Run to Paradise

Suck. Sorry.
I'm probably on the beach.
Or by the pool.
Or napping.
Or watching Magoo loove the "rangtangtangs" sick.
Or doing 'happy hour' proud.
Or witnessing our friends marry in the most fabulous of locations.
So, yes, sorry for not posting this week.
I'm sure there's a doozy of a brag fest post on the way.
:-))))


If it's any consolation, I'll be real fat and running real slow when I return.

A Change Is As Good As...

Here's to changes.

Changes that on Monday looked challenging, draining and uninviting.

Here, less than a week later, I would like to celebrate these changes.
Preferably with a beverage of the sweet and bubbly kind. Cheers!

Here's to one bunch of 32 ten year old rockstars instead of one hundred and something little lovelies.
To the refreshement of students who say "excuse me" rather than pull on your skirt, or top, or leg.
Here's to independence and witty humour, as opposed to the same cute 'knock, knock' over and over.
To legible writing that doesn't require reading aloud repeatedly to decipher what word was intended by the author.
Here's to parents who have learnt to trust the system, the school, their children.
To clean noses and fingers unphased by shoelaces or yoghurt tubes.
Here's to hitting the ground running and slowly hotfooting it up that mountain of curriculum.
To coming home to "I missed you Mummy" over and over and over, while Daddy feels slighted that he's put in the hard yards all day - for once.
Here's to realising you can be adaptable, flexible and spontaneous after all.
Well, within reason. :-)

I'm sure there's a lot of merit in the wisdom of "A change is as good as a holiday."
But, just to be sure, I'm going to take the holiday anyway!!

Shar :-)

Wax On, Wax Off

First, a confession.
I have the selfish wish that both my hairdresser and my beautician do not fall pregnant or rethink their careers any time in the near future! It's a compliment (and a disgusting reflection of my character) because they are both so absolutely awesome. I have searched for these two stars for a long time and am quite attached to their respective skills.


So, moving on.
I had on one of my precious lists "make beautician appointment before Sabah". 
Of course, who wants to be hairy on holidays?
Or for the Rottnest Channel Swim 2011, it appears.
Hubby saw said list and piped up with "can you make an appointment for me too?"
Huh?
Images of a certain St. Kilda football player immediately sprang to mind as I grunted "what for?!"


Years ago, Hubby used to wax his legs for swimming, cycling and running.
But not lately. Not last year for the Rotto swim, nor the year before or the one before that either. Not since we have been married actually.
But this year, he has decided that he wants to be footloose and hair free for the crossing.
Fair enough... I guess!! I quite like(d) Hubby's hairy (manly) legs myself, but it is just hair. Or was.



Hair today...

 My beautician is a beauty. But she is also brutal -  'good brutal' considering I go there for a specific reason and that is to be (relatively) hairless. She doesn't hold back, is speedy and is extremely thorough. I usually leave there with the urge to giggle stupidly at what just took place. All of which make her a brilliant beautician  - for me.
For hubby is a different story. Flashes of a particular St. Kilda star again!


So, off Hubby went for his 3.20pm appointment today.
He has returned to us no less a man, but a considerably smoother version.

Chicken anyone?!

Hubby didn't focus too much on the pain factor in his recount of the wax files, but as I had my own appointment with said brilliant, brutal beautician at 5.40pm he did admit to handling it a little less bravely than I do!

Hubby is super impressed with the results of his 80 minutes (!!) in the lilac torture chamber - and hopefully will be chafe - less after Saturday's swim.
Me ? I'm jealous - I want sleek, shiny arms too - and worried  - can this marital bed handle four silky, smooth legs?!!

Quote : "She made me bleed, Shar"





Shar :-)

L plate lister

Here is Magoo's own little list of things that he believes should be packed in his bag for his first overseas trip this week :

• Milo snack boxes - free [3]
• A car
• Tennis Racquets
• Round and Round The Garden [?]
• Red dress for Mummy
• New clothes [red also]
• A choo choo train

I think that pretty much covers it!
Viva Kota Kinabalu!
:-)

Cruise Control - Off

What has happened to our year of cruise?

