SAVING THE WHALES

I saved a whale. Actual. In fact I think it is fair to say that I saved a few. 64 even.
My friend Mac came to stay for a few days. You may remember her from such stories as ‘Macs New Shoes’. Whilst doing a cruise on the Facebook on Friday, I saw some locals posting about a rather large stranding in our area. Whale strandings are very common where I live. There have been 8 in the last 10 years. Every time there has been a stranding, I have had the children in my care and automatically write off helping out due to childcare. When I mentioned in passing to Mac that there was a rather large stranding in our hood, she was all over it. Like a rash. So with a little gentle persuasion from her to make it happen ( persuasion  more resembling  a steamroller)..I damn well made it happen.
On Friday the 13 th of February, 198 Pilot Whales stranded on Farewell Spit in Golden Bay.By Saturday morning 103 whales had died and 70 of the surviving whales that had been refloated on the Friday evening, had restranded further to the base of the spit by the Saturday morning (Valentines Day). Mac and I arrived at about 4pm to the stranding site. DOC( Dept of Conservation) and Project Jonah ( charity organisation that specialises in strandings) were there to meet us and give us a briefing on what to expect, what to do and what to avoid doing…. eg. getting hit by their tails. They said a lot more but all I could hear was the loop track in my head “I wanna save a whale. I wanna save a whale. I wanna save a whale”.  Briefing done, Mac and I went to prepare for our heroic adventure. I had my wetsuit on in a flash. Much to my frothing frustration though, Mac struggled to put on her wetsuit due to the leg of the suit suddenly being a lot smaller than normal. She soon learnt that arm holes are meant for arms. Not legs. Job done.
The whales were about 300 mtrs from the shore line, so we jogged out to them quick smart being sure to hold in our tummies and try to put an air of total comfort in our skin-tight 2nd skins. My hope was that if we were moving fast enough there would be less chance of a DOC worker throwing a sheet over me , drizzling a bucket of water over me to keep me comfortable until the high tide came in and then refloating me with the rest of the pod.
A Project Jonah Volunteer greeted us as we approached the stranded pod.We were told about 4 people to every whale. They  directed us to some whales looking in need. I had expected  that being so close to one of these beasts would be akin to a spiritual experiencefor me. A moment where I would look into the whale’s eyes and I would see his soul and he would see my mine and he would  feel my love and I would sing to him and keep him wet and he would whale talk his gratitude to me and we would be two souls in this limitless universe, together, connected on a transcendental level, and when the high tide came in, I would gently guide him to the ocean where he would meet his pod, then he would turn back to me and say “squeak, wail, high pitch noise” which would mean “Thank you for your loving kindness. All beings are one and love is the  way.Your love has saved my life and your people have saved my people. I will never forget you ,Toots the Whale Whisperer”, and I would say ” And I shall never forget you ,oh great Whale being” but I would say it in Whale speak because I am indeed the Whale whisperer.And I would fly home on my cloud of supreme compassion as the lights of heaven shine down upon me and I would have thigh gap and perky breasts.
It was not like that.
70 whales had restranded. 6 were dead that I could see on arrival. A big pink tag around their large lifeless corpse. A baby whale was thrashing and calling out for what I can only assume was its dead Mother. 100’s of people in wetsuits sat next to whales mindlessly splashing water on the large stressed beasts.Some people had been there since dawn and had done the same thing the previous day. Whales were horrifically sunburnt from the day before. Their blistered skin peeling away showing raw bleeding flesh. Blowholes shooting into the air as the whales gasped for breath. I was surrounded by large dying animals.I found a whale that had 2 people with it. He ( I am only assuming it was a he) was large and had a white saddle on his back just behind his dorsal fin. I introduced myself and starting splashing the beast with water. I made light chit-chat with the  2 other volunteers helping him while I looked around and took it all in. I had always imagined how a whale might feel. Kind of like a wet gumboot. And it did. So smooth. But to look at it up close you can see all the scratches and scars of the mischiefs of its life. Yet still soo smooth. The thing that struck me the most about the whale was that is was warm. I had never thought about whether it would feel warm or not. But it was.Of course it was. He was a mammal. At some point as the tide came in,I found myself moving my half covered arms into ‘Elvis the Whale’ to keep the chill away. Here I was trying to keep him alive and I was using his body warmth to keep the chill off my privileged arms.
I would like to say there was some kind of interspecies connection between me and Elvis. A meeting of the souls. There was not. Elvis was a large mammal trying desperately to stay alive. In an environment he had no understanding of. Listening to his fellow pod members struggling and dying. Elvis was very still. Lying next to Ralph who kept squirting me with his blowhole as he gasped for breath. No matter where I moved I was in Ralph’s firing line. Noted by a few other volunteers. I eventually just let it go and put it down to another story to tell. Whilst the smaller Ralph seemed to take a breath every 5 minutes, Elvis would take a breath more like every 10-15 mins. He was still. Not thrashing so much like many of the others. He just seemed so focussed on breathing. Just breathing. Whilst 3 of us chit chatted and laughed about Ralph and the other farting whale next to him …he just. Kept.On.Breathing. At one stage I really  thought he was going to die. That he was just going give up.
At 5.25pm a Project Jonah official came over and told us that in 35 minutes it was going to be high tide and time to refloat the whales. I don’t know technical terms for tides and how they work. But I do know and did know that this high tide was not going to be a particularly high tide by high tide standards. I also knew that if we were not able to refloat these whales that night, DOC would be forced to “euthanize” them. With guns. Needless to say, at 6 o’clock…when it was high tide… SHIT. GOT. REAL!!
I vaguely recall during our briefing that Mac and I were told NOT to drag the whales during the refloating process. “GUIDE them out” they had said. Dragging can rip their bellies and other such yolk. I can assure you…that on valentines day of 2015 in a little place called Golden Bay…64 whales were DRAGGED the fuck out to sea. It was that or be shot. Now, I do the odd Les Mills weight class.And I can lift a bit of weight, I am a strong lass. In fact..Fatty Ding Dong( the gentleman caller) has \offered to challenge me to an arm wrestle as he is sure I am stronger than him. I always turn him down. I fear I might actually beat him and then be the ‘manly’ one in the relationship sadly rendering him to be the ‘Camp’one.  I know he would kick my arse..and I like that he thinks otherwise. Have you ever tried to lift 3 tonne of wet mammal?!?! No matter how strong you think you are…you can never be THAT strong. To be in a space where 150-200 people + 64 giant mammals are all trying to achieve the same thing in 30 desperate life threatening minutes is an experience I can not even begin to describe. A collective of minds and will. A force of compassion that drives and unites perfect strangers do work together without even speaking at times. TO just know. It is astounding. People were dragging, pushing, heaving and shoving these whales with everything they had. There was mainly 3 of us with Elvis in these moments. The guy and girl I worked with had a sling under the front part of him. I never asked there names. peoples names were irrelevant in this moment. I had one hand behind Elvis’ dorsal fin and one hand behind a flipper. I would dig my feet deep into the ground and squat as low as I could go then on the count of 3 I would push with my legs and groan and grunt in a primal determination as they lifted the front of him. We would make progress. Little by little. All around us people were as focussed and determined and as desperate aswe were. Making progress with ‘Their” whales, little by little as we were.People would get their whale to a level of water where the whale could float and they would go and look for another whale to help push out to sea. As the whales got deeper they started talking to each other. Apparently trying to establish who the matriarch was now that so many were dead. Sharing their excitement about the water that finally enveloped them. Tails started thrashing. Blowholes started blowing. And a few volunteers got knocked over by eager whale tails. My Elvis was super chilled. Eventually we got him out to a depth where his body started taking over. Elvis was talking and moving with the rest of his pod. To hear him communicating finally was very moving for me. He was going to be fine. We were able to let him go. I reluctantly moved away to join the human chain that was forming. He began to swim away. He didn’t look back like I had dreamed.
The volunteers formed a human chain in order to  deter the whales from immediatley restranding and drive the whales out to sea. A maori couple did a beautiful Karakia.It moved me to tears to hear her voice wailing in the wind, blessing these  great guardians of the ocean. We watched the whales swim out to sea. Volunteers high-fived each other. They hugged. We all cheered.
Since this experience I have thought a lot about whether this is just another example of bleeding heart humans interfering with nature. There are many opinions on this matter. It did occur to me that perhaps instead of whale hunting, whale eating countries could set up a mobile canning factory, send people with the factory out to strandings and just take their meat from the freshly dead stranded whales. Seems legit.
I still don’t know if saving stranded whales is the right thing to do. What I do know is it is obviously in human nature to want to help those that are suffering. That we do put a value on the lives on all beings in one way or another.That hundreds of people from all over the world, of different ages and different expereinces all wanted the same result for these lives. That when we band together we really are able to achieve incredible things. Moving a 3 tonne mammal is doable if you want it to live enough. And there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that those whales WANTED to live too. Everything in them wanted to survive. They fought just as hard as we did. They breathed. They kept on breathing. We kept on pushing. We all won.
We watched the whales swim out to sea.
I was cold.
My feet were bleeding.
I would never know if Elvis lived or died.
I was hungry.
Elvis had left the building.
I still didn’t have thigh gap.

