with it. Apparently, we had ordered an aussie pizza with extra "peeperoni". Quite a few conversations ensued about what peeperoni would look like, how it would act and does that count as a special topping. We came to the conclusion it is sausage with a confidence problem. Tasted good though.

Back to school

2008-10-16T19:38:00.002+11:00

My daughter is currently very caught up in watching a TV series called "Winx club". From what I can gather, these girls (who look a lot like the Bratz dolls, who are referred to "slutz" dolls by Tim and I) attend some kind of special high school for fairies (which may be more mainstream these days, who knows) where they worry about being able to cast spells, dress fashionably and impress the dumb, token "jock" fairy (who is also a prince, so I am guessing that although he has the IQ of a sequined handbag, the girls think he is quite a catch). Yes, I know it is sad that I have say through a few episodes and absorbed this much, but it means a lot to Grace, so I have decided to turn my thoughts from "someone kill me now" to drawing parallels between what the Winx high school is like and my own days back in the dark ages of puberty.

Now, when I was at Ginninderra High, not too many real princes or princesses were around, but there were plenty who thought they were, or at least thought that the sun shone out of their arse, so that will do for covering the fairy side of things. I have also noticed that, just like high school, there are "good" fairies and "bad" fairies. Just like high school, the bad fairies dress like hookers, wear way too much eye makeup and generally make the "good" fairies life hard - stealing powers, crushing them with magic constriction spells etc. When you think about it, the girls who were the "princesses" at school were also the ones who made life hell for all of the "ordinary" girls by teasing them about their breast size (too big, too small blah blah blah), wore lots of eye makeup, thought that kissing boys was the ultimate to spend high school and wore the most fashionable style dress to the formal (aka prom). The good fairies just struggled on through, trying to cope with the burden of learning and raging hormones (and the bad fairies) and in the end, could not give a rats bum if they wore a dress or jeans to the formal, they were just happy to escape.

So, is this TV show just encouraging the age old stereotypes, which we will never escape, or is it preparing our young girls for the fact that in life, you will have to deal with good and evil fairies? Both concepts are pretty perplexing really and I have no idea. Still, I can comfort myself that at least in my day, the pressure was not on to sprout a pair of wings, turn my head into a talking pumpkin or defeat the powers of evil whilst maintaining good fashion sense and still attracting the prince - or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.I would like to class myself as a "middle of the road" fairy - capacity to do good or evil in more or less equal measures. And I don't talk with a really irritating American accent. That has to put me over with the good guys.

People listening

2008-10-02T19:49:00.002+10:00

Now, I love people watching as much as anyone, but I am also happy to own up to the habit of people listening. This is awesome and if you haven't really tried, give it a go. Here ia a cracking example I heard just today when I was out with mum at the local shopping centre.

We were making our way through the David Jones cosmetics and perfume section (also known as "olfactory hell" according to my husband) when we overheard this gem from a sales assistant : "Now, I know it seems very bright and often people find this shade off putting at first...". I have to admit to literally laughing out loud and checking with mum to make sure I had not misheard. No, it was 100% correct and we spent the next 5 minutes wondering what on earth the stuff the girl was trying on, what it looked like and where the sales assistant had done her training. I feel it was probably at the school of "Yes, your arse does look big in that dress but it takes the attention off your face".

So, if I can have this much fun in just my lunchtime, give people listening a go. Great fun and the more you take it out of context, the funnier it gets.

This parenting moment is proudly bought to you by prozac

2008-09-28T19:53:00.005+10:00

Well, the school holidays have started, along with the wonderful windy spring weather that seems to turn even the most normal of people into weirdy, cross, "don't-give-that-guy-a-gun" citizens. Not a stellar combination in anyone's books and of course, I have decided to celebrate by taking two weeks off to relax (ha ha) and spend some of that oft talked about but rarely experienced "quality time" with my nearest and dearest.

Of course, I had forgotten what I like to call "the chant of consumerism" that starts pretty much 3.05pm on the last day of term. It goes something like this - you say to the kids "wow, isn't it great it's school holidays" to which they reply "yes, but we're bored. Can we go to the shops/bowling/skydiving/white water rafting/whale watching..." the options are endless. When you suggest a nice (aka cheap) version of fun, such as a family picnic in the park, they look at you as though you just said "how about I make a call and sell you into white slavery for the next two weeks?". They bravely struggle through their disappointment when the realise that you are not going to sell the house to fund holiday activities, but in return you must suffer the "there's nothing to do, I'm so bored" lament at least 4 times a day, accompanied by resentful looks and deep, suffering sighs. I have come up with a good way to counter this (my dad just used to say "only people with small minds get bored". This has stayed with me for my entire adult life and I don't remember the last time I ever said "I am bored"). I have made up a wonderful list of what the parenting magazines like to call "boredom busters". I feel it is important though, to put your own unique spin on things, so instead of a list that has things like "making a space ship out of toilet rolls and a supermarket stock of tin foil" I have things like
1) Why don't you sit quietly and see who amongst the (insert number of children you are entertaining) of you can get their finger furthest up their nose before it bleeds. The funny thing about this one is that kids will do this all on their own at least once a day, but suggest it and it is "just gross!!!!!!"
2) Get out a dictionary and colour in all of the Os. Use a different colour for each one!
3) Go into the bathroom with your magnifying glass and see which of the black specks in the shower waves back at you and which ones don't move at all!
4) See who can clean themselves quickest using only their tongue!
5) See who can lie on the floor and push a ping pong ball (not using hands) to the other side of the room. The great thing about this one is that the kids might find it interesting and it saves you having to mop the floor if you lightly spray the tiles with water first!

Anyway, I am sure there are some great bonding moments ahead in the next few weeks. Must remember to get my anti depressant script filled.

How to fold man vegetables and why you should be careful about saying "toughen up"

2008-09-18T21:22:00.003+10:00

I am relaxing after a lovely weekend in Sydney with my cousin, Elizabeth, and her lovely husband, Christoph. One of the things that was so relaxing about this weekend was that it was without Tim and the kids (yes, I know, that whooshing sound was my vote for selfless mother and wife of the year flying by). I went up last Friday on the bus, which all in all is a great way to travel. The only problem with traveling by yourself is that you run the risk of ending up with a total tosser as your companion. On the plane from Canberra to Sydney, not so bad, only about 40 minutes – on the bus it can be a VERY LONG 3 and a half hours. The lass sitting beside me was fine but the chap in front was obviously EXHAUSTED as the second he got in to his seat, he reclined back to an angle where – well, let me put it this way : normally a man with his head in my lap is a chap I know very well (i.e. my husband), rather than a complete stranger (i.e. dickhead in front of me on the bus). When I politely let him know that he was cutting the circulation off in my legs (“mate, you are lying in my lap – could you please put your seat up a bit”) he got all grumpy and whiney about the length of the trip and how he needed to rest. He was met with my usual sympathy and compassion and for the next 3 hours we engaged in a push/shove match up the highway. My quads felt as though they had been put to good work by the time we got to Central station in Sydney. Being the complete gentleman, he left the seat fully reclined when he got up, so that the girl sitting next to me and I had to do some weird contortions to get out of our seats. Yet another person I wish gonorrhea upon.

So, off to Potts Point where my cousin and he husband have a very lovely apartment, where I picked up the keys from the concierge (this in itself a novelty – a place where someone looks after you, collects mail, holds keys for guests etc) and headed upstairs to drop off my bags. I was greeted by Lucy, their cat, who went nutbags over the smells on my bag and coat. It got a bit uncomfortable watching her after a while – she seemed to like it A LOT. After she finished rolling around making ecstatic noises, she went about trying to convince me that she was totally starving and she had not been fed in weeks by her mean and cruel owners. She had a tough audience though – I had done the “children on their knees making cow eyes at you whilst silently begging for a doughnut” routine too many times to crack over a pathetic performance from a cat.

I bet you are wondering where on earth I am going with this and what on earth my trip to Sydney has to do with puppetry of the man vegetables, aren’t you? Well, on the Saturday night Lizzie had been invited to a hen’s night and was taking me along for company and a good excuse to leave early. She had told me that part of the night was a performance of “Puppetry of the penis”. Sure, I thought, I have seen a willie or two in my time and I was keen to see if either of my sons had a potential job when they get older, as at the moment they are putting some pretty concentrated effort in seeing what can be done to their various boy bits (one of them managed to stretch it out to an impressive length but it had the width of spaghetti) and then falling around in hysterics or rushing off to show their older sister, who receives these displays with a weary tolerance that belies her years. Anyway, we got to the apartment where the party was and it suddenly became clear that we weren’t going to a show, the show was coming to us. Ok, I thought, that changes things a bit. I was in a brightly lit lounge room (with the biggest honking TV you have ever seen) and I was, at best, going to be about 2 meters away from a chap who was going to impress us with his “genital origami” (no kidding, this was how he described it). I think the thing that stuck me the most was that he wore a blue velvet cape, black shoes and socks and nothing else. In the end, it wasn’t too bad and some of the stuff he did was clever, but I am wondering if this whole idea came about because two chaps had put away a case of beer each and ended up having to improvise to keep themselves entertained because the playstation broke down. The highlight was possibly when he offered the bride to be his services with a “wristwatch” or “ring”. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.

It does lead me to think if there is a market for a female equivalent. I know that there have been times lately when I have wondered if my boobs (which are ok but are showing the effects of time and gravity) could be tied into a very delicate “crane” or even better, some kind of bow-like arrangement so I would have to dispense with the problem of having to find an appropriate brooch. I discussed this with a friend of mine and she wasn’t sure about origami of the breasts, but if you used other female genitalia you could call one move “the flaps are down”. Hmm. Might leave it to the guys.

Just to finish up, must share a little conversation I had when I went to get my legs waxed recently. The girl who was doing it very good and I was asking her about how she got into beauty stuff etc. She told me her first job was at a shop called Be Brazilian, so you can imagine what she spent most of her days doing. On male and female clients. I have never gone for the full pluck, but I was curious about how much it hurt. She said that the first time was usually so excruciating some people pass out, but you just had to have it done a few times “so the area can toughen up” she assured me brightly. ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME???????? Think about the area in question, guys and girls, and wonder to yourself – is this an area where you want the phrase “toughened up” to be applied? I mean, if you wanted to “toughen up” your scrotum or outer labia, why not just cut to the chase and bash it for a while with a cricket bat or buy sandpaper knickers? Jesus!

Reality tv = entertainment???

2008-09-02T20:17:00.002+10:00

I hate to admit this, but I am completely hooked on the TV show "Wipeout". Talk about coming up with the most amazing and humiliating ways to HURT yourself!!! Plus throw in the two "hosts", who go out of their way to ensure you feel (by comparison) like the most intelligent and quick witted gun on earth, this show has everything to make you feel good after a crappy day.

Tonight's episode was awesome - one guy went on the wall that has punching gloves (otherwise known as thunderpunch) on it and copped 4 shots in a row right in the man vegetables. Then we got to watch in super slow mo (after all, the olympics are still fresh in everyone's mind) over and over again. Who would have thought goolie pulverising TV could be so entertaining??? And at the end, there is the most amazing obstacle course. Personally I think this would be an awesome thing to do if you had a few glasses of wine on board and good health insurance.

A medical breakthrough

2008-08-12T17:54:00.002+10:00

During this week I have been mulling over a scientific theory which I feel I must share with everyone. There is not just one type of Tourette's Syndrome in the world - there are at least two types. One is the type where the person has a particular disorder where they swear uncontrollably etc. The other is the lesser known (i.e. I thought of it) but possibly much more commonly experienced tourette's, that I like to call "experiential tourrette's" . You have someone or something in your life that causes you a great deal of exasperation, stress, bad feelings, grumpiness and causes you to do things like regularly entertain homicidal thoughts whenever you are dealing with them or thinking about dealing with them. Over a period of time, the stress causes by this person or thing grows to a point where everytime you either hear their name (or even think about them) you starting swearing uncontrollably. Here is an example : you are dealing with your local telephone company over a billing error. They assure you repeatedly that your custom is important to them, whilst stuffing you around royally, not fixing the problem and ultimately pissing you right off. The next time year hear the name of this telephone company, the words (look away now children) "fucking arseholes, shit, fuckers, bastard, mother fucker, suck face, small dick, shit, bum" spill uncontrollably from your lips, increasing the rising feeling of anger and frustration that causes you to down 3 vodka martinis without even thinking. This is a very unfortunate thing, especially if you are attending high tea with your mother in law and she is talking about the new phone she has put in.

My suggestion: instead of pouring money into research to help sufferer's "control" their behaviour, the money would be better spent on hit squads who could take out the offending person or organisation. I think I would like to refer to this as a kind of vaccination against dickheads and will now go and work on my proposal for a grant to take this beyond the concept stage.

Back and there again

2008-08-03T21:33:00.007+10:00

I have been lying low whilst my back has been getting better, but now that I am no longer high on prescription medication and can walk upright, I thought it was time to celebrate with a blog post. I even went for a 5km walk the other day and was very proud that I was able to pass someone on the uphill bit just before home. The fact that it was a 76 year old nanna pushing a stroller that contained what looked like a kid that could use some exercise I choose to gloss over, as I will take any small victory right now.

Have just spent a pleasant weekend with a cold, which meant lots of tissues, honey and lemon drinks (thanks, Tim) and feeling like I had been hit repeatedly with a cricket bat. My children were their usual considerate selves (to be honest, Grace was great, the boys were poops) and respected my headache that actually needed its own seat on the lounge by asking me the same question every 2 minutes in high, loud, "mummy is about to kill you" voices. I also had time to marvel at a three year olds ability to actually translate english into another language. An example of this is "Will, could you please keep the noise down" apparently translates as "Will, could you please scream as if your hair is on fire, run in a circle three times and then hit your brother with a Transformer toy" in three year old speak. I feel that this is a phenomenon sadly ignored by linguists. I am equally astounded at the amount of mucous a nose can produce, but a girlfriend of mine told me that mucous production has more to do with your gut than your sinuses, which led me to visualise my intestines coming out of my nose. Perhaps I have come off the prescription drugs too early.

I also had time this weekend to do a little shopping with the clan. I stick by my claim that shopping with any child under the age of 8 is an endurance event that a decathlete would think twice about. The contestants on "Gladiator" reckon they've done it tough but let me tell you, they only had to run 1 gauntlet. When you add up the number of aisles dedicated to toys in your local department store, you have "The gauntlet" on steroids. Plus, they do not hand out protective headgear or mouthguards at the start. All I have to say is that to all the parents out there that know what I'm talking about, I salute you and to those who don't, consider yourself lucky. Why I am drivelling on about shopping is this - what I found on the back of our receipt once we left the shop. Now, I'm sure that many of use have become familiar with those fantastic offers that are printed on the back - two for one coffee at some slop house that thinks nescafe is the yummiest thing around, 20% off a holiday that is a thinly disguised "grab a a granny" tour etc. But today, something new and I just had to share it with you.

