Toddler Training - of the lesser known kind

Is your partner overseas - deeming you house bound in the early morn?
Do you go mental without a daily dose of exercise induced endorphin action?

Do you have a family (and a life) that mean you can''t (and don't want to) spend hours slogging away in a gym?

I have got the programme for you.

Call it Shar-bo, Shar-fit, Shar-Mills , Pathetic- whatever...

All you need is a gorgeous toddler, some floor space and a few handy items that I happen to have on hand.

(Decent attire and a professional photographer are definitely not among these).

Warm Up :

• Cuddles in bed (theirs or yours) with the aforementioned beautiful toddler.

Phase 1 :

• Set toddler up with breakfast. (The paper towel place mat is an 'anal optional extra'.)

• Squats x 15 with or without toddler attached ("bend like toy let"). Answer questions about "wot u doin? why got arms up?" and count reps with toddler. Apparently repeat squat number 8 a number of times.

• Arm Raises ("fwying Mum!"). Circle forward x 30, circle backwards x 30. Smile at toddler copying you.

• Medicine Ball Raises x 15. Squat holding medicine ball (or toddler/other heavy object/pet/appliance). Return to standing, then raise ball above your head. Do NOT respond to requests of "frow it, Mum!"

Phase 2 :
(Child now needs to be seated, or at least out of striking range)

• Free Weights. (Again, if you don't have access to weights, use heavy household objects - and finally put those engagement gifts to good use). 

     ~Front raises x 15 each arm - raise arm holding weight to shoulder height and return to your side.

     ~Shoulder Fly ("like birdie") x 15 - boths arms simultaneously with bent elbows ala Birdie dance.

     ~Tricep Pushdowns x 15 - mimicking throwing the weight at the floor behind you. Don't release. 

     ~Bicep Curls x 15 each arm - like the boofheads at the gym without the mirror gazing and grunting, unless you feel compelled.

Phase 3 :

• Floor Exercises - now you two can get really interactive! Toddlers make terrific weight plates.

     ~Crunches x 15 - with legs raised creating "tunnel" for toddler to crawl through or lie in. Alternatively, your  toddler may wish to sit on top of you which is an excellent exercise upgrade.

     ~Crossovers x 15- crunches alternating opposite elbow to knee (difficult to negotiate around a toddler on the tummy - consider it a challenge or cuddle opportunity)

     ~Toe touches x 15 - arms by side, crunching to the same side to touch outside of foot - that's the side without the disgusting bunion things going on if you're me).

     ~Leg Raises - lying on your side, place your top leg in front of the bottom one. Raise your bottom leg off the floor and circle forward x 15 and backwards x 15. Then straighten the top leg and raise it as high as possible. Point your toes on the way up, flex the foot on the way down (watch for toddlers who crawl into the space created on the upward motion.) Turn over and

repeat.

    ~Bridge ("tunnel gain"). Lie on your stomach, raise up onto your elbows and toes. Attempt to keep your butt down and tummy tight. Hold for 60 seconds or for as long as you can handle the toddler who is now underneath you fiddling with your hair, drawstring, legs, tummy... Note - if you actually have breasts the tunnel may in fact be closed.

Finally, we end with Magoo's alltime favourite - "pull ups time!"

    ~Push ups ("tunnel, Mum, tunnel"). Aim for 20 'man style' , full extension push ups  - no  woosy knees on the floor. Start with a manageable number and increase it by 1 more each session.

So there you go.
"Iz dun!"
In 10 or 15 minutes (20 with excessive toddler interference) you have a nice, energized start to the day.
'They' (whoever 'they' are) say that just that small amount of exercise on an empty stomach keeps your metabolism up for an hour or more.
'I' say that you don't have to brush your teeth, do your hair, get dressed, use a creche or even leave the house to squeeze in some exercise. Sweet.

Now, walk the dog with your toddler in some form of 3 wheeled transport and you can feel great for... as long as you can avoid all those Easter eggs.
Why does chocolate taste so much better when it's egg shaped?
Or LIndt bunny shaped for that matter?

Note - the location of your workout may need to be adjusted on bin truck day to accomodate full view of the front verge at all times.