COMPUTERS,CHEWING GUM AND HELLS ANGELS

FB status update. 01/06/2014:

“Laptop has finally died from terminal illness. Am unable to get over the hill to spend what could feed a small african village for a year on a new one. My “smart” phone provides fractured 3rd rate internet at best ( the 2nd time i’ve posted this status as the last one disappeared into the interwebs somewhere) . I am living the pinnacle of 1st world problems. If there is no soy milk for my double decaf soy chai orange mocha frappacinno latte today… I’m gonna feckin kill myself!!”

A few things. “THE HILL” is what separates my small isolated town from the rest of the world. It is roughly 25km of long winding road, peaking at approx 791 mtrs at its highest point. The closest ‘City’ is about a 104km /1.75 hour drive from where I live.

It would be a month before I would have a window of time to get over “the hill” to get my technology situation sorted.

I don’t ACTUALLY drink  double decaf soy chai orange mocha frappacinno lattes. That’s just silliness.They are revolting!

As it turns out, on this very day my Tahi had a playdate organised for 1pm. At 12.40pm his wee friend called in sick. Being that Tahi does not often get playdates due to having  limited social skills, he was gutted. As was I, for him. However… this  led me to the thought that perhaps now was the time to seize the day. Carpe diem so to speak. I immediately rung the electronics store in the city over ‘the hill’ and spoke  to a lovely sounding chap called Jack.He informed me they closed at 5pm. BOOM!!!  It was on. I rallied Tahi, Rua and Toru and packed them away in the car. We were off to get some new computer thingees and get out of our wee town for an afternoon.

We would also see my Gentleman friend who is living over ‘the hill’.A  lovely chap whom I will hereby refer to as “Fatty Ding Dong’.Mostly cos it’s  funny. Having dated for some months he has only recently met my offspring. They were very charming indeed and gave him no indication that in fact we are all rather mental and louder and more full on than a Metallica concert on a 5 day meth bender. He even came back. WIN. He is a little bit into geekery  and since my laptop had died had been doing some investigations into what type of computer would best suit my needs. I rung him to let him know the circus was coming over the hill to by computery things sooner than anticipated and that I didn’t need him to come to the shop cos I’m a big girl and can buy computery thingees all by myself and I  would call him after the trip to the electronics store and we could go and let the kids out  for a run at a park whilst we throw balls for them ,drink coffee and pick up their little kiddie doos in wee plastic bags or some such yolk. That suited Fatty Ding Dong just fine.Off we went on our big city adventure.

Now my boys LOVE chewing gum. Especially Rua. He will ask for that and ONLY that for christmas, birthdays etc.That is pretty much the only time they will get it too. However, if it is in my bag, Rua on several occasions has been known to steal it and go and hide under his bed chewing it ALL,leaving a trail of chewing gum wrappers to the crime scene.  He will offer some to his brothers in exchange for their silence. Sadly for him…his open love for gum  is his teller.  Going shopping anywhere with an 8 yr old ADHD kid , a 5 yr old and 3.5 year old who could easily represent New Zealand in a contest of “Epic Tantrums of the World’ , is not an easy task. Let alone  having to go to a store where you must actually listen to the sales person for 30 mins and not have your rampant offspring break expensive electronics. Clearly chewing gum bribery was in order. I stopped at the petrol station and grabbed 3 packs of chewing gum. I explained to my boys that the chewing gum was theirs ,IF they could follow 3 simple rules. 1.Don’t touch anything

2. Don’t fight with each other

3. No yelling and screaming.

3 strikes…and no chewing gum.

For those of you that don’t have small children this sounds reasonable and easy enough. For those of you that DO have small children…I know you are, at this very moment, laughing hysterically  at my hopeful naivety. Thank you. The boys understood what was expected of them and agreed to the terms and conditions of the chewing gum contract. We were all in good spirits. We arrived at the electronic store at about the same time Tahi’s ADHD meds were due to start wearing off. He was doing great and I knew time was limited. I beelined for the counter and asked for Jack who was just finishing up with another customer. Jack was a slight man of about 21. He looked like he might be someone who might spend a bit of time in his room , at his parents house, playing computer games with people on the other side of the world. He struck me as a man who had perhaps just been dumped, had his car fail it’s warrant of fitness and lost his BFF cos he ran off with his girlfriend all in one week. To top it all off, he looked to have had a hard day in the shop and just couldn’t wait to get himself home and into the womb of his meticulously built imaginary world of war games. And then along came us. Lucky lucky man.