2011 - the year when we were going to coast along, same same, breathe a little.

Plan a few holidays, camping trips, attempt a marathon to keep life interesting but generally cruise.

Hmmm.

Somebody has flicked the switch and all hell is breaking loose here!!

Not in any bad ways.

Just in manic, turning my life upside down ways.

(Remembering, I'm a planner, a lister, a routine-r.)

First, Hubby was approached out of nowhere and presented with a career opportunity and an offer to good to refuse. And a chinese visa????????????

Starting early March, contract signed, but don't have many more details yet.

Cool, Hubby will be away some. We can do this.

Then my work ring in a spin with a crisis and an offer to good to refuse. And a higher workload, totally different year level, the first tandem my school has ever considered and new work days - starting TOMORROW, if you don't mind. 

The grapevine informs me there's parent backlash as well as a whole new curriculum to contend with in the morning. Woo hoo!

I've spent my day organising daycare, rescheduling hair appointments, moving weekly swimming lessons, begging besties to care for my baby, prepping lessons for someone else to teach my juniors and shopping for our trip next week.

Ummm, we go overseas for a wedding on Sunday. Hubby is without a car from Wednesday, the Chinese consulate are keeping his passport til the end of the week, I'm working Tuesday, Thursday & Friday, Magoo stole tampons from Progressive SupaIGA this afternoon, Hubby is doing the Rottnest Channel Swim on Saturday  - and I need my hair done people!!!

Okay, vent over.

Thank God for lists. Beautiful, be cool, lists.

How exciting, right? Who needs cruising anyway?

Shar :-)))

School's In

I've been back at school/work now for a whole three weeks -

so why do the holidays seem so far gone?



Bye bye holidays!

I know that school's back because I have

• adopted the frantic nature of the common headless chook twice a week
• lost my purse (and possibly even accused someone with stealing it :-0 )
• written the wrong date repeatedly
• actually ironed clothes
• followed Magoo around the house brandishing Weetbix on a spoon
• sped
• prayed for the bin truck to come super early so Magoo can pull his face off the screen door and get moving
• drank (more) wine and ate (more) chocolate during the week
• used our PC for something other than bill paying, blogging and Facebooking.
• rolled my eyes when Magoo fell over again and considered how bad all this bruising looks to daycare / Mum in law
• used an entire packet of post-it notes
• only read about 10 pages of my book in three weeks
• gone days without speaking to my besties
• been told that my "arms smell real nice" and that I have "pretty hair"

God bless 5 year olds.

But, hee hee, our trip to Sabah is just around the corner.
I'm cheating this looong eleven week term with a week off in the middle - ish.
Clever. Naughty. Well, naughty for a rules girl like me (at a school where personal holidays are not permitted. Sssshhh.)!

Shar :-)

O Little Ol Lady

This morning when I woke a couple of minutes before the alarm as I do every day (my brain is neurotic - even in sleep), it was to a moan from inside my head.

That whinging little voice that said rubbish like "you're too tired to run, don't bother getting up, it's been a big week..." However, because I have also eaten like a piggery this week, I was up and out.

Even when my 'raring to run' up and leaves, I've always got the 'guilt of gluttony' to get me out the door.

Anyways, I was out running to the sound of that horrible little voice telling me that my legs were sore, that humidity sucks, that a marathon was impossible for me, that being back at work hurts physically,  yada yada yada...

When I looked up from my imaginary misery, I saw a gorgeous, bent little old Italian lady shuffling towards me with a walking frame, travelling at all of 0.00005 metres an hour. She pinched her little Italian fingers together, raised her hand and called out
"Ooh gul, so much, I wanna runna lika you"

Right, so that laid Negative Nancy in my head to rest.
Grateful Gerty piped up with reminders that I am so blessed to have a (mostly) cooperative body that gets me around this place, the opportunity to run, a happy home to run to and from, the support of loved ones and so much more.

