Where have I been?

So, it's been a long time since I've blogged.  Give me a moment to just dust away the cobwebs...

We've been in the Cotswolds for seven and a half weeks now.  I am working very hard at stopping saying "...back in Kent..." and I think I'm getting better.  The good weather is transforming our experience here, letting us fully appreciate what an awesome place this is to live.

We took a fabulous vacation to Texas - it was wonderful for our kids to get to play with their American cousins, and good for the grownups to see the extended family, too!  I ate enough Mexican food to stifle any and all future cravings (possibly... we'll see), did plenty of shopping, and indulged the kids' passion for Cars memorabilia (mostly to make the flight home a little easier).

Having discovered Burford Garden Company, I have been busying myself in the garden, figuring out where the sun shines (unfortunately, mostly on our driveway), where it doesn't (plenty of places to sit outside in the shade) and plan appropriately.  I'm experimenting putting in a flowerbed in a little sun trap using a no-dig method, so I can put in a little cutting patch for fresh flowers this summer.

I asked C to buy me three Sunday papers today.  He got home and excitedly asked if we were going to lounge around reading with cups of tea. 
"No," I said, "I'm going to put them on the grass, get them wet, and cover them with manure."
"Can I keep just one?"
"No.  But keep your chin up.  At least you don't have to do anything with the manure."
"Good point..."

Also exciting, I am getting back in to running and yoga (again...).  We're not too far away from the Oxfordshire Way, so I've been following the "couch to 10K" programme (not run since Christmas, really) and went to my first yoga class since we left Dulwich last week.  Still considering running clubs - sadly no Ladies Joggers 'round here.

That's mostly what I've been up to recently.  Apart from ginormous batch cooking sessions, which I will tell you more about soon...

She gave them some broth without any bread...

It's 6:30 and my kids have been in bed for 1/2 hour.  Not spanked soundly, because that's not how we roll, but I did send them to bed when they wouldn't touch their dinner.

I have been trying, thinking it was the best thing to do for the kids, to cook one friendly-for-everyone meal in the evenings (with tweaks for the kids and for us), but Miss A, especially, won't touch a lot of things, and Itsyboo, who adores his big sister more than anything, pushes his plate away if he sees Miss A refusing to eat. 

And it's not like I'm attempting anything outrageous.  Tonight's debacle was a beef and carrot stew served with a jacket potato.  Not challenging, nouveau, or any other kind of cuisine, just a simple meal.

We don't have a lot of rules around meal time: try one bite of each thing, no cutlery in your water glass, wait for everyone to finish before you get down from the table.  But even the "try one bite" is getting harder and harder and I despair, y'all, when I've spent a lot of time putting together a healthy, home-cooked, nourishing meal and the response is simply "nope."

Is there any way to raise a child who's not a fussy eater?  Should I just go back to nursery teas with a proper supper for grown-ups?  The kids clearly aren't starving, but I really don't care for the teatime battle.  Share your wisdom, please!

Seven days later

It's 9:00 and the bells have just stopped ringing.  It reminds me that we've now been here a week - there's bell-ringing practice in the church every Wednesday night from 7:30 to 9:00 and, as we live only a few doors down from the church, I imagine this will be a feature of our lives for the next few years.

It doesn't seem to bother the children much - I told them the first night that the bells were the church singing them to sleep.  We find it charming.  Other neighbours, including one who gave us our first Midsomer moment, warning us that "some of [the bell ringers] aren't very nice people."

In the fictionalised version of our Oxfordshire village, the bell-ringer will be either a murderer or a suspect within 10 minutes

 

So where are we after a week?  All the boxes are unpacked.  All of our rooms are habitable, save one.  Don't come stay with us just yet.  Unless you like the "surrounded by random bits of furniture, books, and linens" chic.  We have visited the playground, the wild garden, Chipping Norton, and Witney.  We may visit Oxford very soon.

 

The house, though, still feels like a holiday home.  It's good and bad that way - it's beyond gorgeous here, but it doesn't feel like mine, even with all the furniture and my new consolation mixer from when I was having a low moment (I am weak and don't want to have to clean up buttercream dust ever again).

 

It's so pretty, I am almost afraid to use it.

 

We're off on holidays soon, then the children will start at their respective schools (Itsyboo is starting preschool two mornings a week - I will have six free hours to do whatever I want.  It's heady).

