A Butterfly Mind

I hate Mondays.  Always have.  Always will.  Nothing good ever comes of them.  They mark the beginning of a five day uphill struggle until the next two day window of life affirming pleasure and relaxation.

This morning, I attempted to lift the mood in our house as my son began to complain about the all round gloominess of Mondays.  I explained that we all feel the same.  It's a universal truth.  Mondays suck.  (I actually loathe that word, but it does do justice to the M day).  However, I pointed out that we need contrasts in life.  Without the dread of Mondays, the joy of Friday nights would be nowhere near as thrilling. 

So, after my little pep talk, my son walked into school with a spring in his step.  I, on the other hand, felt unsettled and on a quest to find as many reasons to break from my usual routine as humanly possible.

I loitered around the supermarket during my weekly shop, closely scrutinising the deals to be had and questioning whether or not I need to be buying Easter eggs just yet and spending way too long inexplicably considering Dragon fruit and clearance SIM cards.

Back home with shopping unpacked, I decided to start work.  Well, I say work, but first I had to visit the BBC News webpage to see whether the world is still turning.  Oh and then I had to look at my Facebook and Twitter accounts and have the obligatory look at Right Move to check (again) whether my dream house - within budget - was on the market somewhere on the coast of North Devon. 

I then decided I needed to be more comfortable to work.  I changed into some cotton jogging bottoms.  Jogging bottoms are working-from-home attire you understand and never see the light of day unless of course I am actually jogging.  I put on my bright pink jogging bottoms, which then channelled my thoughts towards pink skinny jeans, more specifically, the rather cool pastel pink leopard print pair I saw in the Sunday Times Style supplement at the weekend.  I began a preliminary Google search, convincing myself that this could also qualify as research for a fashion blog.  (I use this justification with disturbing frequency.  If I don't limit myself to blogging on a specific topic, then the world's my oyster.  Anything goes.  I can surf the internet to my heart's content, all in the name of research).

And then reality hit.  I may be slim and I may love fashion, but I am also nearly 40.  More to the point, I am simply indulging myself in cyberspace because I would rather my mind was anywhere but here, in the present moment on this cold and grey March Monday morning.

Reluctantly, I opened my blog and then once again allowed myself to become distracted by messing around with the design for a while before reverting to the original settings after all.  I then began in earnest and here's the result.

Oh, is it that time already?  I fancy a bacon sandwich.  Anon!

World Book Day

A few words about World Book Day.  I embrace this day.  I wish it had existed when I was a child.  Children should be encouraged to enjoy reading and to be inspired by books.

Like a lot of schools, my son's school requested its pupils dress as a character from a book.  C chose Harry Potter.  Well, we thought it fitting to pay homage to one of the most successful children's literary characters of a generation. 

Having said that, my son did, at the eleventh hour, decide that he wanted to dress as Hiccup the Viking.  I could see him eyeing my furry waistcoat.  However, in the absence of a Viking helmet, I managed to persuade him that simply donning his mum's furry waistcoat might require explanation sufficient to stretch his 7 year-old vocabulary to its limits.  So, Harry Potter he was.

We looked forward to our walk to school and had fun character spotting, although therein lies my problem.  We counted at least 3 Jack Sparrows.  Now, maybe I'm being picky, but Pirates of the Caribbean started life as a theme park ride before being adapted for the big screen.  I know, I know, there are now Pirates of the Caribbean books, but they knock out books of any old film these days.  It's hardly children's literature darlings, just more dollars for the movie producers!

Also, I overheard mothers explaining away their children's costumes as "pirate" or "princess" because they happened to have an old costume lying around the house and it was nice and easy, however tenuously related to a work of literature they might be.  They may as well have sent them in mufty and claimed that they were one of any number of red herrings littering the pages of the Where's Wally books or a random child featured in the playground illustrations in the Alfie and Annie Rose storybooks! 

Come on people!  World Book Day!  How about Long John Silver?  Or the Queen of Hearts?  A little imagination is required. 

