Challenge 27 - Power Tools

After days trying to sand my chair by hand with 240 grit sandpaper I decide to defer to Partner's suggestion and bring in modern technology.

Go to 1st birthday party of friend's son. Give present, kiss baby, ask to borrow sander.

Men pause. Air thickens. Silently they rise and march to Inner Sanctum (i.e. shed) without me. Tool borrowing is serious business. Tool borrowing involves treaties, trade agreements and conventions no woman is privy to. Men are in there a long time. Have I asked too much? Did I push too hard ...? Partner appears holding sander like newborn child. Success!

Partner observes me sanding chair by hand. 'That's 80 grit,' he says. 'You'll leave grooves in the wood.'

I ignore.

'You going to use the sander? Doing it like that? Well, it's kind of a waste of life.'

I don't tell Partner I am having a bad day - so bad in fact that sanding the bloody chair by hand was the best thing about it; meditative in fact, like watering 1/2 acre of lawn by hand. (Am very Zen when upset.)

Partner gets out sander and does technical stuff. Holds it out to me. 'Don't think you can hurt yourself with that.'

Has this guy met me? I take sander like it's a snake. Examine closely. Sandpaper is 80 grit. Ha! Start sanding. Great clouds of old varnish, wood and goodness knows what (is that peanut butter??) float around me like a toxic cloud. Hand begins to ache. And back. And neck.

Manage to run sander over thumb. Is okay - haven't had any feeling in top of thumb since run-in with Vengeful Duck. Bastard! Now have Legacy of Vengeful Duck!

Grit in eyes, up nose, down shirt, in hair. Decide sanding more enjoyable with Champagne. Alcohol steadies the hand, right? That's why professional pool players are banned from a soothing larger before tourney. Decide logic is sound. Pour, drink, sand. Second glass and chair looks good.

Turn chair over. Seat falls off. Have Champagne.

Strangely no longer concerned by lack of seat on chair. I can fix that. I can fix anything!

Time to down tools. Am leaving for holiday tomorrow and need to pick. I mean pack. Shall finish chair and begin on table when I return.

Final Note: Am 'going bush' for three weeks - no internet, no mobile phone coverage. Just three weeks of swimming, eating, cooking and laughing at the stars. Ripe pickings for New Challenges! Especially since Little Brother has new pets: tarantulas called Incey and Wincey. Little Brother also has sense of humour. Did I mention I don't do spiders?

Anyhow, shall try to Post whenever we 'go to town'.

Wish me luck with the spiders!

Challenge 26 - Belly of the Beast

I'm not what you'd call 'well-traveled'. Having said that, I've been lost, shot, robbed and disoriented without ever having to take a long-haul flight, which pretty much evens things out in my book. (The shooting was an air slug to the left butt cheek, but it still counts).

I wake up feeling intrepid. With this in mind I pack myself off to the train station and buy a ticket to No Man's Land, aka, the nastier, dirtier and creepier parts of a place called The Valley. Every city has one. It's where they shoot all the cop shows.

Partner declines to join me on grounds that he doesn't fancy the smell of urine. I feel open-minded and ready to embrace the grottier parts of our culture. Especially in broad daylight. Hit The Valley and take a big noseful of air. Over-ripe mangoes, incense, curry, body odour - no urine. Make note. There's graffiti, filthy pavement, litter and shops with names like Lucky 7, and cafes with crusty ducks in the window hanging by thier feet. We're close to Chinatown (these guys know how to treat a duck). Realise I'm hungry.

Know a Chinese supermarket/acupunturist/herbalist around here (stock must mix 'n match). I want to eat something weird - I mean genuine - not the bog-standard ho-hums found on your average restuarant menu. I go in search of authentic ingredients to make something myself - dried giblets, sharkfins, mouldering mushrooms - anything I need to Google to identify.

Wing Hing's is shut on Wednesday. Today Wednesday! No where else on my radar sells bits of unidentifiable weirdness.

Not to be defeated I find Indian supermarket.

Cool Bollywood music has my sandals tapping. Myriad smells, colours, sounds and strange words cause firestorm in synapses. By God, I love food! Heaps of stuff I can't pronounce. V. authentic. Some bling and a damp sari and I'd be unstoppable.

Asafoetida, Gorkeri, Veola ... no wait. Veola is hand cream. No good on pappadums.

'Bombay Duck Pickle'! Nice to see one of the bastards put to good use. Blurb reads: The Bombay Duck is a fish, so called because it is only found in the Arabian Sea. Some of the world's mysteries were never meant to be solved ...

Shopgirl tries to sell me massive sack of Atta flour so my chappatis are soft. Tell her I left my mule at home. No response. I buy 1kg of flour and find sudden interest in DVD selection - esp. the Indian Ray Romano with cowboy hat and chiquita in a damp sari.

I walk out into the heart of Chinatown and am accosted by ABBA, piped through street P.A. system. Do police know about this?! Sacrilege!

Go in search of Authentic Lunch. Am tourist in No Man's Land, so look for strip club to eat toxic bar nuts and check out Miss Electra's competition. None appear to be open. Wrong time of day for the Night Crawlers. (Probably why I'm still alive).

Find tiny restaurant with no roundeyes in sight - food must be authentic! Order Five Treasures With Rice. No clue what treasure is but 'treasure' implies tasty goodness. (Rice self - explanatory).

Old Asian lady barks question at me. Pardon? Again. Pardon? Points at grey/green orbs in window and raises eyebrows in universal motion. Yes! Sure! Is it hot? She stalks off, comes back and hands me soup. Soup clear and patently free from green orbs or treasures. Or rice.

I eat soup. Tastes like Honeydew melon and chicken fat. Smile happily at staff. Old lady drops plate of Five Tresures in front of me. The Mother Load! Huge pile rice with 5 different shiny meats on it. Hang on ... are there five meats? And why is the only readily identifiable meat bleeding? Sashimi chicken!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I smile happily.

Oh God. Chopsticks. Wave at old Lady. Communication problematic so I simply demostrate my chopstick prowess and let her work it out. She rolls eyes and brings fork and spoon. No knife. I smile happily. Grey/green orbs turn out to be hundred year old eggs, which taste better than they sound. And kind of salty.

Overall: shiny, meaty, mystery treasures were pretty awesome. Apart from al dente chook.

Convinced I'm likely to die some time after lunch, I decide to be reckless. Go into seedy, sex part of town. People spit on ground, sleep on benches, lurch around in gangs. Tattoos, piercings, bad vibes. Me in Birkenstock sandals, Colorado shirt, red straw hat, backpack and neon sing on back that says 'Mug Me!'. Self-preservation gene kicks in. Time to get out.

At train station I walk past a man.

'Grrrrrrrrr ...'

I've had enough. 'Did you just growl at me?' I ask most forcefully. Me and my red straw hat.