 

I clearly need to sort our a few more mundane things like hanging pictures, etc.  But I think we're slowly getting there.  It's funny to rent again after ten years owning my own homes - I actually have big mirrors now, and paintings and TVs to mount on the wall and grown up stuff that we didn't have before. 

 

It's both reassuring and stressful to think how I'm going to put all the pieces together.  But until then, I'm going to enjoy the fire in my fireplace (with smoke* - going up the chimney of course), drink a glass of red wine, and soak it all in.





*Texan readers - in London, you can't burn fuels that produce smoke in order to avoid the killing smog of the 1950s.  The fact that we can is a sign that we're really out in the country now.

The move

I've been thinking I might need to change the name of the blog.  We're no longer in the suburbs.  It's full-on country now.  London is far. C drives to work.  The walls on our house are three feet thick.

We moved over three days (joy!).  There were laughter, tears, some good luck, and some bad luck.  One major corporation made me want to kick it in the shin.  Another redeemed itself in my eyes from "necessary evil" to "my bestest ever friend."  I decided I'd recap for your reading pleasure, to let you know what we've been up to.

Move day 1 (Tuesday): How many play dates can we fit in to one day?

The movers arrived and started packing.  We went for tea at one friend's house, did a library run to return our last couple of books and then dropped Miss A at school.  Checked in on the movers, answered a few questions.  Realised that I really didn't want to be home and phoned the lovely Deborah (of Lily and Mitch) and invaded her home for most of the afternoon and tea time.  Got home and dealt with the anguished wails of Miss A who, left with nothing in her room but a bed, cried and cried that she wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning since all her clothes were gone.  I pointed out that I had already loaded her trunki up and that cheered her enough to get her to bed.  C and I ate pizza straight from the boxes for dinner, as we had no plates.

Move day 2 (Wednesday): Good and bad stuff

I realised early in the day that there was no real way to take Miss A to preschool and arrive at a decent time to the new house, so I phoned in and agreed that I'd come pick up her paperwork on our way to Oxfordshire.  The movers were finishing packing and loading, so I cleared the kids out and spent two hours at soft play.  Two hours.  And Istyboo still wailed and kicked when I cleared them out for lunch.  Lunch at the café in town that I always thought I should go to more.  Stopped by the house to check the movers got everything they were supposed to take.  Stopped by the preschool and cried saying goodbye to Miss A's teachers.  Hit the road with two children, a cat, and a dog in the car.

We arrived to find someone parked across our driveway.  Ugh.  Was irrationally panicked after a long drive in the rain that the moving vans wouldn't have access the next day.  Knocked on neighbours doors to see if anyone knew who owned the car.  Met lots of people including family across the street with a four year old daughter.  JACKPOT.  They invited us in for a cuppa and kids' tea.  Wine was poured.  Texted C to let him know that, when he arrived to find our home dark and cold, he shouldn't panic.  Was warned of the village's Wednesday night noise pollution - bell ringing practice from 7:30 - 9:00.  Wobbled home nice and toasty, car across the drive was moved (the owner came by to apologise and we were gracious).  Told the kids that the bells were the church singing them to sleep.  Blew up air mattresses and set up portable radiator in kids' room.  Ate M&S ready meal off paper plates for grownups tea and argued over who got to snuggle the hot water bottle most closely.

Move day 3 (Thursday): Our stuff arrives

The movers come and unload all of our stuff.  It's a full unpacking service, which was not as cool as I imagined it would be.  If, like me, you confused "unpacking" with "putting away", you would also have been disappointed.

At one point, a funeral procession tries to come down our lane to the church and can't get past our moving trucks.  Mortified.

However, sleep in our own beds in house that's finally up to habitable temperature.  Awesome.

So where are we now?  We're exploring the area (including soft play for Itsyboo's 2nd birthday last Saturday) and settling in.  It still feels like a holiday home and the spare bedroom looks like a bomb filled with house stuff exploded, but we'll get there!

Itsyboo explores Wychwood playground

Sailing away

I have been trying to live in the moment and avoid counting out the remainder of our stay in Hildenborough in "last times."  It's hard, but I've mostly been managing.  There have been some I have allowed - my last commute in to work was a positive, although it then took my breath away when I let myself think that I am becoming temporarily economically inactive.  It didn't take long for me to remember why I like working outside the home!

