I turned 37. As my lovely husband pointed out in my birthday card, I am now in the heartland of my mid-to-late -thirties. Thanks dear.
I was given (by the same man) a cross trainer. Before you shriek "How rude!", I asked for one. I figured that as I never, ever have time to exercise (because taking two kids on a run isn't a good thing) I would just exercise at home. I knew (as did he), however, that the cross trainer would simply gather dust in a spare room unless there was some incentive for me to get onto it. So he also got me a TV and DVD player and the box set of Sex and the City, so I now have my own personal gym (spoilt I know). I have found though that SJP has less pull power than RPatz in Twilight. I can cross train for hours watching him.
My children earned purple belts in karate. I believe this has nothing at all to do with their skill and everything to do with incentivising their parents to keep paying for expensive lessons. And even more expensive gradings every few months. However, they were so incredibly proud of themselves as they were awarded their shiny belts (complete with dragon motif - whoa cool, check that out mum!) that it made remortaging the house all worthwhile.
I have attempted to fit two month's worth of work into one, as the children and I (sans husband) will be flying to New Zealand in two weeks time. We're heading off to see family (at last!) and will be gone for almost all of April. Don't forget me when I'm gone. But more importantly, do give me your top tips on how to survive a 30 hour flight with two small boys who are very much like dogs. See the next point.
I have often said that small boys are like dogs. They both need to be fed often and run even more often. However, this week it went a step further. I was in the shower. They were tugging, yanking, pulling at each end of a soft toy (a dog incidentally). Neither would let go. They were growling at each other and I could tell that one of two things was going to happen. The toy dog would rip in half or one child would lose strength and fall over backwards into the loo. But I was naked, in the shower, soap on my hair. What was I do? I tried yelling. It fell on deaf ears. So I opened the shower doors, took a handful of water and flung it at them. It worked instantly, just like dogs. They were horrified and called me a meanie, but I simply tucked it away into my 'mummy strategies that work' folder for future use.
I have toyed with a new business idea. A business that would involve cake. And pretty cups and saucers. And other girly things. It was originally my husband's idea, but I have girlified it so much that it is now unrecognisable to him. I might reveal more on this if I decide to go ahead with it.
I have questionned the unfairness of life as my friend's IVF failed again. And despite the moment of envy I felt while I was suffering from an extreme hangover crossed with a cold, dealing with hyper children on Mother's Day morning while she got to have a leisurely lie in, I know that I wouldn't trade motherhood for anything. It's so easy to take little things like spontaneous cuddles from sleepy boys for granted, when you get them on tap. And I vowed not to take them for granted ever again.
And that's been about it. How about you?