To be fair it all started very well. My children all skipped into the shop holding hands with their   neatly combed blond  hair. Their white little trousers matching their white little shirts, offset by their wee blue suspenders. Their shiny little leather boots glistened in the afternoon sun as they stood quietly behind their relaxed mother. Each dreaming of the chewing gum bliss that was only a few sweet  moments away. If only Jack would hurry up. My three blue/green-eyed angels skipped happily over to the cordless mouse section as I finally engaged the  frazzled Jack. ” Hi Jack. I need some computery stuff and a tablet. Lets do this!”  Jack was more than happy to oblige and was clearly optimistic and excited to make a good sale. Lucky lucky man.

It was on our way to the laptop section of the electronic shop that I noticed that the angelic Toru had taken it upon himself to grab one of the cordless mouse things and start shaking it. As any good relaxed mother who had made her offspring sign a chewing gum contract  in their own blood would, I reminded Toru of the  chewing gum contract and lightly let  him know that he had made his first strike.  At this very moment something strange happened. 2 little horns instantly grew from his little blonde head. His white shirt turned into sleeves of demonic tattoos and his  light angelic voice dropped about 3 octaves. He responded with  “NO! I WANT TO TOUCH EVERYTHING!!!” and promptly proceeded to do so with intense fervour. In doing this he seemed to suck away any remaining effects of medication that may have been holding Tahi together . Just like blowing up a balloon and then letting it go to see it noisily and uncontrollably dart around a room,….Tahi LOST.HIS.SHIZZLE. He started jumping excitedly up and down in one spot and laughing like a complete mad man. I quickly  stepped into carnage deflection mother mode. I gave Toru a mouse and told him he had a very important job to do. He was to hold on to this mouse and make sure he did not lose it because we were going to buy it for our new computer. He was happy with this arrangement. I told Tahi he was to follow me to the laptop section and stay close to me at all times. We got there and Jack started telling me all about all the different laptops. ” blah blah ram yadda yadda terrabytes blah graphic stick yadda yadda blah blah”

 ” Hmm yes Jack. Just a minute Jack. Toru! put that down please. Tahi, please dont wedgie your little brother! Sorry Jack..you were saying..?”

” Geekery geekery better performance yadda yadda n’ stuff” .

“Sorry, excuse me Jack. Toru do not put your tongue in that! Tahi! Stop telling your brother to put his tongue in that and give him back the mouse. NOW! I said NOW!!!!!. Thank you.”

At this point I was smart enough to see where this was all going.So I took it to the next level of Super Nanny parenting. I instructed Tahi  to come and have some time out. He was to sit in the corner next to the laptop section so as to avoid  having him wind up his brothers. As he loudly made his feelings about this arrangement known to all and sundry  I noticed Rua mooching around the shop. Just looking. Not touching. Through all of Tahi’s protests he obediently made his way to the new  time out spot and sat down. Now  I was able to slim my options down to 2 computers. Progress. Then it happened. Toru discovered that if he went through the little white gate by the door with the mouse in his hand it made a very loud and entertaining beeping noise. Wohoo for him! Back and forth and back and forth. “Excuse me Jack. Toru. You mustn’t do that!” to which he replied in his deep demon voice “I WANT TO!!” “Right Toru. That’s 3 strikes buddy. No chewing gum for you” Wrong answer Mum. He looked at me and replied innocently “But I want chewing gum”  Though what he was ACTUALLY saying was  ” I couldn’t care less about your chewing gum lady. Your grey hair, dark bags under your eyes and recent plague of wrinkles gives me more joy than any of your pathetic chewing gum ever could. Sucker!” It was that this very moment something beautiful happened. Like a knight in shining armour, Fatty Ding Dong strolled casually through the door. His unshaved face and unkempt hair from a day in his workshop was  like a ray of sunshine on  a rainy day. Immediately butterflies started smashing into each other on my insides as they tried to escape and flutter towards the sunlight. In my joy I turned towards Tahi “Hey look” I said “Fatty Ding DOng is here”  Instantly the butterflies dropped dead.  Tahi had managed get himslef to lying on his back with his knees up around his ears. He was slightly rocking whilst slapping himself on his bum and occasionally trying to poke his finger in his jean clad orifice. He was making a noise that I could only think was fluent Gorilla speak.He was also dribbling like a drunk on ketamine. He was having a ball. My body filled with a sense of dread and hopelessness. Fatty Ding Dong was surely gonna run a mile when he got a load of us in full swing. Nevertheless I put on my brave face and smiled a happy smile. In actual fact I prayed that the ground would open up and swallow us all and Fatty Ding Dong would never know what a circus uncontrolled fruit loops he had stumbled upon. I continued to chat with Jack about general Geekery whilst the offspring fawned over Fatty Ding Dong and tried to impress him with their butt jokes and songs of poo. He  offered to take them for a walk so I could get on with it. I scoffed at him and over casually said ” Dude. Yeah nah , it’s cool. . This is nothing. Really. No big deal. Just a casual shopping trip.I got this. And even if I wanted you to I wouldn’t tell you cos I need you to think I’m superwoman.  How about you talk to Jack here and let me know which one of these 2 computers you think is the way to go”. He obliged. Meanwhile I set about putting order back into my spawn. I sent Tahi to sit out by the doors of the shop. I needed to make sure that him and Toru were separated as the two  of them seem feed eachothers madness. I ignored him rolling around in front of the door and the customers that had to step over his writhing body as they entered the shop sharing a knowingly amused and encouriaging smile with me. I passed Rua  as he sat and watched large TV that was showing car racing.I picked up the 20kg’s of Toru and started looking at tablets. Jack soon joined us and we started talking tablets. Turns out that was hard work. Toru wriggled whilst I tried to find a tablet that would work for our family. Sadly no cast iron ones. I eventually put Toru down and he started darting around the shop. Tahi kept calling him over to the doors. In and out he would run and I would pick out tablets only for Jack to find they had none left in stock. Poor Jack looked like he was about to cry. Eventually I just told him that “Whatever  would do. I just want to get the hell out of here”. He obliged. With laptops, tablets,a mouse, a new phone and god knows what else we  finally got to the counter. Toru  started running around outside and Tahi started threatening to sit on the road cos obviously I didn’t care about him and I was the meanest mother in the world. I couldn’t see Rua anymore. I called out across the shop to Fatty Ding Dong to see if he could sight him. All good. They were hanging out. I went outside , grabbed Toru and threw him over my shoulder. He kicked and screamed in his demonic voice and demanded I put him down whilst Tahi begged for us to go now. Were we finished yet? Would he get his chewing gum? Why can’t he have his chewing gum?  Poor Jack looked like he was about to cry. Clearly it had all been a bit much for him too. Eventually the deal was done. The bags were full of goodies and it was time for me and my  circus of little angels from hell to leave the shop.As I turned to leave I saw little Rua standing quietly behind me. He looked at me with his big blue eyes and spoke directly to me for the first time in this whole experience  “Mama are we finished now?”

” Yup Rua. We sure are”

“Mama..?”

” Yes Rua. What’s up?”