Reality is sinking in - we now have a tenant for our current home (yay!).  I've got the keys for the new home.  The children are booked in to their respective pre-schools - Itsyboo will start two mornings a week and I will have nearly six free hours every week in term time.  The mind boggles.

So I've been slowly saying my goodbyes to Kent (and Godstone farm.  Seriously, what will I do without Godstone farm?)

When the going gets tough, we go to Godstone

I knew we needed a change of scene today, though, even if it meant curtailing our mad rush to get things done.  So we piled into the car and headed out to Camber Sands.  The kids went wild chasing amenable dogs.  The literal wind quite blew all of our metaphorical cobwebs away, and we finished an hour on the beach with rosy cheeks and ear to ear smiles.

I don't think we'll ever get to the point where we feel ready to move*, but we're definitely starting to get excited.

*Apart from Miss A, who gets up every morning and asks if we're moving to our new home today.

Textbook toddler's guide to random cuisine

With less than a week to go to the move, I have been madly de-cluttering.  As we're being professionally packed, I won't be evaluating things as they go in to boxes, and as I recently discovered a box of baby rice that came with us in the first move (Itsyboo was well past baby rice by that point), I made it my mission to move only useful things.

Of course, I still needed to buy a tortilla press before we move because ¡tortillas! In the next six days!

As part of my de-cluttering, I have been trying to use up fridge, freezer and store cupboard ingredients.  I made hummus and, after a small wail that I had run out of tahini (quel horreur!), I chucked in a lonely roasted red pepper that had been languishing in the fridge.  Served on Tuesday, Itsyboo studiously ignored it.  It was orange.  He didn't want to eat the orange thing.  Today, after a tentative poke with pitta, he realise that hummus can be orange and inhaled it in short order.  Glad that my son is so very textbook!

That's good, since our food choices are going to get increasingly random over the next few days as I make a real effort to empty out the freezer.  Perhaps if I just coat it all in orange hummus, I'll have a fighting chance of getting some of it into his tummy!

In sickness and in health

I don't do New Years resolutions any more - no particular strong feelings there, I just think that it's a lot of pressure to put on yourself on the day after you've stayed up too late* and drunk a small vat of alcohol (yes, I am a parent of small children, why do you ask?).  But, as usual, in the first week of January, all the papers are filled with lots of articles on how to improve yourself (and, seemingly, one article each about how resolutions are stupid).

I am, however, no stranger to good intention and "improve yourself" type thoughts.  My first experience with meditation was at a yoga retreat a few years ago (pre-children!!!), which was probably the most healthy, relaxing experience of my life.  Seriously, folks, I came back glowing with inner health.  And I fully intended to keep meditating, but you know how these things often go...

So, in this frenzy of helpful articles on which diet to do, how you can do micro-exercise, etc, I came across one on meditation and, as the initial part was free, decided to give it a go.  For four days now, I have spent ten whole minutes sitting quietly in the morning meditating.

So far, my main breakthrough is that I have a cold, and more of a cold than I had been willing to admit.  "Checking in" with my body, my thoughts were "snot... snot... snot... ick..."

So there you go.  Meditation has told me I'm sick.  I clearly need to spend the day wrapped up in my duvet.  Who am I to argue?

Really, honestly, seriously...

So, we're moving, and I've found it much harder to blog about this move, because it often makes me feel like a crazy person.  I'm excited and exhausted and entirely fucked off by turns.

We are definitely moving.  We have signed a lease.  We will soon be leasing out our own house (another crazy moment... honestly... it feels like my house, warts and all...).  We have now withdrawn our Kent schools application and submitted an Oxfordshire one.

It's serious.  We're going in three weeks.  I'm taking deep breaths.

So I'm going to try to write about it without being a crazy woman.  And maybe I'll find something funny to say about it.  I mean, we're going from a village of 4,600 people within walking distance of a good-sized town to a village of 1,250 in the middle of an area of outstanding natural beauty.  What could possibly be funny about that?!?

Bah humbug!

I can trace my Christmas sense-of-humour failure to Thursday.  I took the kids to Santa's Grotto at Ruxley Manor. 

