Bringing Exercise Back

Guys. It's been a while. I have been totally slack on the exercise front (I know, we have definitely been here before. A number of times. Here we go again.) and I am back. And I am going to stay on that horse.

Over the last few months I've noticed the love handles making a cameo appearance. Cameo? Because they are not going to stay around because I actually feel totally disgusted at myself. I don't feel good in my skin and I am going to do something about it. 

Stress is the biggest contributor to my weight. I make concessions and think: "Oh yes, I've been working hard, I totally deserve that chocolate" So I can have a heart attack?! NO thanks!

I went for a big walk with our family this afternoon, and I've already got my gear ready to get up early tomorrow morning. Boom! It's on like Donkey Kong.

When I think about the excuses I come up with to not exercise, well I am too kind on myself. Matt's working in the evenings, which means I can't go to the gym like I was, however it was like a petri dish for excuses for not getting out and moving. 

No more! 

Those days I need to race home for pick up are the days I need to pull my sorry ass out of bed an extra hour earlier so I can clock up some steps. 

Those days I don't have to race home - well I can fit in a half hour at the gym. 

I read a quote recently that said we should treat our gym/exercises sessions with the same respect we treat an appointment. Turn up, don't make excuses. Because it is that time for you to look after yourself (plus it's my time to turn over conversations, stress etc and get them out of my body).

I'm going to do it. I'm going to aim for four exercise sessions a week. Four GOOD exercise, and build up to more. It's really not that hard when you think - half an hour every day, so I am going to kick start - this is it. No more excuses.  

Bring back energetic, healthy, happy Lexi. Game on with my inner voice who tells me to go back to bed. This time I'm playing to win! 

And if you need motivation hit me up on Pinterest. Anyone would think I'm a buff gym babe. Sadly, no. But I am going to try and transform myself. Fit before 40. (That fit before 40 thing just sounded catchy, but if it takes me five years to get fit, someone - shake me.)

New Year's Resolutions. And Me. Yes. NY Resolutions and Me.

Traditionally I have shrugged off New Year's resolutions. Well outwardly I tell everyone I don't do them. Just between me and myself - I do little things. 

But this year, I will outwardly tell you some things I am changing. Because these things are good, positive, very excellent things to do. In my mind at least - you my friend, dear reader, may have other thoughts - and that's ok. I am happy with challenging my own thoughts. Let's spar.

1. I am going to get more into my garden. Just because we rent - doesn't mean we can't have a nice garden - or a thriving little vegie patch. I am BOOM and doing it. If it flops, I will try other crops. That's my new green thumb mantra. And if those damn stinkbugs don't all die, I'll find something that will bump them off. That will be my life-long quest.

2. I am going to exercise. And not get too busy to do it. I was into it, then work got really ridiculously busy, and I am talking really ridiculously busy, so I felt more inclined to go home to be with my family than miss out on more time with them by exercising. Somehow, my friends, somehow, I expect to exercise at least four times a week. I am going to be fit and fabulous in 2014. Fit, fabulous and 14. I don't know how it's going to happen but even if I have to hypnotise myself, I am damn well doing it. Taser me if I don't. 

3. My sister told me she was reading more this year. So I am totally copying her. Unless there's some really crappy, crappy TV show that I need to live tweet, then I have to do that. But reading is where it's at. 

4. Meal planning. It's happening this year. Matt and I - we're both sick of multiple jaunts to the supermarket. Speaking of which - not buying supermarket brand anything. Those pricks can jam their own brands where they fit. I see what they're doing - screwing down the farmers. Not happening here. I'll buy brand names, and straight from farmers where possible. 

5. Listen to more music. Music makes me happy. I'm going to make it accessible and play more of my favourite albums. David Grey 'White Ladders' is coming back, and I'm not afraid to be out and proud. I love good music AND it makes me feel happier.

What are your resolutions? Share share share. Come on. Don't be shy. 

PS - What is this purple flower? If you know, please do tell! 

Not A Natural Born Runner

I know I've talked about it before, and dabbled in it for a while, but I got sick around eight weeks ago and stopped doing C25K. I was pretty annoyed at myself because I was into week four which is a fair investment on my behalf. 

So I got sick. Got really annoyed at myself for being sick. Started pinning exercise and motivation tips - but meanwhile I was stuck in bed. Bored out of my brains and frustrated. 