” Umm…May I please have my chewing gum now? “

CRINGEY PARENTING MOMENT #176

 Today I had my “Domestic Goddess” dress on. It was 8.30 am. Rua and Toru were dressed and frolicking outside in the late spring sun. I had the washing out, the kitchen cleaned and was getting stuck into the bathrooms. Now, as with everything in my life I had the music pumping to provide a soundtrack. I had plugged my MP3 player into the kitchen speakers and cranked it up. I had last loaded up a running playlist. I like running to rock mostly.So, I had the very motivating sounds of Iggy Pop, The Rolling Stones. Gorrillaz. Led Zeppelin ,The Black Keys and many more, filling my house with rock fuelled joy. Whilst scrubbing away at our delightfully filthy toilet, a song by a band called ‘Nine Inch Nails,’ named ‘Closer ‘ came on. For those of you that have not heard it….,it is a great little number with some very explicit lyrics.Contraversial. About addiction and power of a sexual nature. Words like “penetrate” ,”violate” and “desecrate” may or may not be in the waxing lyricals of this song.The chorus states that the singer might like to engage in coitus, much like an animal, with the object of his desire. Obviously , he says it in a much more “street like” fashion. Initially I just scrubbed the toilet bowl and pretended I knew the lyrics to the first verse, as I do. ( Really , for someone who loves music as much as I do, I must hang my head in shame.  I never know lyrics outside of a chorus. I just sing the vowel sounds and then go nuts when the chorus hits, much to endless amusement of some of my more lyric savvy friends). So, as it was, I made appropriate vowel noises and then went nuts with Trent as we sung about what we wanted to do to eachother like  animals. At this point it occurred to me that this song was not appropriate for the boys to hear and I should probably go out and turn it down whilst they frolicked outside on their tractors and freewheel bikes. I trotted off to the kitchen and found my 3 yr old ‘Toru’ dancing like a crazy man on a chair with one arm up thrashing out the beat. He saw me and with the biggest grin, he  yelled “Mama, I LOVE this song!!!!”

Needless to say I danced the rest of the song with him.(You must NEVER turn off a song when someone is dancing to it ) Whenever the chorus came onI hid the shame of exposing my poor children to inappropraite song choices by singing as loudly as I could ” I WANNA LOVE YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL!!!”  I think, actually, he was none the wiser and now he has a new favourite song.

D-Hoh!!!!

Be warned. This vid is not for the faint hearted.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTFwQP86BRs

BIRTHDAZE,BULLIES AND BUMBLE BEE.

Tahi turned 8. And I , the ever optimistic mother of an ADHD riddled young man thought it would be a fabulous idea to let him have 2 friends over for a sleep over. I reiterate the word ‘Optimistic’,  being that  I decided some time ago that playdates were a no-no. Tahi would go bananas and often his friends would ask to  go home after 2 hours of being completely overwhelmed by my delightfully excitable and controlling little Labrador Pup. I have even on occasion asked friends over to help by watching my younger boys so I had the space to try to help Tahi and his friend through the ordeal that common folk call  a ‘Playdate’. Nevertheless, today is a new day , so why not let the lad have a sleepover to celebrate his eighth year of general carnage .EGAD!!!!!

I began my day by partaking in a somewhat irrelevant frenzy of insisting that my house was clean from top to bottom. Why, is beyond me. How many 8-year-old boys do you know , notice  if you’ve dusted or cleaned your pantry?  Every time I told Tahi that I was FAR too busy doing things like cleaning the skirting boards to help him put on his zombie make up  ( Seriously.what’s the point of being a gut ripping brain lusting zombie if you have dusty skirting boards??!!) he would assure me that his friends didn’t care what the house was like and could I just tell him how many more minutes until his party. Eventually the cake was made., dinner was prepared and the sleeping arrangements were organised. I braced.Tahi invited 2 friends. One is also called Tahi. So they call mine Tahi M and the other is Tahi P. These guys are like peas and carrots.  They could both talk the leg off a table and together, are harmless mischief. Tahi P is an articulate wee chap and is very good with my Tahi. He sets boundaries well and shows a lot of patience with him. I am very grateful for his friendship with my beautiful boy.  Chopper from the miniball team was also invited. A nice little kid. Little is the operative word. A little fella with a rat’s tail and thick little glasses that cover half of his gorgeous little face. A quieter kid who I suspect, much like my boy, is on the social outskirts. Is tolerated by many and liked by few.

The boys settled in together well. They would try to establish who was the alpha male by seeing who could make the funniest joke about bum cracks or do the loudest fart noise. Whenever my Tahi  thought he was loosing his grip on complete domination he would play the “It’s MY birthday party and you’ll do what I say” card. Usually resulting in one of the other lads coming out to tell on him. Mostly I would tell them to use their words and sort it out themselves. However, when he started getting tooo domineering,I would go into the room and say something thought-provoking and inspiring like ” Tahi it sounds like you’re being a bit of an egg.Nobody wants to be the pork chop at a jewish wedding,mate.” This would  just bite me on the ass by resulting in 3 boys asking me why the pork chop went to the jewish wedding and what did it wear and why didn’t it want to be the pork chop  and why didn’t Jews eat pork and what was a Jew and who was God and why didn’t I believe in him cos their parents did so who was right and who was wrong and what was the meaning of life and why does Kryptonite make Superman weak and can we have birthday cake now???

The inevitable exclusion of the younger brothers also occurred frequently. Rua and Toru camped outside their older brothers bedroom  screaming and banging on the door whilst the older boys giggled and taunted them from the other side. Upon each attempt at removing the younger boys from their protest camp I would be beaten by a flurry of angry fists, feet and squeals. Clearly the  temptation of  sweet sweet  rejection by the older boys proved to be too  irresistible to turn their  desperate little backs on. In time I gave in and provided them with snacks,protest banners, a megaphone and a potty so they could settle in at the 2% protest camp for the night.

Eventually it was time for PJ’s and DVD time. The boys chose ‘Transformers 3’. We settled onto our couches with blankets and lollies and proceeded to watch the film. Now I have never really watched a movie with a whole lot of 8 yr old boys. Apparently I still haven’t. Cos they just TALKED the WHOLE.WAY.THROUGH. My Tahi is the guy that asks what is happening every 3 minutes. Chopper is the kid that talks about how  his older brother has seen that movie 17 times and Tahi P is the kid that has seen it 18 times. They all argued over who was who. “I’m Bumble Bee!”  “I’m Optimus Prime” “I’m Mega Stomper!!” ” No I am !!” I would contribute by yelling things like ” I’m Buzz Light Year!!” They would look at me like I was  stupidest human on earth and  patiently inform me that I had the wrong movie and I was not allowed to be him. So, much to Tahi’s embarrassment, I chose to be some guys eyebrow instead. They were happy to settle for that. After what seemed like a lifetime of Giant machines with completely inappropriate voices( seriously…what were they thinking? Why didn’t they go the whole hog and cast Woody Allen, Michael Jackson and Melanie Griffith as the  voices of the main Transformers) the movie finally finished. So at 10pm my group of little boys crawled into bed. My first ever sleepover done and dusted. Pffft. Whatever. It was just getting started.