Now, I am not mocking any performance problems that a chap may be having. Just the opposite. However, I am not too sure about this whole "nasal delivery technology" business. When you think about doing the wild thing, I am pretty sure that the first thing that leaps to mind is not "nasal delivery". And if it does, please keep it to yourself, I really don't want to know. Still, as my husband pointed out, this advertisement adds a whole knew meaning to "fucked in the head". To be honest, I have never thought of my nose as an erogenous zone, but perhaps this is just illustrating a lack of adventure on my part, rather than a deviant behaviour in others. I feel that this warrants more research, so perhaps tomorrow I will pay a visit to one of those stores out in the industrial area and see if they have a copy of a magazine dedicated to "nasal delivery". Maybe I have always misunderstood what the title "Hooters" has always stood for and all this does is illustrates my naivety. I mean, if it is on the back of a shopping docket, it has to be mainstream, right? Stay tuned, fellow nasal delivery innocents, I'm sure it doesn't end here.

Red wine and the power of reflection

2008-07-20T12:28:00.003+10:00

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:

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.
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.
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.
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

2008-07-05T21:37:00.002+10:00

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

2008-07-03T21:58:00.003+10:00

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".

words of love

2008-06-20T21:52:00.003+10:00

Have you ever noticed that, amongst some humans, people will always try to find a way to break what is ultimately bad news in a positive way? I have a few theories why people do this:
1) They have had a truly bad experience where someone spontaneously combusted when they were told that there was a booger hanging out of their nose.
2) They know they are in really serious shit and with luck if the person who they are about to be in serious shit with is in a good frame of mind, no on will die.
3) They are one of those people in life who truly believe that everyone one needs to follow the adage "do you want the good news or the bad news?". Word of advice, NO ONE ever wants the bad news EVER. Those who say they do are masochists, delusional or like to wallow around in pooh.

You may have noticed a few pooh references in there - well, I have an absolute cracker (no pun intended) of a story that I just have to share. Will, our youngest, is going through the fun experience that is toilet training and anyone who has even remotely been involved in this (even those who have had to listen to a co worker exclaim loudly over the phone "You did a wee on the toilet??? That's great!!!!"" and you hope to god they are talking to a child and not another adult) knows it can be tedious and messy. Well, my lovely son has found a way to deliver the bad news wrapped in words of love. Apparently at creche the other day he went up to Jess, who works there, and said "Jess, I love you. I've done a pooh". Note that this rhymes - it is like the Dr Suess way of letting someone know the nappy needs to be changed. In the days since, he has toddled out to us at various times with a new nappy and a smile, lets us know that he loves us and we know it's time to grab the baby wipes and a nose peg. I have heard of trying to make the best of a shit situation, but this is just taking to that next level.

My back is not recovering as quickly as I would like. I am on restricted duties at work until early July and I can't do any exercise except walk or swim for 3 months. It's just as well I have the positive messages from Will to look forward to :)

Careful what you wish for

2008-06-13T20:37:00.002+10:00

Everyone has heard this saying, right? Well, pay attention to it, as I have found out the hard way that when you utter the words "I'm so tired and run down, I really need a week off", someone may just be listening. On Wednesday I had a little slip and I am now having a nice quiet break at home, doped up on painkillers and some other drug that upsets my stomach but apparently is good for making my back feel better. Poop. Sorry, that was just an exasperated poop, not a comment on what the drugs are doing to me. Note to self : don't blog when high on panadeine forte.

Where did the month go???

2008-06-01T18:33:00.003+10:00

Holy timeslips, Batman!! How is it possible it is June already???? When I look back over the last 2 weeks, I realise that it could be I did not notice the passage of time because our family had social engagements up the yin yang , plus the usual "oh goody, here comes winter" coughs, colds and yucky, chunky sounding noises you make when your mucous maker goes into overdrive thanks to a little virus that has set up camp in your sinuses. Of course, this means there was only one week in the whole of May where I completed a full week at work (yay, being a working parent just rocks) and now I have the feeling am just spinning my wheels when it comes to trying to achieve anything related to my job. Joy.
On the up side, the latter half of May ended up delivering an unexpected windfall of $500. A local radio station was running a competition here was having something called the "fashion incinerator", where you could nominate some revolting piece of clothing that your partner has (and let's face it, EVERY bloke has some kind of THING that used to resemble a piece of clothing that they just won't throw out) to throw into the incinerator. On the toss of a coin, you could either win the call, gain the $500 gift voucher and choose to burn the item or not OR if you lost the call, the item got burnt and you walked away with nothing. I nominated Tim's moccasins, which he has had in his life longer than me and have been ready to be chucked for at least the last 5 years. Apparently my description of them caught the publicist's attention, as they rang and let me know that they would like us to come in. So, in we traipsed with the moccasin's safely trapped in a bag that they could not easily escape from. Tim won the coin toss but very kindly allowed me to still torch the moccasins, which smelled a lot like how a lawyers soul must when it gets burnt in hell - you can view the footage on youtube. The up side is the moccies got a true Viking burial and we have a $500 voucher to frivol away. Also, just for the record, Tim has a lovely pair of ugg boots we bought in New Zealand that are keeping his toes warm in the cold Canberra winter - I'm not a total cow.
And a tip to those who are wishing to torch moccasins - you need an accelerant. Wool just doesn't burn well, especially when it has 18 odd year's worth of sweat and toe jam mashed into it.

A theory about road rage

2008-05-13T21:33:00.004+10:00

On the weekend I ran (jogged) in the Mother's Day Classic, which is a 5km fun run to raise money for the National breast Cancer foundation. Although this is an excellent cause, I still really have a problem with this concept - actually, both concepts : breast cancer and fun run. Breast cancer is fairly obvious but the whole idea of making a run "fun" was only dreamed up by people who bound out of bed at 6am with their sneakers already on and take off for a "little" 10km jog whilst hearing the "Chariots of Fire" music in their heads without the benefit of an ipod. I suppose it is bad marketing to say "come and inflict at least some discomfort on yourself to raise money for breast cancer funds", but isn't honesty the best policy? I suppose I prefer to delude myself most of the time, so I am a good one to talk. Anyway, an incident occurred during the run that has got me thinking about why drivers get so soooooooooo fricken' cranky on the roads. My dad and sister also ran in this and as my dad was coming up to cross the road (which had been closed and widely advertised that it would be closed for this event) an upstanding young gentleman in a white ute was arguing with the chappie with the "stop" lollipop and claiming his god given right to drive like a moron on this particularly fine Sunday morning. The lollipop guy was putting up a fairly stoic and considered debate to this view (I believe moron ute driver was told to "calm the frick down") and finally, ute moron guy snapped, jumped into his great white symbol of testosterone blokiness and DROVE THROUGH the runners who were crossing the road, blaring his horn and waving his fists. God knows what he was actually steering the car with, but I think we all know that it wasn't the big brain making a lot of his decisions, given his previous behaviour. This was followed by an experience of my own yesterday, where someone tailgated me all the way into work up Limestone Avenue and resorted to obscene finger gestures when I chose to ignore her polite suggestions that I just run over the cars in front of me. Now, I don't know exactly what is going on to cause all of this tanty behaviour, but I have a few theories.
1) Basic anatomy. For some people, when they get in their cars, they end up getting a bad wedgie every time. I think we've all been there at least once and let's face it, if this happens on a regular basis, you are going to be a little short tempered. And as they are obviously too much of a lady or gentleman to remove their undies from the area where the sun doesn't shine, it is much better to get angry and shout obscenities at other drivers on the road.
2) They have the BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!! Now, I like my job, I really do. However, if the traffic is bad on a particular morning, the most I feel is mild exasperation that I may get to work a bit late and have the park where the birds will poop all over my car during the day. Obviously, the people who completely FLIP OUT when you are 3 seconds too slow off the mark when the light changes green have THE BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD. The anger they feel that precious seconds will be lost at work is just too much to bear. Understandably, if you have THE BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD, your emotional outburst where you cast aspersions on someones genetic heritage loudly out of the car window is quite justified.
3) People who inflict road rage on other drivers are nobs. I like this theory.

Customer service par excellence

2008-05-08T09:20:00.002+10:00

Just had to blog about this. My sister in law, who is living with us at the moment, went in search of a coat last weekend as she is used to much warmer temperatures. After a night of tracking through stores, she found a nice one in one of the large, well known stores here in Canberra (rhymes with liar). The sales assistant who did the sale informed her that as she had spent over 75, she was entitled to a box of chocolates (part of their mothers day promotions). My sister in law made a comment about how nice that was and (wait for it) the sales assistant looked at her and said "Oh, do you think so? You ARE already having to buy plus sized clothes". I AM NOT JOKING!!!! Now, my sister in law is a nice, polite person and just took the chocolates and walked away. I would have taken the chocolates, eaten them and shoved the empty box up the shop assistant, but I have never claimed to be a nice person. Be careful out there, people. Customer service in a shop still seems to be an optional thing.

TV viewing

2008-05-06T20:20:00.006+10:00

Having been laid low with some kind of revolting virus (again!!!) which has the wonderful side effect of making a movie last 3 times longer because I keep dozing off in parts, I am getting to experience the wonders of daytime TV for the second time within a month. I now know how to fix my marriage, make a 4 course meal out of 2 ingredients and how to turn 3 toilet tolls and glitter into a toy my kids will play with for hours. How I thought my life was complete before, I have no idea. I also now realise why people actually resort to buying the crap advertised on the shopping network - if you buy and ab blaster at least you have something to do besides watch the shite that is being rolled across the networks between 9am and 5pm. Perhaps this is all part of the plan to get people back to work though - put complete crud on TV during the day and most people will want to go back to work rather than have their brain rot whilst they watch Kerri Anne show you how you can brighten up your lounge room curtains with a bedazzler, can of spray paint and a tea pot stencil (you think I'm joking, don't you?).

On the bright side, I have caught up on a few DVDs that have been sitting around with their plastic on for a while and also been able to watch the daytime antics of our two bearded dragons, Monty and Oscar. These two guys came into our lives in January this year after repeated requests (aka nagging) from Grace and Cameron for these pets. Above is a photo of what they looked like when they first arrived in January. They are now much bigger and below is a video of what they look like now and the stuff they like to do during the day. I know some people who act a lot the same way when they are at work and I bet you do too. Some of our friends have found this approach to pet keeping (we have 2 bearded dragons and about 30 giant stick insects at our place) a little unconventional but I have to say they are pretty quiet, eat the skin they shed and the pooh is much easier to deal with. Also, if you are going to have a pet draped around your neck, a bearded dragon is much more comfortable than a beagle. Don't ask how I know - it's one of those questions that you REALLY don't want the answer to.

Mystery of time

2008-04-30T21:02:00.003+10:00

I am back into running again, as well as hauling myself up and down Mt Ainslie 5 days a week. Believe it or not, I actually tried to combine to 2 and by the time I jogged 100 meters I was sounding a lot like the little engine that was having an asthma attack. This week I decided to try another walk and was thwarted not by the fact that exercise is still something that is hard to place above lying on a lounge and drinking hot chocolate but the fact that it was about minus fricken' 5 and blowing a gale. I know that I could have gone to the gym that night and used the treadmills, but hey, when you are a world class athlete like me, you know when not to overtrain. That said, I did hit the treadmills today and managed to run for 30 minutes non stop, which is a breakthrough for me. I know that my next step is to get to the stage where I am not looking longingly at the clock doing the countdown and wondering how it is possible that when you want to hit the snooze button, 5 minutes just flies by and on a treadmill everytime you look at the display you swear you have run a marathon and yet only 10 seconds seems to have clicked over.

On the family front, I feel I have officially hit old fart status with Cameron turning 7 on the weekend. There was left over creaming soda and fairy floss, which I am very disappointed to say had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever, but I am happy to report that coca cola and cold and flu tablets do wonderfully when you need a pick me up. Next time you need to survive a birthday party with a bunch of hyperactive kids, I highly reccomend this remedy to get you through work the following week. Until you've experienced it, believe me, it makes the events they do on Gladiator look like a tea party with teddy bears with a love of lycra.

Angry beavers

2008-04-13T22:01:00.002+10:00

I have had a top week - just as I was languishing around the house with a monster cold that had my voice sounding a lot like Kim Carnes is my hero, some junk mail came in through the letterbox that made my day and had me laughing so much it sounded like a goose had been drinking the sherry all night. The first one was a catalogue from Kmart, pronouncing that at Kmart, it's more fun in your undies. Makes me wonder if the discount store is branching out in the lines it is carrying so when you walk in through the door, you immediately have more fun in your undies. Not too many places promise you that these days - I await my next visit to the mall with great anticipation!!! The next flyer should not be so unexpected, as the school holidays are coming up, but tell me honestly, what first pops into your mind when you read something that announces in 26 point print that the ANGRY BEAVERS are coming to do a LIVE SHOW at a shopping centre near you these holidays? Yep, that's what I thought to. Times sure have changed since I used to be taken to "daisy the happy cow" (or if we really hit the jackpot, Humphrey B Bear) shows by my mum when I was at school. Not too sure how they are planning to stage the angry beavers, but I can't wait to find out. Happy holidays everyone!

Who wears short shorts?

2008-04-09T21:22:00.007+10:00

At the end of March, we trooped up to Sydney so we could join the celebrations of the Australian wedding ceremony of my cousin, Georgie, who had come back home to Sydney after marrying Riccardo in Italy 5 years ago. It was hard for most of us to make to Italy when they tied the knot (which was more of civil ceremony), so this was the chance for all of us to get together for an Australian style shin dig. It was a great day but I have to say I feel a bit like an old married fart when watching weddings these days (lord, I even sound like an old married fart) as I often find myself wondering what makes for a "romantic" wedding those days. Please keep in mind I got married in the early 90s, when puffy sleeves and tiaras were all the go. I have to say, we had a great time and the wedding was lovely - here are what I count as highlights

The setting - at Bradley's Head in Sydney on a perfect autumn day. It rained a lot the day before and there was some concern about things being soggy underfoot, but it turned out to be wonderful, sunny etc. My kids loved it as it was an amphitheatre, which meant that Tim got lots of exercise chasing them up and down the hill.

The flower girls - I am biased here as my daughter Grace was one and my mum made the dresses. What added to the romance was my discovery of a massive head lice infestation in Grace's hair 2 hours before the ceremony began. A fun filled 70 minutes was spent with me acting like a mother chimpanzee, picking nits and lice out of her hair whilst Tim wrestled the boys through the shower, into good clothes, got his suit on etc. Phoned my mum to let her know that we were going to be a little late and learned that the other flower girl, Erin, also had head lice. We then began to wonder if it had something to do with the dresses she made (a well known pattern from the Itchy and Scratchy range).