So this morning I have swallowed my spoonful of concrete, hardened up and silenced that Nancy chick.  Thank you little old lady.

Here are some cool pictures I found this week while preparing a reflection for work:

"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see." Henry David Thoreau

http://wordrom.com/articles/inspiration/inspiring-photography-reflections-by-tom-hussey/

Happy Friday!
:-)

Booo - b

Just wondering...
Has Jessica Marais succumbed?

Has she had her breasts 'enhanced' or is that just some great bra action she's got going on?
I couldn't help but notice that she was filling that running top in a swell fashion last Tuesday night.
Then looked quite buxom at Carbo's engagement party too, no? (you know, on Tuesday night, when we were just hanging out, the Rafters and I) Then last night I was on  major 'boobwatch' duty. That little red cardigan couldn't fool me. I'm pretty convinced I'm seeing extra volume in that department.

If so, shame on you Jess!!
I would be so disappointed to think she conformed to the media spun images that dictate what's attractive. I think her appeal was that she was stunningly different from the usual. And that she dared to be fairly flat chested - on television of all places.


But, now with reports that's Jessica is leaving us for the U.S of A. , I guess it makes sense.
Hollywood = blonde hair + boobs = same as the rest.

Or maybe I'm just insanely, suspiciously jealous of this tall poppy making her way?!  I liked seeing someone whose body I could relate to on the screen - well, not that itsy bitsy waist of hers, but the 'less is more ' chest.

:-)

We Give Mums A Bad Name

I don't really go for all the commercial Valentines Day bit...
but I do go for a reason to have a glass of bubbly with the girls over a luscious lunch of birthday leftovers. :-)

Hubby and I were lucky enough to have a gorgeous date on the weekend and we did exchange cards and sweet nothings this morning. So, for the record, I did 'do' Valentines Day with my husband.

I also 'did' lunch with my besties and their children here today.
Being Valentines Day, we opted for some bubbles in the middle of the day, as you do.
(Only on special occasions, like ummm,Valentines, birthdays, Fridays?)


Today happened to be the day Hubby was inducting and training his replacement. He and 'the new guy' decided to pop in home for a lunch time toilet break and soft drink after being on the road for the morning.

Cue, three Mums enjoying champagne while four children play around them. We had fed the little people and were finally sitting down to our own meals, but I guess he didn't know that. We may have conveniently had Play School on the television and been drinking at midday, but hey, it is Valentine's Day!

I'm sure 'the new guy's' wife will be painted a pretty picture of my lifestyle when he gets home tonight.
But do these cherubs look neglected? (or affected by toddler alcohol syndrome)

It's days like today that I love being a mainly stay at home Mum!
And it's days like today that give us SAHMs a bit of a reputation in some circles.
Should I bother mentioning that I have played, shopped, cooked, cleaned, changed nappies, laundered, swept and plenty more today? Nah.

And thank you, Corinne, from The Daze Of My Life for this cute little tip too.


SMS your loves name and your own to 0437464646
They will send you an MMS of your names on
their flagship building in Melbourne.

 Happy Bubbles Day!
Shar xx

Birthday to the power of 3

In more compelling evidence that my poor Hubby has been 'Shar exised', we spent a beautiful weekend celebrating his birthday - with three separate celebrations - very much my birthday-milking style coming through here.
Life's short. Celebrate. Everything.

We had a great dinner out on Friday night with a brilliant bunch.

Nothing better than overeating with some of your favourite people. :-)

Here's the Commando cake I made and Hubby hated.

Obviously not a connoisseur of khaki icing, my man.

(if only the 'Commando' had been there to cut it -

but then that would have been my birthday not Hubby's)

Saturday was Hubby's actual birthday and Magoo had a wonderful time opening all the gifts he and I had supposedly given to his Daddy.

We had a beautiful, relaxing day chilling at home, scoffing leftover (hideously delicious) cake, venturing to the dog beach and watching poor Hubby wrestle (read 'swear at') the kit army jeep that Magoo had gifted him.

