The Gym and I.......

It would be fair to say that I have a love hate relationship with the gym. I hate having to organise myself in the morning to go, hate having to exercise, but when I get there and once I start, I do enjoy it.  This on\off relationship has been going on more than 20 years now and I still can’t bring myself to walk away from it.  Before you think that I am a gym bunny, believe me I’m not.  If anything I would be the antithesis of a gym bunny.  I don’t have the latest hi-tech gear, I do like to get hot and sweaty and I don’t feel the necessity to wear makeup and have my hair looking good to work out.

But the strange thing is that since having kids it has become my place to escape to.  Sounds silly I admit, of all the places you can choose to escape from the kids (and Mr P and his bloody Sports Talk and Sky Sports) you wouldn’t think that the gym would come far up on the list... 

Why you may ask?  Well it is where every couple of days I get a full hour to switch off from everything else going on.  That’s a full hour where I don’t need to talk to anyone, I can listen to what I want to listen to, I can clear my head and “think”.  Think, do you remember doing that?  I don’t mean “think” as what should we have for dinner, the kids need new school clothes, what to get little Johnny for his birthday.  I mean “think”, that strange thing I used to do with my mind before it got cluttered with the daily grind of parenting. 

It’s an hour where in my mind I can think “how would I solve world peace”, “what shall I blog about” even daydream “do I really need those Christian Louboutin shoes”, “How would I spend my lotto millions”.  Okay perhaps those last two are fantasising a bit but that's the thing, my mind is free to wander and think all these weird and wonderful things while I plod along on the treadmill. 

An hour where I can people watch and try to slot them into one of 3 groups, the baggy t-shirters, the pretentious and serious gym goers.  Checking out whose boobs are real, wondering what possess the woman in front of me to wear a leopard print outfit and of course checking out the hot and sweaty men in the weights area.  All in that precious hour.  If I don’t feel like exercising then I can have a quiet coffee in the cafe all by myself.  The benefits of exercising can only come second to this me time.

Of course the fact that the gym also has a crèche where I can off load the kids for an hour or so a day has totally nothing to do with it!  Really it hasn’t.....

“Hold this one....”

41 years ago today these infamous words were spoken to my mother “Here hold this one while I get the other one”. “Get the other what” my mum was heard to shriek.  “Baby?” came the reply.  Yes, all those years ago I entered the world the elder of twin girls to the utter surprise to my parents.  It really was an utter shock to them, as not only was the pregnancy not planned, as they already 3 children, but twins!

Back in those days there were no scans available to check on what was going on with your pregnancy.  My mother had absolutely no idea that she was carrying twins.  There was the odd disagreement between the doctor and midwife about the number of heartbeats, the third faint one was just an echo apparently!  But the doctor was adamant that there was one very large baby and that was all.

Times where so much simpler then, my mum like many in her generation, ate what she wanted, drank (she wasn’t a big drinker) and smoked (like a chimney) unaware of the affect to her unborn babies.   They just got on with life, no sitting back and feeling sorry for themselves over morning sickness, or what to wear as it wasn’t a fashion show.  There were no celebrity mummies showing off their fantastic post baby bodies, to make you want to reach for the cookie jar.  You weren’t unique you were just pregnant like millions of women before and after.   If they had a problem or unsure of anything they just asked their own mothers, no going online to self diagnose yourself.  

I can hardly compare her experiences with mine as it is a far cry from the stresses of having a baby today.  Apart from the medical care you get now, which I must add helped me have my two boys, so I will be eternally grateful to the NHS.  There is the endless bombardment of the media telling you want you should and shouldn’t be doing.  How the decisions you are making now mean you are already a bad mother before you have even given birth. All the must have baby items that you need so you have a happy baby.  These items that you don’t really need, but think you do otherwise you aren’t a good mum.  That you eventually dig out of the bottom of the cupboard months later never used and wonder why on earth you brought it in the first place.

Makes me think, perhaps she had the better pregnancy experience than me.  Perhaps ignorance in some ways is bliss.... 


P.S.   Finally I thought I would share my birthday card from Mr P, arh he knows me so well...

My Growlery - 100 Word Challenge

“Get into your room” shouted mum.

“It’s not fair” I shouted back as I stomped into my room, slamming the door.

I always get the blame even when it is my younger brother that goes and makes a foozle of everything.

But what mum doesn’t know is that I love my room.  I can make my very own growlery, away from the noise and mithering of my brother.  Where I can grab the blankets from my bed and create my own secret hideaway. 

There will be no brabble going on in here; it is just me and my toys.

Bliss..

This post is part of the 100 Word Challenge hosted by The Heads Office, for more great posts head on over.

Definitions

Brabble – paltry, noisy quarrel

Growlery – place to growl, private room, den

Foozle – do clumsily, bungle, make a mess of

Silent Sunday

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Offended, Outraged, me?

So there I was the other day, walking pass a building site of sorts when I heard a whistle and a “ello darling”.  I stopped mid step in a bit of shock, okay, sooo was that for me?  As believe me, it has been a while since that has happened!   After a quick look round and realising that I was the only “darling” in the area I assumed that it was for me.

So did the inner feminist rear her ugly head with rage, “how dare they, do they think I am some sort of object, for them to leer at”?  Arh, no, I gave a quick acknowledgment and kept walking, with a slight spring in my step it should be noted. 

Gone are the days where this would have bothered me, where I would have either ignored it or the inner feminist would have said something back to them.  Hell I will take any compliments (okay so it is a borderline compliment I do admit) I can get these days.  Especially, as next week sees me on the wrong side of 40.  There is only so long you can tell people that you have just turned 40, that’s 364 days in case you are wondering.

I have posted before how I enjoyed male company and the general banter that went with it while I was working.  It gives you a bit of an ego boost, nothing wrong with feeling appreciated by the opposite sex I say.  It’s all well and good getting compliments from Mr P but after 17 years together it is kind of a given.  So if a couple of hairy arsed builders want to give me a whistle and a shout out then so be it, I won’t mind.  Life is too short to worry about whether it is demeaning or not.

Of course it would have totally made by day if it had come from a couple of half naked bronzed demi gods instead of two paunch bellied middle aged blokes.  But then, as my mum says, beggars can’t be choosers...

Hey, Mr Fox.....

Dear Mr Fox

It’s over between us!  The honeymoon period of 4 ½ years is totally finished, it’s no more.  Yes, we used to think you cute and endearing, the boys gathering round the windows at dawn and dusk to watch you in the garden.  Hell I even used to leave the odd chicken carcass out for you, and how do you repay me?  By shitting on my lawn!  No, actually you crap wherever it takes your fancy, lawn, footpath, doorstep, hell you have even managed to crap on the boy’s slide a couple of times!

Now Mr Fox, don’t think I have turned anti-fox on you, I haven’t.  I have no problem with you living at the end of the garden, you just need to stop crapping everywhere.  Honestly I don’t want to have to do poo patrol every morning before the boys go out to play.  My boys are Kiwi kids they want to be able to run around outside in their barefoot without running through berry infested poo!

Hell, the liberal leftie bit of me even supported the hunting ban, stopping your country cousins from being torn apart by dogs.  So I feel the least you can do is to cut me some slack and stop using our garden as your own private loo!

So in closing Mr Fox, you can snooze on my lawn, tear the odd ball up but if you want to poo can you pop next door?

Yours

Frankie P  xx

PS..  Be warned Mr Fox, Mr P grew up hunting in the countryside so is a dab hand with a rifle..

Silent Sunday

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