The music - know, during a wedding ceremony, most people play some kind of romantic schmaltz that makes you want to go "bleargh". Not Georgie and Riccardo. There was some nice stuff for the entrance of the bride (pretty much mandatory) and then the music was turned off. We were left with the sound of the sea, the celebrant reading the ceremony and faintly, in the distance, the beat of doof doof music. This got louder and louder until finally, around the head, came a large catamaran, filled with partying, fashionable people having a lovely party. They added to the general ambiance of the wedding by playing the romantic classic "Who wears short shorts? You wear short shorts!!", followed up with the timeless wedding ballads "The whistle song" and "Show us your pants".
The reception venue - this was at a cafe called Ripples, which was right on the Harbour and next to Luna Park. The staff were great, took good care of the kids and made sure that everyone had a great time. My youngest, William, was having a lovely time running around on the grassy area outside the cafe, exploring in the gardens and enjoying all of the attention being lavished on him by Riccardo's mum, who thought he was a lovely "bambini". The night wore on and lots of lovely wine and food was consumed (especially wine, see picture below)Georgie and I were having a little chat when William came rushing up to us with his hands behind his back, announcing he had a present for her. She put her hands out and he presented her with a beautiful, black, shiny cockroach. And I'm not talking about one of those little ones you see scuttling around - this was one of those big, shiny, "ha ha, I laugh at you and your can of mortein" types. It was also still very much alive and was wriggling around a fair bit. The manager of the cafe appeared faster than greased lightning with a napkin and had a hard time persuading Will that he should give up the cockroach quietly and that Georgie really didn't want it as a present. I think he felt he'd got a away with not too many people noticing until the band that was playing, who had seen the whole thing, struck up with a rousing rendition of "La Cocoracha". Can I point out that the roach came from the garden, not anywhere in or near the cafe. It just looked funny when the manager thought that William was going to dump it on the lovey white wedding cake. But you can't say that it was a present with not a lot of thought behind it.

So, anyway, that's he condensed highlights. Georgie and Riccardo, congratulations and well done! We all had a great time and it looked like you did to - or as my dad would say, we got a result. And you should definitely claim one of those songs from the catamaran crowd as "your song". My vote is for short shorts, but it's up to you.

A new crusade

2008-03-22T22:32:00.004+11:00

I have decided that it is time for a new crusade. Not like the old ones where knights charged across Europe to smite enemies and find the Holy Grail. This is one of the new age - and the object of my ire is (dramatic pause) HIPSTERS. Yes, that's right folks, I am officially done with this trouser style. I rank them below some of the worst fashion faux pas of the modern age - including bubble skirts, bubble gum jeans, tube skirts and puffy pirate shirts (what can I say, I was a child of the eighties). In the last 3 years I have seen more butt cleavage than any person should have to see in their lifetime and I am DONE. Last night at the rugby union at a particularly exciting moment, most people in the crowd leapt to their feet. The girl in front of us was one of them and holy jesus, I could have emptied all of the spare change from my purse, plus a packet of butter menthols and thrown in a yo yo in the space that"opened up" before me when her pants headed south. Am officially proud to say I have turned into my nanna and had to fight every urge in my body to lean forward, pull up her duds and tell her that it was not a good look befitting a young lady. Perk! Hipsters, in all shape and forms, should be banned if there is even a remote chance that people around you are going to get a good look at your g-bangers in a public place. If you are not allowed to wear thongs, tracksuit pants or flannel shirts into a bar, why is it suddenly ok for most of your arse to be out on display every time you lift your arms above chest level or sit down??? Also, don't tell me that it is comfortable - the number of times I have watched girls walking along and having to hitch at their duds every five steps has happened so often now that I think it is normal. I was wondering out loud the other day to my husband if anyone had yet done a study into the increase of skin cancer of the butt crack as not too many people seem to be remembering to "slip, slop, slap" the old sunscreen down there. I reckon now if the time to get into specialising in treating it - in 10 years it could be big business.
Anyway, I have made my declaration, so now I will take my first step by lying on my lounge and drinking wine. The best possible attack. Also, as a quick postscript, if the blokes out there could also give the trousers a hitch so I don't have to check if mum ironed your boxer shorts, that would be just grand. Thanks.

The questions people just don't ask - until now

2008-03-21T22:57:00.003+11:00

Whilst on the quest to lose weight, get fit, save the world from hunger and fathoming why they make hipsters aka "low rise" jeans in sizes above 10, there are times when I have to answer various questions. Mot of them I pose to myself, you know, along the lines of "why is there air?", "why does rain fall down and not up?" and "Why does that guy think that me being able to see his jeans hanging around his crotch and his Pepe le Pew boxer shorts is a turn on?", sometimes I have to answer questions that people actually pose to me. I got some absolute rippers a few weeks ago and thought I'd put them (and my replies up here) so no one else as to answer them. Now, I realise that when you have a friend that is obese, you want o help them and make sure that they are ok. I also realise that there are questions that you may want to ask but know you never should. Now, thanks to a person who I work with that has no idea about social conventions, people's feelings or has not read 'topics NOT to bring up around the tea table" here are some answers that brings new meaning to "chewing the fat".
Q. Do you enjoy being fat?
A. Love it!!!!!!! Wouldn't have it any other way!!!!! There is no greater joy in the world than having your thighs rub together so much that they need two litres of sorbolene on them to ensure that they do not spontaneously combust when you walk. This gets the rating of "Question most likely to get you killed because it is sooooooo stupid". No one likes being fat and anyone who says they do is either delusional or have a very different relationship with their body. This is not fat bashing by the way. It's just the plain truth - carrying extra weight around is about as much fun as having a Brazilian wax done by local butcher's apprentice after he's had a night out on the tiles. You cannot get clothes to fit, you start to dislike or even hate your body because it is socially unacceptable to be fat and it starts to totally dominate your life. None of these are on my "woo hoo, sign me up for double helping of THAT" list.
Q. Why don't fat people just lose weight? It's not that hard.
A. Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks for pointing that out!!! My life is changed forever you STUPID NOB!!!!!!!!! The main reason why it is so farking hard to lose weight is that most of the changes you have to make are mental, not physical. The same way changing from being a STUPID NOB to PERSON WHO THINKS BEFORE OPENING MOUTH is so hard - for every unit of physical effort you put in, about 10 units of mental energy have to be used as well. Very hard and let's face it, you to end to have a not so great opinion of yourself when you've stacked on the kilos.
Q. Does being fat ever depress you?
A. Can't you tell I am the most well adjusted, happy, balanced and together person on the planet? All of the little birdies are singing in my garden of happiness and my ocean of calm is a deep, calming blue. Is the sarcasm coming through at all? There are day when the fact that you are fat does not bother you and there are others when it sucks balls. This will, on the odd occasion, get you down.

Hope this has helped answer those questions you may have always wondered about. If you ever want to spark an interesting tea room conversation at work, bring it up with Helga (the lady who looks like she used to do shot put for East Germany) one day over coffee. Only after you have established she can't hurt you. Good luck.

One eyed snakes and showbags

2008-03-20T22:49:00.005+11:00

Those of you that are not living under a rock somewhere will be familiar with the dread that fills you when the local carnival/show rolls into town. The big one here is called "The Royal Canberra Show" and every parent within a 200km radius of Canberra is filled with dread when the ads start appearing on TV. You know when it starts because the relative calm of your Saturday morning is suddenly shattered by small children rushing in to interrupt your first cup of coffee to breathlessly announce in REALLY LOUD VOICES that the miracle of consumerism is about to arrive - SHOW BAGS!!!!!!!!!! Yes, those wonderful plastic bags filled with the crap the makers of "Dora the Explorer", "My Little Pony" and the batman franchise have not been able to shift for the last 5 Christmases have finally been packed into plastic carry bags that can then be flogged for vastly inflated prices at "The Show"!!!! Yaya!!!!!!! This year my sister was brave enough to volunteer to take our eldest daughter all by herself so Grace could get a break from all of the testosterone currently swarming through our house (my sister in law is living with us with her two boys, but that's a whole other post). Grace toddled off with my sister (who, I should point out, DOES NOT have children) to enjoy the delights of the show. The highlight of the night was probably when Grace purchased her "Snakes alive" showbag (lollies) and announced in a nice loud voice "Auntie Kate, guess what? There's a one eyed snake in my show bag!!!!". Kate nearly spat out the coffee she was drinking and (once she established that it was a toy snake missing an eye and not that Grace had inadvertently bought the 18+ "Norks ahoy" showbag) commented that Grace might want to keep that fact to herself, as it might cause a riot in the showbag pavilion if people thought one eyed snakes were being given away in showbags. You might think this was the best quote from the whole weekend, but I have to say my husband manage to top it when we took the boys along on the Sunday. Cameron got some kind of toy on a leash, which he proceeded to drag around the show, tripping up people for a good two hours. Eventually Tim just snapped after Cam tripped over it for the 50th time and shouted "Cameron, for god's sake, get that thing out from between your legs and put it over your shoulder!!!!!". Had to lean against nearby camel ride ticket sales booth whilst I laughed my arse off. I love the show.

Back from the black

2008-03-13T14:01:00.004+11:00

Hi all. I know, you've been pining, wondering where on earth I was, filing missing persons reports etc. Well, rather a lot has been going on since January, not the least being I have been really struggling with a depression "episode" (makes it sound like a re-run of Neighbours) which has taken some time to kick. That kind of sucked and has required a fair bit of down time and an increase in medication to help pull me away from the company of "the black dog". Am feeling heaps better and am looking forward to rejoining the land of the normal people. Anyway, I have written a few posts but never got around to actually posting them, so they'll go up over the next few days.

That's a nice hat

2008-01-31T15:54:00.000+11:00

In my effort to show that I am not just a participant in resoultion day , I have continued in my training at the gym and walking up Mt Ainslie 3 times a week. Today was one of those days, however, where I think it was lucky I made it out of the changeroom. I am running on a severe lack of sleep at the moment, so by the middle of the day I am finding myself a bit tired and concentration is not what it could be. After attending a fun session on "what is metadata and why is it so fab" (I don't think that was the official title of the course, but it sums it up pretty well), I toddled downstairs to get changed. My wonderful husband, Tim, always makes sure I have a cap of some kind packed in my gym bag so I don't get my nose sunburned - it is black and has a breast cancer ribbon on the front of it. Today I got changed and was about to head out the door when I realised I didn't ave my cap. I unzipped my bag, grabbed the black, round object inside and whacked it on my head. Just then one of the other women at work came in the door and stopped dead, giving me a really weird look. When I glanced in the mirror, I realised I had placed my carefully folded black BRA on my head. Oh god. There is just NO recovery from a situation like this, so I just kept on trucking out through the door and removed it on the way (bra, not the door). Adds new meaning to having boobies on the brain. Sigh. Surely Cathy Freeman never had to deal with this sort of crap.

Getting rid of that spare tyre

2008-01-24T15:14:00.000+11:00

My personal trainer (sorry, I know it’s a wank to talk about your personal trainer, but I do have one and she makes me work really hard) has been revealing a new and sadistic side over the last 2 months that at times have me wondering why I pay such good money to cop such amazing abuse. Not verbal, although there have been times when I am dripping sweat and about to collapse on the floor under 20kg of weights and she says something like “isn’t this fun?”, it comes bloody close. She really needs to redefine her idea of fun – I think we may have different interpretations of the word. For me, fun means lying on a beach, drinking long island iced tea and having buff, gorgeous, half naked men bring you drinks. Whole lot of fun happening there. What is NOT my idea of fun is running so fast on a treadmill you think your thighs are about to burst into flames and then doing 3 zillion bench presses. It farking hurts, is distressing for everyone in the immediate area because that type of exercise tends to stir up my gut (fluff-o-rama) and results in the whole “walk like a duck” phenomenon for 3 days afterwards.

Last week Sophie hit new heights (or lows) of “how to work out”. My long suffering training partner, Sue, and I turned up and we started off with a jog on the treadmills to warm up. I was about 2 minutes into this when I spied 2 piles of CAR TYRES in the training room. Not seeing any cars nearby, a feeling of dread crept over me that had nothing to do with the sudden realisation I had forgotten to put on any knickers under my exercise gear and I now had seams going into new and exciting places. Sophie then bounded up and said “I’ve got some great new equipment – you’ll love it!!!” Note the number of exclamation marks in there – when your lover says this to you as he (or she) bounds into the bedroom with some sexy lingerie and two glasses of champagne (no tyres in sight), you know they are probably telling the truth. When this is said to you by an uber fit trainer who kicks arse for a living and has a great effing stack of car tyres behind her, it can only mean BAAAAAD ju ju.

Sure enough, for the next 45 minutes Sue and I got to pick up tyres (one at a time, thank god), raise them above our heads, RUN (!!!!!!!!!!) for 30 meters, do 10 squats, RUN ANOTHER (!!!!!!!!!!) 30 meters and then do 10 push ups. And now I am so amazingly fit and healthy, I can do pushups on my toes (someone kill me now), not on my knees. I lost count how many squats, runs and pushups I did, but I know by the way Tim had to literally help me out of bed the next morning, it was a fair old effort. What was funny (in retrospect) was the look on the faces of the rest of people in the gym at the time. The whole “tyre training” episode took place in front of the treadmills bikes, rowing machines and stair climbers, so everyone else working out got to watch Sue and I turn colour from pink to puce to a colour that had a few of them murmuring that we may need an ambulance. To say that the whole spectacle had some of them galloping for the reception desk to cancel their PT session with Sophie would be an understatement. What topped it off was a few potential clients being shown through the place and as I jogged past the, tyre over my head and loudly letting one rip (sorry, no room for a nice way of saying it), the girl doing the tour was saying it was a “lovely gym with modern equipment, a quiet atmosphere and trainers who are there to help you achieve your goals”. Now, hands up everyone whose fitness goal is to be able to run around with a tyre over their head and fart at the same time?

I have recovered and can’t wait for tonight’s training session – I am thinking that Sue and I are likely to be confronted with cabers that we will be expected to run up and down the street with and then balance on our heads whilst we do sit ups. Yee hah!

Resolution day

2008-01-04T15:03:00.000+11:00

Happy new year to all out in Internet land. We have made it through the silly season more or less unscathed, although my mum did go for the sympathy vote by throwing herself over the handlebars of her pushbike on December 23rd and smashing her wrist to pieces, requiring surgery and several bits of titanium to put it all back together again. She will now be international woman of mystery when going through the security screening points at airports. We met my sister's new beau, who seems very nice and I only managed to give my liver a moderate caning, so I am guessing that this sedate behaviour means I am well and truly looking down the barrel of middle age. As long as I am not required to act like a grown up most of the time, all will be well.

I managed to keep on the fitness wagon over Christmas but I have to say now that the new year has rocked around, I am noticing a phenomenon that I would like to call "resolution day". It occurs on January 2nd (once everyone is over their hangovers). In the week between Christmas and new year, I could have jogged naked around the lake in Gungahlin and no one would have noticed, as the bike paths were devoid of all signs of hum life. Probably would have been some collateral damage to the local duck population and various parts of my body which just don't bounce like they are meant to, but I am pretty sure I wouldn't have been arrested. At my local gym I could have worn a Borat style mankini and the only people suffering would have been the gym staff, as the local gym junkies were off somewhere else. Then, suddenly, January 2nd dawned and BAM!!! you could not run more than 10 paces (a challenge for me on some days anyway) without coming across another jogger/runner/bike rider/power walker or person engaged in the "I really shouldn't have eaten that extra 10kg of lobster at Christmas" purge. Now, if making New year resolutions work for you, tops. My approach to new year resolutions is to see how quickly I can break them, so I will be interested to see if the crowds thin at all over the next month or if the "resolution" holds firm.