'Me?' he says. 'Nope.'

'You did. You growled.'

'No I didn't. It was a yawn.'

I give him my Disapproving Mummy glare.

'Sorry,' he says.

And that's me, reporting from the Belly of the Beast. The police have said I might be able to ride along with them in The Valley one night in the new year, just so I can see what the worst of the worst is like after dark.

Boy, am I looking forward to that!

Challenge 25 - Fit to Strip Pt 2

Okay, Carmen Electra. I admit I was under-prepared for Fit to Strip - The Lap Dance. I was arrogant. I was ambitious. I was so bad the chair was embarrassed.

Not this time, My Pretty. This time have done my homework:

1. Watched Demi Moore in Striptease (Oscar-worthy performance by her bottom sadly overshadowed by Burt Reynolds' surgical resurrection and scary toupee).

2. Have fancy painted toenails (Ladybirds - very sexy, but maybe only if you are Man Ladybird, which in itself is sexually confusing).

3. Have gone blonde (Eeek!)

4. Rented Fit to Strip Vol 1 (uses words like 'basic', 'introduction' and 'low impact' - that's me!).


Miss Electra tells me she's going to work my thighs, hips, buns and abs. Mmmm ... buns ... No! Workout now, buns later. Witness my self-control!

Says a good warm-up is key to avoiding injury. Wish she'd mentioned that on the Lap Dance DVD before I pulled a hamstring getting intimate with a piece of furniture. Okay, doing warm-up.

'5, 6, 7, 8 and 2, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 4 ...'

Give up trying to count with Carmen. Must be sub rosa stripper algorithm too advanced for my feeble brain.

Instructed to do Cat Cow yoga pose. Try to make cow look sexy but only manage cow who really needs milking. Ponder this and decide it's probably the same thing. Only so much a cow can do, really.

Says 'hip rolls' are foundation for any good striptease. Finally! I have hip rolls - probably from too many buns.

Finish warm-up and get into The Routine. Excitement palpable. Miss Electra toying with me like co-ed with down-filled pillow and glint in her eye. I follow obediently. Swing head in circles with abandon and glasses fly off. Deduce strippers must wear contacts (notable exception - naughty school ma'am routine).

I'm with her all the way: '5, 6, 7, 8-' bend down, grab ankles, slide up, touch butt and smack it. What? Must be punishment for buns. Or rolls ...

Realise I'm still in PJs. Oh well. Had to come off sooner or later.

Phew! Am hungry after all that creeping, crawling, slapping and slinking. Have sticky bun in fridge. It's her fault ... all that talk of buns. But I have secret weapon! Hold Haematite Stone Blessed by Gnomes and resist bun. Kazam! It works!

Sit down with Master Three to watch re-runs of Battlestar Gallactica. We do nothing but have cuddles and eat ham & cheese toasties for a whole hour.

It's going to be a good day. Yes sir, I can feel it in my bones.

Challenge 24 - Chair Repair

Ah, wood. Who doesn't love a bit first thing in the morning?

Today is Chair Restoration Day. It was supposed to be Table Restoration Day but Partner said it was insane to sand a six foot table by hand. After an hour on the chair and scant progress made, I find I must concur with my learned friend.

I've never restored anything in my life. If the fix isn't quick I just buy another whatever-it-is and toss the old one out. How wasteful! If you click on the pic you will see just how sad the finish is on this chair. So off I popped to the hardware store and stocked up on sandpaper and varnish.

It's prudent to note here that the only woodworking experience I have was at High School. I had my own work bench because the other kids claimed to value their lives. Honestly - one little accident with a nail gun ...

So, with my trusty sandpaper and a pocket full of faith, I begin.

It's very meditative, this repetitive motion - working, working, working toward a single, simple goal. My mind wanders pleasantly and the minutes tick by unheeded.

Master Three is helping me. He's chuffed to be doing 'woodwork' with Mummy. That's been the unexpected bonus of this little adventure. The children see me doing something new and exciting and they want to join in . They are inspired, and what parent doesn't want to be an inspiration to their children? They see that it's okay to try something new and whether the results are spectacular or a spectacular failure matters not.

The fun - the adventure - is in the trying.

Challenge 23 - Idea to Fruition

This morning I painted my toenails black with red spots like a Ladybird. This of itself isn't strange but it is indicative of something. I feel 'arty'.

The arty feeling hits often but goes nowhere. My brother was the Artist in the family (note collage from previous post). I was the- God knows what I was but it frightened my parents. Poor things. Then I turn my awakenings of evil toward law school. She is Lost! they cried.

Point being, today I had no excuse not to finish the cartoon I was brainstorming a few blogs ago. I took up my box of pencils and began in earnest at about lunch time. Then came the trip to pre-prep to hand in forms, the library book that had to be returned, the child that had to be collected from school (God forbid!) and all the attendant stuff that happens with two hungry, hot, excitable kids at home.

Point is it took me ages and I had lots of little people trying to help me. I finally finished the carton and showed Partner. 'I don't get it,' he said.

Felt like slamming the door on my own head. After all this time and effort! My first toon is a bust!

It's because I can't draw @#$#%^#^CATS isn't it.

I knew they would undo me in the end!

Anybody out there get it? At least a little bit?

Challenge 22 - Witchcraft or Whatcraft?

Went to library to research magic tricks for Master Three's birthday. Computer searches kept throwing up witch-related stuff.

Type 'Witchcraft' into search box. Computer gets half way through search and grinds to a halt. 'Error on page' it informs me. Wooooo. Spooky. Abandon search for party tricks in favour of the Dark Magix (bunny in a hat? Pah! Shall conjure him a pony - possibly also in hat).

Have always been completely superstitious and totally scornful of 'magic'. Irony apparent. Show me proof (or Poof!) and I shall believe!

Today's Challenge: Cast a spell (that works)

Start reading book. Let's see ... universe, crystals, blah blah, stars, energy pathways, blah blah. Where's the good stuff? Like, like giving enemy scabies or making self look like Carmen Electra while doing Fit To Strip For Beginners? Book says any spell cast will be returned three-fold.

Cancel scabies.

Right. Says make wand. Okaaaay. Filch one from Miss Eight's toybox (has sparkles). Next: Don't work spells when tired, lethargic or pre-occupied. Sheesh! Am a mother! Have coffee, clear brain and move on. Time to choose spell.

Choose Strengthening Willpower. This was made for me.

Require:
Salt - Check
Haematite stone - errr. Having chops for tea. Rub rock on chop to acquire haemoglobin. Check!
Wand - Check
Red Candle - Check
Bach flower essence - (I can't believe what I have in my cupboard) Check!
Gold thread - Yellow close enough - Check

Says best done on a Tuesday. Is Tuesday in US (book non-hemisphere-specific) - Check!