I waited 'til I got better - and then I rebooted my C25K.

I'm now into week six. It's been hard, and today was particularly hard. I struggled, I kept going, I talked myself in to keep going. I beat myself up, and then I talked myself off the ledge and told myself it was ok to be a little slower some days. I'm immensely tired, and it makes sense that that translates into my exercise. 

I'm not a natural born runner. I'm inherently pretty uncoordinated. 

Over the last six weeks I've had one part of me telling the other part of me - "This is too hard," "You've had a big day! You can stop now!" and "Why don't you go home instead, you can't do this." And then the other part of me saying: "Just do it, you're doing it, keep going." "You are doing AWESOME, you can do it - you're already halfway through." 

And so I break my runs into increments to make it feel more achievable. While those two voices duke it out in my head, my legs keep running. 

Sometimes it's hard. Other times I hit my stride. And each time when I finish my run - I am totally stoked that I did it. 

Sometimes I get panicky and think: I must stop this now. And then I sort out my breathing again, and get back into my rhythm and I keep going.

I may not be the most talented runner. Or the fastest. Or the best. But I am moving. I am pushing myself. 

Six weeks ago I couldn't do this. Six weeks ago I didn't have this stress relief. That relief of endorphins can conquer almost any bitch-ass email that comes my way.

I feel completely exhausted some days. And completely pumped other days. 

My body is a wonderland. But not in a Mayer way. It's done incredible things, and it's going to do even more incredible things. 

But this is not a go me post. This is a post to say - if I can do this, and if you've thought about exercising more, you can do it. Just start somewhere and you'll end up somewhere else feeling better for it. 

I'm not a natural born runner. I'm slow, my gait falters. But I just keep pushing.

What Are Your Hobbies?

I've been thinking lately about what I like to do.

And I thought. 

And I thought.

And then there were crickets. 

And then after the crickets came the tumbleweeds.

Then there was dead silence. 

Hobbies. Where did you go? 

In all of that silence I asked myself "Yes Lexi, what exactly do you like to do?"

And then there was even more silence.

I like dressing up. I like rummaging at the markets. I like reading. I like baking. I like stitching. I like gardening.

And yet. And yet, I've barely done any of these things over the last few months. Well I dress up, but Fashion Friday has fallen by the wayside. 

And everything else? Well it never seems to happen. 

Being a mum, working, trying to fit exercise in, being a wife, doing all that stuff means there's not much time for other stuff. But my goodness, I'm going to start doing some of that stuff. Beyond all of that stuff - I want to find at least 15 minutes in my day to partake in a hobby. Realistic? I don't know. But I'll try it. 

What are your hobbies? How do you fit them in?

Go Climb A Cactus

I saw this image on Haus of Hinton's IG feed. 

Ever have one of those days? Gosh. I totally need this t-shirt. It's got my name written all over it. I've adopted this now - if someone annoys me, I'm going to tell them to 'go climb a cactus'. It says so much without saying too much, if you catch my drift?

What do you do to shake a bad day? 

 

Life As We Mo' It. (AKA My Life As Napoleon Dynamite)

I've been stalling sharing this story. 

For over a month.

Why? Because I have felt so humiliated, it's only just recently I decided to "come out" - and what a freaking relief that was. 

A couple of months ago I went to see my beautician. It was a balmy, summery day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing - all was well in the world. I was heading for two hours of pampering, and I couldn't wait.

That was until I lay down on the bed and my beautician announced that she was going to bleach my moustache.

WhaaaaaaAAAaaaAAAAAAaaaat??!

%&#($_(_@#@#^&&

I lay there, in a state of shock, half frozen on the table, half naked (actually more than half naked) under the towel - and I'd just been told I had a moustache.

Let's rewind a bit right this minute. My sisters and I have talked about this extensively, I've talked about it with friends - and united we stand when we've all said "If I start to grow a mo' - you need to tell me." We all nodded our heads furiously, agreeing with an emphatic "Yes, of course."

And there I was, in a white room, under a white towel, on a white bed - with a dirty dark mo'. Say it ain't so.

AND NO ONE HAD TOLD ME! What the funk, "friends"?

I was there for a facial which is like a biannual thing that happens, and before I could get comfortable I'd been side-swiped, so of course for the next two hours - that is all I could think of.