Anyway, happy new year to all, hope santa was nice to you and I'll be back to bore you all again soon.

The mountain and the mojo

2007-12-10T22:30:00.000+11:00

I have been a bit quiet on the whole weight loss and exercise thing lately, so I though I'd give you an update. I am still going ok, but to be honest, the last four months have been a bit tough. I lost my mojo somewhat and just got sick of the whole diet and exercise crap. Most of the time I can stay pretty positive, but there are times when you don't give a rat's bum about how much training you are doing, how well your weight loss is progressing and you are just totally pissed off with the whole caper. This tends to lead to either picking yourself up by your bootstraps and keeping on trucking OR retreating to some bad old habits, such as swimming around in vats of wine and eating your bodyweight in chips and tim tams. Guess which option I went for? Hmmm, hard to pick, eh? Those that know and love me well (I know, a shock for some of you, but there are some weirdoes out there who think I'm pretty good) have watched with some trepidation on the sidelines as I flailed around for the last few months, but are now breathing a collective sigh of relief that I've pulled myself up from a total crash and am now back to the old regime of telling myself that lettuce is my best friend and that I really don't want to roll around in fried brie. Really. I am not going to go all D&M here, but I guess if I had to have a crash, I've come out the other side and there is not too much collateral damage (I put on 6kg. Disappointing but not the end of the world as we know it). I have dug out my running shoes, dusted off my sports bras (now THERE'S a mental image for you) and started on the "healthy" track again. Can't say I am dancing for joy about it 24 hours a day, but I reckon I'll get there in the end. I am further along than I was this time last year, so I just have to re-focus and, well, you know the rest. I have started walking back Mt Ainslie again with my intrepid group of fellow walkers 3 times a week at lunchtime. Last week I put in an extra climb and I have to say it is much easier in a group. By myself was a lot harder and it felt as though the path had somehow got steeper and longer. I stopped at one point and muttered out loud that there had to be a good reason for doing this (climbing the mountain, not whinging. Being hot, tired and a funny shade of purple are all good reasons in my book for having a bleat). Not 1 minute later, a young chap walked past me carrying (believe it or not) a bottle of champagne. Yahoo! If that is not a sign from a higher power that there is a damn fine reason to push on up that hill, I don't know what is. Alcohol and exercise - could there be a more perfect combination? I really think that the AIS should do much more study into this.

On a more serious note, I have also been battling with depression and anxiety for about the last 6 months, which hasn't helped. I am lucky and have managed to work out there was something wrong and get help. I also have fantastic support from family, friends and work colleagues. If you think you need help, go and get it. I can't stress it enough - don't get to the stage where I was, crying in the car on the way to work every morning for no reason and slowly going crazy through lack of sleep and anxiety attacks. It is not a pretty place to be and the longer you stay there, the harder it is to leave. Just like Hotel California. Yuck. Thanks to all who have been so supportive (especially Tim, Kate, Sue, mum and dad) and to all who just took this in their stride, listened to me freak out and gave me the reassurance I needed. It made a huge difference.

Less than mets the eye

2007-12-10T22:07:00.000+11:00

Those of you who are comfortable with admiting that you are generation X-ers are more than likely able to remember the Transformer song/slogan "Transformers, more than meets the eye" (oh come on, I know you know it, along with the Castle Greyskull thing from He Man). Well, my two young nephews are complete Tranformers addicts and I was asked by their mum if I could track down a Transformer for each of them that converted from the robot (autobot? Whatever) into the car for their Christmas present. No worries, I thought, how hard could it be?

Farking hard, it turns out - close to nigh on impossible. Even He Man would have had trouble with this one and I bet he has much better connections in the toy spin off world than I do. It was not that finding Tranformer toys was hard, they were everywhere. Finding one that TRANSFORMED from one thing to another turned out to be a big old ask. After dragging myself around the various toy stores in Canberra only to be confronted with box after box of the little buggers all saying "non converting model", I was getting mighty cheesed off. I took some time out to consult one of my favourite dictionaries and guess what? Transform means "change or be changed in appearance, form or nature" (thanks Oxford Concise Dictionary, paperback edition). I also checked the thesaurus and it went into a similar line of description, which led me to believe that the toy makers had their heads firmly up their bottoms when they thought we would all be duped into thinking we were getting our money's worth when we bought a non-converting Transformer. I finally tracked down two of the little buggers that did convert after being fired out of a battery powered gun. Don't remember that in any of the comics or recent film, but I was beyond caring by that point. It could have converted after you sang to it nicely and massaged it tyres and I still would have bought it. So, with luck, I am now elevated to the status of present buying guru. One that has a rather grumpy disposition towards toy manufacturers and "non conversion", but a guru none the less.

Arm doors and cross ch... bugger

2007-11-29T15:10:00.000+11:00

Hi there. I know it’s been a while and I am sure you have all been pining for an update from me. 10 days I can write off to recovering from my trip back from Chicago, which I will go into more detail about in this post. The other missing days – well, no excuse really, except the usual run down to Christmas crazy that hits around this time every year. Anyway, my trip home…

The conference was great and I had a great last day in Chicago, visiting the Field Museum and wandering around like a tourist, gawking at dinosaur bones, Egyptian mummies and small children bored out of their brains by the cultural experience they were being forced to appreciate by their parents. There are just some things kids don’t get – nice scenery, a beautiful piece of music (I am not counting Hi 5 or the Wiggles compositions in this) or the fact that looking at objects from our past are interesting. I don’t blame them – I do not appreciate the wonder of Leggo when you step on it in bare feet at 5am in the morning, the beauty of the patterns spaghetti and tomato sauce can make on the floor or the wonderful symmetry of the rips that mysteriously appear in clothes only 2 hours old. There are just some differences that are not meant to be bridged.

Getting home turned out to be an extended journey. Arrived in plenty of time at O’Hare to check in and be strip searched by security to make sure I was not carrying a knife, gun, plastic explosives or a thanksgiving turkey. One guy behind me in the line was found to be carrying a knife (d’oh) and was promptly jumped on by 1000 security guards and whisked off for a close encounter with a rubber glove. One thing I will say about O’Hare airport – it is farking HUGE and when they say leave time to walk to your departure gate, they aren’t joking or mean just a brisk 5 minute stroll. In my case it was close to 1km away from where I walked through security, but I ambled down there with time to spare. We were loaded onto the plane in due course and, as I was up the back of the plane, I got to get on first-ish. 5 minutes after I had settled in my seat, I noticed the air was kind of stuffy and warm, but wasn’t too bothered. 25 minutes later, we were all on board and the temperature in the cabin was getting pretty warm. 10 minutes after that, most of us were starting to sweat a bit and the pilot came on to let us know they were aware that the air conditioning had broken down. However, as soon as he could turn the engines on, the plane’s system would take over. Apparently we were delayed because they could not locate a passenger or their bags – not too clear which was causing the problem. Some more time passed and after a while it felt like I was having a sauna with 250 of my new best friends. People were taking it pretty well (there were a few mumbles, but it wasn’t like people were freaking out and slamming their heads on the floor or anything). Suddenly, there was a loud bang, followed a by a noise that I can best describe as “fwump” and an alarm going off. I had a look out of the window and bugger me, there appeared to be a large emergency slide inflating next to the side of the plane! It was pretty cool (the fact that the plane could be about to blow up or combust etc seemed to escape my mind) to see one in real life, as all other emergency slides I had seen were in those thrilling “how to kiss your arse goodbye” videos you get to watch when your flight starts. I started getting my stuff together when I saw no less than 10 guys (all wearing supervisor type clothes) gather around the slide, which had fully inflated and then detached itself from the plane. The guy in the seat next to me asked what I was doing, so I drew his attention to the giant slip and slide that was lying on the tarmac. He then went on to say “well, they’ll just deflate it and put it back in won’t they? Won’t take long”. I told him that these slides were a lot like airbags in a car – once inflated, that was pretty much that. Sure enough, we were all asked to get our crap from various lockers etc and depart the plane. On the plus side, it was fairly obvious the back door of the plane was now open, as there was a gentle, cool breeze wafting around the back of the plane. Better than what was wafting around in the departure lounge, which can best be described as lots of cranky pants passengers coming up against the most crap customer service I have seen in a long while. I could go into a lot of detail here, but let it just be said that the lack of help and support you got from the American Airlines staff made me think they had been to the Basil Fawlty school of customer relations. To cut to the chase, it became fairly bloody obvious I was going to miss my international connection and more than likely have to spend the night in LA. Tempers were running pretty high (not mine. I toddled off, got myself a drink and some dinner and just settled in to watch the drama unfolding in front of me) and may I take my hat of to some of my fellow passengers – the shouting, language (I am well aware I can swear like a trooper, but damn, this left me for dead) and banging on desks etc would do my 3 year old proud in the tantrum stakes. After a while, things had obviously calmed down too much for somebody’s liking, as a chappie who was obviously a supervisor came out to make an announcement over the PA. Initially he got my attention because he looked and sounded EXCATLY like Dr Phil, but I was riveted once he started talking. He proceeded to deliver a little talk to us about how long airline repairs can take etc and that we had to accept some responsibility for the situation we had found ourselves in. The silence after this little announcement was profound. Ignoring the very obvious warning signs, he went on to lecture that if we had been more considerate as passengers and not complained so much about the conditions on the plane, the crew would not have felt “compelled to open the rear door to let in cool air, activating the emergency slide”. I have to admit I nearly collapsed on the floor with laughter, as the whole situation really had reached the completely insane level. I was in the minority though and one guy was so enraged by this statement that he launched himself across the departure gate lounge with (I think) the sole intention of choking “Dr Phil” to death with the PA cord. He was intercepted by security and “calmed down”. I do have to say, at least I now had a mystery of air travel cleared up – you know when you are about to take off they say “arm doors and cross check”. Well, the arming of the doors is moving a lever so that if the door needs to be opened in an emergency, the doors are “armed” to activate the emergency slide. This means anyone can open the door, not just air crew. To disarm the door, it is the highly technical process of moving the lever back again. Obviously one of the staff on our crew missed that lesson at “how to work on a plane” school.

Eventually, we got into LA, where Qantas took over from American “do I look like I care” Airlines. They had managed to get us onto flights home and in the end, I got into Sydney only 5 hours later than I was meant to. Very efficient. Have to admit I kept a keen eye on the chap who was in charge of arming and cross checking to doors, but he seemed to have it all under control. No sign of escape slides, broken air conditioning or TV psychologists all the way home. Phew.

Get your muffin tops while they're hot!

2007-11-07T09:10:00.000+11:00

Just had to share this with you. Today, after getting completely lost on the metro rail system here, I grabbed some lunch at one of the sandwich bars here. Guess what you can have as an accompaniment to your breakfast at this particular shop?? Fresh hot muffin tops!!!! I am NOT kidding. I had to read the sign three times to make sure it wasn't just sheer tiredness kicking in, but there it was. It made it really hard to order lunch with a straight face and the guy behind the counter wanted to know what was so funny, so I told him what this might mean in Australia. He was a bit bemused until a girl walked past, very conveniently giving a live demo of a "muffin top" (INSANE considering it was so cold today) and he had a good laugh too. Wouldn't let me take a photo of the sign though - bum. Will try to take a covert one in the next day or so.

Jet lag has kicked in big time and I have only just got through the last few days. Conference starts tomorrow, so I am hoping I won't be the person who is falling asleep and making "snork" noises when my head falls back during the opening address. I have had to move hotel rooms and I have swapped my lovely river view for a view of the central courtyard of the hotel. I can look straight down to see who is having a swim in the pool (indoors but with a glass roof) and I can let you know that the guy across the air shaft from me DOES NOT shut his curtains when getting dressed. You know, if you want to perv on people in the nick noo nar, that's fine, but being turned into an inadvertent voyeur is not what I would call a fun experience. Nearly spat my morning coffee into my room heating unit, which would have taken some explaining.

Lastly, a few words of praise for Chicago. Before I left, people told me that I might find Americans a bit rude etc. So far, everyone has been pretty nice and some people have gone out of their way to help me out. I am not including the people I blogged about before, but 17 long island iced teas and 3 bottles of Moet tend not to bring out the best in people, so I am willing to write that off as an interesting experience. Anyway, the staff at a place called Spa Space have been lifesavers, fitting me in for a massage when my shoulder locked up so badly I couldn't stand up straight. Also, the staff at my hotel are really nice and have been able to help me out, especially when my watch got caught up in some towels and nearly got washed. The guys in the laundry room went through 16 bags of linen to find it when they could have just left it, so thanks chaps! I have got used to the tipping thing here now as well - minimum wages here are CRAP. An ADULT is lucky if on minimum wage they make $7 an hour, so tipping makes a big difference to their take home pay, but here's a catch - some of them get TAXED on the amount of tips they MIGHT make in a shift, no matter what they actually get. I learned all of this from the head of the restaurant here, as it was a pretty quiet night and we got chatting. She said this hotel was ok as far as salaries go, but some of the others are pretty stingy. Her daughter was working in a coffee shop at one stage for $4.00 an hour. Makes me glad I am a public servant in Australia. Anyway, down off my social outrage soapbox. If you are interested though, Morgan Spurlock (of Supersize me fame) did a documentary (part of the series "30 Days") where he and his fiance had to live on the minimum wage for a month in Ohio. It is worth a look.

I am going to sign off now and draw my curtains, as the nudie guy has just switched his lights on (literally, not figuratively. Don't be rude). I am also going to try and tame my hair a bit - I spent the day walking around outside and it is VERY cold and windy here, so I had my beanie and scarf on. Every time you go into a building here, it is super heated, so I was taking my beanie on and off a fair bit. In the end I built up enough of a static charge to zap someone clean across the room if I shook hands (have been careful to "earth" myself before this happens) and my hair is starting to get that "windswept and interesting" look. DO not want to be mistaken for Yahoo Serious, although it could get me a free drink.

Sweet home Chicago

2007-11-05T15:55:00.000+11:00

I am just coming to the close of my second day in Chicago. After 23 hours of travelling I landed at O;Hare international airport, grabbed my bags (after laughing my arse off at the guy who got a bit tired and SAT DOWN on the conveyor belt while we were waiting. I reckon her travelled about 2 metres before he was able to stand up) and headed to the hotel. One thing will comment on - I am yet to meet a white taxi driver, waiter, front desk attendant or barman. I staggered in the door here, got into my room and was promptly called back down to the front desk, where I had left my credit card. Ooops! I got some dinner, which was an interesting experience - I ordered french onion soup and it came out with the biggest crouton in the universe and so much melted cheese I seriously doubted there would be any soup in the bowl. I located it eventually, but it was only because I put some serious effort into digging through the molten cheese. I never thought there would be a day where I would say there was too much cheese on something! Fell into bed after calling in and having what must have sounded like a very weired conversation on the phone with Tim, as I was somewhat stonkered with lack of sleep.