1. Cast Sacred Circle with wand. Put stuff in circle.
2. Pick stuff up. Wave stone over flame.
3. Call Sylphs, Salamanders, Undies - sorry - Undines and Gnomes to bless my rock.
4. Tie up rock in cloth, sprinkle flower essence.
5. Don't forget your manners - say thankyou.
6. Hold rock when eyeing off that last bit of chockie in the fridge.

Piece of cake!

I mean, no. No cake! Am strong, like rock! And smell kind of flowery...

Conclusion: Shall keep you posted on rock's dissuasive powers when midnight munchies come around.

Mmmm ... chocolate ...

ART: MESMER ON VENUS, by ROHAN MAZLIN

Challenge 21 - The Lap Dance

Could it be true? Say it isn't so! In my attempt to shake things up and get a life I have traded one rut for another.

Stairs ... origami ... yoga ... stairs ... origami ... yoga ...

See a pattern forming?

I go in search of more interesting exercise. Feel frumpy anyway - feeling aided by the fact I bought a second pair of Birkenstocks today (my feet are in love. They betray me!).

Find exercise that not only burns calories but makes me into instant sex kitten. Hurrah! Allow me to introduce CARMEN ELECTRA'S FIT TO STRIP - The Lap Dance! Heck, I'm all for any exercise that involves sitting down.

This is not Denise Austin, darling of the discreet and dainty 80s workout crowd. This is in -your-face (sorry) hands-on (sorry, sorry) give-it-up-baby (yeah I give up) 'exercise' routines from the Real McCoy.

Watch Miss Electra introduce herself and explain how awesomely sexy we're all going to be by the end. I'm pumped. I'm ready.

I'm being observed by my three year old ...

Plug him into a computer chess game and retreat to air conditioned privacy of bedroom. Dim lights. A layer of cigarette smoke and the sour smell of desperation and I could be in any strip club in the world. Have chair with imaginary fat truck driver. Don't have knee boots with four inch heel but Birkenstocks feel fine (excellent arch support).

Grab back of chair, lean forward and shake bum from side to side: one two, and one two, and one two. I'm feelin' it! Hit pause and run to ensuite to check sexy-quotient. Look mildly sweaty and confused. Try more bum swings. One two, and one two. Four minutes in and I pull a hamstring. Massage it out in sexy manner.

Next bit: sit on chair and do some sort of Whoopty Do. Run back to ensuite and apply make up so I don't feel wierd rubbing own thighs while watching DVD of strange woman with strategic enhancements.

Something feels wrong. Technique? Trunk size? Belief in my own Woman Power? All of the above, really.

Miss Electra finishes and I'm finished. Look at DVD case. Lap Dance is for Advanced Whores (I mean Ladies). Okay. Resolve to start at beginning of series. Then test out on Partner. Mwa ha haaa! He shall tremble before me!

Conclusion: I'll never look at a chair the same way again.

Challenge 20 - Guerrilla Art

Since visiting the Gallery of Modern Art, arty stuff has been on my mind. Particularly the kind of art that people are subjected to against their will.

Yes folks, I'm talking about Public Art.

Who are these people? Who decides that the four blue triangles with bowling balls on top are enriching our collective souls? Why is public art (for the most part) sterile, pointless and inaccessible to said public? And don't even ask how much this stuff costs.

Today's Challenge: Design and install an accessible, aesthetically pleasing piece of art in a public place. For free (and preferably lawfully).

I choose a playground. Doesn't get much more public than that.

Assemble tools: Pair of old trousers and a three foot long piece of dowel. Arrive at playground. Kid's birthday party in full swing ... can cope, so long as they don't toucha-da-art. Or want to use the playground within fifteen foot radius of where I'm standing. Should be easy - I have big stick.

Miss Eight tries to steal stick. Put foot on stick and growl. My stick. Operation Public Art begins!

Parents suspicious about stick. Decide to be discreet.

'My Mother the Artist,' shouts Miss Eight from the top of the pirate ship, 'is about to perform a miracle.'

A: Am not artist. B: Don't believe in miracles - believe in occasional confluences of fortunate events.

It's none for none today, however you say it.

Everyone stares. I'm bare foot up to my ankles in leaf litter, holding big stick in one hand and trousers in the other. Hat not large enough to conceal body.

'I'm blind,' I say to the man nearest me. Man looks skeptical.

I use trousers to clear leaf litter, then begin. Idea is to create an ethereal reflection of a fig tree. Must work fast because earth dries quickly in summer and loses discernible contours.

Aesthetically Pleasing Public Art finished! Not really accessible, though ...

'She's very clever,' says lady.

Another pulls her child close. 'Stay away from people with sticks,' she says. 'People with sticks are dangerous.'

'Come on, kids!' I shout. 'Who wants to destroy some art?' Kids stomp and jump all over art. Squeal with the delight of little people who are allowed to do something they know is just that little bit naughty.

Satisfaction. Art now officially Accessible as well.

Challenge 19 - Walking Crab, Hostile Lily

It's Bedtime for Bonzo (aka, Master Three) but he hasn't finished his chess game with Daddy.

I don't know how to play chess. Don't know how to play many games at all, though I have been known to indulge in a bit of Baghdad Monopoly. Buildings have bullet holes and bomb damage and names like Akhmed's Camel Emporium. Not exactly politically correct, but a sense of humour is what sets us apart from the fishes (I was going to say 'apes', but then recalled being mooned by a baboon at the Adelaide zoo).

Point is, I'm at a loose end. Kids doing kid things, food's cooked and personal space is but a pintuck in time away.

'Make a Walking Crab', says Miss Eight. 'But there are three whole pages of instructions,' I say. 'So?' she says.

I clean toilet.

I sigh.

Miss Eight starts singing: 'I saw Mommy kissing Saaaaaanta Clause ...'

Saw Santa two days ago. He smelled like cheese and needed a good dentist. Open origami book to Walking Crab. Sweet Jesus! Could I be ready for Walking Crab? I haven't finished my training, Master!

'I saw Mommy kissing Saaaanta Clause ...'

Crab looks good.

'Mum, Malcolm says he loves me. He chews his clothes.'

Crab looks awesome. Crab instructions, however, look like a third year trig test.

Use Christmas paper because it is pretty. Also turns out to be non-compliant. Step 7: Squash fold. Who fold? Look it up in 'Folds'. It's not there. Use female intuition - I mean fist - and Bam! Squash fold!

Success short-lived. Open Pockets. Hold A, Pull B. Eye starting to twitch. I can do it ... I can do it ... Maybe origami knowledge is cumulative. Like trauma.

Something wrong. Crab looks like beer coaster. Unfold, refold.

I give you Walking Crab!

That doesn't walk.

In fit of pique I take stiff card bought from craft shop and begin to make a Lily. Card also non-compliant. Bully card into something that resembles the picture - but mostly it just resembles a Triffid.