Once it was over (and after 20 minutes of having my eyes closed, I start to get antsy - multiple this by 120 due to the facial hair factor and I wanted OUT), I looked in the mirror and said the obligatory "Wow, it looks so much better" with visions of this in my mind. 

Now I was sporting a blonde moustache. Where once I thought my mo' was just that faint hair that covers everyone's face, I was now a bonafide Napoleon Dynamite doppelganger. In fact, I don't even think Napoleon Dynamite has a moustache - so now I was not even Napoleon Dynamite, but his little known older brother.

Nevertheless, I paid, scurried out - and convinced myself that no one would notice except for me - you know that thing that if you don't talk about it - no one will notice. Yes. That old chestnut.

Next stop was to see my sister - and of course I couldn't contain my humiliation. I burst out with my hairy upper lip story - and she denied ever seeing any mo' action. And then I went to an appointment, purely focussed on my blonde mo'.

Fast forward now, to a month down the track, and I talk to my sister - who finally admits that - 
a) she had never noticed I had a mo' and would definitely tell me if she had
b) the bleaching episode made any traces of a mo' stand out more - and that it had done nothing to hide the hair but highlight it.

It's here that I say, Marilyn Monroe used to apply hormone cream to her face to aid in the growth of facial hair to diffuse the light when she was photographed - which is how she always got that gorgeous glow, that luminescence in all her shots. 

I, on the other hand, have foundation that contains luminising particles. No need to grow a yeti beard. 

So now, here I am, with the bleach faded (thank goodness, I now don't have a glow in the dark mo') wondering what to do. Bleach? Wax? Do I really have a mo'? Am I Frida? Do tell. Do you have a mo'? 

And PS - when you see me next, please do not study my top lip. Please. Have mercy on me. 

Did I Tell You?

Since shaking things up for myself by consciously cutting back on alcohol (I'm barely clocking two drinks per week), I've amped up my exercise and am feeling so much happier and healthier for it. 

It's a no-brainer, really. 

I've probably touched on my new-found habit, but left it at that. I'm not very excellent at sporting endeavours, but I am doing it!

My sister and I joined a group training thingie (that makes it sound less serious, less hardcore). I get up three mornings a week at 5:30am to make it for an hour of power. It's getting darker in the morning and harder to shake off the covers, but the pay off is huge. Endorphins and that sweet post-exercise muscle twinge to remind you that YES YOU GOT UP AND EXERCISED. 

As well I've added a gym session here and there when I want to, and when I can fit it in, and interval training with the Doctor (he LOVES it, I'm not amazing at it, but I'm moving people!), and Sunday sessions with the whole family at the park. This weekend it was so good to be on the grass, the four of us, in the sunshine, doing something physical. 

I've come to the conclusion that it is important to wear exercise gear that makes you feel good. Well it works for me. I find more motivation to get up (I know, so superficial) because I bought new sneakers that don't make me look like Jerry Seinfeld. I'm not talking about spending loads of money, but psychologically, I think having something a little 'nice' to exercise in is a sound investment. 

Now I am starting to see this exercise thing as a life-long commitment, rather than just a fad I am going through. I've been rising at 5:30am for three months - no one would ever think I would do that! I wish I'd come to it sooner, but I see that it's so important to my overall well-being that I am going to continue to invest in it. 

Let's face it, I'm a lot less cranky when I exercise, and everyone can benefit from that. I'm excited by this new chapter, and madly working on my Kelly Rowland biceps. 

Are you exercising? What do you do? 

Bottoms Up!

I have a thing for San Pellegrino. I really, really love San Pellegrino water, and if I am a bit down, or want a treat, I buy myself a bottle (I know, last of the big spenders). 


Not only that, I really like drinking out of those bottles. I am a bit pedantic when it comes to tracking my water intake, and I prefer to drink out of glass. I just have a soft spot for San Pelle. 


Sometimes I have a bottle after a difficult day at work, or if I'm not feeling well. Or I just refill the bottle with tap water. I hold onto those bottles because I am cray.


However it came about in a conversation the other night, when Tiny asked me for some. The Doctor said: "No Tiny, you can't - that's Mum's wine."


The Doctor thought after all these years of me walking around with the big green San Pellegrino bottle that I was swilling wine from a bottle. In the morning, at lunchtime, at night. In the car. Everywhere. 