The trip itself was pretty good. The only "bad" thing was being seated next to two vegetarians, who ate a lot of raw broccoli etc during the flight. Did you know, that after a while, raw broccoli starts to smell like farts? Well, it does. Or the raw broccoli was working really well and this couple were passing more wind than our local gas company. Stinky. There was a little girl seated near us who was very good and very cute, laughing at the Elmo they were playing on the children's channel inflight. The guy near her got shitty about the laughing and wanted to be MOVED. Again I fell around laughing when I considered how bad it could be (our trip on the plane to NZ last summer came flooding back. William is just not at sitting still and I think everyone near us wanted to be moved). The flight attendant - more camp than a tent - suggested he could pinch the little girl and make her cry when the shitty passenger demanded that "he should DO something" about the laughing. I nearly spat out my food that was giving a good impersonation of being an omelet. I love it when people who traditionally have to "turn the other cheek" answer back. US customs and immigration went surprisingly smoothly and I had time to wander around LA airport for a while before I had to get on my flight to Chicago. All was uneventful except for when we landed, as we did a few two circuits of the runway waiting for a plane to get out of the "alley" we had been assigned. Must have looked funny from the terminal - a plane doing what must have looked like really slow doughnuts on the tarmac.
Not surprisingly, I slept a fair bit today (1pm when I woke up) as I got only about 3 hours sleep when I was in the air. Went out and about for a walk and found a really nice place to grab lunch - it's called potbelly's and the sandwiches were really nice and not too expensive. I got to people watch as well, which turned out to be really funny. Whilst I was chomping away on my lunch, three young guys went past with a queen sized mattress on a hand trolley. It wasn't balancing too well and they spent a lot of time grabbing it and setting it straight. Then the next trip, two were carrying a table and the other was trying to balance a chaise on the trolley by himself. It wasn't going too well for the time I could see him. Then other bits and pieces were paraded past my window and it occurred to me that I was either watching some students move or the world's most incompetent burglary. Either way, fun viewing. Back at the hotel, I walked into an african american fashion convention and I have to say, if I wanted to get immersed in American culture, this was the night. It was kind of like getting to sit on the set of one of those B grade flicks where there is a lot of portrayal of what we might think is very stereotypical behaviour going on. Most seemed ok, but a few were behaving like real tossers and giving EVERYONE around them so much attitude it was like being in a room full of toddlers who were coming down after a day on fairy floss and cocacola. There was a lot of shouting about "disrespectin' people" and to be very honest, sheer bloody rudeness to the staff working in the hotel. It often strikes me as odd that just because you can afford a bottle Moet (that and long island iced tea seemed to be the drink of choice), some people seem to think that they can treat you like you are a piece of seagull pooh. Anyway, it was interesting to watch. Didn't say anything - didn't want to be disrespectin' people.

Glutaeus maximus cactus

2007-10-25T12:10:00.000+10:00

I have taken a little break from the strict exercise regime over the last few weeks. No good or worthwhile excuse, just needed some down time to be a lazy sod and blob around for a bit. However, am now back on "the wagon" (or running after it) and decided to get back into things last Sunday when a training buddy of mine asked if I would like to join her for a boxing circuit. I felt this could be a good way to ease back into things, so met her down on the local school oval. Her daughter, who is a personal trainer and gym instructor, was also there and offered to put us through our paces. Cool, I thought, a free PT session. Obvious not only had I lost some muscle conditioning when on my break, but my brain had shut down the memory centres that set off the alarm bells when a personal trainer offer to help you with your workout. Normally big neon signs start to flash, with warning sirens and a voice shouting "she is going to hurt you, get out NOW!!!!".

We started off with some running - my FAVOURITE - and then got into the boxing. I had the focus pads while Leanne punched the bejesus out of me for several rounds. In between each set, Leanne had to run around the oval and I had to do a squat and HOLD IT until she got back. Normally I am a very supportive training partner, enthusiastic and helpful, but by the time 2 minutes had ticked by I was shouting motivating messages like "move faster, you bugger" as it felt like my glutes were trying to set themselves on fire. The wobble that starts to happen as lactic acid buildup reaches the critical phase is also not something that allows you to focus on the positives you are getting from exercising. When she got back I straightened up to do my running and promptly staggered in a zig zag pattern for about 100 meters, bent over at about the 45 degree mark. Hard to move oxygen around efficiently with that kind of posture. I'd like to add that some very fit and healthy young men were playing soccer down the other end of the oval and were observing my efforts with thinly veiled hilarity. I silently wished beer guts, bad knees and them catching their own pubic hair in their jocks whenever they exercised on them as they made "nice running style, love" comments as I trotted past.

So, a fun filled 45 minutes later, I got back into my car and drove home, feeling virtuous about my return to exercise. This self important gloating lasted until I parked in our driveway and tried to get out of the driver's seat, where I realised I had broken my bottom and more than likely would have to spend the next few days in the car whilst I recovered. I managed to lever myself out using the steering wheel and window winder, but found that I was still somewhat stuck in a semi sitting position as I tried to walk inside. Things have improved over the last few days and I am now hardly making any of those involuntary noises I've blogged about before when I sit down or stand up. What a glorious return to the land of the moderately fit and healthy!

Some changes

2007-10-11T11:27:00.001+10:00

You may have noticed the slight changes I've made to the colour on my blog. Very subtle and I am sure that some of you didn't even pick it up. October is breast cancer awareness month and as you know, it is a subject I feel pretty strongly about. So, for this month, it is going to be pink-o-rama on my blog and I know that you all are just waiting for a reason to get out your feather boas and sparkly pink hats. Or is that just me? Maybe it's just me. As you can see below, it's a bit of a thing in my family - my sister and mum are boa people, I just love Annie Oakley

Last Saturday we held a "Girls night in" which is a party/fundraiser for women's cancer. We raised over $1200 and had a great night. A big, big thankyou needs to go to:
1) Wayne, my resident chef and (in his own words) kitchen bitch. He cooked up a storm and as a result, instead of the usual twisties and party pies, the girl's were treated to gourmet food (he's the one in the black).

2) Fruitylicious (I am not making the name up), the local fruit shop and deli up at Gungahlin. They donated a fantastic fruit platter for the night and it not only looked incredible, it tasted great too.
3) My wonderful husband Tim, who worked as food heater upper, waiter and came up with the notion that a hot pink sash looks great over an orange shirt. Thanks also to Tim Blair and my dad, who acted as drinks waiters, food servers and empty bottle cleaner uppers (our recycling bin is chockers).

4) Everyone who turned up, donated money and had a great time.

I think I can safely say, for October, think of pink as the new black!

The perfect family car

2007-10-11T11:00:00.000+10:00

A friend of mine just got a brand new Mazda 3, which is very nice, black and goes very, very fast. He took me out for a spin in it the other day and was talking about all of the great safety features it had, like side curtain airbags, whoopy do dad braking systems, a steering wheel that doubles as a personal valet etc and I got to thinking about when I come into my fabulous inheritance (I know there is one out there for me, I just haven't found it yet), what type of car would I want? I know that I would march into the car dealers and find out if any car on the market would have the features I am looking for in a family car. They would include:
1) One of those safety screens (like they have in banks that shoot up out of the teller's desk when they are getting robbed) that would activate the second sensors from the back seat pick up that Mr Lamie (pronounced lam-ee) has been launched from a child's hand and is on his way to scare the bejesus out of you as you are cruising down the highway at 100km an hour.
2) Automatic ear protection that kicks in the moment a squabble about who is breathing onto who's "side of the seat" in the back. The level of protection increases as the volume goes up. An optional extra would be a hand that springs out from the back seat and physically separates the warring parties so you don't have to try and drive the car with one hand and discipline children with the other.
3) A compartment that opens up in the floor on the driver's side when afore mentioned Mr Lamie ends his impromptu flying lesson and gets jammed under the accelerator and/or brake pedal. The compartment would just open, scoop up Mr Lamie and allow you to keep driving safely, rather than trying to extricate the GOD DAMN toy with your foot and not run up the back of the car in front of you.
4) A pint sized nanny, who can break up the fights, administer orange segments to hungry children, retrieve dummies that have been chucked on the floor and generally act as enforcer on the trip to the local shops.
Maybe I should give up my life as librarian/computer geek and start a new career as a car engineer.

The evils of corprate giants

2007-09-27T11:18:00.000+10:00

Recently, a new ad campaign has started up for a certain multi national fast food company which has a catchy little tune , singing about the virtues of bacon. I think that the person who is a songwriter for the Wiggles wrote it, because my 2 year old LOVES it and has taken to singing it at 4am, interspersed with snatches of "twinkle, twinkle little star" and renditions of some kind of made up song. As much as I love my kids, I am having trouble remaining a calm, patient mummy when standing in his doorway at 5am politely asking him to shut up. It is also leading to very ugly scenes at my workplace by 10am, when the strongest coffee in the world is not help and I need to making rational decisions (not my strongest point when I've had 10 hours sleep) about serious work issues. Have also discovered that a keyboard really hurts your face when you fall asleep at your desk.

Milestones, fun runs and gastrolyte

2007-09-25T18:49:00.000+10:00

Yet again a lapse between blogs, but have had my head down the toilet with the fabulous gastro bug that swept through Canberra recently. The plus side was that I caught up on a few DVDs that have bee sitting around and have deepened my appreciation of my toothbrush, gastrolyte and ritz biscuits.

The last 10 days or so have been ones full of milestones – I finally hit the official halfway mark in my weightloss (25kg down, 25 to go). It is partly great and partly disheartening. The great part is that I’ve lost 25kg, the disheartening part is that I still have to lose 25kg (at least). I know that sounds really silly, but that’s the way it goes. Another milestone was also achieved – I ran in the Canberra Times fun run with my best friend, Sue. We both agree that the concepts of “fun” and “run” are ones that really never were meant to meet : an oxymoron at best, a completely sadistic idea at worst. Still, I’m the one who suggested it to Sue and then signed us up online so early we had the race bib numbers 13 and 14, so I can’t whinge that much. Someone at work asked me on the Friday what my race plan was. I burst out laughing until I realized they were serious and were waiting to hear my answer. So I told them, in all seriousness, my plan was to stand behind the sign that said “start”, start running when the gun went off, put one foot in front of the other until I passed the sign that said “finish”. My main focus during the race would be making sure I moved enough air into my lungs so I at least remained an attractive shade of purple and, if there was enough energy left, not slipping on the reflective cat’s eyes along the road. This was a specialty of mine in the dim, dark past when I did a fair bit of road running. Looks spectacular (especially if it is raining – those cat’s eyes are like polished glass and you can achieve a cartwheel that a Russian gymnast would be proud of) and often got me a round of applause from those driving past in cars. It was around this stage that this person worked out I was having a bit of fun with them and went off in a huff. Way too serious, some of these runners. I’ve seen myself running and it can’t be described as anything except bloody funny, so I really don’t see what all of the furrowed brows and earnest conversation is about. Also, let’s face it – looking at me, most normal people can work out I’m not going to be braking any land speed records.

Anyway, the run ranged from good to “why did I ever think this was a good way to spend a Sunday morning?????” and I crossed the line in 77 minutes, which I am really happy with. 7 Months ago I couldn’t run more than 500m without having to stop and walk, so 10km is a big achievement. That said, once I crossed the finish line, I staggered around a bit and then had a little sit down on the grass, which was a big mistake because getting back up necessitated a lot of those involuntary noises that tend to come out of you when your muscles really would prefer you to just lie still for a little bit longer. It doesn’t matter that a whole lot of other runners are coming through behind you and may just trample you a bit, it really is better just not to move. I think it sounds a bit like “huraighph” and is often accompanied by a fair bit of levering yourself off your knees and wandering around with hands on hips. Very elegant. One thing that was really great was at the finish line, Tim and the kids were waiting and cheering me on. Something like that makes you feel like the Olympic marathon champion. A very puffed, tired, about to throw up marathon champion, but marathon champion none the less.

The last two weeks Part 2

2007-09-12T14:33:00.000+10:00

I bet you are wondering how I can possibly top my last post. What an action packed week! Things calmed down a bit and then revved up again on the Friday, where we attended the birthday party of my daughter's best friend. The amount of noise that 4 girls can generate is quite phenomenal, then throw two excited boys into the mix and you could safely call it a lunatic asylum. Add several pizzas, soft drink and lollies and the result is something that even Dante could not have imagined. My daughter stayed for a "sleepover" (whoever coined that term NEVER attended one, as bugger all sleep actually happens) and we dragged the boys home. William decided that the best way to end the week would be to copiously vomit everywhere for the next 6 hours. Pink, heart shaped marshmallows mixed with pizza and red fizzy drink go a spectacularly long way when forced out at high velocity from a small person and I can now confidently say that all of my sheets and towels are freshly washed and disinfected. The mattress in our room and his room are also very clean. Lovely. We spent the next day lying on the lounge watching kids DVDs as we were all running on very little rest and hey, when you are that tired, "Finding nemo" can make sense to you in a way it never has before. Our daughter was delivered home with an attitude roughly the size of Texas and gave us a lovely preview of how much fun we are going to have when she is 13, when I am planning to lock her in her room and just post food under the door so I don't have to deal with her.

Sunday rolled around and we all seemed to be getting back to normal when Tim came down with the same vomiting bug, which meant not too much sleep on Sunday night, as our ensuite does have a lovely echo going when you're in there. I reckon the poor bloke nearly bought the socks he was wearing back up. Anyway, Monday meant chaos, as Tim is the organised one in our house and suddenly I had to do it. So I cheated - the kids got lunch orders from the school canteen and I have to say I was considering the virtues of packaged, dried noodles for brekky pretty seriously when William decided to plaster his nutella toast all over the chair he was sitting on. Very art deco/modernist but hell on the fabric. Anyway, we somehow made it out the door without anyone wearing their undies on the outside of their clothes or school bags on fire. Various drops offs took place at schools and childcare centres, then I went to work, put my head on my keyboard and had a fabulous day of what I like to call "presenteeism" - I'm physically at work (present) but my brain was in the Bahamas. I think. It didn't send me a postcard. Tim is now much better and is facing the endurance event that is parent/teacher interview night at his school. I never appreciated how hard these can be on a teacher until I ended up married to one - how do you tell a parent that their child is going swimmingly in classes, but something really needs to be done about the way they keep taking their clothes off and running around the oval? Tricky, very tricky.