Conclusion: Need to go back to simple stuff. Although those geometric boxes are kind of pretty ...

Challenge 18 - Wax on, wax off

As previously noted I am Team Razor, not Team Wax. Wax seems brutal and unnecessary, like regime change in middle of summer.

Notice eyebrows becoming unkempt. Can't find tweezers. Bought wax a few weeks ago because it was cheap and set at eye level in supermarket. (Simple creature, me).

Take wax out of cupboard and read directions. Heat in microwave for 1 minute. I don't have a microwave. Boil kettle. Try to scoop a bit of cold wax into pot. Wax like concrete.

Must heat wax in plastic container, then decant enough for eyebrows. Submerge wax pot in boiling water. Success! Edge bit runny.

Directions for every part of body except eyebrows. Hmmm. Could mean wax not for eyebrow region. Recall I have Hands Of A Surgeon and proceed accordingly.

Use end of plastic spoon because paddle too big (perfect for groin area - another clue). Wax like mozzarella - strings of it everywhere. Unlike a tasty Italian cheese wax sets like superglue in three seconds flat.

Get wax in eyelash. It won't wash off. Cold water sets it harder and I am forced to read precautions on box. Will not wash off with water. No kidding.

Can't pull eyelash out. Will have bald patch. Need to get to cinema in thirty minutes. Sorry eyelash. You gotta take one for the cause.

Eyes watering. Mascara running. I'm late!

I hate wax.

Challenge 17 - Hallelujah, It's Raining Frogs

Thirty-one frogs.

Can count those. Counting children at kindy, however is like counting blowflies in bottle. The din like an F111 taking off. And the fear ... oh the fear ...

Thought Scout Camp would prepare me for dealing with group-frenzy situation. The sheer terror of all those beady little eyes looking to you for love and guidance. Well, maybe not love. Or guidance, for that matter.

Looking at you for non-threatening contact and lawful discipline ...

Semantics aside, I couldn't believe how nervous I was this morning. It was like an oral exam at uni or giving a speech at a work conference. Had I prepared well enough? Did I need to explain the history of origami? Do I need a map with Japan on it? If I tell them paper was invented 2000 years ago do I need to explain what a year is? Argh!

Showed them some pictures. 'I can't see!' shouts little girl. Move book. 'I can't see!' shouts little boy. Forget book. Start folding. For the love of God start folding.

'Anyone know what this is?' I ask. 'A paper plane!' they shout. They always shout. 'Yes,' I say. 'That's how we Caucasian folk make a paper plane. Now look at this one.' I hold up another plane. Silence. Decide to abandon words with too many claps. 'This is what an origami paper plane looks like. Which one will go better?'

'That one That one!' they all shout, pointing at the Caucasian plane. Ha! I know the answer and they don't. Feel superior for first time that day.

Throw first plane. Nose dives into foot. Throw second plane. Soars gracefully around room and into far wall. Children squeal with delight. I'm on a winner!

'This is how you make a hopping frog,' I say and start folding. 'I can't see!' miscellaneous child shouts. I lean forward. 'I can't see!' shouts another. Desk is shin height so now I'm on knees leaning with arms fully extended. Frog doesn't look quite right.

Frog fails to hop.

'Look!' I say. 'I made a frog for each of you.' Meaning: Love me and my awesome effort to amuse you on my precious day off. Or else.

'I want a dinosaur!' shouts little boy. He's trouble. Can see it in his eyes. Shifty ...

'I want a crab!' shouts another.

First boy scrunches frog and drops onto floor. I show lots of teeth. It could be a smile - they'd never know the difference.

Calm thoughts ... calm thoughts ... I am a leaf on the wind ...

At home partner suggests I'm well-suited to being a clown for children's parties. Don't they all feel the same way?

Conclusion: Glad I didn't do balloon animals. Small mercies ... small mercies ....

Challenge 17 - Cartoon Day

Always figured there was nothing to cartoon strips. Couple lines here, couple curves there and a witty one-liner at the end. How hard could it be? I mean, Dilbert toons are hilarious but hardly high art. And haven't we all thought we could draw like that if we really tried?

Well today I did. Try, that is.

The challenge was to design and draw a complete cartoon strip. I figured it would take two hours tops. After four hours my brains started leaking out of my head. Five hours and my back ached and I thought I was going to hurl.

#*%#%&* I CAN'T DRAW EFFING CATS!

Feel better now.

Point is I managed a pencil version and couldn't get time to ink. The children are starting to object to being called Kid 1 and Kid 2 (which once was an endearment and now is a necessity). So instead of finishing the cartoon - which oh god - I just realised doesn't have a name - I apparently have to feed and bath them.

This has happened a few times now, and I'm afraid I have to change the perameters of the quest, challenge, personal exploration, whatever you call it that I have started in order to take care of what's most important: staying out of jail for child neglect. And possibly husband neglect.

So. I shall still complete 365 new things - just not necessarily one every day. The point is, after all, to enrich my own life, not detract from others'.

Challenge 16 - Scout Camp, Part 2

SUNDAY

The morning begins with an announcement by our Fearless Leader that the children will make their own scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. Logistics are puzzling. One Primus, one fry pan, ten kids, five adults

But no, they're not using a fry pan. They're using plastic bags. Kids instructed to break two eggs and toss some bacon into a small snap lock baggie then put it into a large snap lock baggie. I watch in horror as bags are submerged in boiling water. Don't even mention the health issues - we've just used thirty plastic bags to make breakfast! Feel like suggesting we just hand them each a pack of White Ox tobacco and a Zippo. Breakfast of champions! (And felons).

Express my distaste to Fearless Leader then get to work documenting tragedy that is breakfast. Mmmmmm ... short chain polymers on toast. My favourite! Tastes as good as it sounds or your money back!

Camp packed up and I dispense origami gliders for children. Their looks of joy make the last three minutes of my life worthwhile.

Notice one boy's glider keeps nose diving. 'You okay, little buddy?' I ask. 'You can't make planes for crap,' he says. 'Oh yeah?' I say. 'Well, you throw like a girl.' Child looks mortified. I take off before he tells mummy.

Have three girls in the back on the way home. The noise is stupefying. All I can think about is a frosty beverage, hot shower and a quiet lie down. Maybe some therapy. Toss children and bags out of car and vent for half an hour at partner. Nail of sore thumb keeps catching on things so I Super Glue it shut. Wipe face and corner of mouth sticks together.

Partner examines gluey mishap and smiles. 'Missed a bit,' he says. 'Good one,' I say. 'Now shut up and get me a straw.'

Conclusion: Sometimes there are perfectly sound reasons for not having experienced something. (Good judgment comes to mind ... and self preservation ... foresight ... intelligence ...)

