Author: McPikelets

Running!

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I’ve never been a big fan of running. My husband (Jeremy) and I used to openly scoff at Healthy Couples who went running together on weekends, while we gorged ourselves on Eggs Benedict and masses of inactivity. There was a brief reprise from my running aversion in the lead up to our wedding, when, fresh from getting engaged during a trip to Europe that involved pretty much non-stop eating, I chose an exceptionally unforgiving wedding dress and had to take drastic action to fit it. Apart from short-lived bursts of resolutions where I’d set up a monthly donation to over-priced gyms, and a stint of healthy eating and fast walking with the buggy after Amy (now three) was born to prepare for a trip where swimwear would be a major wardrobe feature, there was never any real interest in fitness. I mean, Rachel Smalley wouldn’t have pointed at me and shouted “lardo!”, but I was just never particularly fit. Jeremy started running as part of a lifestyle change following a diagnosis of “how are you …

Toddlosphy

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“If I go in my room and bite my fingernails, but you can’t see me, and then you say ‘Amy, are you biting your fingernails?’ and I say, ‘no mummy!’, but I really AM biting my fingernails, but you don’t know because you can’t see me, am I still in trouble?” I think I need more tea (or wine. Definitely wine.) before I can get into the whole “if a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?” philosophy.

S is for…

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Samantha from Sex & The City is on Sesame Street today. SESAME STREET. It just feels a bit wrong. Half expected her to say “C is for cooter!” Held my breath when she started with an F-word, but it turned out to be the word “Fabulous”. I’m now equal parts relieved and disappointed.

Baby un-friendly decor

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The baby is mastering the arts of both eating solid food and blowing raspberries – she likes practice these skills simultaneously. This milestone causes me to pause and reflect on the day we chose the fixtures and furnishings while renovating a few years ago (while pregnant with baby #1). “There’s no reason we shouldn’t choose white shagpile carpet, white chairs and bar stools, and a sleek white-and-chrome dining table with impossible-to-clean-crevices” we mused. “Children don’t NEED to be messy; we’ll just teach ours to be really clean” we smugly reasoned. What a couple of asshats.

Dry

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Scottish stubbornness + Italian martyrdom genes = Amy sat with stoicism and powered through the two dry WeetBix she’d chosen for breakfast, refusing to concede she’d made a bad call and should really accept the milk on offer.

Best day ever

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“Mum! I waved at the lawn mower man and he waved back at me! It’s the BEST DAY EVER!” Right. So that’s two years and nine months of days filled with dancing, singing, play dates, baking, zoo trips, beach trips, park trips, swimming, Christmases, Easters etc., completely upstaged by a wave.

Knicker thrower

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While attempting to pay for Jeremy’s socks in a menswear shop, I pulled my wallet out of my bag with a bit more enthusiasm than strictly necessary (it looked like it was tangled in a nest of wipes, muslins and Sophie the Giraffe). The sheer force dislodged a spare pair of Amy’s knickers from the depths of my bag, and sent them scudding across the counter until they finally came to rest on the computer terminal. The red-faced (male, just-made-through-puberty) shop assistant pushed them back across the counter to me as I gibbered on about them belonging to my daughter. Judging by the look on his face, combined with the fact that the only daughter in evidence was a three-month-old, I don’t think he was buying it. So now I just look like a crazy lady who a) attempts to seduce shop boys by flinging knickers at them, and b) wears pink knickers with owls on the front that are obviously too small. Could have been worse, I guess…they could have been a pair of …