This just goes to show how important World Book Day really is.  I shall now dismount my soap box.

The Highs and Lows of Running

In recent years, I have been dogged by a lower back problem.  After retaining the services of a chiropractor or “throwing money at it” as my husband so succinctly put it, the problem all but disappeared.

However, the last week of my life has been a shining example of Murphy’s Law.  When last Sunday, my son thoughtfully and unexpectedly asked me if I was still suffering with a back problem, I laughed and dismissed it as ancient history. 

I have always been relatively fit, but this year vowed to take up jogging after hearing first hand from friends and relatives how beneficial it is for the heart and lungs and for bone strengthening.  I was keen to experience the much talked about “runners’ high” and liked the idea of a free form of exercise which could easily be integrated into my lifestyle.  Also, with many of my friends approaching 40 and suddenly becoming fitter and stronger than ever before; entering Iron Man contests, running half marathons and suchlike, quite frankly I was feeling left out.

I downloaded a beginners’ guide to jogging from an NHS affiliated website – a 10 week plan with timed running and walking intervals, designed to gradually increase the running time to 30 minutes.  I invested in some decent and rather pretty running shoes (white, silver and sparkly pink) and began my new exercise regime thrice weekly.

In brief, the last 7 weeks can be summarised as follows: -

Week 1:  Completed successfully. 

Measure of pleasure:  3/10

Week 2:  Completed successfully.

Measure of pleasure:  4/10

Week 3:  Completed successfully.

Measure of pleasure:  5/10

Week 4:  Completed successfully.

Measure of pleasure:  8/10

Points of interest:  Experienced runners’ high.  Cheerfully greeted other joggers as opposed to sweating profusely.  Imagined unveiling lithe, toned pins and taut posterior in the summer months.

Week 5:  Completed successfully.

Measure of pleasure:  10/10

Points of interest:  Niggling concerns at potential for cumulative damage to my spine.  Decided to reduce to twice weekly, incorporating a mid-week swim in substitution.

Week 6:  Completed successfully. 

Measure of pleasure:  10/10

Points of interest:  Tried to ignore the slight ache in the right side of my lower back coinciding with my right foot pounding the pavement.

Week 7:  Completed successfully. 

Points of interest:  Attacked by sharp abdominal twinges for 2 days after first run of the week (classic symptoms of my back condition).  After an evening spent nursing an ice pack, the old familiar tightness had returned to my lower back.

I called a halt to my programme and called the chiropractor.

Unable or unwilling to say exactly what had caused my relapse (I could tell by the lack of eye contact, that he was blaming the jogging, but didn’t have the heart to tell me), he worked his magic on my spine and advised that I should not give up just yet, but see him in a week, at which point he could assess the damage.

I left his surgery on a high; totally pain free and promptly went for a run.  Sadly, I must report that my back is once again stiff and aching.  It is totally soul destroying to think that you are unable to take part in an activity you enjoy…and what is to become of my slightly-weathered-but-still-very-pretty running shoes?

Well after a night of research, I think I have the answer and it was quite unexpected when it came.  After years of mocking those people who waddle like ducks down the street in their running gear, donning expressions of intense concentration, I am to join their realms.  Power walking is allegedly as good, if not better, than running, but lower impact and more spine-friendly (my terminology, forgive me).  Even better than that, I still get to wear my running shoes and can hold onto my dream of a pert posterior and perfect pins for a little longer.  I’ll keep you posted.

Superheroes in suburbia

As mornings go, this one has been a little different.  I have been given strict instructions to acquire a collectable comic for my 7 year-old with his remaining birthday money.  Now that he has discovered Spider-Man, he is suddenly a Marvel Comic connoisseur.  This newfound hobby just so happens to coincide with a former colleague launching the first issue of his own comic, the dark, fantastical, exquisitely illustrated and wholly-inappropriate-for-7-year-olds “No Place Like Home.” 