Objectively, the grotto gets a 9.5 out of 10 from me.  Miss A, who was, as usual, impeccably behaved, had a fantastic time.  The "Father Christmas Experience" lasted about an hour and involved singing songs, throwing snowballs at naughty rats (trust me, it made sense at the time), making reindeer food, decorating ornaments, and finally, getting a present from the man in red himself.  I have deducted a 1/2 point from my rating due to the fact that both Miss A and Santa look quite startled in the official photo.

Fortunately, it was not the type of Santa where you lay out your holiday wish list, as Miss A had expressed her intention to ask for a sandwich for Christmas (yes, it was before lunch...).  Santa has already arranged a non-food based gift based on earlier conversations.

My experience, though, was not 9.5/10 for reasons that are entirely my fault.  You see, Istyboo is going through what we might term a "challenging" phase.  If his vocabulary were a bit better, I think he would spend his waking hours shouting "Destroy! Destroy!" interspersed with charming, cheeky smiles. So I spent the hour chasing him around the various sections of the grotto pleading with him to participate in the activities and stop with the smashing.  As a final farewell, when I was finally getting him out of the grotto, he managed to grab the camera lens and twist it out of focus.  That's my boy...

So, feeling mentally bruised and battered, I reacted badly to some minor frustrations on the gift receiving front and threatened tearfully to call off Christmas (I may also be reacting to the stress of trying to get a move organised in six weeks OVER THE HOLIDAYS).  Honestly, what is the best way to deal with gift givers who consistently get stuff you neither need nor want, who have ignored both direct requests and the fact that you have hobbies, who give you things that you will either immediately return or pass on to the charity shop, without acting like a complete asshole?

I recognise that this is a problem akin to "my diamond shoes are too tight" but I get frustrated because it makes me feel like the givers are just fulfilling a perceived obligation as quickly as possible rather than expressing any emotional closeness.

So, advice and happy Christmas thoughts are appreciated.  I've now un-cancelled Christmas, wrapped all the presents now and put on my Christmas Eve Yankee Candle (purchased at Ruxley Manor!) to soothe myself. Bring on the carol services!

Domesticating the man

A conversation last night:

C: "Now that I'm doing a bit more cooking, I'm starting to appreciate some of your gadgets that I thought were useless before."

V: "I'm intrigued."

"Like that thing that sits next to the cooker.  That you put spoons on.  That's great.  What's it called?"

"The spoon-rest."

"Ah."

Clearly magical

Other people get me out of bed

I have spent the last month sorting out our mountains of paper clutter, fifteen minutes a day.  Today is the 20th of the month and I have now, finally, tamed the mountains of paper.  So... we had about five hours worth of paper clutter around the house. *shudder*

One of the gems I came across were some old Myers-Briggs personality tests.  I have always come back ENTJ - the "E" of which one of my friends questioned.  "Really?" she said.  And I shrugged.  Because it really depends on my mood whether I'm going to be the life of the party or hiding in the kitchen.

One place that I am definitely an "E" - getting my energy through social interaction - is running.  C can go off for hours at a time by himself and come back glowing (though he is currently claiming to be the strongest E ever on the planet - yes, we got distracted by Wikipedia...).  I find that a run with company seems to pass in mere moments, while a solitary run is... longer.

Every Saturday, I wake up thinking that I could just stay in bed.  And every Saturday, I see that I have left my running kit out and so, of course, I have to put it on.  And having donned my stretchy, breathable spandex, I have to eat a healthy, appropriate-to-running breakfast.  And having eaten my porridge with a bit of fruit, I then have to get in the car and go to Sevenoaks.  And then, before I even know what has happened, I am hitting the coffee shop glowing (or something less glamorous than glowing... trust me) with fresh air and exercise.  It's the reminder of my post-run high that gets me to set out my trainers on a Friday night, since I don't want to miss out.

The next step is getting out this Wednesday night - clearly the morning momentum isn't going to get me out in the evening, but I'll just try to recapture the memory of my post-run bliss and see if it can get me out the door on a dark and stormy night.

Run in the sun

Today was an important run.

It's my birthday today and I totally had the excuses ready to stay in bed.  We went out last night and I had two G&Ts.  I have been nursing a minor cold all week.  Itsyboo has been sleeping badly and I'm exhausted.  It rained so much last night that it was probably going to be a complete mud-fest.  I didn't eat breakfast until a hour before I was supposed to run, instead of my preferred two hours.

You get the picture.