The boys predictably  giggled and banged and argued and giggled until stupid’o’clock. After going in several times to tell them to settle down or I was gonna bring out a can of Whoopass which would be followed by a barrage of questions as to what exactly was a can of whoopass and does it hurt and  can they see it and where can they get one from and why can’t Batman fly cos he is a superhero who is like a Bat and Bats can fly, I eventually moved my Tahi into the spare room. He went to sleep instantly. The other 2 however did not. Chopper was terrified of the dark and needed to rearrange the sleeping the quarters so he could be closer to  Tahi P. Tahi P was happy to oblige and decided then would be a good time to reorganise his things into a neat and orderly fashion next to his bed. Once I got the boys settled into their sleeping bags and lights out , I took myself off to bed. 10 minutes later Tahi P was at my bedside telling me his bottom teeth were a bit sore and slightly wobbly and he was worried because they were his adult teeth and should he ring his Dad to make sure his teeth were OK? I assured him that his teeth were fine and they were probably sore cos they were tired , had eaten too much sugar and had just endured 17 hours of inappropriate voice casting by mainstream Hollywood. Once he was satisfied I might be on to something he stood by my bed relentlessly telling me what I can only assume were band camp stories or some such yolk. I was too tired to even comprehend what this delightful child was babbling at me whilst the rest of the house slept.At one point I was seeing double , hearing Charlie Browns teacher and having LSD flashbacks due to his endless talking. I’m not sure how I found the strength, but I managed to get my wits about me and get him off to bed. He too was soon faaast asleep.

Peace at last.

Now reading back over what I have written , it sounds like the sleepover went smoothly. Well let me assure you it did not. There were tears, tantrums, punch ups, threats, Diva behaviour,exclusions, break downs, squealing, yelling, banging ,crashing,bullying, throwing, kicking, stealing,teasing, and much much more. And let it be known…it wasn’t just ME behaving this way. Tahi M was TWICE as bad!!!

After the boys left this morning Tahi and I sat down quietly and reflected on the events of the past few hours. I asked him if  he thought his behaviour had been Ok. He agreed that he had misbehaved terribly and had  been  mean to his friends. I asked him if he could understand how I might be hesitant to let him   have another sleepover in the near future. He said he could understand . To which we sat quietly and ate our pieces of leftover birthday cake together in the morning sun. After some time he piped up and said optimistically ” Mama….maybe ….if we start the medication for my ADHD ….we could try again then?!”

“Yeah buddy, That’s a good idea…maybe we could try again then. Maybe indeed”

ADHD

Yesterday Tahi was diagnosed with ADHD. Yep. Gotta say…..no surprises there. No sir-ee. My little guy is a FIRECRACKER!!!! When he was in utero I had a midwife tell me I was gonna need “a big backyard for this one”. SHE WAS NOT KIDDING.! He was born 10 weeks early.  Again….no surprises there. He was such a busy little baby. His plunket nurse to this day says that in all her 30 odd years of dealing with babies , she has never seen a baby that moved as much as Tahi. The only time he is EVER still, is when he is asleep. He talks a mile a minute if you let him. And even when you don’t. He gets distracted by his own shadow. He wanders around the lounge  constantly whilst watching a movie. He is always fidgeting and making noise. He is loud. Has huge emotional outbursts and seems to have no real control of himself.  It’s like living with an excitable Labrador puppy who’s got a bad cocaine habit. He is completely at the mercy of his impulses. Sometimes it can be very entertaining. Sometimes it can be dangerous. Especially for his little brothers. And sometimes it is just plain heartbreaking to watch your  sensitive and loving child  be so often misunderstood and so unable to interact with ease in the big bad world. To watch the best part of your genetics struggling to focus their genius at school. Before I met my son, I had no real clue as to what ADHD was like.  It is E.X.H.A.U.S.T.I.N.G.  R.E.L.E.N.T.L.E.S.S.  O.V.E.R.W.H.E.L.M.I.N.G  and very very very TRYING. And not just for him or me. His brothers too, have to live with it. Learn to manage him. And also learn to understand that the way their big brother behaves is NOT  always how they should behave. How do you explain to a 4-year-old that his older brother is hardwired differently ? That what is good for the Goose, is not always good for the Gander.It is a constant juggle of time,management and energy.

 I live in a town that believes the worlds problems can be fixed if we  all just hugged one another, dreaded each others hair , danced around a Totara tree and then bathed in sea of Kawakawa and Patchouli. To be honest I would agree that we would have more chance at achieving world peace by doing this than shooting eachother….That is a whole other blog though.An I’m fairly confident that Rosehip and hugs won’t fix this. My point is…in this town……medicating your child for ADHD is a  disgrace and a crime worse than eating McDonalds. Your child doesn’t need medication!! Your child needs more attention!!!! Well tell that to his brothers who are already fighting over the scraps of their solo mothers exhausted love and time that Tahi has not yet already consumed in his frenzy of just being.

I have heard  horror stories about medication. “They were like a Zombie” ” It just wasn’t him any  more. He was gone” ” You can’t medicate him for just being him! Why don’t you medicate yourself? See how YOU like it?!!” ” He just needs more time with YOU!!”   I am finding it really hard to glean some good information about it all. The pro websites are really pro. The Con websites are really anti. Both parties have great arguments. It’s confusing. I so want the best for my boy. I want for him to make good friendships instead of being the kid that gets avoided unless the other cool kids aren’t at school that day. To not get growled at by his peers for always disrupting the class. To not be a thorn in the side of his teachers.To have a fighting chance at doing well in school and seeing it through.He is SUPER intelligent. Both me and his Father  could be doing a lot better in life than we are, if we had made different choices. God if I’d only listened to the adults that used to tell me to “Say no to drugs and STAY IN SCHOOL!

Over the years I have heard a lot of strong opinions on this controversial topic. They all seem to be people who know someone who knows someone. I don’t want to hear from them. I don’t want opinions from people who have no REAL  day-to-day experience with ADHD.I want to hear from people who have been diagnosed with it. Or people who have had to make choices for someone in their care with it. I want first hand experiences. I  want the to hear the wisdom of hindsight. I want to do the right thing for my boy. So do tell me…….. How was it for YOU.? Please share this with people who may give me some insight. I need to have as much real information as I can so I can make an informed decision for one of the greatest loves in my life.

HOW TO TELL IF YOUR 4 YR OLD IS A CHAUVINIST

Yesterday I was playing the insult game with Rua.

RUA: “You’re an Eye Elbow!”

ME:” You’re a Nose Ear”

RUA:” Well, you’re an Earwax”

ME:” SO!. You’re a Toe Jam”

RUA:” You’re a Bum Crack!”