Challenge 15 - Scout Camp: Night of the Zombies

SATURDAY

5am start. No time for coffee - must pack stuff I didn't pack the night before. Shove toast toward bleary-eyed Miss Eight and manage to get out the door only 5mins late.

Forgot Miss Eight's sleeping bag! Do I have time to go back? Does she really need sleeping bag? Will ascetic child reflect badly on parenting skills? Do I really need to answer that?

Scout den: Packing by committee takes as long as you'd expect. People getting grumpy. Finally have three boys in our vehicle and we're off. Very excited!

Confiscate iPod so boys stop shouting at each other. Kid in the middle slaps me in the head with a book and then slaps driver. Whack whack! Tug o' war ensues as I skillfully attempt to confiscate book. Have uncharitable thought about kittens and burlap sacks. Wonder what possessed me to volunteer to look after Other People's Children then I remember - I've never done this before.

Look over shoulder and see Head-slapper doing bubbly spits onto carpet. 'Hey!' I shout. 'What do you think you're-' Head-slapper vomits noisily onto floor. And my bag. And driver's only jacket. Van screeches to halt and we go into damage control. I draw short straw and have to clean up vomit with wet wipes. Boys (like puppies) are facinated by vomit.

Back on the road the smell is palpable. Spend rest of trip with head out window and trying not to touch anything with spew-ey fingers.

Arrive at camp ground and throw bag into bin. Scrub hands til pink and can still smell spew. Amputation becomes viable option.

Erection time! Tents look like origami nightmare. I begin threading a pole through some holes and bending it into upright position. 'That doesn't go there,' says small child. 'Good work,' I say. 'That's one point towards your tent-putting-up badge. Pass me that hammer.'

Stinking hot day: Swim time!

River the colour of mud. Bottom covered in tennis ball sized, slippery rocks. Can there be negative visibility under water? If not this place has set a new benchmark. Kids don't mind at all. Notice a few of them aren't confident swimmers. I call for their attention and give lecture about submerged dangers. 'Don't yawn at me Missy! This is serious!' I jump for a ball and right knee locates the only submerged danger in entire swimming hole. Spend next hour limping around, counting heads and having small panic attacks. The weight of responsibility in a place like this is overwhelming.

That night the children perform Zombie Skit. Kids lurch around in the dark groaning and looking for brains. (Don't look at me kid.) Zombies are picked off one by one by brave little protagonist. He breaks their legs, sets them on fire and brains them with an imaginary rolling pin. Excellent work. Zombie badge for you.

Adults perform skit that has us on our creaky knees shouting, 'Allah akbar! Pray for rain!' about 15 sodding times. I wait to be shot by sniper or struck by lightning - either one is fine by me. Children have no clue what we're doing and lose interest. Someone asks for their money back.

I take my growing sense of dread to bed. Listen to possums raping and pillaging until sleep finally takes me.

Challenge 14 - Balloon Animals

Inspired by Master Three's impending birthday I have decided to be More Amusing. This involves being able to make a giraffe out of balloons, do a magic trick and keep three balls in the air at the same time. There may yet be clown shoes - time will tell.

Bought packet of balloons with instructions. Master Three hangs over my shoulder with the glazed look of a drug fiend. Informs me giraffe is boring and he wants a rabbit.
Then he says he wants lots of rabbits. I tell him mummy need only make two rabbits and nature will take its course. Master Three frowns. 'Lots of rabbits,' he declares.

Instructions say to use medium balloon for body. What's a medium balloon? There are three sizes but two are the same length. Do I use skinny medium or fat medium? Go with fat medium on assumption that skinny medium is in fact small medium. Or something.

Inflate first balloon. Looks remarkably like a perky breast.

Instructions advise blowing small bubble into long balloon and squeezing it toward end. Feel like I am milking a goat. Bubble shoots back to top. Try again.

Catch Master Three sucking on nipple of long medium balloon. Retrieve and attach long balloon to medium balloon. Repeat for front legs. Medium balloon doesn't have a lot of give. Balloon pops. Inflate another and massage to encourage stretchiness.

Ask Master Three to hold balloons. 'I don't wanna hold it!' he says, clamping his eyes shut in anticipation of another pop.

Tie ends, it says. With what? The magic trick I'm going to learn?

Add ears. Oh God. Body maxed out again. Clamp eyes shut and twist. Body holds! I give bunny to Master Three. 'I want a rabbit,' he says. 'It is a rabbit,' I say. 'See his cute little cotton tail?' 'Where's my Monster Truck?' says Master Three and leaves the room.

Show partner bunny. 'Look,' I say. 'I made a rabbit.'
'Glad you told me what it was,' he says.

Scornful laughter drives me on. Giraffe is next.

Draw on face and photograph giraffe in natural habitat to eliminate all doubt. Hmmm ...

Go back inside and poke Master Three with a balloon. 'It's a sword,' I say. 'Gotcha.' Master Three collapses in a fit of giggles. Monster Truck is forgotten. Spend next 1/2 hour chasing eachother around room playing sword fights.

Making fun stuff out of balloons? Nothing to it.

PS: No posts this weekend. Am going camping with Scout group. Shall introduce poppets to improv theatre. Stay tuned!

Challenge 13 - Modern Art Appreciation Day

I always figured 'modern art' was what my kids brought home from pre-school. Time to dispel those myths and broaden my horizons!

Catch train to city. Choose seat amongst Gothic piercing convention and avoid eye contact. Feel something wet seeping through pants and choose not to investigate further. Very decisive so far.

Arrive at museum. I avoid walking under a life-size blue whale making croon-ey whale sounds. Hippie sits on concrete floor under whale, head bowed in concentration. Is he not afraid of whale falling on head??

Arrive at gallery. Man at Information Desk informs me most of the gallery is shut down for installation of new art. I tell him that's fine - for all I know about modern art the lumpy white ceiling could be part of the display, har har. Info man doesn't laugh.

Go in search of something to gaze thoughtfully at. Picture of fruit in a bowl. Food Photography! I'm getting the hang of this.

Ooh! Sparkles! Shiny thing the size of my living room hung on wall. Looks like my mother's mumu from the 70s. Go closer to investigate texture. Security guard stares - probably facinated by size of thumb bandage. I move upstairs.

See ceiling from above. Thousands of bits of A4 paper attached with bulldog clips. Damn! It was art. That being the most interesting thing on display I go back in search of hippie. Want to warn him about whale falling on head.

No hippie - just a gaggle of Japanese tourists photographing gallery #2s's electric door. Could it, too, be art? Have so much to learn! Go into gallery #2 for a look.

Rather fancy the Buddha bust. Definitely art - can tell by goldfish on head.

See catatonic guard sitting in corner. Ask if he ever gets bored. 'Sometimes,' he says. Ever been photographed? 'Yes. When I was in the lift.' Were they Japanese by any chance? 'Actually they were,' he says. Ha! On strength of that I feel safe to assume door is not art, is in fact door.