I am a comic book virgin of sorts.  My very limited experience to date is adequately covered by a handful of Beano comics purchased by my father and a cursory glance at an old Eagle annual handed down by some distant relative.  The Beano comics in no time at all became landfill.  The Eagle annual remained on my bookcase, gathering dust until such time that I finally appreciated the merits of the genre.

This discovery of comics – aside from being attributable to parenthood, also stems from having worked for a time for a TV production company amongst artists, self-confessed geeks and creative types.  A few lasting friendships were formed at this company and we are all now hitting that difficult age where we are bidding goodbye to our youth and staring down the barrel of impending middle age.  But we are not going down without a fight.  This has been non more evident than in recent birthday and Christmas presents I have received, which have included DVDs I would hitherto not have elected to watch, but now relish, including Kick-Ass and X-Men.  In short, I am not so much revisiting my youth as reinventing it.

So, intent on bagging a first “investment” issue to stash in my loft (not to read by torchlight under the duvet like a guilty teen, you understand), I decided to further investigate the Spider-Man stories.  It’s a minefield out there!  I have never seen so many variations on a theme.  There are enough villains to ensure the simultaneous running of several world wars.  Also, aside from the copious volumes on Spider-Man, there is “The Amazing Spider-Girl.” There are Spider-Man “Revelations,” and stories where he teams up with other Marvel heroes, such as Wolverine.  I’m sure a lot of you are reading this and wondering whether I have been living under a rock for years, but it has opened up a whole new world to me.

I eventually opted for Spider-Man:  Origin of Species and feel very proud of myself for becoming notably cooler.  I know a little about these things now.  I also know where to find them.  OK, it’s a Southampton mega store, but it deals in cult entertainment.  Cult, you see?  There is a difference.  Already I am sounding like a comic book nerd.  Maybe I’ll be bitten by dust mites and will morph into some kind of leaping, flying super heroine, able to drain the blood of suburban baddies while they sleep.  Watch this space.

Perfect Pancake

This may be my shortest post yet, but it is no less significant.

It's not too late to share what could be the perfect pancake accompaniment.  Warning:  This is not for the dedicated gourmet cook.  It is not for the old at heart.  It is certainly not sophisticated or demanding of any culinary skill.  It will also only apply to those of you who can be bothered to venture out to the supermarket at this late hour.

So here goes.  My recommendation is as follows:-

Pancake mix and execution as per Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Family Cookbook.
Cook until a little crispy.
Spoon out a generous helping of Ben & Jerry's Caramel Chew Chew ice cream and sprinkle with fresh raspberries.
Roll and devour.

Go on, do it.  You'll thank me for it!

Contended Cat

I wish I could be as content as my cat.  He is currently spread eagled on the bed - paws in the air - totally void of inhibitions and insecurities.  I think it would take an overweight pigeon flying into the Velux window to induce any change to his demeanour; such is his level of relaxation.  If I could bottle this, I would be an overnight sensation.

I meanwhile, am fretting about completing my blog, washing my hair, preparing pancake mix and making some semblance of a start on preparations for our evening meal in the two hours I have remaining before the school run.

Ideally and somewhat selfishly, I would also like to fit in some Internet research pertaining to holidays.  Do you know Easter is only around six weeks away?  These things take planning.  My husband is my polar opposite in many ways.  He is as laid back as I am uptight.  His approach is to “see what happens”.  Mine is to “make it happen.”

Ironically, the one thing holding me back on the holiday planning is our aforementioned cat, Mowzer.  We’ve only had him since October.  He is six months old and has yet to master using the cat flap.  Mowzer currently views said cat flap as simply another doorway to the house and one, which also requires human intervention to facilitate his entry.

In terms of stress relief, Mowzer the cat is not delivering either, preferring to occupy a chair, the top of a radiator or a bed as opposed to my lap.  I am viewed as a potential mate (yes, he has reached that age) at around 8.00 pm each evening, which technically, is my down time.  Watching Masterchef, whilst a maturing Tomcat grips my wrist with his teeth, all the time attempting to do something unspeakable to my arm is not conducive to relaxation I find.