ME:” Well…you’re a Snot Face”

RUA:” No I’m not! You’re a Farty Bottom”

ME:” EWWW. Nah. You’re a Butthead”

RUA:” Hahaha. Well Mama, You’re a Poo Bum”

ME:” You  Poo HEAD!!!”

RUA:” You’re a Farty Bottom Bum Crack Poo”

ME:” Am not! Ya Fart Snot!”

RUA:” Mama……YOU”RE A WOMAN!!!!!!”

COACH TOOTS

So yesterday I took my 7 yr old Tahi to his 1st game of Miniball for the season. For those of you that don’t know…Miniball is like Basketball for wee ones. For those of you that don’t know Tahi….saying that Tahi is controlling,  over dramatic and inflexible in play, would be an understatement at the very least.

I loaded the boys into the car and headed off for the Primary school . The whole way Tahi told me he was feeling scared. He asked that if he didn’t like Miniball , could he quit the team. He was terrified the others might tackle him or that he might drop the ball and get laughed at. I too was feeling a little nervous. This is the 1st of my boys to do the whole ‘School Sport’ thing. My dear  Tahi has the co-ordination of a drunken Chicken at the best of times. I soo wanted Tahi to feel proud of himself today and know him well enough to know that his challenges often leave him feeling like a failure. All the Miniball Mums would be there, talking about their children’s latest achievements. Swapping recipes and telling lovely wee anecdotes of how their husband and children did that cute  funny thing together whilst they were all out frolicking through a paddock of fresh spring lambs on their families ‘Sunday FUNday’ this week. Yep…I was dreading it.  Visions of Tahi having a melt down on the court cos he didn’t catch the ball while Toru had one of his epic 3 yr old tantrums. Rua would  try to get his 4 yr old self onto the court so he could play with his big brother and disrupt the entire game. The Miniball Mums would look at me with pity and dissapproval..They would smell my fear in a heart beat and pounce. I was sure of it. Saying things like ..” Wow…I don’t know how you do it? I only have 2 boys and I find it exhausting…AND I have a husband to help!” , “But you’re dong such a GREAT  job” * patronising smile to boot*.  ” If you ever need a break….”      Bah humbug!!!!!

As we arrived at the lions den, I was delighted to see that my dear friend , Rose, the English Rose was there too. She too has 3 children . Her daughter had signed up for miniball as well. Her 4 yr old boy ‘ Mitch’ is having a Bromance with Rua and was happy to see us arrive. Sweet!! That would be Rua entertained for the duration of the game . We sat down and prepared to watch. As it turns out ,when the school asked for volunteer coaches for the season… I had promptly pretended I didn’t get the memo and ignored the request but  Babydaddy had volunteered.However..Babydaddy works at sea. Week on. Week off. This week he was away…and whilst the ‘The Breakers’ had their Miniball Mum coach sitting on her teams bench all  “I’m so supportive and   coachy like”, my wee fellas team ‘The Red Bulls’ had an empty bench. The teacher in charge stood on the court and said “Would someone please volunteer to coach The Red Bulls for this game?. They  really need someone”. She was looking directly at me. Of ALL the keen perfect Miniball Mums she had could have stabbed with her eyes of lasery emotional guilt trips…she laser beamed ME.!!! There was no avoiding eye contact and slinking away out of this one. Dammit! “Sure Ms  Laser Eyes, I’d LOVE to do it” * does best impersonation of happy to help cos I’m and enthusiastic Miniball Mum smile*

I made my way to the bench. Making sure I asked what exactly it was I was supposed to be doing. ” Only ever 5 on the court at a time.Just make sure they all get a turn on the court” said Ms Laser Eyes. . Sweet. I could do that. So I sat on the bench and did the best I could to appear to look like I knew how the game was played.. To have them think that perhaps …in a past life I had played in the NBA.There  was 5 on the court already. I sat next to 3 boys. 2 of them had shaved head and rats tails. Brothers. Bob was the eldest. Chopper was his younger brother and stood at about 3ft  high. Also there was Mike. A tall solid lad that, I suspect, may have something up with his hand, as it curled over a bit like a hook if it was resting. Instantly  Bob  was at me. “Can I go on the court? I wanna get out there!! Oh come on. When’s it gonna be MY turn. It’s not fair!!”  Ohhh goooodddd!! I was in for 20 minutes of this!!  Mike just sat quietly. The game started and I proceeded to  internally  curse Babydaddy and his stupid volunteering to coach and his stupid job making him not be there and his stupid making me pick up HIS slack. This carry on was partly why I left him. I was STILL having to do it. Dumb  feckin’ Babydaddy!!!

The game started. I held my breath anticipating Tahi might  trip over his own feet in any second. My subs started yelling out encouraging tips to The Red Bulls. Things like “WASTE THEM YO!!” : “JUST FOOT TRIP THEM, YOU EGGS!”  “KICK THEIR BUTTS!!” Within a minute into the game it happened. The ball was passed to Tahi. For a fleeting second I could read the fear and self-doubt pulsing through his little body. All eyes were on him.  I held my breath.He bounced the ball and moved with it. He stopped. He passed it. Tahi, my unco little chicken,was grinning from ear to ear. He had done it. YUSSS!!. At that moment,Chopper the delightful 3ft blonde rats tail kid looked up at me with his wee eyes and said..” I just wanna get out there and SMASH the other team”.  ” Then SMASH them you will , Daniel son”. I started subbing the kids on and off. Little chopper went like a firecracker. I’m not sure he ever got to touch the ball, but he was having a blast running from goal to goal. Mike was a machine. A big strong lad that could move the ball from one end to the other. No one could stand in his way. A  8 yr old  miniball version of  Jonah Lomu if you will. These kids were alright. I found myself calling out things like.. . “Pass it” “Just take a shot” ” Good effort Chopper” . I was even clapping and shit!!  Half time came and it was time for  a wee team talk. I started..” It’s not how you play the game…It’s whether you win or lose. Oh. I mean…ummm….at the end of the day …it’s a game of 2 halves….hit the showers! Oh shit. umm hang on..it’s only half time…ummmmm”  Fortunately  Rose, the English Rose  was a netball player and had come over to sit with me on the bench. She had some tips for the team that seemed pretty sound.  ” Yep. Do what she said” I barked.

The rest of the game was much like the start.. Tahi occasionally got the ball and managed to pass it on and even get a few shots at the goal. Young Chopper darted around the court with maximum enthusiasm and minimal direction. The kids subbed on and off with little fuss  and I found myself thoroughly enjoying myself.Cooper got a Goal for the Red Bulls and the team roared with excitement. As did I.

By the end of it all I had had a blast. The kids enthusiasm and excitement was contagious. I was all over this Coaching yolk. Perhaps I would be more than happy to be Babydaddy’s fill in when he works. Babydaddy would rather drink a cup of cold sick than have to work with me in any way shape or form. But feck him. Drink away  Babydaddy cos I’m getting me a Bumper sticker that says ” Honk if you’re a miniball mum and lovin’ it ”
BEEEEEEPPPPP!!!!!!