The last two weeks part 1

2007-09-10T15:06:00.000+10:00

I know I've been offline for a while - the hamster that powers my modem died and I felt a proper period of mourning should be observed before I fired the internet back up again. Have also been a little busy observing various traditions such as father's day, lying on my bed occasionally wondering why I have children and hunting through my cupboards for anything that vaguely resembles vodka. Yes, it's been one of those fortnights.
To start off, father's day this year was a cracker. The kids bought Tim a greenhouse and we spent some of the morning wrestling the bloody thing out of its packaging, which progressed to sitting on the back step with cups of coffee looking at it and trying to decipher the instructions on how to put it together (the kids by this stage had abandoned us but were shouting helpful advice from the trampoline) and then finally we left it in a great big pile in the backyard and trooped off to have brunch/lunch with my parents at a local park. It was a beautiful day - sunny, light breeze and there was enough room in the park for the 100s of people out HAVING A GOOD TIME WITH THEIR DAD (whether they wanted to or not). The park is quite nice too, but due to the drought they have had to drain all of the ponds so there were a number of fraught parents trying to ensure that instead of their kids falling in the pond and getting wet, that their kids didn't fall into a great, open pit and break their arms. It's what family time is all about, really. We ripped around, the kids ran themselves ragged and I found out a new fact - did you know that when a combination of apple juice and potato chips are sneezed into your hair by your 2 year old, it sets like concrete and takes quite some time to wash out? If you ever need to find something that will plaster your hair to your head and make sure it won't move, this is the combo for you. A little chunky and it looks like you have mutant head lice, but I can guarantee not a strand of hair will move.
Once I had de-chipped my hair, it was back to a normal week - school, work etc. Things were going fairly swimmingly until about Wednesday afternoon, when I got a phone call from the assistant principal at my children's school. Apparently, there had been an "incident" involving my middle son, another boy and some urine. Actual details of what led up to this "incident" are a little hazy, but it would seem that Cameron weed on the other boy "on purpose". The AP said he was a little "perplexed" by this behaviour and needed to know if this was something that had gone on at home!! I assured him that it wasn't, all the time wracking my brain to try and think of any incident that may have led to this behaviour - had my insistence on giving him veggies finally pushed him over the edge? Was it one too many screenings of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Is there a chapter in a parenting book I had skipped called "How to teach your children that weeing on other people is not nice"? In the end we all had to sit down and have a chat and the conclusion amongst the adults was that it was probably one of those "boy things" that got out of hand. That said, Cameron said sorry and I think everyone was ok. I was not reassured by my husband later that day, who told me that at that age, all boys do things like pee up the wall or out of the window, if the bathroom has one. I am now considering boarding up the windows in our bathrooms. It also bought back some wise words of advice from my - just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Or, in the immortal words of the great Australian movie "The Castle" - "get your hand off it, Daryl".

Naked firefighting and toilet diving

2007-08-29T21:21:00.000+10:00

We have had a bad run with appliances over the last year or so. I am incredibly grateful we took out that insurance on electrical motor failure, as at the rate we are going, the dishwasher will explode at some stage, spraying hot water everywhere, which will lead to the fridge shorting out, and then the toaster will spontaneously combust, causing the stove to... you get the idea. Last year, just before we put our house on the market, I was attempting to cook some kind of sustenance while Tim was having a shower. The older two of our children were fighting over whose turn it was to have the finding nemo plate and Will was making an interesting paste of vegemite toast and orange juice on his high chair table. With a really loud BANG sheets of flame (which looked about 30 feet long) started to shoot out of the griller on the stove. My daughter, worrying that I may not have noticed our kitchen bonfire, pointed out that "the stove looks a bit funny". I shouted for Tim, grabbed the kids and shoved them very unceremoniously outside. They were not grateful for my lifesaving efforts, as it was minus 5 out on the back deck. Tim galloped from the bathroom, grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink and managed to put the fire out with great dispatch. As we stood there, looking at each other and the scorch marks up our kitchen wall, I realised that Tim was sans towel. I pointed out to him that not only was he my hero for putting out the fire, but he also had managed to fulfill one of a girl's greatest fantasies - a naked firefighter in her house. Sigh. I was most disappointed when the dryer caught fire in our new house - Tim stayed fully clothed. He has offered to redeem himself with the next combustion event but I became concerned that the kids might think this was a normal thing and next time the fire brigade came to do fire education at the school, it would lead to questions about why they bothered to wear a uniform "as my dad always fights fires naked". That would lead to an interesting parent teacher night interview.

On the subject of interesting stories, I have to share this one with you. Very good friends of ours, who got married last year and are expecting their first bub, are the proud owners of 3 Burmese cats. Now, those of you who have had dealings with Burmese puddas know that eccentric is a kind way of describing their mad as a cut snake snake behaviour. Their littlest cat, Polly, has developed a fascination for the toilet, which usually leads to what my friend refers to as the odd "surprise flush" when Polly steps on a button on the cistern. On this particular day, Kate had gone out shopping and Tim (her Tim, not my Tim) was just hanging around at home. Nature called (as it is wont to do) and whilst he was standing in the bathroom, Polly came in for a look see and on this occasion she decided that the cistern was BORING and the action in the bowl looked like the way to go. Normally Burmese are reasonably light on the feet, but for some reason Polly jumped up, lost her footing and fell in with a resounding splash. I should point out at this time that Tim had finished the "business" but had not flushed, so the cat was more than just wet. Polly, needless to say, was unimpressed by this turn of events and felt that Tim did not improve things by proceeding to give her a nice bath (we all know how much cats LOVE baths). Kate got home and was slightly perplexed that the house smelled of wee (Polly had done a little run around before Tim caught her to chuck her in the bath), but I think they now feel a little more confident about any nappy emergencies that may crop up in the near future. They are also going to fix the lock on their bathroom door. Can't be too careful.

The evil of fuzzy felt

2007-08-21T22:10:00.000+10:00

Last week was kind of interesting. My youngest, William, had an absolute ripper. It was one of those weeks where you realise that your alcohol dependence is just something you should gratefully accept rather than fight against and thank the lord that some kind soul thought of McDonalds, because you are tired of having your carefully created, nutritionally balanced meals hurled across the kitchen by your three little angels who are hell bent on developing scurvy, rickets and all other types of diseases that come from malnutrition. I once had a doctor tell me that a child will not deliberately starve themselves to death. He did not mention the fact that they will happily live off two minute noodles for 7 years, by which time you have developed nervous tic every time you enter the kitchen to prepare dinner. To all those out there who declare that they have no trouble with fussy eaters and "you just need to make children realise that they will get nothing else until they eat what is put in front of them" I say GET STUFFED!!!! We had a week of Will deciding that he wanted nothing but strawberries and sultanas (resulting in the world falling out of his bottom) and my other son deciding he could not eat anything if the different food groups were touching (resulting in me wanting to shove something sharp up him). God give me strength. Will then had a little accident at creche, which resulted in him getting 3 stitches in his head. Apparently it was someone's birthday at creche and there was cake for afternoon tea. Will was so excited by this prospect that he ran towards the bathroom to wash his hands, missed the door and smacked straight into the wall. I can totally sympathise with him - I get pretty excited about cake for afternoon tea too. So, off to the doctor and after a fun hour of holding him (Will, not the doctor) down, we left with a much heavier credit card debit and a son that looked as though he had been running with knives. He looks quite rakish with the stitches over one eye and I am sure milked it for all it was worth when he went back to creche on Friday. I refer to his Fridays at creche as his "harem day", as he is the only boy in the toddler room and seems to enjoy the day with "his ladies".

The weekend was ok but by Sunday everyone was a little tired and grumpy (the weather was pretty crap). Will secreted himself in our walk in wardrobe, playing with a 150 piece fuzzy felt farm, which was fine until I told him to pack it up. A fair bit of discussion ensued, which escalated to shouting and culminated in Will chucking an absolute mental and throwing the fuzzy felt in a temper tantrum around my wardrobe. The result looked a lot like someone had fed a bolt of felt through a garden mulcher in a confined space ie. my wardrobe. Will then buggered off somewhere and I spent the next hour de-felting my cupboard. Did you know that felt sticks incredibly well to all types of fabric and fuzzy felt farms come with teeny, tiny, drive you farking mad trying to find them pieces? This week at work I discovered a felt chicken perched happily on my black jacket - really adds to your image as a professional working mother, I think. The only thing that tops it is when you trail into work, blissfully unaware that you have sick down your back or in your hair. Anyway, fuzzy felt was eventually cleared up, I self medicated with brandy and was finally convinced my "child for sale" ad from ebay late in the evening.

Anyway, Will seems fine, no-one has told me they want to go vegan (yet) and I have decided that I may just let the little buggers cook for themselves - I just need to check to see if it is covered by our insurance. Fully expect to hear the smoke alarm go off when they discover that you CAN'T put plastic fruit in the toaster. Yum.

The myster of AFL

2007-08-14T22:07:00.000+10:00

yWARNING : SERIOUS CONTENT. Those who know me may be shocked there are some subjects I don't joke about too much :)

Last weekend I went up to Sydney with my sister, mum, dad and cousin to take part in the "Field of women" that was on at the Telstra stadium before the Swans vs St Kilda match. It was a top weekend but I have to say that I still don't get AFL - I really don't. I sat through the whole match with some people sitting behind me who really added new meaning to shallow end of the gene pool (you weren't there, it was scary. I kept waiting for them to start playing banjos). After a very confusing match, all I got out of it was tired eye muscles trying to find the ball and sore legs from climbing up and down the stairs - we were in the nosebleed section - in search of a drink and toilets. These were exclusive events - I did not drink out of the toilet.

Some background for why I was there - two years ago, a few months after my youngest son was born, my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't have words to say how shocking this was and how scared we were when this happened. There is no other way to say it - cancer sucks. It scares the crap out of you, reminds you how mortal you really are and just how much you shouldn't take loved ones for granted. These are also good things - my mum is amazing and just took it on. She didn't get all agro or freaked out (well, she did get freaked out. We all did). She just sort of went "right, ok, this sucks balls. Let's get on with it". She had surgery, then chemo and then radiotherapy. She is one tough lady - even on really crappy days she just kept on going. The great news is that her hair has grown back, the scars are healing and her 5 year prognosis is good. A result of this is are whole family are pretty committed to raising money for breast cancer research, so when the field of women event came up, we all jumped at the chance to wear a pink poncho and stand on the hallowed turf of Telstra stadium. 13 000 people wore pink ponchos and 100 wore blue, which represents the average number of women and men diagnosed with breast cancer each year in Australia. Of that number, around 5000 don't win their battle with the disease. Sobering statistic. I can't describe how proud I am of my mum and how much I admire her and her strength. I don't know if I could ever be as brave as she was. My dad was also incredible - some stories I've heard since mum started her treatment included those of women whose partner's walked out because it was too hard for them to cope. Dad stepped up and supported mum every step of the way. People think that maybe that is just what a partner should do, but I think it's great the way he just did it, even when he was scared too. Yay dad!

So, we all turned up at he appointed time at Homebush to get our ponchos and I have to say, with 13 000 odd people all in an enclosed space with these things, it smelled a lot like a floatie convention. Ah, I love the smell of plastic in the afternoon. Also have to say my dad looks surprisingly good in hot pink - I told him he should wear it more often. My aunt and uncle joined us up there and then we all trooped over to the stadium. After a bit of "hurry up and wait" we went out onto the field. It looked a lot like the annual meeting of the secret society of pink poncho enthusiasts and after a while it felt a bit like I was wearing a sauna suit, but it was all in a good cause. It w as very moving and the good news is that over $650 000 was raised on the night for the national breast cancer network. All in all, a top weekend and I will do it again the next time they have it - I hope this time it is before a rugby union match. Made an idiot of myself when I kept yelling for the ref to pack the AFL players down in a scrum or to do a line out.

exercise etiquette

2007-08-07T13:44:00.000+10:00

You may have noticed in your travels that there books and magazine articles dedicated to a wide range of etiquette on a whole range of subjects, including mobile phones, how to be a good wife, how to find a bloke (including one of my personal favourites, a book called "Dial a man : How to recognise and lure the man of your dreams until he captures you forever" by Rosalind Neville. Before everyone starts laughing and wondering at these bygone ideas, it was written in 1990. It also has the glorious Library of Congress Subject heading of "mate selection") I have identified a hole in the market. Where are the books on the correct etiquette for exercising? Now, I know there are some articles drifting around on correct gym behaviour - although I have admit to being concerned that people needed to be told NOT to spit on the floor when working out in a gym - but what I am talking about here are the fundamentals. I really think that when you are being shown around your gym on your introduction tour, more should be done than just pointing to the rules on the wall and letting people know they shouldn't spit (this is a generally good rule when inside). Here are a few quandaries that have presented themselves to me on my quest for health and fitness (all those who are offended by references to body functions should turn away now. Or at least spit):

1. Farting - I have checked out a few gyms now and nowhere are there any guidelines on what etiquette should be followed when you have a build up of gas in the gut that really, reeeeeally needs out. If you are outside on a run or something, you tend to have a chance to get away with it, but in a gym this can pose a serious dilemma. I also go to an all women's gym and there is the added pressure (ha ha) in the old belief that GIRLS DO NOT FART. EVER. Brace yourself everyone - they do. They just aren't overwhelmed with the urge to have you pull their finger when they need to do it or set fire to it. Exercise tends to get everything churned up, circulation going etc so it is logical that some kind of gas action in inevitable. Now, we all know that farts tend to fall into 2 broad categories - those which stink and those that are really loud. If you are running on a treadmill or sitting on a exercise bike, your chances of loud are pretty high, as your butt cheeks are either already slapping together or compressed onto the seat. Bike seat is particularly bad - it sounds like a duck in a blender. Stink is also bad. So, you are faced with the ultimate decision - do you leap off the treadmill/bike/rowing machine and make for the relative safety of the changeroom or do you take the risk? If you take the 'risk it" option and it is a stinky one, you could actually kill someone on the treadmill behind you. A word of advice : if you are a risk taker, work on your "who did THAT???" face. Also, if you are a "run for the changeroom person" make sure that muscle control is tip top, or otherwise all you will do is "spread the joy" as you gallop past the rows of exercise bikes, treadmills and gym patrons who are all horrified because SOMEONE FARTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2. Spitting - now, no one should EVER spit when they are inside a gym. Gross and also presents a real slip hazard for anyone else. As a mum of 3 kids, I have had to deal with more body fluids than I ever thought possible. I am willing to deal with my kids' poo, wee and spit (plus other revolting stuff) as I love them. This does not mean I LIKED IT. I do not love any of my gym buddies that much, so spitting inside is, in my books, baaaaaaaaaad. When outside though, what is the solution? Some people are spitters, others aren't. I know the non-spitters have some real problems with the spitting camp, which is fair enough. Having been the recipient of a stray spit when out running with a friend once, I can appreciate that having someone gob on you is not considered one of life's highlights (DON"T WANT TO KNOW IF THIS IS WHAT FLOATS YOUR BOAT!!!!). On the other side, there is nothing worse than the feeling that there is a whole lot of saliva building up in your mouth with nowhere to go. I know, I can hear you saying "just swallow it". No way. Already feel sick enough and if I have the choice, saliva without vomit is the way to go when needing to get stuff out of your mouth. I have managed to get the spitting thing worked out pretty well, so here is what works for me. (1) Always make sure you get rid of it before it has built up to roughly the size of the Hoover dam catchment. For some reason, once you get past a certain amount of spit, it develops the consistency of melted mozzarella cheese and your chances of wearing it or smearing it across your face and clothes are pretty high. Very sexy look "I just spat on myself". That could be the title of the next big song from any one of the starlets currently in rehab. (2) If you have someone with you, make sure they are well out of the way, preferably upwind. Nothing puts you off your stride faster than having to take part in the game of "dodge to golly". (3) If you live in a colder climate (like I do) don't spit ON the path. Treading in spit is bad enough, landing on your arse because you have SLIPPED in FROZEN spit is one of the all time lows when out for your daily constitutional.