All the chairs in this place are basic padded boxes. Go into another room and see two lines of wooden chairs in centre. Are they really chairs? Can I sit on them? Feel stupid to have to ask the question but have been caught out once already today. Perplexed guard indicates chairs are in fact chairs. Well, there you go.

Two rooms away I see four chairs fixed to a wall. See?! They have Chair Art! There are dark powers at work today, no doubt about it.

Conclusion: Out of what I've seen today some pieces were unspeakably ugly. Some pointless, some funny. A few were intelligent and engaging (particularly the Brett Whiteley stuff which reminded me of my brother - need to think further on that). Some of it was just plain confounding.

So I've pretty much decided Modern Art is no different from anything else in life. Everybody's opinion is valid if they have taken time to investigate.

Resolve to give Modern Art more of my attention.

Challenge 12 - XYZ

Temperature rising ... Frustration peaking. I know I'm no good at math but this is ridiculous!

Meet the XYZ - if you know anything about cartesian planes in mathematics stop me now. Ha ha ha (Dinner party joke for origami nerds).

But seriously, this little construction has nearly cost me my sanity. Look at picture 15. It is impossible to insert a third completed unit onto the first two. Impossible! Yet that's what the instructions call for!

Being a dutiful citizen I email Author and complain bitterly that because I couldn't finish tonight's project he was forcing me - forcing me - to watch television. Take that, Mr Clever Pants!

Then partner-who-can-pack-car boots-and-read-maps-really-well walks in. I explain my frustration and tell him of my most forceful email to Author.

Partner looks at bits of folded paper and frowns. Looks at diagram. 'Can't do it like that,' he declares.

Pleased with ratification I (once again, forcefully) agree. 'What about this,' he says, and starts to disassemble creative undertakings to date.

I suck in breath. Those folds took me minutes! Tens of minutes! Plus the paper is pretty and if he scrunches it I will deprive him of something serious, like like, buttering toast always to edge!

He begins to reassemble. Suddenly it all makes sense - one must assemble last component ONTO first two completed components!

Resolve to send apology to Mr Clever Pants who wrote book and suggest he include extra instructions for Ladies Who Can't Pack Boots Or Read Maps.

**

On a side note - Could not do origami with children at kindy today. Legacy of Vengeful Duck too scary. Advised by caring workers that next week is a 'go'. By then I shall have mastered Jumping Frog! and Creeping Crab!

Hai!

Challenge 11 - Vengeful Duck

Thumb has gone a weird colour, smells like a wet dog and has no feeling. Could it be ... gangrene?!

My excellent approach to wound care is paying dividends. Can't go to doctor now as have very important interview for pre-prep next year. Been on the waiting list for donkey's and can't afford to lose place.

Decide to call cousin who is health professional. No answer. Next best thing: look up 'gangrene' in The Home Guide To Medical Illnesses. (Wonder what a non-medical illness is?) Ah! Gangrene: Death of tissue caused by gas producing bacteria ... smelly discharge ... fever .. delirium .. death ... Death???

Feel nauseous. Spots of light in vision. Is this a panic attack or the beginning of the end? I have a multi-vitamin and engage yogic breathing.

Onward!

At interview I can't concentrate. Can she smell my thumb? Is flesh eating bacteria grounds for denial? Can I appeal on medical grounds?

After interview I drive immediately to doctor. Doctor looks at thumb and asks how it happened. 'It was a duck,' I reply. 'Mmmm. Poultry,' he says and shakes his head gravely. It's antibiotics and tetanus shot time for Lee.

At Pathology the nurse asks what happened. 'It was a duck,' I reply. As an afterthought I add, 'Bastard.' 'You were attacked?' she asks. 'Other way round,' I say.

So far it's Duck 2, Lee nil. Nurse administers shot. Another nurse comes in. 'You gave her the wrong one,' he says.

Lucky me - I get Whooping Cough for free. Duck 3, Lee nil.

'Side affects?' I ask. 'Sore arm and fever up to 49 degrees,' he says. What?? 'Sorry - 39.' Who are these people? At any moment I expect John Cleese to walk in, snap on a pair of gloves and tell me to bend over.

I escape as fast as I can. The day can't possibly get any worse. Master Three sees balloons at a World Vision stall.

Perfect! Decide to buy Smiles gift card for starving children in Africa. Gangrene and a World Vision donation? That's two new things in one day!

'What would you like?' asks blonde with nice teeth. I rummage through my purse in search of funds. Duck has almost cleaned me out. 'Nothing too big,' I say.

'How about a duck?' she says.

A what? 'Sod that,' I say. ' ... Got any chickens?'

Challenge 10 - Origami

What better way to celebrate the loss of a thumb than take up origami?

Every airplane I've ever made has flown about as well as last night's duck (postmortem, obviously, ducks being such excellent fliers when alive). I'm talking mini engineering masterpieces that come with their own instructional video.

Today's Challenge: Build An Origami Plane

Need square bit of paper. Laziness drives me to search the house for a piece rather than cut a rectangle down to size. Find paper. A bit scrunched so I iron it flat. Mostly.

Follow instructions with microscopic precision: Fold here. Press there. Bend that. What's this? Is it a fold or an edge? How am I supposed to get 45 degrees out of 30?

Lack of left thumb galling. Everything takes twice as long as it should.

Origami Plane complete! Go into lounge and throw. Master Three squeals with delight as plane trims and finds level, soaring gracefully around the room before crashing into a wall. Go outside and shout for partner to witness miracle of modern avionics. 'Watch this!' I say. Plane lands on roof. There are no survivors.

Son so happy with Origami Plane that I decide to spread the joy. Go out and buy slab of coloured paper. Shall make 30 planes by Wednesday and take them to Kindy. After introducing the children to the wonderful world of origami (must learn at least two more things - preferably animals) I shall present them with their gifts and bask in their happiness.

***

Have made 20 planes. Hate origami. My thumb is throbbing and my fingers are stained with ink.

If children don't show appropriate level of gratitude I shall make origami sword and fall on it.

Wakizashi seppuku! Hai!

Challenge 9 - The Drunken Duck

Cooking Caribbean tonight. Apparently they have ducks.

For a starter I choose Deep Fried Salt and Pepper Whitebait. I've never eaten anything with the head still on. Questions

plague me ... What do eyeballs taste like? If I eat the brain will I acquire my victim's knowledge?

Does the same principle apply to gonads?

For the main I've opted for Drunken Duck based purely on the name. A drunk duck would be something to see. I'd pay to see a drunk duck.

Send virile men-folk out to hunt duck at Woolworths. Men come home with frozen duck. I go into bedroom and have little tantrum. Failed to specify how drunk duck must be, and men bring home five bottles of red. Duck won't feel a thing.