BRUSSEL SPROUT REBEL

When I was a kid… I HATED Brussel sprouts. That’s what made me a kid. To me , they tasted like the smell of a dental surgery. Like any other kid, many an hour was spent by my Mum MAKING me gag them down. No amount of salt or gravy could take away the fact that I was being forced to eat something I HATED. When I was a kid  I promised my future children a good few things. I swore I would NEVER lick a hanky and wipe my child’s face with it. FAIL. I swore that I would always give them a good reason for saying “no” and never say ” Because I’m your Mum and I said so!!”. FAIL.  I swore I would never say ” I hope your children grow up to be just like you” . FAIL.  I swore I would ALWAYS give them McDonalds when they asked for it. FAIL!  I swore I would NEVER EVER EVER make them eat Brussel Sprouts. WINNING!!!

These days I don’t actually mind them. If they are served to me at someones house I will happily eat them. I don’t find them at all offensive. However I still refuse to buy them. They don’t even get a second glance as I wheel my trolley through the Fresh produce section of the local Supermarket. Like avoiding all knowledge of that embarrassing one night stand you had the other weekend. “Brussel Sprouts? What Brussel Sprouts? oh…uhhh.. I dunno what you’re on about, eh.  Yeah ….Nah… I just slept on the couch ,eh.”  This has been the ONE promise to my future children I have managed to keep.
Recently Tahi started asking about Brussel Sprouts. ” Ma, why don’t you buy Brussel Sprouts?” .
” Hmmmm, cos I hated them as kid. So I won’t buy them. No kids like Brussel Sprouts ,Tahi. “.
“Well, what if me and Rua and Toru wanna try theeemmm? Will you buy them theeeennn?”
” Hmmmm. HELL NO!! There is no way I will make you kids eat them. They really do taste like bottoms. I’m not gonna waste my money on them. Suck it up kid. I’m doing you a favour.”
Being that he is potentially on the Autism spectrum(  we are currently in the process of going through the motions of a diagnosis), Tahi can obsess a bit. He has been frequently asking me to relive my childhood nightmare of being forced to eat the little green balls of nastiness. Making me tell him again and again what I think they taste like. Explain time and time again why I wont buy them.  You’d think being that I am a grown up , I would perhaps be the bigger person and just buy the kid a bloody sprout, cook it for him and then say “Haha, told you so! In your face kid!!” as he spits the half chewed morsel out. But NO. I just won’t do it. This way I can say I kept at least one promise to my future children.
As it turns out, he had dinner at Oma’s and Granpa’s last night. And by his request…they had Brussel sprouts. MY SON…….. requesting  Brussel fecking sprouts! TRAITOR!! The ultimate rebellion by my 7-year-old.
Guess what.
He didn’t like them.
Suct in!

That’ll learn him.

“OUI, CHEF!”

In a past life , I was a Chef. I was a dirty old, coffee guzzling, cigarette smoking, beer drinking, Berrocca shoveling Chef.

These days we are inundated with reality cooking shows. MasterChef. Top chef. My Kitchen Rules and a whole other array of cooking claptrap.  The chef has been romanticized, glamorized  and even objectified. It seems every man and his dog wants to be a Chef these days. So if you have this notion in your head..that one day you will be owning a lovely little cafe off the coast of Italy somewhere, sipping a lovely latte whilst chirping out orders to your sweet passionate kitchen brigade and churning out culinary delights, I suggest you try my 3 month Chefs Training programme. 12 steps to do daily over 12 weeks  designed to help you on your way to living the culinary dream.

LILLYTOOTIN’S 12 STEP CHEF PROGRAMME 

 1: Drink 17 short blacks by 1pm and then cook a 5 course meal for your entire extended family in less than 2 hours whilst holding normal functional conversations with at least 3 people at a time.

2:Cease sleeping in your bed. Start exploring your neighbour hood for alternative slumber options. The bus. The local community garden. . A mall. A fridge. A tree. A strip club.

3:Smoke at least 17 cigarettes a day  in less than 3 minutes.

4 :Every time you come up behind someone , yell ‘BEHIND YOU!!’ The cat, the dog, the baby, your children’s school teacher. Everyone must at all times  know if you are behind them.

5:Drink for 2 days straight. Break your arm. Get stitches in your head . Kiss everyone you know who has the lurgie. Eat raw chicken and then go to work. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES CALL IN SICK. Unless you are dead. Even then………you should probably still go to work.

6: Eat all your evening meals at 10 pm in less than 4 minutes whilst standing up.

7:Work a 12 hour day and then go on an 8 hour drinking binge. Sleep on the floor next to your toilet for 3 hours. Go to your current place of employment and work for a further 12 hours. Do not cry. Or puke. Or shart in your pants.

8:Turn your heat pump up to 40  degrees celsius. Wear pants and a jacket. Stand next to your stove with all the elements turned up to full and stand  for a solid 10 hours. In 45 minute intervals go to your pantry and tip one cup of cornflour down your pants. Proceed back to your stove station.

 9:Turn on your kitchen overhead fan, your vacuum cleaner, your washing machine, your dryer,your stereo, your TV, your blender,your bread maker, your de-humidifier  and any other noisy household appliances for 8 hours every day. During this time any communications must be yelled at the top of your lungs and every sentence must end with the word ‘Chef!’.

10:Peel some Prawns and make sure some of the spikes splinter under your fingernails. Then burn said hand with  caramalised sugar. approximately  1 hour later hold the same hand over a pot of boiling water for 3 hours. Do not show any signs of pain.

11: Wrap everything in your kitchen in glad wrap before you go to bed/fridge every night in less than 10 minutes. All the food in the fridge. All your pots and pans and perhaps even the cat. At least once in the 3 months…wrap your neighbours car too. Always good for a laugh.

12:Record everything Gordon Ramsey says in the kitchen scenes in a full season of Hells Kitchen. Loop it onto your MP3 player and play it to yourself 24/7 for 6 days a week.Shower with it. Sleep with it. Make love with it. Get a water spray bottle  filled with luke warm water that smells of cigarettes, coffee and last nights alcohol and spray it your face every time Gordon starts screaming obscenities. Every time Gordon says “Fuck” , you must say “Oui Chef” or “3 minutes on the pass Chef” Still love your job.

If you can follow these 12 simple steps for 3 months…….. You are well on your way to loving the life of being a Chef. CONGRATULATIONS!

TOOTS CAN RUN. SEE TOOTS RUN.

I am a runner. Yes folks, it’s true. I, Lillytootin Toots, has  learnt to love to run. To love the feeling of my chest wanting to explode in pain as I gasp for breath on a country road. To love  that the pain in my shoulder is actually my diaphragm cramping due to some jolly good  cardio work. To love the feeling of a summer rain on my face whilst splashing through muddy puddles,  listening to the leg pumping tunes of the Black Keys. I,  good people, am running proof that Miracles CAN happen.