I promptly informed them that it was in fact fizzy water, and they could indeed have some. 


Vintage San Pellegrino poster image from here

Therapeutic Monday:: In The Garden

I spent some time in the garden yesterday. Actually a lot of time. With secateurs in hand. 

The reason for this spate of Gardening Australia? I had to find the water meter for the water meter reader man. Do you think I found it? Nope. Despite hacking into everything - and being completely disgusted with the weeds that think it's ok to procreate in my garden. I still have not found the meter. 


However I did find my inner gardener, my inner Peter Cundal. It was sprinkling and cold and yet - I was stalwart and continued hacking into those overgrown bushes (not that bush, manners, please). I must be channeling my mum. And my grandmother. Both keen gardeners. Now there are piles of clippings all over our garden. And nowhere to put them. Novice fail. 


It was good to do physical work - to feel the physical tiredness, and see tangible results. 


In other ground breaking news Tiny went back to preschool today - and I got to spend some time with her and her classmates, decorating picture plates. Boy it was funny, I was chuffed to spend time there, and today was a triumph. Tiny wore jeans. Crumbs. She gave me a cute attack. 


Tonight Tiny told me she wanted to climb onto my back and never hop off, no matter what, she'd just ride up there on my back - and never-ever- everlet me go, then she would yell: "this is paradise". Chris Martin has been brainwashing her. 


Sigur Ros. This is beautiful. A good reason for me to move to Iceland. Good music and crazy knits. 


Tomorrow, on ANZAC day, we're planning to head into the city. I enjoy seeing the diggers, waving, acknowledging them. I'd like to take the smalls to see that, with rosemary pinned on. 

What Do You Do All Day?

Richard Scarry. One of my all-time favourite children's author/illustrators. 

Our Onegirl fleur. It is so loved. And a lot of love comes from me.

My knitting. Which is going nowhere fast. Mum, I need you to fix it. 

I don't have much of any value to share with you. 

So tell me, what do you do all day? 

The Poles Between PR and Blogging: 7 Tips

In the last few weeks I have been gazumped by PR requests. Email after email vying for space on my blog.

I often find myself in a quandary.

As a blogger, sometimes the information is totally irrelevant. I don't want to know about it. And I fathom a safe guess that my readers don't either. So I politely decline. Or lately, I just ignore (which seems terribly rude, but I have time-VS-email issues people - as I am sure you do too).

I've worked on my blog for over four years. I'm not just going to toss it away to be one big merry commercial. I must maintain its integrity. For my readers - and most of all, for myself.

And on the flip side, I've worked in PR for almost 13 years (my oh my, old old old).

I know what it's like working in-house and agency side. Clients want results. They don't want to hear excuses. They want their brand in bright lights, they want column inches, they want pixels. They want the world.

So I really want to help those who are pitching to me. I do. I want to help them.

But if PR pitches to bloggers continue the way they are now - things are going to roll backwards. Or implode.

The blogger in me questions every pitch sent my way. And I use the word "pitch" incredibly loosely here, because most of the time, all I am receiving is a generic:

"Dear Blogger"

or

"Dear Lexi, [insert gushing paragraph here about how much I love your blog]"

or

"hi PottyMouthMama"

or worse to me still - an embedded email that I can't even view half the time. Or just crap. I mean come now - seriously. Read my blog. I don't want to try your doggone baby purees because - I do not have a baby. And you could lazily scroll through my top posts to discover this for yourself. I'm not asking you to do my family tree and trawl through reams of geneaology. Nope.

Even worse. Inaccurate emails. Emails with titles: Interview Opportunity. And then I scroll through to look for who the interview is with - and there's nothing. Or some dubious subject matter. I could rattle off a heck of a lot. But for everyone's benefit - I won't.

I've just asked to be removed from their mailing list instead.

I know working in PR is busy. You have to measure your success. You must be accountable. And you have clients barking at your heels.  But respect the blogger.

So this is to those working in PR who want to learn about pitching to bloggers. Who really value quality content. Who really value an engaged audience. And who really want to do the right thing by their client.

1. READ READ READ:  Read the blogs you want to pitch to. Would you pitch blindly to someone in 'ye olde media'? If you answered yes, then you need to step away from your emails, and take a good hard look at yourself. I don't mean read four years of PottyMouthMama - but really, just become familiar with what I talk about, who I am, and if you truly think your brand is something that's going to fit in this space. And then you can start to build a relationship. KEY POINT!