That night, Hubby and I had our own little dinner date followed by Dave Hughes' hilarious stand up show.

Very funny guy, Hughesy. I was just thankful he didn't pick on us as we were in the fourth row (only time I'll ever be a DD!)

On Sunday, Hubby was competing all day so I cleaned myself into oblivion on my poor 27km legs. (Woo hoo, another early early morning 27km run under the belt). We had Hubby's family over for the evening and overate with more of our favourite people.
(Is that a theme? Biggest Loser, here we come!)

I must have been channeling my pre bub, innocent stupid childless days as I made perfectly lovely cupcakes and slathered them in blue icing and little fish. The kids had a great, blue, fun, blue time with them and I will curse myself silently every time I find little blue icing gifts through the house. Thankful for the pool. A swim constitutes a bath on a warm day, right?



Blue sugar bliss baby!



We were also toasting Hubby's new job -which I'm certain I'll blog about as it involves Hubby travelling a fair bit, which will involve Mummy unravelling a fair bit!

All in all, a very nice weekend, thank you very much.
A very happy pre birthday, birthday and post birthday were had.

Hope yours was a goodie too.

Shar :-)

Step Away From The Scales



As Facebook would say -
"it's complicated."
My love / hate relationship.


How on Earth can my self worth be determined by a little, blinking digital number?

How can one single digit (or more!) cause me to really dislike what I see in the mirror?

How can a particular number be so pathetically important when I have so many other fantastic aspects of my life to focus on?

Why do I really quickly and covertly jab those numbers into the computer on the stepper at the gym when it dares to ask my weight?

Why do I have a bunch of clothes that don't even get a look-in if the number is too high?

Why is it that I take a deep breath before I step on and close one eye, grimacing before I look down?

Why can't I just not weigh myself?

If I turn my back, let my guard down and neglect to step on that stupid glass pad - is that weight just going to creep up from behind (and the sides too!) and bam - attack me with an extra 10 kilos?

Do I think that by checking on my weight regularly it won't be allowed to run amuck behind my back like a naughty child?

and...Whhhyyy did I eat so much food last night??    :-)

List Lust

I cannot imagine my life without lists.
I am a list lover, a listoholic, a listmaniac!


On the go, I have : (oooh, I feel a list coming on!)

•  a list for each week on my study desk (the current week and next week underneath) for major things I would probably never forget to do, but hey, why not have them on a list to be sure

(Aha moment alert- maybe it's my Irishness that loves lists -
to be sure, to be sure, to be sure???!!!)

• a list for each of my work days (Wed & Thurs) with all the things I need to remember to bring and do for school in a notebook
• a list of upcoming birthdays / events with card & gift ideas for each
• a list of bills & payments that need to be made and their due dates
• a list of upcoming pay periods and just how stupidly in debt we are at the end of each
• a list of invited / attending peoples for whichever shindig we're organising next (Hubby's birthday dinner at the moment)
• a list of menu ideas and foods to be bought for our family dinner here on Sunday (Hee hee - that one makes me sound like I can actually cook!)
• an addresses list on the computer
• a list in it's infancy (or collection of lists) of things that I need to do, buy and pack before we head on our first overseas family holiday this month
• a long term list of non essential things to do and buy that would just be a good idea if I find the time (?! - even I find this one a bit 'what the?')

When I need to find the motivation to do something unappealing (like clean the house, right now) I make a list breaking down each of the tasks so I can tick each component off as I go.

I think I love the ticking and crossing through. Yeah, that feels fantastic!!

I like to accomplish stuff - even if that stuff is boring, mundane and pathetic.

Lists helped me to procrastinate beautifully right through school and uni.

Lists have made some awful Professional Development much more bearable.


Lists made our wedding just what we wanted it to be.


Lists filled my days of maternity leave pre Magoo.