3. Underpants retrieval - I am not talking about tracking them down after a fun night out on the town. I have alluded to this before in the blog – when you have a generously sized bottom (or not, as some of my slimmer girlfriends have complained about this), your knickers can have the habit of going on safari into the Land of Darkness, otherwise known as in between your butt cheeks. Again, if you are out and about, this can be dealt with relative ease, you just need to do a quick modesty check before extracting offending underwear. A word of caution though – be sure you’ve scouted the surroundings properly. My grandmother got caught out once when the elastic in her undies snapped when she was in town. Another woman, who recognised her dilemma, offered to hold her coat out whilst my grandmother “took care of things” in a convenient doorway. It was not until she had removed her knickers that she realised that she was standing in front of a GLASS door to a café and had just given the punters inside an unexpected treat. Keep in mind this was the late 1940s – even today I reckon this would be a “die a thousand deaths” moment. So, what to do when in the gym and trying to deal with the wedgie from hell? Some people have no problems with this – they just hoik the offending fabric out and keep on going. More power to them. Others are a little more self conscious and endure the agony of fabric compressing into a space it was never designed for until the chaffing just becomes to much and they mince their way to the loo where offending underwear is extracted with tweezers. The etiquette on this is unclear and on the whole, I reckon most people would agree it’s important to be comfortable when exercising. The problem is, some of us are a little modest and don’t want to offend anyone by seeming to be playing with our own bottom in public. Perhaps we should all be given a sign to hold up as an early warning device, so people can look away or up at the ceiling so modesty is maintained and no one thinks you are a pervy. And DON’T send me advice on wearing a G-string. I am a size 18-20 for god’s sake – I would need a cave rescue team to come and extract the bloody thing.

diary pt 4

2007-08-02T15:25:00.000+10:00

Week 9
Tim and I have just celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. My present from him was 5 extra personal training sessions when finish the program (I only have an opal membership, so I pay for personal training sessions). Some people may not think this is the most romantic present, but it sums up how much he believes in me. Last year it would have been jewelry or a bottle of wine (both of which are fantastic) but this year he showed me that he knows I will keep going once the challenge is finished. This is just the start for me – I have to keep going at the end of the 12 weeks so I will achieve everything I set out to do. This week is more of the same – hard work and watching my food intake. I have to admit to feeling fairly down. I think this is partly PMS and also knowing that soon the challenge will be over. The last 9 weeks have been amazing on so many levels. I always knew I could be a stubborn bugger when I put my mind to something, but I always doubted I had the determination to do something so positive for myself. Does this sound crazy? Maybe this has been one of the things that stopped me every other time – I thought about it too much instead of just getting on with doing what I needed to.

Week 10
I can’t believe how far I have come in what is really a short space of time. 10 weeks ago if a trainer in the gym had said to me “Emma, today you are going to come in at lunchtime and to 40 minutes of cardio, come back at 6pm to do RPM and then follow it up at 7 with some weights and boxing circuit” I would have either laughed in their face or told them to, ahem, go away. Firmly. Using some not too pleasant words. This is now a fairly normal day for me. On my quieter days, I do a class and some abs and weights work as well. As I have a lot of weight to lose, my focus has been cardio, cardio and more cardio, with weights 2-3 times a week to build up muscle. Now, I am not saying I leap around the gym, beaming with joy and enjoying every moment. There are downright grumpy, painful, horrible days where I approach the treadmill or bike with all of the enthusiasm of the average 6 year old who has been told to clean up their room. Internal monologue goes something like “bloody treadmill, mutter, mutter, I want a glass of wine, mutter, mutter, this SUCKS!!” etc etc. Eventually though, this monologue dies down and I begin to get in the groove. Usually. There have been a few workouts where the grumpy pants didn’t really vanish until I got home and found that my wonderful husband had wrestled all kids into bed, cleaned up their mess and then cooked me dinner. Don’t be rude about pants vanishing when I see my husband – I am using metaphors.
One thing about this program which has really changed me is slimplicity. I have to admit to being skeptical (why not? Every diet I had gone on in the last 13 years had not worked) that it could make a difference this time, but that was when it clicked for me - it wasn’t so much the diet not working as ME not working. Slimplicity teaches you how to eat properly, break bad habits and start to view food as what it is – food. And to lose weight it is calories in vs calories out. Duh! Sounds really simple when you write it down like that but it’s a hard concept to get your head around sometimes. My slim coach, Odette, said something wonderful to me one day when I was having a complain about emotional eating and how it stuffs everything up. She just looked at me, waited for my “it’s not fair” tirade to finish and said “Honey, if being overweight was only a physical issue, no emotions involved, we would be all be slim and beautiful”. What I have learned to do is to retrain myself not to turn to food when I was upset and needing comfort. Still have bad days where I can inhale a packet of 2 minute noodles and a small brie all by myself, but this is not my automatic response anymore, which is a major shift in the way I approach things.

Week 11
A good, high energy week, but a bit weird too, because we are nearly finished. I am looking forward to getting some of my “life” back, but the life I had before is not what I want now. I want to keep healthy, want to keep exercising (not 2-3 hours a day though. Would like some time for friends and family) and I want to keep losing weight. I have come such long way and changed so much that the person I was back at the start of February is unrecognizable to me in so many ways. But not so much so that I don’t know how I got there in the first place. I get the feeling that for a few weeks after I finish it is going to feel so strange, not having the drive of the competition behind me, but to be honest, winning is not what is important to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m competitive, but I have already won so much, I don’t need a “prize” to be my main reason for doing this. To put it in some perspective, I am the lightest I have been in over 5 years and am feeling fitter than I have in ages. I have met some of the most amazing, inspirational women and literally put blood, sweat and tears into the last 3 months. I don’t think I want to reminisce about the vomit side of things. Let’s just say there were enough times in group training with Sophie yelling “if it is just spit coming up, wipe your mouth and get back in here” as one or other of us beat a hasty retreat to the locker room that … I said I wasn’t going into this. Let’s just say I am more matter of fact about some things now.

Week 12
So, this is the last week and I have been in the FOULEST mood for most of it. I should be on top of the world, happy with what achieved and feeling fit but for some reason a large part of me (and let’s face it, there is a lot of me so the large part is LARGE) has the old grumpy pants pulled up so high that they are up under my armpits. Part of this is PMS (I turn into a horrible, cranky, poison spitting person when I’m not crying and wanting to swim around in a bath of chocolate – the only time when I want to eat it). I think part of it is knowing that the Challenge is over. I know this sounds nuts, but in the last 12 weeks I have made some great friends and taken part in something that I know will help me continue on the long journey I have ahead of me and I really don’t want that to be over. Who would have thought that I would MISS personal training sessions where I would pray I would throw up, just so I can get a breather?

What lies ahead of me? Well, a lot of hard work. This is nowhere finished for me but one thing I know, I will cope so much better for doing this Challenge because I have proven to myself that I CAN do it. I also know I will have bad days or weeks, but I know I can pick myself up from whatever heap I fall over in (emotional, diet, confidence, flying backwards off the treadmill because I wasn’t paying attention) and just keep on going. I am now so much closer to my goal weight and am at a fitness level I thought I would never be again. I know this sounds nuts, but knowing I only now have to think “I’ve only got 30kg to lose”, rather than when I was at the start of this and saying “I’ve got 50kg to lose” is actually an incredibly powerful statement for me. If someone had said to me back in January that this is where I would be at the end of April, I never would have believed them, mainly because I had such little faith in myself. One thing I will take away from this Challenge is knowing that when I put my mind to it, I can exercise, I can lose weight and I can feel better about myself. And if I REALLY put my mind to it, I can walk past the fish and chip shop without going in and buying $10 worth of potato cakes J

Stats
Starting weight 133.3kg
Finishing weight 114.7kg
Total cms at start 585cm
Total cms at end 505.5

A few words of thanks
While I know this was done a great deal by me, the big difference has been the support I’ve had. I need to write down what they have done, because I may just forget to thank them all:
My husband, Tim, who has been incredible. There are not enough words to describe what a difference he has made to my life.
My mum and dad, who have always seen my full potential and believed I could achieve it, even when I didn’t.
My sister, Kate, who has dragged herself out for a walk or run when it was the last thing she felt like doing because she wanted to make sure I went. Not because she didn’t believe in me, but because she did.
My best friend, Sue, who came and sweated it out beside me in the gym night after night and providing endless encouragement at 11pm when she got a wailing phone call from me, carrying on about how hard everything is.
All of my Biggest Loser teammates. At some stage, each and every one gave me the encouragement I needed. Special mention needs to go to Leith, Tabitha, Leanne, Nicole and Kim. These are incredible women who are an inspiration to me.
Lynn, Sophie, Jenna, Oli, Helen, Amanda, Kellie, Julie and Rose at Fernwood Gungahlin. These are the people whose classes, training sessions and slim appointments I turned up to week after week. They also made sure that the challenge ran smoothly. They provided encouragement, honesty, support and showed that they had ultimate faith in me. Also, all of the girls who work on the reception desk at the club. They knew every competitor by name and always made sure they had everything we needed, especially when it came to writing down our all important points! A special mention also needs to go to Sid and Nat as well – Sid literally stopped me from quitting in week 3 and Nat proved to me that Bodycombat could be fun to the uncoordinated.

Diary pt 3

2007-08-02T15:23:00.000+10:00

Week 6
Wow, halfway! In a few ways it feels like I have been doing this forever and in others it feels like I only started 2 days ago. The exercise is still really hard, but I know I am doing it for longer periods and my recovery is much quicker. They no longer look at me anxiously and start to make noises about getting extra oxygen when I come out of RPM or Pump. The biggest thing I notice in myself is that I am enjoying going to the gym and working out (sick, I know). I get a real sense of satisfaction when I can push myself just that little bit further – even an extra 5 minutes of running or cycling feels like an incredible achievement. Lynn has really helped me this week. Her mix of not taking any of my crap when I whinge in a training session with a sympathetic shoulder is what has made a huge psychological difference. She pointed out to me that the mind often gives out before the body, especially someone like me who has got into the habit of thinking that I can’t do things. Instead of “can” and “can’t” she is getting me to focus on “will” and “won’t”. Then whatever I do is MY choice – I “won’t” run 3km non stop sounds a lot worse than “can’t”. Can’t almost sounds like you may have a legitimate reason not to do something. Won’t means just that – you are choosing not to. I have chosen not to do things relating to diet and exercise for the last 12 years. Now I choose to change. I “will” have to remind myself of this as the lactic acid builds up so much in my legs that they feel like someone is rubbing them down with brillo pads and I am so out of breath that I start making the noise that sounds a lot like “huaergh” when I breathe in. And cry when I exhale. And I won’t even get started on the uncontrollable spitty dribble thing that starts happening. On a more positive note, my halfway stats are : 11.9kg lost, 15cm down in body measurements.

Week 7
It’s funny, but in the last few weeks, something has switched over in my head and I can just focus on what I need to do. I also have to admit I never would have been able to do this without my incredible support crew – my husband, Tim, who has encouraged me every step of the way, my family, who have been cheering loudly and waving pom poms when I needed it and my friends have been incredible. Also, the girls at the gym are just amazing. My trainer, Lynn, just knows how to push me just that little bit further each session, and every staff member seems to know all of the challenge participants by name. The second set of teams has just started and they are throwing themselves into the challenge too.

We had the training session from hell this week – Sophie and Olivia pushed us for over an hour and I think most of us either felt like crying, puking or both. I reached the stage where I was looking at the doors out on to the balcony outside the training room where I thought I could throw up in relative privacy. Fortunately I remembered at the last minute that this may not be such a good idea as an alfresco restaurant had just opened up downstairs and I had the feeling that even if they couldn’t see me, the sound effects alone would probably put most people off their dinners. I reverted to plan B, which was crying as I tried to do the beep test. I believe this test was invented by some kind of masochistic evil person (otherwise known as a personal trainer) to make you get all twitchy whenever you are waiting to use a pedestrian crossing and then gallop at high speed across the road when the little green man appears. This is taking incidental exercise just that one step too far.

Week 8
We are rapidly coming up on Easter and a lot of people are getting very obsessed with the upcoming orgy of chocolate consumption. To be honest, chocolate will not be such a problem for me as avoiding emptying a tub of butter onto hot cross buns just out of the oven. YUM!!!!! In our group slim talk, Amanda talked about chocolate for 15 straight minutes, until someone pointed out that this was starting to feel like a torture session. We all cracked up and talked about salad for at least 2 minutes before we got back on to the chocolate quandary. Butter was not so much addressed as forbidden (bugger) and we were limited to 1 hot cross bun per day. She has got to be kidding me. There is only so much a person can give up. I thought this was the biggest loser challenge, not the cry over a bag of forbidden hot cross buns challenge. I better check the fine print.
On the exercise front, I am trying something new at the gym – bellydancing. It is run here once a week as a class and it is FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We are all in tracksuit pants and t shirts and giving it a good old wiggle. What is wonderful is to have an instructor finally say “you are meant to wobble here”. After so many classes where nothing is allowed to wiggle (and let’s face it, when you are as overweight as I am, not much bloody doesn’t), this is a lot of fun. Also, much harder work than I thought. You have to isolate lower body and upper body movements from each other and use your core to control movements, so by the end your obliques have really had a workout. It also feels sexy, no matter how big you are. I have also started running again, which is great. In my late teens and early 20s I did a lot of running and I loved it. I ran the City to Surf twice and I would love to do it again. My first short term thing to do is to run the Mother’s Day Classic, which is a 4km run to raise money for breast cancer research. My mum is a breast cancer survivor (diagnosed in 2005) and an incredible inspiration to me. If she can go through surgery, chemo and radiotherapy, I can run 4km.

We finished! This is my daughter Grace, my sister Kate, me and my mum at the finsh! The grown ups loook happy because we had all had coffee and a free massage.

diary pt 2

2007-08-02T15:22:00.000+10:00

Week 3
Hit the wall big time this week – actually went into the gym and when one of the trainers asked if I was ok, I burst into tears. I think the reality of this whole challenge finally just hit me. This is more than just the 12 weeks of the challenge – it is my whole lifestyle and even when I lose all of the weight, I have to make sure I never end up back where I was when I started on this journey. It kind of does my head in to think that I gave up on myself so much that I was literally eating myself towards type 2 diabetes, heart disease, crappy joints and more than likely a life 15 years shorter than it should be. I know this is the same thing that is in every motivational book I have ever read, but I think each time I was reading one of these, I was either thinking “yeah, but this person was so much fatter than me, so I don’t need to worry” or “this person is so strong and I could never do that”. Now I know I HAVE to do this – lose the weight and to do that I have to get off my big bum. I have to change the way I think about myself. I am worth this. I can do this. I can do better. Of course, this did not come out as coherently as this when I was sitting in the gym crying all over Sid, one of the trainers up there. It sounded a lot more like mix between Swahili and that weird noise a donkey makes when it’s really trying to get its point across. Went through a lot of tissues and ended up looking like ended up looking all blotchy. Sid was great – sympathetic, listened to me carry on, gave some great advice and then marched me into the Bodycombat class her sister Nat was running. Just to cheer me up.