But I dragged myself out and turned up, ready for an awful run, where I felt exhausted and tired and grim.  But as I started the pre-run chats with the lovely women of SLJ, my mood lightened a little bit.

By the end of the run - which I just took slow and steady, giving myself permission to at least do a "comfortable run" on my birthday, I felt magical.  I was so glad I went, the sun was shining, the air was fresh, there was a fun amount of mud.  I stopped for a coffee afterwards instead of going straight to Miss A's football, which was delightful.

So it was good, I did it even when it didn't feel "right" and the half-marathon in February feels that little bit more achievable.  My favourite present to myself so far!

Working hard or hardly working?

It's kind of hard for me to believe, but today is my last day at home with the children during the summer holidays.  We will (hopefully) be off on holiday next week and when we're back, it will be term-time again.

It has really brought home to me that I am not a stay-at-home mum any more.  I pictured the summer holidays as endless, sun-filled (this year, at least) days where I needed a giant bag of tricks to help the kids entertain themselves as I counted down the days until September.  Instead, my two days a week with them has positively flown and I'm mildly surprised that this is really it.  A picnic and play in the park today, the weekend, and then Nanny takes over until holidays.

After a month of work, my main impression is sheer exhaustion.  I'm giving it at least six months, but oh. my. god. I have never been this tired.  Apart from the last time I went back to work and during pregnancy.  I don't feel the same sense of accomplishment / escape I felt when I went back with Miss A. 

It may be that I've been reading too many articles on the fact that part time workers are generally screwed.  To be fair to my employer, this is not something I've picked up directly, more my own (sad!) general sense that, now that I am a mummy/worker who tries to spend a lot of time with my children, I will never, ever be promoted again.

And I love being home with the children.  It is an entirely different pace - easier and harder than the office.  By 9:00 this morning (when I started this blog), I had stripped and remade the beds, put the linens in the wash, fed and dressed the children and myself, tidied up and put the dishwasher on, made a frittata and salads for our picnic lunch, and cleared that mess up.  By contrast, on working days, by 9:00, I will generally have fought my way in on public transport, have answered a bunch of e-mails, and have gone to the office canteen for a sub-standard cup of coffee.

Far more delicious than canteen fare at work

It's not that it's better being at home, I guess.  It's that I don't feel like I am being measured against a paradigm of the ideal worker and falling well short.  Pre-children, I once told a colleague that having babies wouldn't change me, I would always want to work all the hours and be terribly ambitious.  I was half right - I just wish there were a clear way to combine family time with success in the work place. I'll keep looking and, if I find it, I'll let you know.

The walls are melting with the heat

Sometimes I feel like we are never happy.  In March, I was complaining about the long, cold winter.  Now that the roads are melting, I'm kind of wishing for just a few flakes of snow or something to cool it down just a little bit.

Now, my dear Texan friends, I will only accept comments of the ilk "but it's x degrees here, weenie" if you are currently living without air conditioning.  If it is currently warmer than 85 degrees Fahrenheit inside your house, dude, I feel you.  If, however, you are currently enjoying refrigerated air while shaking your head at how soft I have become, I fear that my mild sleep deprivation may lead me to say something I would later regret.

I will confess, the heatwave has been bad for my running.  I have let myself be discouraged by the baking sun from running outside for three whole weeks.  I have, in the last week, reinstated my work gym membership and been on the treadmill, but there's not a lot to blog about running in a room filled with sweaty colleagues and daytime TV.

It's a little cooler today, so I decided it was time to start running outside again.  When I say decided, that makes it sound like the process was a little easier than it actually was - I dragged myself kicking and screaming out the door, only successfully motivating myself with my new mantra (with thanks to Jen Gebhardt and the Oatmeal) "Don't let the Blerch catch you!"

Today's goal was two miles.  I ran along the narrow, churned up path again today, which is now covered in lush weeds and thus even harder to run down as you can no longer see which bits are flat.  I think my strategy is going to have to be that I use the half mile until the end of the path as a slow jog/walk warm up / cool down and then do the proper run after the path.  Mentally, I want to resist this idea - "the countryside starts at the end of my backyard," wails my psyche.  But seriously, I used to travel nearly a mile to get to the park to run in Dulwich, and I value the integrity of my ankles.

I finished my run in 27:45, which equates to 13:53min/mile.  That's a lot slower than the 12:00min/mile I was running on the treadmill, but way more enjoyable.  I ran 4.5 miles this week (yay!).  1/2 marathon, I'm coming very slowly at you!