Lists made me feel worthwhile when I was adjusting to spending my days at home with a bub.
It was satisfying to cross off  -
"put clothes in washing machine,
start washing machine,
take clothes out of washing machine (hopefully, close to the time the wash actually finished),
hang washing on the line,
bring washing in (when dry),
fold washing,
do not iron washing,
put washing away."
Maybe that's a slight exaggeration! But riveting reading, I'm sure. And it was riveting living too!!

I am a planner and an organiser. I like to be prepared and really don't dig that feeling that I'm forgetting something important - but I don't know what.


At one point (not that long ago) I had 10 pregnant friends. We're a fertile bunch!
I kept a list of these 10 girls in a draft text message on my phone in order of due dates.
????
Did I think that someone might come up to me in the street and ask me to name all my pregnant friends  - and I would feel terrible forever more if I missed one of them out?


Am I afraid that I'm too dumb to remember to do stuff? Do I need lists to be in control?


Do you feel the need to send me a list of psychiatrists in the Northern suburbs after reading this?

I promise I can be spontaneous, fun and "go with the flow".
I've got that pencilled in for Friday afternoons. :-)

Well, I'd better go clean the bathrooms, dust the furniture, wipe the toys, overhaul the kitchen, vacuum the carpet and mop the tiles now so I can earn me some big ol ticks. 

Shar :-)


P.S. Don't worry, sweet diary of mine, you and I will always have our spark.
Lists may come and go, but you and I , we're in it for the long haul (well, 365 days at a time anyway).

Reflections

I'm a bit worried that I've accidentally done what so many women want to.
I'm a bit worried I've taken my husband's essence, his soul, his character and manipulated it to be a whole lot more like mine!!

Hubby is (was???) the coolest cucumber, unshakable (to the point of frustration) and oh sooo easygoing.


This week I've seen him be as impatient as me (with good reason as we're waiting on some important information). I've seen him check our email account continuously as if he can send/receive this baby into being if he presses that icon enough.


I've heard him make plans. Little, minute, detailed plans for the future. Huh? That's my job.


We're a team , my husband and I. Usually a pretty good team.
We got together through competing in triathalons as a team. A winning team I might add. :-)
We have regularly competed in events as a team and built a family life together as a team.

The day we vowed to never ruin one another's
Australia Day, among other things.

We have lots of shared passions, goals, ideas and interests. But lots more differences too.
I've learnt we don't need to be in each other's everything.
I have given paddling a red hot go many times over the years because it's Hubby's 'thing' and I want to be his 'thing' too.
But the seas were angry that day, my friend, and so was Hubby when I mistakenly put my life before his expensive, coveted new paddles and surf ski.

We have different roles within our team - that's why we work.
He's the sane, chilled (but very competitive) one and I'm the nutjob trying to put a firecracker under him.
(Until we go camping - military style, but that's a whole nuther story - unleash the beast!!)


I run, Hubby swims.
I worry, Hubby laughs.
I plan, Hubby tries to at least turn up.
I lie awake thinking, Hubby slumbers deeply.
I budget, Hubby blows it all in one night.
I organise, Hubby improvises.
I discipline, Hubby gets walked over.
I multitask, Hubby does one. thing. at. a. time
I clean, Hubby messes.
I wash, Hubby dries.... and so on.

This is why we work. Ying & Yang, opposites attract and all that.

His tatt says "carpe diem" - seize the day.
Mine says "don't put off until tomorrow, what can be done today". Lie. It's a dolphin, but that's probably what my dolphin is thinking in a self righteous, know it all voice.


I don't want to look at my gorgeous husband and see me!!! Uugghhh!!
I don't know how my awful impatient, worrisome, neurotic self has infiltrated poor Hubby's armour of chill, but I will retreat waving that white flag, taking my terrible traits with me.

:-)
Shar

NB - on the upside, maybe we're in some cheesy, 90s, role reversal rom com.
Hubby may just come home tonight to find my clothes strewn all over the bedroom floor. When he asks what's for dinner, I'll look up from the X Box and go "huh??". When he goes in search of what has been defrosted or prepared, I'll drain my Corona and say "chill hon, let's just cruise to the beach and then swing by your Mum's on the way home." ;-))

Twenty Seven

27

the number of kilometres I ran yesterday morning - woo hoo!

