Healthy Week?

This week is Healthy Week, not here of course but at school. Each day has a designated topic and activity. Monday was Move it Monday, Tuesday was Taste it Tuesday and then I guess I lost interest in the letter they sent home after that because I only remember that today if Fresh air Friday. I hope I didn't miss anything particularly exciting on the other two days.

Bearing in mind that Thomas would happily exist on a diet of bread, cheese and yogurt (well in addition to crisps, chips and chocolate of course but surely that is a given) I knew that Taste it Tuesday was unlikely to be a big hit with Thomas.

When I arrived I saw they had a display of all kinds of exotic fruits and a plate next to each fruit for the children to taste. Thomas just looked at it as he walked in and grimaced like he was being offered pure arsenic. Outrageously they had even put jam on the crackers they usually serve at snack time in an attempt to be more 'healthy' and up their fruit intake. I didn't want to point out that jam is actually loaded with sugar which surely defeats the healthy part? Nobody likes a party pooper so I kept my mouth shut. Thomas was disgusted that his crackers had been smeared with red goo and refused to eat them he later assured me.

So I left him there knowing full well Taste it Tuesday would be wasted on him.

Well until I picked him up and was informed that today he had tried something new.

Paint.

Yep, on Taste it Tuesday my three year old rejected all offers of fruit and attempted to eat paint instead.

His teacher loudly informed me in front of all of the other parents (whose children don't attempt to snack on paint and looked on in horror) and enquired if this is something he frequently does at home.

(Imaginary response) "Yes, all the time. You see he is a really picky eater and so we're just relieved to get him to ingest something other than bread, cheese, yogurt or McDonald's alternatives. So we serve it up by the pint. He really seems to like it!"

Seriously.

He was only getting into the spirit of Taste it Tuesday after all and nobody can accuse him of not wanting to join in.

Though he has informed me that paint isn't very yummy.

And for the record neither is play dough.

Enduring to the End

This month for the Classics book club at 5 Minutes for Books the book of choice was Jane Eyre. I was really excited to read it because I actually never had. Which admission completely stunned my mother in law as she rates Jane Eyre as the best book written ever. How could it be that one as reasonably well read as myself could have been so unfortunate as to have never read from the pages of Jane Eyre?

I live here in Yorkshire and where the Bronte's are from, Haworth, is really close by. So having adored Wuthering Heights as a teenager (oh Heathcliff!) I have felt almost like I have been living on hallowed ground. But only the lazy type of feeling not the actual type of feeling that has ever motivated me to get off my backside and take the 30 minute trip to Haworth and enjoy all that Bronte country has to offer.

Several chapters in I was gripped. My very own mother used to threaten to send me away to boarding school as punishment for my misbehaviour as a child which naturally terrified me to my inner core but somehow along the way I have romanticised just how wonderful life in an orphanage/boarding school would actually be. I have pondered on how great it must be to have such close kinship with your fellow boarders and the unity that would result from existing on a diet of mouldy bread or burned porridge and sleeping three to a bed. Or maybe I have just watched Annie one time too many?

As Jane survived Lowood and matured I was sad that she chose to leave but was excited to accompany her on her adventures in the big wide world.

It was at this point in my reading that my sister in law happened to enquire how I was finding the novel and decided never to speak to me again as I described Jane Eyre as dull. The middle chapters are seriously long and needlessly drawn out.

Mr Rochester was a very sad replacement for Mr Darcy in my mind (as I had just read Pride and Prejudice) and I found him strangely creepy and not at all attractive (Yes, I am shallow thank you very much!). Flirting with a young girl half his age, insisting on calling her his pet or his elf. I once very briefly dated a guy who insisted on calling me pumpkin, pet names like those should be outlawed, seriously. They're just plain wrong. Then he proceeds to occasionally call her Janet even though she never once refers to herself as anything other than Jane. If her name were indeed truly Janet Eyre I feel sure that hideous Mrs Reed woman would've been calling her it from day one rather than a kindly shortened version of her name. I was desperate for whole chapters on end for Jane to spout out, 'Hey Mister, I am neither your imp, elf or pet and the name is Jane, you humongous buffoon' sadly it never came. Gutted. Such a comment would really have brightened up the narrative.

By far my biggest concern at this point in my reading was what on earth was in existence and maniacally laughing on the third floor that relentlessly bites and knives people? I started to seriously wonder if Charlotte Bronte was some precursor for Stephen King.

But Rochester & Eyre are almost united before the creature on the third floor is exposed as his actually legal but slightly crazy wife and Jane takes off with no money or possessions for fear of being kept as his mistress on the continent.

Which results in the highly unlikely turn of events that she randomly wanders for three days seeking food and shelter and is eventually taken in by St. John Rivers and his sisters who end up actually being related to her and she happily shares with them the fortune she inherits from one of their Uncles.

St. John tries to coerce Jane into marriage saying some of the most blunderous things that no man should ever say to a woman 'You were formed for labour, not for love...', yep, because compliments like that will have the ladies lining up to marry you. She continues to refuse his less than tempting offer.

She randomly hears Rochester's disembodied voice and returns to Thornfield only to find it burned courtesy of the crazy wife on the third floor who jumped to her death from the flaming ruins. Jane discovers Rochester was badly maimed in the fire and left blind and without a hand. She of course finds him and it is the stuff Disney films are made of. Like a modern(ish) day Beauty and the Beast. Except she isn't exactly beautiful and he isn't exactly a beast.