Working girl

I've done it.  I went to work.  I left my babies for three whole days.  I wore a suit.  I sat at a desk.  I had lunch like a grown up and I didn't share it with anyone.

I survived.  The kids survived.  We made it.  It was ok.

So what did I learn in my first week back to work in 18 months?

I learned that rush hour commuting basically always sucks.  I learned that it's more of a pain to stand on a train journey that takes 40 minutes than one that takes 10.

I learned that the kids love you best for ten minutes after you get home.  After that, their affection is anyone's.

I learned that I should never wear this dress again as a former colleague who I ran into at the train station congratulated me on my pregnancy.  Embarrassing for all involved.

But most of all, I learned that it's great to have your Friday when everyone else is having their Wednesday.  Colour me totally smug.

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight (until Thursday)

Friday marked the end of my last week as a stay-at-home mother.  It has been a whirlwind.  Two weeks ago, I went in for a meeting with my boss.  Two weeks later, I am laying out my suit, tights, and heels for my first day working for almost exactly 18 months.

It's hard to write about it, because I don't know quite how I feel.  I'm happy - I think it will be good to reconnect with my "grownup" self.  I'm sad - even if it's only three days a week, I will be leaving my babies.  I'm nervous - some days I have such bad mummy brain, I can hardly remember my own name, what if I inadvertently cause the entire banking system to collapse?  Okay, that's seriously unlikely but you never know.

It's probably exaggerating to say that my return to work may save my sanity.  Probably.  Financially, it's not necessary.  My salary will cover nanny and travel costs with more than enough left over for a weekly cleaner (hallelujah...)  I will get to drink hot cups of tea.  I will get to go to the gym.  I will spend three days a week wearing clothes without food or snot on them (I hope...) and talking to adults.  And then I will spend four days with my beautiful babes.

Enjoying the bouncy castle before BBQ guests arrive

The glorious weather this weekend has been great both for our Independence Day BBQ and as my SAHM send-off.  I'm even more pleased that the weather is still supposed to be hot and sunny at the end of the week, so I can continue to enjoy fabulous summertime with the kiddiwinks.

My all-time, iconic summer song

Happy Birthday NHS!

Today is the 65th birthday of the National Health Service.  As someone who was sceptical when I first moved to the country, I would now like to take this opportunity to thank the NHS.

I am thankful that any time we have needed acute care, the NHS has been incredible.  When I had to have abdominal surgery when 20 weeks pregnant with Miss A, I could not have asked for better care.

I am thankful that I got unparallelled medical care at one of the UK's leading antenatal research hospitals for free.  I am grateful, if slightly sceptical, at all of the amazingly detailed extra scans I got for free*, even if one of them meant I spent a couple of months worried that Itsyboo had a heart defect.  If he had, though, we would have been able to fix it in utero using the latest surgical techniques.  For free.

I am grateful that, as nervous new parents, when we were terrified that a five-month old Miss A was concussed (this is actually a funny story, once you get past the initial crazy fear), we took her to A&E and never had to consider whether we could afford it.  Who knew that you could be undyingly grateful for a diagnosis of gastroenteritis?

I am grateful for vaccinations, advice, and care that mean my kids are, so far, happy healthy and growing fast.

When people ask if I ever want to move "back home," I say no, citing holiday (ten days per year?!? I think not) and health care.

*I am aware that I pay for the NHS through taxes.  I'm okay with that.  I am aware that my tax £££s support those on lower incomes.  I'm okay with that too.  I'd rather everyone had access to vaccines and other preventative health care, rather than being a crisis for the medical system once their conditions got so bad they needed acute remedial care.

In and out of the mouths of babes

Sunday nights are a night for soup in our household.  The recipe changes every week.  It always starts with an onion, but can go anywhere from there, depending on what looks like it's about to go bad in the fridge.

This week's soup also included some trimmings from the vegetable patch - some perpetual spinach that needed tidying up, some parsley thinnings.  It feels awfully smug and healthy when I can chuck things in the pot that I harvested from the garden mere moments before.

Despite the variability of the flavour, it's always a hit with the kids.  Itsyboo in particular is known to be extremely enthusiastic.