Try to thaw duck out in sink full of water. Whitebait thaw considerably more quickly and I witness the true horror of my decision. Hundreds of shiny little eyes stare up at me. If possible they feel worse than they look.

Am undeterred by fact fish bear no resemblance to the picture. Blame poor Food Photography and embrace denial.

6.20pm and duck still rock hard. Thaw duck in oven? Just need to cook it longer, surely. Will cook whitebait and proceed from there.

Can see the headline now: Sober Cook Decapitates Thumb Whilst Making Drunken Duck! Yes, it's true. I've opened my thumb from pad through nail while taking the damn duck out of it's packet. Army Captain over for dinner applies field dressing and graciously agrees to take orders in the kitchen. Suddenly the kitchen becomes organised and proceedings run like a greased clock. Strange ...

Whitebait works out wonderfully. A little too much salt but tempered well with lime juice. Hurrah!

Duck wildly successful. Credit where credit is due - couldn't have done it without my team of Helpful Boys.

Challenge 8 - Build a Bear

DAY 7 Cont ...

Last night I Did It With Denise. I was hungover. If this woman was any perkier her eyes would pop right out of her head. Her teeth glow unnaturally. The hair and make-up are unbelievable to anyone who didn't personally experience the 80s.

'Is that from the old days?' asks Miss Eight. Closely followed by, 'She's shaking her privates!'

I persevere with Denise for a while then the nausea rolls in. The hairy dog has come back to bite me. Somewhere between Denise shouting, 'Tighten your tush like a fist!' and 'C'mon squeeze those buttocks - take it!' I lose the will to live.

It's my mission, my purpose. I finish Doing It With Denise and crawl into bed to watch Top Gear. The Germans have built a supercar called the 'Gumpy'. I pull the covers over my head and go to sleep.


DAY 8


7am and I hit the Stairs of Doom. 30 reps - that's 690 steps!

I go home and Do Denise again. I owe it to her. Now my brain is working I listen to what she's saying: You can do it! 8 times and Just do the best you can! 6 times. I might have missed a couple because Master Three was trying to ride me like a pony. I suggest he find something more productive to do and he throws a tennis ball at me. It bounces off my back and another sails in.

C'mon Denise, you saucy minx! Hurt me!

Before I cry uncle it's over. Denise give me a little clap and I am complete.

***

My kids are going nuts for all the Christmas advertising. But what if ...? What if I buy no toys this Christmas. What if I buy no presents at all.

What if I make them?

Today's Challenge: Build a Bear

I buy what I think constitutes a bear, draw a bear shape on it and begin cutting. Occurs to me that I have left no room for a seam. Cut bear bigger by eye. Stitch felt together.

Something's missing ... no stuffing! I grab the flattest pillow in the house and its off to the knackers. Miss Eight suddenly declares it's her favourite pillow. News to me. All the other pillows are still fluffy. This pillow must die. It is its destiny.

Gut pillow like fish. Polyester fibres make their way into unusual places but I am focused. Stuffing a bear is satisfying - like stuffing a mushroom.

Gin friend from the other night arrives with beer. Damn and blast! Must ... finish ... beer. I mean bear. The end is in sight. Put on Ten Tenors rendition of Rawhide for added momentum. Get 'em up move 'em out something something RAWHIDE!

Stuff head. Try to sew on button nose. Un-stuff head. Nose successfully attached. Re-stuff head.

Feeling itchy. Arms, legs, back. Bet Dr Frankenstein didn't have this problem. Bodily fluids are far more user-friendly.

Fingers well-ventilated. Bear complete. Huzzah!!

Challenge 7 - Food Photography, Part 2

Curse guests who bring gin to a dinner party! That's like bringing a bazooka to a gunfight. By 8 o'clock I was dancing around the kitchen singing 'Life is a Tanqueray old son' and cooking experimental chicken.

My cousin comes into the kitchen and looks at me. 'You're burnt,' she says.
'No I'm not. I'm brown.'
'Oh,' she says, and offers to fill my glass with plain tonic.

I'm told the chicken was a success, but I have little recollection of, well, anything really. I reverse engineer chicken carcass and find half an apple stuffed up its bum. Beyond that, its anyone's guess.

Which brings me to my next challenge: Food Photography Part II - Lee's Hangover Breakfast.

It's pretty much your basic scramble but with mushrooms, parsley, cherry tomatoes and wood-smoked peppers. Sounds good, huh? Well, you try getting arty with a steaming plate full of salvation when you're tired, hungover and ravenously hungry. It reminded me of the time I sticky-taped a piece of meat to my dog's head. Karma will always get you in the end ... bas***d!

Based on Food Photographer Michael Ray's 30 pages of pointers, I begin.

Step 1: Cook food. This I can do.

Step 2: Compose, ie, figure out where to put stuff. Pretty much on the toast, far as I can tell. Sure smells good, though.

Step 3: Tweak exposure. Tweak what? By God that smells good ...

Step 4: Increase backlight. Sticky tape foil to the wall and hope for the best. The photo turns out almost black. What the ...? Try again. Same result. Food glistens enticingly. Stomach feels like its trying to digest itself.

Step 5: Locate highlights. Arg! Grab plate and snarf eggs.

Step 6: Schedule time for Food Photography III.

***

Decide I need to be punished for eating this morning's challenge. Go to an Op Shop in search of inspiration.

Thar she blows! Denise Austin's 'Hips Thighs & Buttocks' beckons me like a skanky Siren with big 80s hair.

The video cover says I'll look great from behind if I do it daily with Denise. Mid-snigger I notice the fine print: This program is designed with physical fitness in mind. Not my mind, obviously.

Have beer (hair of dog, or in my case hair of Saint Bernard), dust off VCR and hit Play.

Shall tell all when the deed is done ...

Challenge 6 - Fan Day

Today I decide to catch New Moon on its premiere day. Exciting, but not really 'new'.

Today I decide to catch New Moon on its premiere day dressed as a vampire. I asked my aforementioned flamboyant friend if I could borrow some pasty pancake that he uses for the stage, but he tells me it's all nasty after Halloween abuse. Pointed me toward a good source and I was away.

Problem 1: Yesterday was Fake Tan Day. My skin doesn't look sunkissed - it looks like it had a naughty weekend with half the solar system. I decide to slather on the sparkly stuff to direct attention away from skin that looks anything but undead - except maybe if you're from Florida. Do they have undead in Florida? Don't answer that ...

Problem 2: I pre-booked tickets for a 10am show. That means I have to drop Master Three at kindy dressed like a vampire. No one invites me home for tea and bickies. A small Asian girl stares at me and her bottom lip begins to tremble. I look over my shoulder. It can't possibly be me. I left my teeth in the car.

