Faking it

Is it wrong to pretend to do stuff in the name of “being a good mother” when it’s actually because you’re having a fat crisis? I took the kids to the park on Sunday. I said it was so Sprog 2 could go bike riding. But it was really so I could go jogging. I made it once around the park, turned purple, started wheezing and had to stop. It was an improvement on my usual park routine of huddling at a picnic table and checking emails. When I got my breath back, I startled Husband by suggesting a family game of “tip”. Mummy never plays tip. That’s Daddy’s job. Fortunately the Sprogs thought it was much funnier to chase him than me, so he got to go purple too. Yesterday, I woke up wondering how I could make the Sprogs walk somewhere with me. I briefly contemplated a trip to the shops for ice-blocks before concocting the cunning plan of an “adventure”. There’s a bush track near our place that leads to an inlet. I’d never been there before, but that didn’t stop me promising Sprog 1 lots of crab-catching opportunities on the mud flat. I packed kitchen strainers as scoops, a plastic spade, Sprog 1’s Christmas bug catcher, tons of snacks and off we headed. Getting there wasn’t so bad, the Sprogs only had to beg me to slow down about 20 times. The mud flat was a bit disappointing, as Mummy had miscalculated the tides and it was ringed by jagged oyster shells. The Sprogs lost interest pretty quickly. But I made them hang around so I could take some photos to show Husband and make it look like we’d spent idyllic hours communing with nature. Then we clawed back up the hill and took a wrong turn. It was sort of deliberate. I took advantage of the Sprogs’ poor sense of direction because I wanted to do some more walking. But not quite that much walking. Especially in soggy shoes with a 7kg backpack and two whining Sprogs trailing behind me. Two hours later we finally staggered through the front door. Sprog 1 swears she’s never leaving the house again. Hmmm, I wonder what I can trick her into doing today?

DIET LOG: Tiny piece of the Sprogs’ freeze-dried ice-cream on the bushwalk. It really does taste like ice-cream, without all those ouchy sensitive teeth drawbacks. And a glass of wine last night. My Twitter buddies talked me into it.

WHAT THE SCALES SAID: 69.6kg, both beside the loo and near the door. Weird. So I’ve either lost 0.3kg or 0.7kg already.    

TWITTER LOG: The lovely Fae Fulcher started following me yesterday. Her web address is xxx-harcore-sex8.info. I think she’s friends with Nora Morehead. Must work out how to block them when the novelty wears off.

TONIGHT’S MENU: I’m having another go at the slow-roasted lamb I made recently, this time with pomegranate seeds scattered on top. Husband has invited friends over for dinner. Oh, and the meatballs were really good last night. I’ll share the recipe tomorrow, can’t be shagged typing it in today.