Treading water

It was Boy #1's Summer Show at nursery this week. The twelve children in his class lined up smartly in front of a selection of their parents & grandparents in the school's back-yard, complete with animal masks perched on the top of their heads. Each stood forward in turn to announce their name, age, and what they liked doing best at school, before singing some songs and doing the movements to match their mask. Call me biased, but Boy#1's snake impression was particularly convincing, I thought.

The end of their last term before they move into the fast-flowing torrent of primary education is racing towards us at break-neck speed, and it stopped me in my tracks to see all the children I have known from todder-hood stand there, self-posessed and articulate as they ready themselves for Big School. I snapped away with the camera, capturing images of not just Boy #1 but his special friends as well, for posterity.

I plan to print off a large photo of my cherished Boy peering around his teacher's skirt as the class waited to come outside and entertain us, and put it somewhere prominent. It won't clear up the mess, wipe his runny nose, clean up the spilt milk, or sit in the naughty corner with me when I've lost my temper, but it might help to bottle that moment, so I can uncork it when the going gets tough, and remind myself why I'm doing this stay at home mother thing.


...and in other news...


You get to the gym. You decided before you set out that interval training is just not on for the 3rd visit in 4 days, so have only brought your swimming costume with you - the very same swimming costume which Husband has informed you is an Embarrassment and should be Thrown Out. You, of course, are convinced is absolutely fine and that he just doesn't like the colour blue on you.

You put it on.

You notice when you attach the locker key safety pin to the side of your swim suit that it goes in a little more easily than you remember. You disregard this, and go to use the facilities before your swim. (Must remember to do more pelvic floor exercises...) (Must remember to do ANY pelvic floor exercises)

You glance in the mirror as you leave the loos, and stop dead as you suddenly realise that Husband was right, dammit.

The material of your swim suit has perished in that attractive way only swimsuit material seems to. Rather than opaque blue, the material across the bottom of your bosom area resembles a fine mesh.

Bugger.

Thankfully the changing rooms are empty so you can investigate full extent of the damage in peace. You realise that not only are you in trouble up front, but an area of material on the low-cut back is letting you down too.

It's decision time. Should you go in, and bank on the pool being as empty as it normally is on a Thursday morning, allowing you to do your 35 minute swim without too many people seeing the shaming evidence of your lack of interest in that most horrific of all shopping trips, the swimsuit buying expedition? Or should you give it up as a bad job, and slink sneakily home, perhaps stopping for a Starbucks MochaFrappucino on the way before you start to scale the laundry mountain for the 4th time this week?

Normally, I would have gone for the latte option (latte/latter, geddit? Sigh), but memories of the fat measurement at my gym review, beach photos from holiday, and most importantly of all, the 3 course dinner laden with fat and carbs I devoured with my girlfriends last night, resulted in my sidling into the swimming pool, towel clutched tightly around me until absolutely at the poolside, before I slipped quickly into the water. Needless to say, I did no backstroke today.