Disclaimer - I take asolutely no responsibility for injury to adult or toddler parties who willingly partake of this programme.

Shar :-)

Crashed!

Last weekend I crashed an event.

I don't think I have  so blatantly gatecrashed anything since Hubby and I drunkenly convinced half of the Churchlands Senior High School reunion (a school that neither of us attended) that we were in fact their long lost, (thirsty) mates from ten years previous. Complete with badges, stories of teenage heartbreak and sporting prowess.

Last weekend I wasn't inebriated and I didn't deliberately or brazenly disregard common decency. I just ran.

On Sunday morning, our gorgeous friends whisked Magoo away for a play with our godson and sent me packing on a two hour training run. Bless em.

I happily headed North from their place along the coast and pounded that pavement past my favourite beaches - totally dismissing the "road closed" signage (cause I'm not a vehicle, see) and wondering about the bulk car park action going on in an usually quiet stretch of the coast.

On I ran, still not twigging as more and more lycra clad bikes (or riders) whizzed past my right shoulder.
Not comprehending when people on the roadside (commonly known as spec friggin tators, Shar) commented "wow, well done girl".

And then finally - ku ching - it hit me. I was in the midst of a triathalon.
And apparently I was bloody well winning it.

Sure enough, a few kilometres along the running track a group of officials jumped to their feet and rushed to get this earlier than expected competitor a much needed refreshment. Unlike at the CSHS reunion, I was gracious enough not accept beverages I was not entitled to.

I spent the next few kilometres waving off offers of water, shaking my head at my very own roadside fan club, constantly mumbling about not being a competitor and even fending off the official who tried to direct me, victorious, into the finisher's chute.

So, to all those lovely spectators  - thank you for your encouragement - it was a long, hard training run and I appreciated your support!
To anyone who competed in the triathalon  between Hillarys and Mullaloo last Sunday morn(including my bride on this weekend's hens do, one of my students and of course the genuine winning female) I'm very sorry for crashing your party. You're most welcome at my marathon in June.

Shar :-)

A Life of No Connectivity

Well, hello again.
I have been internetless here for a week and tonight our connection was restored.
There's a lot to be said for the kindness of strangers - especially strangers with super computer genius powers. Forget xray vision and leaping tall buildings, boys - true modern day heroes know lots of cool stuff about I.P. addresses and don't hesitate to rip open a hard drive and play with the RAM.


Look at those three inadequate
lights- mocking me.



For some reason I was much less phased by a week of zero internet activity when I was lying by the pool in Borneo, than when here at home trying to pay bills, respond to requests, work, keep tabs on Hubby's spending, socialise, blog, monitor the Toys R Us sales...

Especially while Hubby is lying by the pool (okay, working) in China.

No internet connection
= no daily dose of Daddy via Skype (a sad thing)
= hours of mind numbing, patience frying calls to so called tech support (a frustrating thing)
= speaking to technicians (or imbeciles posing as 'technicians') in a way that I would never dare to face to face (a liberating, but guilt inducing thing)
= repeating "err.or. 8.1.5"  to anyone who would listen (a straightjacket thing)
= missing out on current photos and news of gorgeous newborn babes (a sooky thing)
= no B.O.M, therefore having to choose our clothes and activities without up to date weather activity information (a risky thing)
= no access to work emails (an undecided thing)
= approximately a million or so emails to contend with tonight (a time consuming thing)
= no progress on next term's Yr 5 programmes (a procrastinating made too easy thing)
= no blogging and no blog reading (an "I missed you" thing)

On the other hand, no internet activity
= not publishing a negative, self pitying, indulgent post entitled 'Goodbye, Cruel Week' last Friday night (a sensible thing)
= a cleaner house (a nice thing)
= going to bed earlier (a good thing)
= actually getting through my novels (also a good thing)
= having to clean out the study to prevent kind strangers from suffocating or being injured in a junk landslide (a necessary thing)
= learning a myriad of computer jargon and functions that, unfortunately, had absolutely nothing to do with my connectivity problem (a might-be-useful-one-day thing)
= reacquainting myself with obsolete items such as the paper bound telephone directory and the UBD - remember those (a nostalgic thing)

Well, we are connected... for now.
Magoo will be so pleased in the morning to see that "dat man" has "fixed the pooter".
He can stop telling random people that he only has three lights and you need more than that to see your Daddy.