2. WHO'S THAT CHICK? Find out my name. It's not rocket science. There's a reason why direct marketing companies pay thousands of dollars to access databases so they can tailor their communications to recipients. My name is not 'Blogger' - thank you Mum and Dad. It's not even PottyMouthMama. It's Lexi.

3. STOP SENDING GENERIC EMAILS: Please. For everyone's sake. You're wasting a lot of emails, as well as your time, my time, and everyone else's time. If you send out generic pitches - look at your ROI. Bet you're not getting much bang for your buck.

Don't do blanket mail outs. Tailor absolutely everything.

In my role as PR Manager, I've chosen to work with a handful of bloggers who I respect, trust and admire. Unfortunately, I don't currently have a budget to pay them. However, I offer them unique angles, I offer them exclusives, sometimes I might send them a gift. But I never ever expect anything in return.

Your client is not a charity - and the blogger owes you nothing.

4. EMAIL BOMBING:  I get a lot of emails every week. I'm not being cocky. A lot of them are spam. *Shudder* And some of them are from PR professionals, forwarding their original email because they haven't heard from me, and they want to check I received their email. And they've done a search and I haven't written anything about their client/product. Why not?

Why not?

Because I don't want to. Because it doesn't fit with my blog.

There should be no sense of entitlement.

Unless I want to. Unless I think my readers want to hear from you. Otherwise, I won't write about it.

5. SPONSORED POSTS: I started writing sponsored posts for shoe money. Clearly I don't buy a lot of shoes because I don't do a lot of sponsored posts. And I will only ever do a sponsored post if I truly believe it's cohesive with my blog.

The struggle with keeping my blog pure - and the need - and sometimes want - to make a little extra pocket money - it's a fine line. But when I do a sponsored post - I try to maintain my voice. I try to keep it relevant.

6. PRODUCT REVIEWS:  If you want me to review your product, well then it's a pretty good idea if you send me a sample. I am on the mailing list of one PR practitioner - and at the end it always says: "if you want samples, let me know". Not once, not twice, but at least four times I have replied saying "yes please send me a sample so I can try it for myself and legitimately write about it". And each time she replies "Sorry all the samples are gone." Well then BOOM! I'll make your emails be gone from my inbox. Simple really.

7. TIMING! Inviting me to an event is nice. It is. And thank you. But give me a bit of notice. Four days notice to drop everything for lunch? Yep. Not coming. I've got a busy life and I can't shuffle things at that late notice either. Same applies for sending me media releases. Don't send them to me on the day whatever you're spruiking happens. I'm a busy woman - as are all bloggers. I'm not usually struggling for content. And I won't drop everything to bang out some paras on your product on the day. Nope.

**BONUS TIP: If you are inviting me to an event, please make sure I live in the city the event is taking place in. Unless you're willing to cover my travel and accommodation costs.

For more on this topic head over to Edenland.


 image - me with Allen's Retro Party Mix teeth. Because I can. It's me in PR mode.

Not Even Close

A pre-PS - you should listen to this song before reading this post.

Well. Hello there. I've had a wee break and thought I had better report in.

What kind of blogger leaves their blog unattended for two days? Me. Sorry about that.

This week has been busy and interesting, and I've felt long moments of anxiety - where an almost skull cap of tension comes over me, and I don't want anyone near me, I feel fractious. I feel claustrophobic. It's not a good feeling - and to be completely frank - because what else am I (?) I do not like it.

But I am ok. I am definitely ok. Fear not for me. I will (hopefully bounce back) as a more vibrant me. I'm painting my nails in Darling Showpony as testament to this hope.

So I turn to you dear reader. I need food for the soul. When everything's dried up in me, and I feel like the marrow is completely sucked dry, please tell me of your good tidings. I want to hear every sordid detail. SPILL!

image source: green diary
Post-PS - you should now listen to this song - 1. for the song; 2. because I feel like I miss Robert and 3: the palette. I wanted to be one of those girls. HAWT!

Post - PPS - I always wondered how Robert got those ka-TING noises. I presume it's ninjas battling in the background. It's a given, right?