However, all this will change tomorrow, when Mowzer the cat makes his scheduled visit to the vets.  My guilt is palpable.  I won’t relax tonight and tomorrow night I will be wrestling with the guilt of playing God.  No peace and all that…

Mixed messages and Pancake Mix

Before I begin, let me make one thing clear.  I respect our teachers and believe that on the whole, they do a great job.  I spent one day assisting on a school trip to Warwick Castle, chaperoning a gaggle of 6 year-olds and spent the best part of a week recovering.  Also, I still wince at the memory of my son, Caleb, in his year at nursery, deciding that the most effective way of communicating to the teaching staff his intention to go home earlier than scheduled was to deliberately wet himself in the middle of the classroom.  The ruddy complexion and slightly dishevelled appearance of the nursery teacher who greeted me at the end of the session spoke volumes.  She was the chosen one – the teacher to make Caleb realise that his plan was fundamentally flawed.  She was the one to introduce him to the bottomless lost property basket from which any number of alternative outfits can be assembled (although she was clearly no Gok Wan).  The haunted look in her eyes as she relayed the physical challenge of re-dressing my hysterical son in the oversized jogging bottoms and red Wellington boots is forever etched in my memory.  So whenever I feel like joining in the school gate banter and having a pop at the teaching staff, I recall this memory.

That said, I am struggling to suppress a rant today. 

From the outset, the teachers at my son’s school have been at pains to promote independence in pupils.  Within weeks of entering Reception, the children were encouraged to enter school unaided, laden with coats, PE bags, book bags, water bottles and lunch boxes and to locate their own pegs and carefully find homes for all their equipment.  We would receive reports of teachers refusing to assist the children in fastening the top buttons of their shirts after PE (I still struggle with this uniquely stiff button!)  They were also encouraged from the start to fasten their own coats.

Similarly, in Year 2, the quest for self-reliance continues and quite rightly so.  The children are responsible for transferring newsletters from their trays into their book bags at the end of the day.  They are expected to select their own reading books and remember to bring them home.  So far, so good.

So imagine my surprise when my son came home last night and told me that the zip-up fleece (standard uniform item, bearing the school logo) could only be worn at playtime and that he should wear a jumper.  Given that this fleece cost me £16.00, I decided to query this with the Head of Year.  I was advised that as it is warm in school, perhaps it would be better for him to wear a jumper as the classroom is quite warm, which means he would have to take it off and then again, the school hall can be quite cold, which means he would have to think to put it on again. 

Am I missing something?!  Would this not apply to all outer layers or is this just specific to the zip-up fleece?  More to the point, is my son incapable of appreciating when he is too hot or cold?

Now, he does have a jumper and a sweatshirt, which he also wears.  But in the spirit of independence and with the temperature in school being tropical and the temperature outside being somewhat variable, I thought it best to send him in a zip-up fleece in order that he could exercise free will and easily remove said item when he was too warm. 

Clearly I have a lot to learn about independence.  It’s perhaps too complicated for a 7 year-old to neatly and tidily unzip a fleece when feeling a little warm in class.  It is in fact much easier to remove a sweatshirt where the head hole is always a little too small, the action itself produces enough static in the hair to power a village and where the results are a skewiff tie and untucked shirt (definitely not regulation compliant).

This morning, I have therefore delivered my son to school in a jumper, standing little chance of ever coaxing him back into his pricey but practical fleece now that a teacher has turned it into such an issue.

OK, deep breaths.  Rant over. 

On the plus side, today is Pancake Day.  (See how I moved so smoothly from mixed messages to pancake mix?)

For once I am completely organised.  We have eggs.  We have flour.  We have milk and maple syrup.  We have sugar and lemons.  We have ice cream and berries.  We have all the components for a teatime taste sensation. 

However, we also have a wilful and independent child who will no doubt wish to take part in pancake preparations as well as their consumption.  It could get messy.  Best remove that jumper before we start, otherwise I’ll be forced to return to the forbidden fleece!