Shar :-)

Nursery Rhyme Crime

We are currently making our way through this lil beauty at bedtime.

And what a treasury it is.

I can remember the day this book was purchased.
Hubby and I were busily preparing ourselves for parenthood in the only way we knew how - buying copious amounts of stuff.
We were at Toys R Us filling a trolley with stuff to fill the already full nursery with (because we were going to be good parents, damn it) and Hubby dropped the book in there.
He said he wanted to 'brush up' on his nursery rhymes for the baby and I said he was going to be the best daddy ever - or something pregnant like that.
Good times.

Anywho, we have read / sang bits and pieces over the last couple of years,
but Magoo is hell bent on reading it from cover to cover at the moment.

It's great, thirty years on, to realise that you must have misheard Miss _____ back in Kindy or Prep.
To realise that your ears hang low "like a regimental soldier" not a regimented soldier (and it's your ears, not your boobs).
To realise that the teapot does not get all steamed up, but instead sees the teacups before shouting.
To learn that there are five verses to Twinkle Twinkle & Little Bo Beep  - and I know only one for each.

I am enjoying revisiting some of my faves - like 'The Owl and the Pussycat'. I loved learning that one at school...
but am pretty sure the "lovely pussy" and "bong-trees" went right over my innocent little head back then.

But, then there is a little bunch of rhymes that have me shaking my not-so-innocent-anymore head.

Here we are worried about inappropriate content on the box and pop sluts corrupting our children. If you want some loose morals and depressing banter, revisit the classics.

Cop a load of this one -

Old Mother Hubbard (who knew you were such a morbid lady or a drinker?)

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she got ther the cupboard was bare and so the poor dog had none.


She went to the baker's to buy hime some bread;
But when she came back the poor dog was dead.


She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin;
But when she came back the poor dog was laughing...


She went to the tavern for white wine and red;
But when she came back the dog stood on his head...

Or this :

Two Cats Of Kilkenny (two violent little ferals)

Two cats of Kilkenny
Each thought there was one cat too many.

So they fought and they fit, and they scratched and they bit.
Til, excepting their nails and the tips of their tails,
instead of two cats there weren't any.

Or this for sweet dreams :

Ladybird, Ladybird (I'm afraid there's been an incident)

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home.
Your house is on fire, your children are gone;

All but one and her name is Ann,
And she crept under the pudding pan.

Goosey,Goosey Gander (Prayer or pain)

Goosey, goosey gander
Whither shall I wander?
Upstair and downstairs
And in my Lady's chamber;

There I met an old man
Who would not say his prayers;
I took him by the left leg
And threw him down the stairs.

Not exactly bedtime lullaby stuff!

On that note, I don't think our obsession with babies and their sleep patterns is such a new concept either.
Long before Tizzie Hall (and her strict instruction manual on controlling another free willed little human person?), there were hundreds of rhymes penned about hushing bubs to sleep, rocking babies, bribing infants off to the land of nod and so on.

I've learnt a new rhyme too. One that rings so true to this Mum of one.

The Dove Says 'Coo, coo'

The dove says, "Coo, coo, what shall I do? I can scarce maintain two."
"Pooh! Pooh!" says the wren; "I have got ten and keep them all like gentlemen."

And maybe I should heed this pearl:

A Wise Old Owl

A wise old owl lived in an oak.
The more he saw the less he spoke.

The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?

Shar :-)

It's a long way

The song tells us - and it is.
A long way to Tipperary...
From Perth, anyway.

Approximately 15,696 km distance.
7 hours time difference.


Between here and there.
My place and theirs.


May as well be an eternity when your own Mum is having herself a little heart attack and being rushed to hospital in an ambulance there...
and you're blissfully unaware here - for days.

Shar :-(

Opportunity of a Lifetime

Saw this ad in the weekend's papers :

~ Employment opportunity ~

FIRST TIME MOTHER

Full time position, - 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for life.

Applicant will be required to moonlight as a milking cow, nurse, teacher, behavioural psychologist, counsellor, nutritionist, sanitation officer, sleep technician, timekeeper, umpire and innumerable other professions, often simultaneously, on a daily basis.