But it goes without saying they live happily ever after and he even regains vision in one eye just to make everything fine and dandy.

So what I am trying to say in essence is......next time I consider reading Jane Eyre I will just read Pride and prejudice for 5,321,213th time instead.

The Best Advice Ever Courtesy of Pamela Anderson Lee

I know that those who know me well probably imagine (and rightly so considering my track record) my quest for fitness was a flash in the pan and that now I am much more wisely investing my time sitting on the sofa with my feet up eating chocolate bars with such frequency that I must be sadly misled that they are fat free (if only, right?). What other explanation could there be for the lack of progress reports in my endeavours to be Looking Fine by 2009?

Truth is I just didn't want to bore the world (or myself) with monotonous posts on a weekly basis saying essentially the exact same things.

Here cometh the truth:

I still adore my cross trainer. Truly. I can watch TV and do my 3.5 miles in the cosy comfort of my very own bedroom every single day. Well maybe not every single day because that was a tad OTT so I have settled on 5 days a week, which is a 500% improvement on the rest of my life.

I can both see and feel the progress I am making. My abs aren't so far away anymore. Yippee! Not that you'd be able to tell in a million years of course because my body is currently hiding beneath numerous layers of clothing in an effort to combat the hideously gloomy wintry weather.

I have a disease. The extra 1.5 miles I do on the trek to get Thomas from school has become something of an addiction. One day Rob was going to collect him and I actually persuaded him to walk so I could go along too and another day I had to collect him in my car because Rob needed me to be back quickly and I actually felt both sad and disappointed that I couldn't walk there. Such thought processes cannot be healthy surely? There is just a massive sense of achievement about hauling my newly toned backside up a hill whilst pushing a 2.5 year old toddler. It just makes me feel like superwoman.

On my last trip to the supermarket I broke my biggest bad habit. I didn't buy any chocolate. Getting the kids in bed and devouring chocolate has been a massive part of my routine since day 1 of Thomas sleeping through the night. My little well deserved celebration at having survived another parenting day. I decided now if I am hungry in the evenings I can have an apple (talk about being indulgent) or at best a bowl of cereal. Lucky me!

But this week I came across the best advice ever whilst reading a magazine when I was supposed to be working. The unlikely source of the advice? Pamela Anderson Lee.

Major paraphrasing here but she said in essence if you feel tempted to eat something you shouldn't and will regret it later, go brush your teeth, and I have to agree with Pammy here (which is something I never imagined saying) but it works a treat. I couldn't even consider eating those crisps or drinking my Dr Pepper when my teeth were freshly clean and minty fresh.

Try it, it just might revolutionise your life.

But if it doesn't blame Pammy, not me!

Let Me Educate You

What do the following pictures of models that Thomas created at nursery clearly have in common?



Well quite obviously they are all speedboats.

What?

You didn't get that?

Don't worry me either, but Thomas has kindly overlooked my stupidity and corrected me (with sheer disgust) so it's only polite for me to do the same for you.

Au Revoir

I am officially in mourning.

You know life can be hard and I do try to maintain a cheery attitude, true as it is, most days I fail.

Like today when on the traipse home from school I saw my three year old headed towards dog poop. Not any ordinary dog poo but diarrhea dog poop! I guess the fact that it was diarrhea confused him and made him lose control of all the 3 ounces of sense a three year old possesses because before I could scream 'hand sanitiser' I saw him bending down. I almost managed to avoid the catastrophe, but only almost. I grabbed his coat by the hood and yanked hard in a manner that could have been categorised as child abuse, but it was after all an emergency. His fingertips had barely reached the excrement but small brown circles of dog faeces were evident.

I didn't have any baby wipes to hand and when I explained it was dog poo and shrieked 4 verses of 'what were you thinking?' it turns out he thought it was a stone. Yep, I always got muddled between a stone and dog diarrhea. Happens all the time. Easy mistake to make.

So now I will forever be known to those who have the downhill route home from school as the hysterical mother of that boy who puts his hand in dog diarrhea. Charming.

But that is only part of my trauma....

You know I waited all summer long for summer to make it's appearance.

It never really made it.

I know I shouldn't really be complaining though because we by far had the best of the weather during our family holiday.

1 entire week without rain, big-flaming-whoop!

Then Autumn came and for the first 5 majestic days I enjoyed the beauty of the change in seasons. Seeing the leaves turning brown and falling from the trees, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

This I could get on board with.

Then as quickly as Autumn had arrived it had departed.

Not to be a grump (well maybe a bit!) but Winter has now officially arrived. I have been cold and I have been rained on more than I would like and it is only October 2nd. I am seriously considering homeschooling my children so that I don't have to brave the elements for the next 7 months (and partly to avoid the unenviable tag of dog poop mother). Why oh why does Thomas' school have to be up an enormous hill (well it feel enormous at least to my unfit self) and why does the wind always have to be blowing downhill just to make my journey all the more depressing? Of course on my descent the wind fails to blow at all. The wind it would seem is in conspiracy against me.

Yep, that's right. We may be lucky enough to enjoy all 4 seasons here in my homeland but for some unfathomable reason Spring is 4 months long, Summer a week or two at best, Autumn even shorter in length than summer if such a thing were imaginable and Winter 7 eternally long months.

So faced with the choices of eating my body weight in chocolate to make me feel better and hibernation I decided to choose the latter.

I'll be seeing you all in Spring.

And the sun had better be shining!!