Gone again...

Well, Mr Accident is off again.

This time it's just a course, but it's very competitive. This is the first time I've ever hoped NOT to see him home early! If he's back before the end of the course it means he's either very badly injured, or he's failed. Since he's been training for this for about 14 months now, it's not something he's taking lightly.

From his perspective, the hardest part will be the epic levels of physical labour, walking, limited sleep, lack of food and constant testing. It makes wrangling two kids in his absence look very very easy. Unfortunately, it doesn't actually *make* it easy, especially when they are missing him and acting out!

Well, that's why I have friends, I guess. I was chatting to my lovely neighbor about it yesterday, and she (gotta love her) goes "well, I don't normally drink on a weekday, unless it's an emergency... but you can come sit on my back step and chat any time. I'll bring the wine!" That's a solid back up plan if ever I heard one. I might just take her up on it.

The lost art of feminism

I am a woman. I like to wear dresses and nice shoes that clack when I walk. I wear lipstick. I cry at documentaries when the mother polar bear loses her baby. I own and use handbags.

But. But.... This doesn't mean I am incompetent. So why, every time anything needs doing at our local community centre, do they ask a room full of women - strong, clever, funny, wise women for the most part - if they have a husband who can help? "Anyone have a husband who knows how to fix a computer?" (No, but I can...) "Anyone have a husband who can come down and cook the BBQ?" (No, he wouldn't want to, he'd rather mind the kids, but I can...) "Anyone have a husband who can move chairs for us / clean the toys / put up the shelves in the shed etc etc etc" The list is endless. As endless as my ability to use a hammer or a wet rag.

I am not a superhero, but neither is my husband. Other than reaching a foot higher than me without a step ladder, or looking hot in board-shorts, there is nothing at that community centre that he could do that I cannot.

So please, committee ladies, stop asking for husband-help, lest I end up spending every weekend volunteering at "husband jobs" out of a moralistic sense of feminist outrage. *end rant*

Yoga

Yoga is hard. Beginning yoga is harder, because you have to wrench your neck around to watch the teacher to make sure your hand is on the correct side of your leg (it invariably isn't). Beginning yoga at home includes all of that, with the addition of a few added levels of difficulty:

1) make sure Mr Accident isn't shuffling down the corridor and unfortunately sees the rear view of my downward dog as his first daily impression of his loving wife;

2) stop the baby from pulling (or standing!) on my hair. It's tied back, but my fringe is in serious need of a trim. It's about to invade New Zealand; and

3) stop the toddler from using me as a tunnel. Especially when I'm lying down.

Do yoga people have grading belts or achievement badges or something? Cause I think I totally earned one this morning.

Super power

I spoke too soon. After that one night of excellent sleep, the baby jacked up and spent last night WIDE awake.

But I found out I have a superpower. After a good couple of hours cutting laps around first her cot, then my bed, I finally cracked it and got cross. I yelled. Something loud and crass, like "oi! I've had enough! Go to sleep!". (I'm profane like that.) But, crazily, it worked. She rolled over and went straight to sleep.

I'm not a baby whisperer, I'm a baby yellerer.

Do you think there is a market for that?

I'm thinking a book, CD, DVD and a speaking tour...

Sugar rush

The little one hasn't been sleeping.

God only knows what was going on,but it's been painful for all of us. There's been night rocking, lullabies, bed sharing, a very brief and unsustained foray into control crying (I lasted about three minutes). Nothing seemed to work.


Then, last night for Valentines day dinner, I fed the kids dessert. This is a total rarity, we're a veggie eating household and tend to avoid refined food and the seriously sweet stuff, especially for the kids. Buuuuuttt... It was Valentines day. I cracked out the jelly and icecream. I expected a sugar crash, issues getting them to bed, and middle of the night wake ups when their blood sugar crashed and they got hungry (it's happened before).

Instead? My little angels slept, and slept, and slept..... and slept in! Hooray!

Best. Valentines day. Present. Ever.

(Not that my Vicar of Dibley DVD didn't rock. Ahem.)

A whinge

Holy bat balls, committee meetings are painful! I just spent three hours trapped in a room with a bunch of people I barely know, all of who could talk the leg off an iron pot, and decided to prove it on this idle Tuesday. I doubt we actually approved a single item on the agenda, but damn, we discussed it (and everyone's upcoming holidays) in great depth.

I guess I am used to meetings with a very clearly defined hierarchy, where everyone has someplace better to be, and enough going on elsewhere in their life that discussing the brands of toner for the office photocopier can be done in under twenty minutes.

It's going to be tough moving away from my military mindset!

Cunning plan

I have a secret.

My darling Mr Accident has been working his incredibly attractive bum off, training up to three hours a day so he is fit enough to complete a very competitive course for his work. He leaves in one week.

Meanwhile, I've been slothing around the house, keeping the home fires burning and, quite clearly (going off my waistline) baking cookies on them. In my defense, I've lost most of my post-baby podge but there are a stubborn three kilos hanging around my middle and my abs are the sloppiest they have ever been. Eek!

So while Mr Accident turns into an adonis, I am steadily getting left behind. But I have a plan! The second he's out of sight, flying off the biggest challenge of his life, I will be challenging myself to tone up and make for me, and him, the body I deserve.

I tried to join a gym a few months ago, one with a creche, but the baby hated it so much that I only went five times. I just couldn't deal with her upset - my waistline is not more important that her happiness! But my new plan is to work out at home. I have the weights, a skipping rope, an exercise bike and the great outdoors, and I now also have a work out partner. Bug is so into "hexercising"! I know if I tell her that I'll do exercise with her daily she'll hold me to it.

So, now I've told you my secret, you can hold me to it too...