Don't fart on plastic

Having kids is a lot of hard work yes, but the entertainment value alone is worth it. The other night I passed Meghan in the hall when she was coming out of the bathroom. Just as I passed I said in a horrified voice “You have pooh on your pants Meg!” The look on her face was priceless as she frantically turned around in circles trying to look at her bum, “Where?!?!”


I slowly reached my hand up and pointed. She was wearing pyjama pants with Winnie the Pooh heads all over them. She said I was evil as I laughed so hard I thought I just may pee my pants. Then she chased me down the stairs as I ran to share my joke with Scott. Even now as I remember the look on her face and her frantic dance I giggle. Oh come on, it was funny!

Kind of like Logan, who held his head in his hands last night complaining it hurt. He then turned to me with huge eyes and proclaimed completely sincerely “There’s just too much stuff in it”. That kid cracks me up. He never fails to make me laugh. We had guests tonight for dinner, and after making Logan the nudist go get some jammy pants on, he came down with his pants pulled up to just under his armpits and a grin.

Finnegan has discovered the wonderful power of the word “NO” and likes to use it whenever possible to assert his independence. Although it kind of loses its power when you’re only two feet tall and weigh twenty five pounds and your parents simply pick you up when you refuse to move. But he’s got the “no” part down. He was kind of cranky today, one second giggling and happy, the next crying and throwing himself dramatically on the couch. I felt like doing the exact same thing at several points today but didn’t think I could pull it off as cutely as he seems to. I guess it helps that he’s wearing cute footie jammies. They don’t come in my size.

You should all be proud of me; I attended that low impact aerobics class for three weeks in a row! Even better I haven’t died, although I walked like I had a stick up my ass for a couple of days after the first two times. I still hate the mirror and the perfect instructor who shouts out happily “How you all doing?!” expecting us all to say “Great!” Lady if I could speak at that point it wouldn’t be “great” or “good” or “fine” it would be much more colourful and a lot less cheerful. Good thing for her I can’t breathe and simply give her the stink eye until the sweat runs into my eyeballs and blinds me.

Then there are all the other ladies in the class who bounce along in perfect rhythm as they go left I go right, as they do the complicated moves with perfection I look like a mixture of Finnegan in the midst of a tantrum and a cat in heat. It’s a beautiful sight. The instructor obviously taking pity on me showed the different moves in different levels. So she would start by saying “this is level one”, then make it more complicated by lifting her leg before saying “this is level two”, before finally I swear lifting her ankle above her head to state “level three”. I couldn’t manage to maintain level one let alone kick my leg up over my head.

I am so glad the whole front wall of the gym is a mirror so I can witness my own graceful presentation. This past week she brought out the giant exercise balls, which let me tell you are NOT easy to stay on top of. While all of the ladies climbed on and completed the moves flawlessly, I was in the back rolling about like I was in a log rolling competition and losing terribly.

At one point we were all sitting on top of the balls and all I could think of is we all looked like we either were blowing bubblegum bubbles out of our asses or we all had giant pink haemorrhoids. Trust me; you don’t get a good reception when you start giggling madly in the middle of the class. Next week maybe she’ll bring out some new form of torture. It should be fun, like a root canal (except there’s no blissful freezing before the exercise class).

On a parting note, I farted at the seabus terminal the other day, which was fun.  In a packed room sitting on a plastic bench, innocently reading my book when one slipped out.  It was this tiny little puff of air which shouldn't have made such a big noise.  Apparently farting on plastic has a magnifying effect which makes it sound much louder.  The men sitting on either side of me politely pretended nothing happened.  Too bad I'm immature and started to giggle.  I suppose you have to take your amusement where you can find it.  Needless to say they chose not to sit next to me on the seabus.