There is definitely a child behind the bowl

We changed our routine a little bit today - in the past we've eaten our soup in shifts.  5:00 for kids tea, then grown-ups once the children were in bed.  I decided, though, that we'd all start eating supper together on a Sunday, so we sat down at 6 en famille.  Miss A, delighted by both the meal and the company, announced "I love eating soup.  It makes me grow up big and strong!"

"Big and strong like who?" asked Daddy, smirking.

"Like Mr. Tumble!"

Justin Fletcher 1, Daddy 0.

He wins!

Up and down again

I spent this morning putting together Miss A's birthday present.  For those of you keeping track, yes, Miss A's birthday is in November. But we moved the day before her birthday, and I judged from the picture on the box that it would take me at least two hours to put together.

I was out by 50%.  After three hours, one primal howl of despair, a blistered finger, and a minor safety hazard, Miss A can use the table and chairs that were sent to her in November. 

Pity my poor middle finger. Grabbing things is hard!

 

It wasn't a great week for exercise.  I went to bootcamp on Monday and had a great time.  The rest of the week was downhill from there, so I was determined to go for a run today.

 

By a combination of accident and design, I took a completely different route this week.  I spaced out and ran past the turn I'd normally take, and ended up on the route that takes me round the back of Fidelity.  This route is much flatter than last week's on both a macro (hills) and micro (churned up earth) scale.  I thought it would be a lot better but I forgot about the stiles.

 

A stile in the style of the ones I went over today.  Ha - do you see what I did there?

 

For about half a mile, you are crossing fields where there is a stile every tenth of a mile.  On the way out, they were just a little annoying - breaking up my running flow since I had to stop and climb over.  On the way back, they started to seem like a medieval torture device since I had to stop running, get my legs up AND over, then start running again.  Cruel, man.

 



This week's distance was 1 1/2 miles, and I did it in 20:06, which is two whole seconds per mile faster than last week.  And that's with all the stile stops, so I can reassure myself that I could, in fact, outrun molasses.

 

I may try this route again next week when I am going far enough to turn it into a circular one, thus avoiding the stiles on the way home.  Longer term, though, it looks like I'm just going to have to get better at running across little bumps and furrows so that I can run through the fields.

 

Like a train in the night...



Run!

I read somewhere that to write a "successful" blog, you had to decide what it was about and stick to it.  Since I have covered mummy dilemmas, driving and now athletics in the last week or so, I think I'm doing well, don't you?

I mentioned in a previous blog post that I have been feeling an erosion of self since becoming a mother (like every parent ever in the history of time).  Like many mums, for a few years, even my body has been a shared resource.  But now I'm claiming it back.

In my early thirties, I discovered something strange and unexpected.  I like long distance running.  It's a incredibly portable hobby that clears the mind and makes you healthy.  Rather the opposite of wine, which is another of my great loves. 

When they sing "Light Up, Light Up," they are talking about my face which turns bright red from both wine and running

I started out with 10Ks and then ran the Austin Half Marathon in 2009.  It was hard, hilly, and fantastic.

I've now set myself the goal of running Austin 2014.  Since my fitness levels are *cough* not what they used to be, I've got a lot of work to do.  I'm going to start with my former fabulous running club's beginner programme.  This week, I ran 1 mile this morning and will run two "homework" runs of seven minutes each.

I sincerely hope that not all of my running blogs will contain the words "holy fucking hell," but that's how I've got to describe today's run.  My brilliant idea to maximise the fitness impact of my training was to run across the fields behind our house.  This reduces the impact on joints and forces more of your muscles to join in to stabilise you on an uneven surface.  It is, however, harder, since the softer ground absorbs some of the force of your foot's impact. 

I forgot to consider, when planning my route, that the particular field I wanted to run in is accessible only by a narrow path between two fields that, during the winter, is properly ankle-deep mud.  That's not an issue now that it's summer, but imagine how this churned-up footbath dried.  If you guessed that there is not an inch of flat running surface, then you get the extra special prize today.  Happily, there was no one else around or I might have caused them to sprain something laughing as I ran / tiptoed across the wobbly path - which is nearly 1/4 mile long.  And I had to run over it twice.  Between that and the stiles, I managed the mile in 13:26.  Not my best time ever, but I've got plenty of time for improvement, right?  Right?!?

Keep tuned in for further updates this week, when I will attempt to do my homework runs at the same time as attending boot camp three times.  Body, you are mine.