Week 4
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear me, happy birthday to me. I have just clicked over 37 years and to celebrate I had PT and did and RPM class. I really know how to enjoy myself! Lynn wished me happy birthday and then kicked my arse from one end of Fernwood to the other. Also had a mortifying moment in step this week – I slipped off the end of the step, which flipped up into the air, came down with an almighty “kerchunk” noise, hit my water bottle, which flew across the room, spraying its contents along the way. To say I was embarrassed is putting it lightly. The instructor made sure no one was hurt and then helped me set my stuff back up. Everyone was really helpful and sympathetic, which was great and made it worse at the same time. I wonder how may calories you burn off when you blush for 20 minutes? I feel happier this week – more in control of things (apart from my step!), especially the diet. Exercise is becoming more routine rather than torture. I was, of course, stupid enough to mention this to Lynn, who took it as a sign that I needed to challenge myself more. This challenge involved SPRINTING on the elliptical trainer for 5 minutes, resting for 1, sprinting, resting etc until I couldn’t run anymore. I assured her this wouldn’t take long, so she put a minimum time of 25 minutes. Am never, ever telling Lynn I am finding something easy or routine. It hurts too much. Lost 0.3kg this week. I have to admit to being a bit disappointed, but it is still a loss. I am close to 7kg better off than I was at the start of this challenge.

Week 5
One great thing that has come out of this challenge is that I am making some great friends amongst the women on my team. Everyone is so supportive and I think a lot of us know just what a big change this is. On my team there is another Emma, who is great and attacks an RPM class like a maniac. Jo, who does so many classes it is amazing (I think she lives at the gym) and is always encouraging other challenge participants in the gym. I am also making friends with the so called “opposition”, the red team (I’m blue). Leith has kids at the same school mine go to and is another person who I think must have a bed at the gym as she is there all the time and I am getting to be good friends with Leanne, who is amazing as she just never gives up, no matter how hard the training is. Some bad news this week – we lost our team trainer Helen as her younger daughter had an accident and she needs to spend more time at home with her. Sophie has put on the superwoman cape and is now kicking all of our butts from one end of the gym to the other on group training nights, with the help from Olivia, who seems to think that a 45 minute abs workout is normal.

This week I managed to really excel myself at group training – we were doing shuttle runs in the group training room and I decided that what was really needed was me getting up close and personal with the floor at high speed. My shoulder made a fairly interesting popping noise and I managed to leave a significant amount of skin on the carpet. I have not had carpet burn like that since I tripped when chasing my sister when I was about 10 and did a full on face plant into the brown shagpile that was in our home at the time. I would like to say that the worst injury was to my pride, but to be honest I really hurt myself and Leanne was kind enough to drive me home, as my knee and shoulder came out in some very impressive bruising by the end of the class (I watched whilst applying ice packs to various joints). The rest of the team felt that no matter how much I wanted to lose weight, scraping a few 100gms of skin off on the carpet was not the easiest way to do it. Ha ha.

Biggest loser challenge diary Pt 1

2007-08-02T15:09:00.001+10:00

Ok, here is the diary some of you have been asking for in it's unedited glory. I will put this up in several posts, as otherwise it will be too long and some of you might start wishing I would just SHUT THE HELL UP (those who don't feel that way already, that is). Background for those not in the know : I did the Biggest Loser challenge at my local gym, Fernwood, from start of February to end of April this year. During this time I kept a journal and some extracts were published in a magazine this month. They were heavily edited, so here are the entries in all their glory. Also, below is a "before" photo, which was one of the one's that horrified me enough to think about losing some weight.

February 2, 2007
Orientation session
So, here I am at the start of this challenge. Part of me thinks I must be nuts – I’ve failed every other diet/fitness regime I’ve started in the last 10 years (god, looking at that number is so depressing), so why would this one be any different? Another part is excited – maybe this is the thing that will get me started on the road I need to take? But, overwhelmingly, what I feel is fear. Fear I’ll fail, fear I’ll succeed (weird, weird, weird), fear I’ll only partly get there and then every negative feeling, bad habit etc will just come crashing in on me and I’ll just give up and walk away. I should know – I’ve done it heaps of time before. Why I it so easy to give up on yourself when you would never let your husband, best friend or family member do it? Why do I get the feeling that the changes in this are not only going to be physical? Ok, way too many questions. On with what the challenge is all about.
We have been divided into 2 teams (red and blue) and there are about 10 of us are in each and we are a pretty mixed bunch of women. Some I have seen around the gym before and others I have never seen. We were introduced to the trainers who would be seeing us through (Sophie and Helen) as well as the slim coaches (Odette and Amanda). Julie is our team co-ordinator and I get the feeling that they are all going to be working really hard over the next 12 weeks (almost as hard as those of us doing the challenge!). Officially we start on Sunday (when the Biggest Loser starts screening on TV) so – game on! We had our weigh in for our starting stats and think I want to die – I have managed to let it creep up to 133.3kg. Crap! I think that makes me one of the heaviest people on this challenge, maybe in this gym. There are no words that can describe how bad this feels.
I am aiming to try and do at least 1 class per day, maybe 2. I will have to see how I go - that would be increasing my exercise that I currently do by about70% I will also have my first PT and slim session this week. My personal trainer is Lynn and I know her from RPM, so it will be interesting to train with her 1 on 1.

Week 1
OK, I take it back. This is the hardest thing I have ever physically done – right now I am so bloody tired I can’t even think about how hard it is mentally. I think if I make it through work this week without putting my underpants on the outside of my trousers it will be a miracle. Lynn pushed me so hard at PT I ended up making cough cough retchy noises (which REALLY alarmed the girl training on the treadmill next to me). I also did RPM three days in a row and yesterday when I got out of the class and I realized that I was actually wobbling (I mean, from muscle fatigue. The fat bits like my bum and legs always wobble) around like my legs had been deboned. I also tried bodypump for the first time and as a result walked like a duck for 2 days afterwards. Quack quack.
The slimplicity program is so much easier than I thought – we get a diary which we have to write down everything we eat and when we eat it. We also get a really strict meal plan, which at first I thought I would hate but it has made eating so much easier. It has also been fantastic – I lost 3kg in my first week. Yay! I do have to admit to being a bit hungry at nighttime and it is hard to keep walking past the pantry and fridge, but that is just old bad habits pulling me back in. That or I have little elves living in my kitchen actually chanting “eat more cheese, eat more cheese”!

Week 2
This week I am kind of ok and kind of not. I am still as tired as last week (actually fell asleep at my desk and made one of those weird snork noises you do when your head falls back. My staff laughed for 10 minutes) but have made it through 5 RPM classes so far, a team training session with Helen where I thought at least 3 of us were going to expire, PT with Lynn and a slim session. I have no idea how I am doing the rest of my life – my incredible husband is holding it all together at home, taking care of the kids every night while I sweat my butt off at the gym. My biggest problem is still my very sad cheese addiction. I actually found myself with my nose pressed up against the glass cabinet in a local deli, slowly drowning in my own saliva as I sighed over all of the brie and Camembert that was so close, soooooooo close… the best way I have found to deal with this is to work out how long it would take me work off a piece of cheese in the gym. I can easily eat an entire 125gm cheese all by myself, which adds up to (brace yourself) 1616kg (404 calories). This means I have to RUN (you have got to be bloody kidding me) for at least 45minutes just to ensure my thighs do not get extra dimples in them (they already have more than a crateful of oranges). This works most of the time. Notice the emphasis on most – there are times when want to lick a block of cheese all over just so I can get the taste without eating it all. I just read that sentence – possibly one of the weirdest things ever written. Am fairly sure normal people do not think about doing that. At least, they don’t ADMIT it. Surely there is someone out there who… now that I think about it, perhaps I shouldn’t explore this. You never know WHAT people think about licking – could end up making cheese look pretty tame. Right, I need to focus on something else. More good news on the weight loss front this week - 3.5 kg. Yay me!!!! My clothes are starting to feel a bit looser but they should – Helen had me do so many sit ups I couldn’t actually stand upright for 2 days.

Pepsi max extreme parenting

2007-08-02T09:07:00.000+10:00

I have a new extreme sport for anyone who is tired of base jumping, black water rafting or bungee jumping. It's called "take your children shopping". Not for the faint hearted and make sure you have a good pack with you, filled with survival gear. Also make sure the wills of all of those involved are up to date, as by the end of the day there is an excellent chance some may not be coming out alive. One of my private theories about why children behave the way they do is that it is to ensure parents age rapidly so they can get their hands on your money whilst still young enough to have fun with it. Take this past weekend as a little example.

We went out to the local farmer's market on Saturday, where the kids had a lovely time, running around and looking at all of the fresh fruit and veg etc. It was one of those great family days where you are happy to be a parent, you can grab a nice coffee and feel that you are, in your own little way, getting back in touch with nature etc. Don't laugh - there is an aging hippy inside all of us. On Sunday we had an expedition to one of the local shopping malls as I am in dire need of new clothes. I am happy to announce that I have dropped 3-4 dress sizes - the down side of this is literally that. Everything is now looking suspiciously like a tent I have nicked form the local army depot or I am spending a lot of time hitching my baggy pants up. Sexy. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the clothes shops we go...

Now, I have developed a dislike of shopping for clothes, as for the last ten years every time I tried something on I felt as though I looked like a hippo with a bow tied round it. Still have the odd hippo moment but they are getting a little less extreme. Throw 3 children into the mix who don't really want to be there and shopping for clothes starts to make the Olympic decathlon look like the easy option. Gone were the happy little cherubs of Saturday. In their place I had the tantrum pants brigade (aged 9, 6 and 2.5) who, it seemed, were hell bent on driving Tim (my husband) and I completely bonkers by 10.30am. First shop, I found a few nice shirts, in between refereeing fights between the kids and telling them to stop playing hide and seek in the clothes racks. I had the audacity to want to try these clothes on, which resulted in me receiving a lot of "help" and the ensuing riot in the change room meant that I it took me more time to try on 4 shirts than it takes for me to drive through peak hour traffic to work in the mornings. Tim was trying his best, but the officious 16 year old on the desk would not let him come in to the women's change room. I get the very distinct feeling that the other ladies suffering through the whole experience with me would have been happy for Tim to have seen them completely naked if it meant they did not have to listen to my kids giving a convincing impression of wildebeest stampeding across the plains. We made our purchases and left the store, calling time out for a quick snack and a drink (water for the kids, brandy for Tim and I) and on we went.

Let's just say things didn't really improve all that much and by the time we hit the last shop (we only went to 3) my youngest was screaming like a banshee and my middle child was so off his head that people were looking at him as though he was "special". I knew it was well and truly time to pull the pin when the long suffering sales assistant assured me that if I didn't want to try things on, that "was absolutely fine. You can just return them if they don't fit". Translation "please leave as you are scaring the normal people". In the end, I got some nice new clothes and I know that my blood pressure mediation is working well. Next time I think I'll just take a rhino with me - much less trouble and much quieter.

just a quick note - to those of you who feel that you need to recommend books/lectures/videos to me on how to be a better parent and to effectively discipline my children, don't bother. Have read/attended/seen my fair share. My kids just were not in the mood to be human last weekend. We all have days like that. Kids are just much more open about expressing it. Adults cover it up with grumpy looks, stomping through the office and smacking the photocopier. Much more mature.

Pants on fire

2007-07-31T14:47:00.000+10:00

When did someone make the decision in the clothing industry that if you are fat, you actually don't need comfortable, reasonably priced exercise clothes? Those of you who know me are aware of my recent efforts to get fit and shed 50 odd kg (110 pounds for those still operating in non metric) and one of the weird things I have discovered is that when you are a fat chick (I am one, so don't get all "you're being mean to fat people" high horse), essentials such as sports bras, knickers, comfortable tracksuit pants and t-shirts are a little light on. Let me qualify this - I am aware there are LOTS of so called pants, t-shirts etc out there for those of us who have to shop in THAT section. My experience has also made me aware that most of this stuff is damn uncomfortable, non-breathable, synthetic and prone to riding up or falling down at the worst possible moment. When you are hauling your 133kg self up a hill on a walk, you are already in more than enough distress and trying to find ANY reason to stop. Having the waistband of your HIPSTER style tracksuit pants (who thought that was a good idea???) slowly rolling itself down to vanish under the protruding rolls of fat that cover your stomach and hips does not do wonders for the motivation. Combine this with your undies working their way up the yin yang and the realisation that a few tea bags would be giving you more support than your bra is managing adds up to a whole lot of "get me chocolate now". And before anyone decides to leave a comment on how I bought this all on myself (thanks for the buckets of support) or I'm shopping in the wrong stores blah, blah, can I make a suggestion? Go out and put on a style of clothing you would normally never wear (we all have one of THOSE outfits lurking around the house), fill a backpack with at least 30kg and go for a flog around the block. Alternatively, go to a sports clothing section of your local department store, buy stuff that is completely the wrong fit for you and follow the 30kg in a backpack step in the first suggestion. To complete the experiment - ladies, drag out that old bra you have languishing in the bottom of your undies drawer that no longer has any elastic properties but you just never threw out. Put it on and jog up and down on the spot for a few minutes. Chaps, you put on your loosest pair of boxer shorts and do the jogging thing too. So much fun there are not enough words in the English language to describe it. Can make exercising in the nicky noo nar seem like an attractive option.

Now, I have been exercising and eating well for the last six months and the effort has (mostly) been worth it. This is not a huge rant about the unfairness of being overweight and that when you aren't a size whatever the world is against you (well, maybe a little bit). I just want to point out that a lot of the time, when you are overweight, you will often use ANY excuse to put off hauling your butt off the lounge and taking it for a wobble around pavements of your local suburb. It is already scary enough to think that a local Australia Post person might come past and think that your body mass qualifies you for your own postcode. Worrying that your synthetic fabric pants might combust where your thighs rub together is just a pressure you can do without. Unless you like your pants on fire and if you do, I don't want to know. That's enough to put anyone up a crazy tree. More from camp "Get fit before I'm 40" soon.

Welcome

2007-07-30T15:17:00.000+10:00

My first post. Should feel very momentous and life changing, but somehow the buzz has not kicked in. Maybe I need more coffee. Anyway, welcome. Before you are overwhelmed with the urge to ask, the title of this blog comes from an old family expression - when you've had a really bad/weird/stressful/just damn peculiar day, you tend to end up swinging from the crazy tree. I now seem to be spending a fair bit of my time either in the tree or talking to people who are hanging by the toes from it, so there you go. I bet you're really thrilled I put that explanation in. This blog is a good way for me to stay in contact with my fellow crazy tree dwellers and keep my mum from worrying about what I'm up to, but feel free to come along for the ride.