To me long distance runners have always been an elite people.They are a people who do something I would LOVE to do and thought that I never could. To me they are the Super Human. They are a  show of phenomenal  endurance, discipline and will power. Did you know that  only 1% of the world can claim they have run a Marathon ? (well so says the Internets). Whilst I have always pish poshed  runners and called them crazy,I have secretly admired them as I’ve driven by them, scoffing down a pie  and spitting half  chewed pastry onto my generous thigh, guffawing at their obvious insanity.They are a  people whom I have viewed as having some kind of super power gene that I missed out on because my parents were hippies( bloody hippies).

Just over 2 1/2 yrs ago I was an epic size of Fatty McFat Fat. I had 2 young children and a New Born . I was in  constant conflict with my  ex husband due to his unfortunate disorder of  ‘Emotional Intelligence Amoebe-itis’. I was stuck in small town New Zealand when I desperately wanted be living in a city that could offer some decent opportunities. Life was feeling spack and I needed to make a change. I decided to haul my mega ass to some Les Mills classes and let the transformation begin.It was great and I quickly settled into a regular exercise routine that worked in well with my  parenting lifestyle.  About 3 months into it I woke up one morning and something very strange  inside me was  dying to get out. I donned my track pants and t-shirt, grabbed my rock laden  MP3 player and jumped into the car. I drove out towards the beach and found myself standing on a sand dusted road. I was about to do something CRAZY. Something sooo out of this world, I couldn’t even THINK about it in fear I would wake up heartbroken that this was not real. Like the time I woke up having dreamed I was married to Johnny Depp circa 21  Jump Street. A disappointment I have never fully recovered  from. After a brisk walk for a few hundred meters it happened. I picked up my pace and found myself going through the physiological motions of running. It was insane! I.  Was.  RUNNING!. Me. Fatty McFat Fat. Doing something that only amazing people could do. I could not believe it. I dared not make any sudden movements or even make eye contact with myself in fear I would break the spell. I just focussed on the gutsy voice of  Dan Auerbach  and pushed on. I had a plan in my head of where I might  run to before I quietly curled up and  died on the side of the road from a heart attack and/or just the  sheer shock of it all. I achieved my route and then some. That day I ran 3 km. I ran the whole way at a slow steady pace. Never in my life had I ran that far.  I was so stoked. I  had NEVER felt as good about myself as I did that day. And not again until I ran 5 km for the first time. Then the first time I ran 10 km. The runners high is a true story. A high like no other ( and I may…or may not have had a few highs in my life.It’s the Hippy Parent thing) A physical and emotional  high that pumps pure goodness and achievement through your  body. For 2 years I have loved running. I  particularly enjoy trail running as it engages my brain a bit  more than road running. You have to look at where you feet are going and think constantly about where they  are being placed. Using your whole body to balance. The terrain varies and the scenery offers a much-needed escape from the day-to-day drudgery of small town  Motherhood. Road running and trail running  are  definitely  different. It’s a bit like driving a manual compared to driving an automatic. I’ve always preferred a manual. There is nothing wrong with running on a road though. It’s all running and it’s allll good.  I am no longer fearful of people seeing me run. All my jiggly bits that I can’t strap down with multiple bras and tight lycra clothing. Who cares what they think.  There may be plenty of me but I’m running !!!That in itself is worth a good gawp.  So lap it up peoples! Now I am the proud owner of more cellulite accentuating shiny shiny running pants than Zsa Zsa Gabore has had husbands…and I LOVE them.

 Over time I made some running buddies. A couple of girlfriends whom were pretty fresh to this whole running thing. We are all music lovers and crank up our tunes and find a good trail to thrash out  our frustrations on.  I still enjoy a solo run too. I  find I am more competitive with myself than I am with other people. Strangely I push myself harder when I run solo. However I enjoy the company and camaraderie of having a running buddy.Setting goals and sharing the highs and lows of the whole running yolk. Sometimes one can make unexpected friends whilst out on a track. I had been running a fantastic mountain biking track and thought I was totally alone. So I just went for it. Singing  ‘ Barton Hollow’ by The Civil Wars like nobody was listening. As I took a hairpin bend with my arms stretched out like an Airplane , I saw him. A delicious looking mountain biker, unable to pass due to the narrow track ( and perhaps my abounding posterior) He was clearly  chuckling at my child like shenanigans. God only knows how long he had been on my ample tail. A small part of me died that day. I have no doubt however, that a small part of him fell in  love with  my singing, jiggling goodness .I could see it in his sniggering sunglass clad face.

My proudest achievement so far has been  running a 10 km event with my 2 running buddies.Wearing a  moustache. In doing this we raised $2330.00 for Prostate Cancer research.  It was a HOT day and most of it was uphill. In fact even the down hill was up hill. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done physically…perhaps even harder than natural childbirth…but I made it. Just. I came  in third to last for my age group and was possibly the proudest contestant there.  It was my first taste of event running and I was on a high for weeks afterwards. We had a ball and will certainly do it again.  The support we received blew us away. I think people pledged money because they didn’t actually think I would do it and therefore felt confidant they  would not actually have to part with their moneys. Huh! We showed them whilst cheating a slow painful death by a very fine line. I just couldn’t even believe I had dome something like this. It was an amazing moment to be pulled up in front of one thousand other runners and walkers  by the sponsors and be cheered on for our fundraising  running efforts. Shucks.Actual real live runners were clapping for ME and MY running efforts. A proud day for me and the girls. I would NEVER have dreamed this would be possible in a million years. I would LOVE to run a Marathon one day. Naturally one would start with a Half Marathon. It takes a lot of time in training. I have in the past attempted to train for one and found it hard being a Solo working Mum, to get the time in. I know that as the boys get older it will be easier to do. I have every intention of running the Jamaican ‘Reggae’ Marathon one day. If I don’t get enough training in beforehand… I will go anyway and just run the 5 km. Any excuse to go to Jamaica. I am confidant that if I ran directly behind a delightful 20 something year old Jamaican chap…I could probably achieve something akin to that of an Ultra Marathon.

All in all , running has changed my life.  My mind is more focussed and I am emotionally stronger. I am  more often than not  able to remain un-phased by trivial nonsense. I have  slowly lost 20 kgs for no other reason than  regular exercise. I eat what ever I like.. though with fitness I have found that I crave healthier foods. Don’t get me wrong. I still regularly enjoy a good hearty Mince and Cheese pie. I am , after all, a good kiwi lass.  My journey has inspired others around me to give running  a nudge. Not surprising. If I can do it….ANYONE can do it.  Apparently this running yolk is contagious and long may that last.. We just have to decide to do it.  The rest is easy.

For anyone that has thought about it and is not sure where to start…check out this website. It works. http://www.c25k.com/

And for those of you who would like to see our Mo-Vember charity run highlights…check this out. Was the best day ever!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE2kpUs6sy8&list=HL1373244618&feature=mh_lolz