(Only 15km more to add to that!)

27

approximately the number of times I wanted to stop running.

27

approximately the number of plates of food I shovelled into my face over the rest of the day.

27

the number of minutes I could manage in my recovery jog this morning.

27

approximately the number of 'non bed' spots that Magoo likes to sleep in.



This is where he was just now.
Note the perfectly good bed in the background.



Happy Monday!

Shar :-)

Trust Me, I'm a Mum

I've learnt a few things since being a Mum.

I'd say I've learnt so many things that I now possess almost 0.004% of the knowledge I need.

Most of it I've learnt from other Mums or experience.



Hee hee. Right here I probably thought I knew
most of what I would need to know.
Yes, that is 5 different positive pregnancy tests
 - but that's a whole nother story.



I've learnt that (for me) :

• those swim nappies do not provide any flippin protection if your child actually dares to poo in them.
• no matter what colour you paint the nursery or how beautiful it is, you still don't wanna spend entire nights in there.
• babies don't read 'Contented, Save My Sleep, Make Me Feel Even Worse' books or even what Google says.
• nipple shields suck
• sleep is a whole complex science of cycles and stages and is a wonderful thing when it happens unaided.
• there are way too many bottles and teats on the market. Sleep deprived, late night pharmacy runs and such a variety of 'consumer choices' do not gel.
• my husband can actually fit the car seat as competently and safely as the dude in the special "if you love your child, you'll pay us to do it" car seat fitters.
• babies and toddlers are individuals - and that's a-okay.
• state development centre physios who tell a first time Mum "I'll be surprised if he ever walks with those joints of his" are to be ignored. She was partly right - Magoo doesn't walk much, he runs full pelt.
• it's also a-okay to want a little patch of guilt free, child free time in each twenty four hour period - even if it is just a shower's worth.
• you do (eventually) cook a half decent meal again, clean that fridge, get to the hairdresser, gym, beautician, girls' dinner, AA meeting (kidding)... of course, not without some planning that closely resembles a major military operation
• that if it walks like an ear infection, talks like an ear infection, cries like an ear infection, falls like an ear infection, reddens like an ear infection...it's probably an ear infection.
• there's a reason children were raised in villages. I am ever so grateful to the amazing women (and one particular ENT guy) in my 'village'.
• that I would move heaven and earth for my little family, without batting an eyelid
• that puppy training and toddler behaviour management (or mismanagement) are not that dissimilar. Establish 'top dog' early, get down to their level, use your tone of voice, be firm, concise and consistent. Could probably add clean up their poo, feed regularly and cuddle lots.
• I don't like cold tea, but I sure do like cold wine.

Right, so here, in the early stages of labour
I'd probably realised that I knew only some stuff.

But most of all, I've learnt that as a Mum, it's important to

trust your instincts.

Like when you know it's time to get your poor, hitting-the-wall child out of here, but people insist you stay a bit longer and then you have an overtired, hysterical little one on your hands for the night.

Like when I repeatedly told nurses, lactation consultants, docs & anyone else in earshot that breastfeeding felt like poisoning my child.

After 3 months Magoo took charge and just plain refused it. He was later diagnosed with an allergy to the proteins in milk.

Sorry Breatsfeeding Australia & any other alarmed party - just saying 'cause that was my experience, not trying to stop anyone else. :-)

Like when I repeatedly told nurses, docs & specialists that my boy couldn't breathe, sleep or drink PRETTY MUCH ALL OF THE TIME and they waited 5 long months before realising he needed two corrective surgeries in his throat and nose.

(I'm not bitter at all, really!)

Yep, reckon I didn't give a rats what I did
and didn't know here!

 Like when something tells you to get out of the shower and see what all this eerie silence is about.

Like when you move cups, plates, cutlery, condiments, salt & peppers shakers etc. out of reach without thinking about it or skipping a beat in converation.