Life As A Funeral Director

Back when I was 15 - at school we had to do 'Careers' as a subject. We had a teacher who had the world's biggest combover, wore short sleeve shirts and wreaked of BO. Not terribly inspirational.


As part of this course we had to answer a questionnaire on the computer, which would then tally up your likes, dislikes, favourite colour, favourite food and personal disposition, and spit out what it thought you should be.


Sounds exciting, doesn't it?


So that computer spat out my results. What it thought I should be when I grew up.


A funeral director.


My 15 year old brain imploded.

And then I left it there.

I continued school, studying anything I could that would move me away from becoming a funeral director. Visual arts. Drama. Modern history. English. No biology.

So it must have been three years later, towards the end of year twelve, when school leavers are preparing to hit the real world, and I was working out which degree I wanted to apply for. 

We had a different careers advisor by this time (phew) - and I shared my dream to tread the boards, and become an actress.

Her response: "You'll never make any money."

My 18 year old brain imploded.

Way to take my dreams, hold them up to the light, then throw them to the ground and stomp on them. Repeatedly. Way to go.

So I ditched the idea of going to NIDA.

I completely ditched it. Those dreams were dashed, and I've never really reconsidered it. Those poorly chosen words just kept ringing in my ears.
Instead the careers advisor told me I should pursue something like public relations.

And I did. I went to uni, attended one class of public relations theory, left that class and thought "I can't sit through that" - and enrolled in Writing instead. But worked in PR the whole way through my degree. I got the best of both worlds.

But lately I've been thinking of being a funeral director and how life would have been so different. It takes a gentle art to be a funeral director I think.

Have you ever had a mid-life crisis/career change?

image via: Daily Mail

The Many Faces Of Me

I am so many different people in my daily life, to so many different people - as you are.

I guess I've put myself on the backburner for a while, and as a result, I've added a few extra kilos to my frame. Which explains why I've thrown myself like a crazy lady into walking. Why I've been trying to glamify my salad days to myself. And why I've got an acute case of the Flat Stanleys.

Tiny doesn't help when she comes up and squeezes my stomach and says: "Ohhhhh squishy, squishy," then grappling for any - and all - other squishy parts of my body. She does however redeem this act by telling me repeatedly, emphatically that she really loves my squishies.

It is endearing.

But my squishies are not so endearing.
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When I was about 22 I joined a group with a personal trainer. Not for weight loss, but to get a toned, strong body. We met three mornings a week, and ran through the Botanical Gardens (my favourite), ran up and down the steps of the Opera House, it was a wonderful - if exhausting and exhilirating - start to my day. At the end of the program I had the strongest, healthiest body I had ever had. I felt amazing. Because my body was strong.
----------------------------------------------------------
I weighed myself today and for the rest of the day felt this immense disgust with myself. Inside I thought "I used to be lighter!" - and losing weight felt out of reach.

If you don't know me, I am tall-ish, and you may not notice my weight gain. Or if you do - you're too polite, too well-mannered to say anything. But I feel it. I see it in the mirror. Too many Haigh's chocolate frogs for me.
-----------------------------------------------------------
So what I'm going to do: I'm going to make myself a priority again. I'm going to get that lean and strong body back. It might take me a while, I'm going to find some exercise that I dig on - there must be something - I want to feel like that strong, all-powerful woman again.



image of Kate Moss by Mario Testino - amazeballs

And Then.

I was planning to write something profound today.

About revelations.

Epiphanies.

About life's little hopes, glories and joys.

About how this New Year is going to be oh-so-much better than the crummy one we just left behind.

Except I've forgotten everything I drafted in my head.

Instead you're going to have to make do with these snaps taken from our last few days. I am still relishing my time at home, on holidays.

A few days ago, I foolishly got sunburnt.
We made a massive sand castle/fortress at Balmoral on New Year's Day, while everyone else was hungover, we enjoyed those first few hours of 2012.
After a sweltering day, we managed to sneak in a swim. Well Matt, the Doctor and Tiny did. I chickened out and thought the water was too cold. Tiny is convinced she can swim. The Doctor is enjoying swimming. He never wants to get out of the water.





How is your Summer faring?

Old Year's Resolution

I don't do New Year's resolutions. It sets me up for failure, and I'm not signing up for that.

So today I went and exercised my little hiney off. Well. I did go for a really big walk, that turned into an intermittent walk, that ousted the crankies, and the filthies, and made me come home with a sore hip but a brighter attitude.