This position offers a rollercoaster ride of hormonal highs and lows, a beautiful depth of emotions never before experienced and heartbreak to rival a head on collision.

The clientele are extremely demanding.

They require frequent meals, constant attention, extensive nurturing, excessive cuddling and a firm, fair hand.

Staff meal breaks or recreation periods are virtually non existent - though nutrition and rest are very important in maintaining the energy levels and temperment required for this position

Payment will be in kisses, cuddles, sweet words and smiles...

But in instalments of the client's choosing.

Performance appraisals will be conducted at random intervals and usually by older women. They will generally take place in the comfort of shopping centre queues, doctor surgery waiting rooms, changerooms, congested traffic situations and other child friendly locations.

Dedicated, committed applicants need only apply.

As two friends embarked on this career path last week (on the same day!), I was again  reminded of what an absolutely incredible opportunity it is to do this sacred job.

Not that I need reminding - that huge, gorgeous chunk of my heart that is walking, talking, mischiefing and singing "Happy Birthday" to me in crowded shopping centres (no, it's not my birthday actually, fellow shoppers, but thank you for the wishes anyway) around the place is a constant reminder of how lucky I am.


Yes. The pre employment course for this position is so very inadequate,
but the hands on, on-the-job training has been amazing and so valuable.


The pay is subject to fluctuations, certainly.
Some days the profit margin has been immeasurably, beautifully high
and some days I'm pretty sure I have ran at a loss.

But I wouldn't swap this for the world.
I'm in it for the golden handshake (and those cuddles).

Welcome to the force, girls.
You'll never look back.
(except on the odd Sunday morning because, yes, a cup of tea and the paper in peace - it is too much to ask )

Shar :-)

Opera Ignoramus

At my beloved school, as in workplace (but so much more than that - go on, do a little throw up), we have ourselves a 'cultural enrichment programme'. The programme dictates the cultural experiences that we want each child to be exposed to and at what stage. The boss man is a strong advocate of the arts in childhood and sees this as a large component of our own school culture.

I'm with him. It's a great initiative.
Maybe if I were exposed to more 'culture' as a child I might not look so ignorant when I'm with snooties and snobs. I may be better equipped to effect pompous nodding and roll out "daaarrrling" with ease.

Don't get me worng.
There was plenty of culture in my upbringing. Many weekends were steeped in culture. We studied at length traditional, Irish culture - the national sports, music, merriment and even the national beverages on tap in wonderful establishments with names like "Rosie O'Grady's" and "The Blarney Castle".

The language of my youth was rich and colourful. My small town Irish folks were so 'cultured' that they had a dear oriental friend. We never got to meet "Fook", but he sure was referred to a lot around our place.
We were encouraged to behave and complete chores in his honour.
"For Fook's sake..." they'd say.
"C'mon to Fook" was a common one, but we still never got to him.
It appears the poor man must have met a fiery end though,  'cause many a time "Fook in hell" was uttered with a heavenward roll of the eyes. Bless him.

I seriously digress...
Since being catapulted up the school a few weeks ago, the cultural programme has gone from visiting the museum to now mean  - opera.

Opera. The sum total of my opera knowledge + opera experience = zero.


So, yesterday off I did trot with sixty four of my closet ten year old friends to His Majesty's Theatre in the city. We were issued our individual tickets (oh, the excitement!) and ushered to our seats in chaotic school child fashion. The performance was more of an 'opera educational' and we were walked through snippets from the more well known (by more cultured and less Irish folk, obviously) operas. The dresses were eye catching, the orchestra awesome, the voices stunning... but what on Earth were they saying? I preferred the non English performances, because at least then they were kind enough to put a rough translation on the screen nearby. I had to look sternly at the students whispering "Mrs, when does this finish?", "Mrs, what are they saying?", "What did you bring for lunch?", but really I was grateful for the interruption and escape as the magnet in my heavy head drooped towards the magnet in my not so heavy chest.

Cultured or ignorant, I don't care.
I do not like opera.
The End.

Shar :-)

Because no post is complete without a Magoo reference - look who might just be dragging Mummy to the ballet next?