Like when you can tell before the fact which toys, events or broken promises are going to cause arguments and/or meltdowns.

Like when only you can decipher their early language (aka gobble-dee-gook) because you know what your bub wants before they do.

Like when I took Magoo for the flu vaccine  - against my better judgement - and then spent the night in hospital with a convulsing toddler before watching the silly thing be recalled nationally.

Like when you can see your child tripping, falling, bumping, slipping... a millisecond before they do.
But you still can't stop it - just mop it.

Like when you know when to step back and let your child take some risks, make some discoveries for themselves and rock some independence.

Like when  ...   you get the idea!

By this point, I was getting the nightly
bulletins that I didn't know squat.

 Who knows? Mum knows.

She just doesn't always know that she knows.

:-)

Apologies for the cyber highlighter action - I couldn't sort it out. 
My instincts are saying "let it go, you've procrastinated from school work long enough."

Burlesque or Bust

Burlesque.

What does this word mean to you?

To my immature, naive mind it conjures up - boobs and lots of them.

Fleshy, voluptuous, womanly, curvy breasts.

Think Scarlett Johansson, Christina Aguilera, Kardashian types.

I would put a photo here to illustrate my thoughts, but have wanted to only use my own images on this blog.

Hence,  a photo would be beyond disappointing.

So when I was invited to a 'Burlesque' themed hens night I felt fairly ill equipped.

The mirror reflects a rather deflated, sorry excuse for a chest these days.

I'll spare you the details, but let's just say  if this were primary school I would happily leave the medal and take the chest to pin it on.

Anywho, off to the Burlesque night I went without the buxom bosom and cavernous cleavage I would have liked to accessorise with.

It was terrific. Laugh yourself stupid, go with the flow, forget how you look terrific.

We were an eclectic bunch and most of us didn't know more than a couple of the other girls but by the end of the night most of us were 'bosom buddies' (some less endowned of us, just buddies)  - and it wasn't just the acohol as it was a 'school night'.

After a couple of bravado building champagne sangria our gorgeous Burlesque hostess "Dakota Peaches (if you don't mind) explained that we were going to do the Charlton themed dances with her.

I breathed a little easier as the 1920s Charlton style took a bit of the pressure off 'sexy', however it sure blew 'uncoordinated' wide open!

We were each asked to select two cards which together would give us our own 'Burlesque name' for the evening.

(A bit like when you created your porn star name with streets & pets all those years ago)

I was 'Cookie Maddock' and our beautiful bride to be was 'Madame Bubbles'

We began with a hula hoop competition and jiggled ourselves around the place.

Oh yeah, big fail there - I'll take the 'lack of curves' excuse again please.

Then we were taught some of the basic Charlton poses and dance moves.

It was like teleporting straight back into high school dance class - just with the pleasure of a champagne to take the edge off the humiliation.

I scurried for the back corner and silently thanked the groom to be for the terribly ineffective outdoor lighting.

We dutifully followed Dakota Peaches and her "5, 6, 7, 8"s and regularly exploded into fits of laughter at our own efforts.

I was definitely feeling more 'slapper girl' than flapper girl' as I pounced about!

We learnt (using that term loosely here) a couple of routines and performed (using that term even looser) them for each other when we could stop giggling and falling around laughing.

We also did some chorus line dancing (yep, loosely used again) as a group and I would like to publicly apologise to any toes that I maimed in the process.

My little group (self entitled The Sweet Treats, thank you very much) even managed to incorporate a few signature 80s dance moves like the sprinkler into our 20s themed finale!

So, boobs or no boobs, I had a brilliant time and I'm sure all of us now have some wonderful moves to freak our partners out with at the wedding.

My personal favourite was the 'scarecrow'  (complete with  hideous bowed legs and sky high elbows) which featured heavily in our small group efforts.

If you're looking for a fun girls night or a seriously good belly laugh, I highly recommend the Sugar Blue Burlesque girls.
http://sugarblueburlesque.com/sugarbluehensnights.htm

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