Exercise is really good, huh?!

I have been struggling to find a place to walk around here. I don't really enjoy walking in our neighbourhood. But tonight I found an oval in our neighbourhood. I thought, yes, I will do 5 laps of this oval, and I wound up doing 10.

I got a headstart on resolutions and I like it.

Sayonara 2011. I hope 2012 is bountiful of blessings, brightness and bold new moves.

Happy New Year my beautiful friends. x

Trawling Through Old Folders

I've been delighting in going through old photos on my computer. Relishing in how small  the smalls were, and those chubby little cheeks. Oh MY !

Despite the advantages of digital cameras, it's a shame that I don't print more photos. I really, really love looking at old photos.

I've even, back in the day, started albums, beginning at the time Matt and I met, however, I have only gotten into the first few months of the Doctor's life. Yes. A little behind on that front.

Truth be, I haven't even done our wedding album, and we've been married over six years. Oops.

Do you do albums?

This photo was from the front page of The Daily Telegraph, obviously a few years ago - pre-Tiny, pre-PottyMouthMama. It was some story about how mothers don't spend as much quality time with their children as the dads do, as the mamas are too busy multi-tasking and juggling life.  

Tangent finished.

What are you up to?

So I'll Just Document Everything

The last week has been a bit of a whirlwind, and I've got no big news. Nothing besides, Tiny turning four - which is big news to me, because she's still my baby.

But the Doctor finished Kindergarten on Friday, and that was such a bittersweet day. Proud of him - but overwhelmed. Seriously - where did that year go to, and can I get a refund? I hugged his beautiful teacher goodbye, and felt more than a pang of sadness as I did so. She has been a gentle, nurturing soul, who has led him into his first year of formal education. And so it is, Kindergarten is already over.

Today we had Tiny's Christmas concert - and again, bittersweet. Man that girl slays me. As soon as we locked eyes, she waved, so enthusiastically to me, her enthusiasm broke my little heart into a bazillion pieces. And then she sang her little heart out. Then got bored. Then put her feet up on the seat - and in my head I was saying "No Tiny, put your legs back down, no, no.." Too late. She sat there - albeit for a brief moment - flashing her knickers. One of the Mum's turned and looked at me, with that look - she knew exactly what I was thinking. Thankfully Tiny had her own epiphany and put her legs back down and fixed her skirt. For a moment I had contemplated running up the front to fix her skirt.

After some deliberating earlier this year, we've enrolled Tiny into a community preschool that's closer to home and to the Doctor's school. It was a hard decision, but I am so excited by this change, though sad to leave our KU, I have such a great feeling about the new preschool, already feel part of the community - which is a big deal for me, since I work, and I didn't feel that so much at the current place. A change is as good as a holiday, right? 

Today the Doctor told me he either wants to be a DJ or a spy when he grows up.

Tiny got all the birds hanging on our Christmas tree, and first made a nest out of dropped pine needles. Then reassembled them on the tree together.

I have started wrapping our Christmas presents. But I ran out of wrapping paper. This poses a problem when wrapping presents.

And lastly, I had my eyebrows done, and since they are so dark, I thought I looked a bit Frida Kahlo-ish. So I stuck some flowers on my head and went with it.

How are you holding up? Are you all shopped out? Is it a wrap? Will you be eating for the rest of the month?

This Is Where I Confess... I Don't Love Brogues

While everyone on the interwebz is flitting about in a pair of cool  brogues, I've stood fast. I don't love them. Any hipster worth their weight in shoelaces is wearing them. But not me, I will not succumb. Not that I'm a hipster.

And I think I'm the only one that doesn't own a pair.

Dear Universe, what's wrong with me? Why don't I love brogues?

Well. There are a couple of reasons:

a) my foot is so big, it would look like I was wearing my husband's work shoes
b) I just think I look dorky in them

Instead I embrace a pair of heels, or sandals, or my Chucks, or anything other than brogues.

I do not love brogues.

Brogues. They look good on other people. But not me.

There now, I've said it. Phew.

(however I could get with these brogues, they have a heel! I could love them. Alas, they will not fit. But if you, Cinderella, will fit these shoes, check them out here at Karen Walker's Playpark)

Way To Make Me Exercise

Yep, just for the laugh factor, this would make me exercise.