Made it to the show on time. I take in the demographic and my stomach clenches. I wasn't exactly mutton dressed as lamb - I was more like mutton dresses as lamb that's been buried for a week, crawled out of its grave, donned a frothy Dannii Minogue number and gone to the movies.

That said, the Dannii shirt was perfect. It's black with ruffles and frills and elastic in weird places. Looks great once you figure out which bit goes over your head.

My friend and I scan the theatre for undercover detectives. They had to be there somewhere, looking for cougars to arrest when they make unsavory noises at the shirtless and totally buff bits of boy candy on screen. A-hem.

Movie ends and the room erupts in a chorus of 'You've got to be kidding!s' and 'What?! Is that it?'s. Everyone hates a cliffhanger - especially when you've got to wait a year before the next one. I mean, the suspense! In twelve months will Jacob be able to see over his mighty pecs? Get a job so he can afford a proper T-shirt?

Will Buffy slay Edward?

A lot can happen in a year, believe me.

Conclusion: Operation Attend a Premiere Dressed Like a Deranged Fan is a success.

Challenge 5 - The Fake Tan

It's 30 degrees outside and 53% humidity. Time for... The Stairs Of Doom!

On the way there I see a house with yellow caution tape all over it. This would be because of the men in blue moon suits and heavy duty gas masks. Yarg! ASBESTOS!

This house is diagonally opposite my stairs. I lick my finger and hold it skyward. I deduct stairs are up-wind therefore safe as houses. Or something.




Today I do 25 sets. That's 575 steps. I am awesome! I am She-Ra!

Walk home and get camera. Walk back to railway, being sure to hold breath on way past stinky asbestos house. I sit at the bottom of the stairs and get ready to take a photo. My feet are stuck up on the bottom step and I'm leaning back like I'm in stage three labour. Police car rolls by and gives me the hairy eyeball. I can't believe they don't stop and ask me what I'm doing. Intelligence must indicate no terrorist would be caught dead in a red straw hat and tie-dyed singlet.

Two railway workers walk past on the tracks. 'I've never seen that before,' one remarks. I want to tell him I am documenting my pain but feel that would be too existential for this hour of the morning.

***

I have a roast lamb sandwich for lunch. Note that fat always looks less gross when brown. I decide this applies equally to my thighs.

It's Fake Tan Day!

I buy a middle of the range tanning lotion, shower and apply liberally. Smells like chocolate. Mmmm ... chocolate.

Then the stinging starts. It is awful. I grab the bottle and read the directions. 'Do not apply to freshly shaved skin' it advises. No kidding. My mother (who is visiting) thinks this is screamingly funny, which somehow makes the pain worse.

What to do? I can't walk around with one brown leg and one pasty leg. It would be like parking your Volkswagen next to a Porsche!

Pain is good. Didn't Arnie say that? I grit my teeth and do the other leg, determined not to cry like a girl.

A flamboyant friend of mine who knows more about cosmetics than I ever will in this lifetime suggested exfoliating before applying fake tanning lotion. To this I say, isn't shaving your legs with a blunt razor the same thing? Damn sure I stepped out of the shower with less skin on my legs than when I went in.

Conclusion: Transforming one's self into a sun-tanned goddess is problematic.

Challenge 4 - Food Photography

In the words of Robin Williams it's hot. Damn hot. Hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut.

Brewed coffee and assumed the position. Is it kosher to drink stimulants while opening my energy channels and soothing my chakras? Is this still ECO FRIENDLY YOGA?

Master Three joins me on the floor. We take the Sukhasana position, which sounds cleverer than it is. We breath deeply and salute the sun. Damn sun ... All is well, though - the caffeine is kicking in.

I get on my hands and knees and do the Dog. Children laugh. My son tries to emulate.

'To do the Dog,' I say, 'One must stick out one's bum.' More laughter. 'For the Cat, pretend the Dog has had a nasty fright and tuck your tail between your legs then raise your hackles.' I demonstrate. Children are hysterical. I reprimand children for making fun of thousands of years of culturally significant back bends and make like a Corpse.

***

Today's Challenge: Test one of the recipes in my cook book and attempt Food Photography. Easy peasy.

In the spirit of weight loss I decided to do my Skinny Bacon & Eggs. I put four eggs on to boil and begin frying bacon. Bacon smells funny. How long has it been in the fridge? Who cares - it'll still look good.

Remove eggs from pot. While peeling the first egg a chunk of white comes away with the shell. I eat the egg.

Peel second egg. More white comes away. Master Three asks for an egg and gets one.

Blood pressure rising. I assume Sukhasana position on kitchen floor and take 7 deep breaths. Peel next egg while using new mantra: 'Hands of a surgeon. Hands of a surgeon...' Egg perfect! Peel next egg in same manner. Chunk of white comes off. Am out of eggs. Decide to cunningly conceal defect with bacon.

I assemble my masterpiece and take half a dozen photos. Only one is clear. I'm no photographer and even I know the photo is rubbish. Shall spend afternoon learning the finer points of Food Photography from someone who actually knows what they're doing...

Challenge 3 - Eco-Friendly Yoga

Heat wave still in progress. Too hot for stairs. What to do? Something low-impact. Something I have never done before. Something primal ..

Something ... yogic.

Excellent. I Google yoga and find a website that advertises ECO FRIENDLY YOGA. As opposed to what, I wonder? They also advertise blocks, straps, props, bolsters and tools. I check for ratings warnings and pop-ups for PVC leotards. (One can never be too careful.)

Am alarmed to see poses with names such as 'Dog, forward' and 'Corpse'. On second thought Corpse sounds right up my alley. Damn sight better than 'Head to knee'.

Excitement grips. What to wear? There hasn't been any Lycra in my wardrobe for a decade at least. Swim suit has Lycra! It will have to do.

Partner enters room and asks if he is interrupting my yoghurt. I soldier on valiantly. 'Downward facing dog' claims to rest the heart. My heart feels like it's migrated to my ears. I decide Downward facing dog is a bit beyond me. Maybe tomorrow.

Finally take the Corpse position. Now this is more like it. I rest my bits for a minute or two then go looking for red wine and the name of a good chiropractor.

You know, this yoga stuff could grow on me.

DAY 2

This exercise business is going to require more thought.

Yesterday evening I trotted-slash-walked along behind the kids to the park. Couple Ks. Excellent start. I could feel my backside shrinking as the fresh air infused my lungs and the ground rose to meet my 5 year old sneakers with the air holes in the big toe.

Fired up the barbeque and cooked chicken sausages, onions and sliced potato. Placed on sesame bun with cheese and salad. Felt backside expand.

Walked briskly home. Felt backside contract.

Had beer. Felt backside expand.

Skipped dinner. Felt virtuous.

Became ravenously hungry at 10.30pm and had strawberry tart.

I now see that my theory is flawed. One cannot achieve weight loss when one is running toward a barbeque. If I continue in this vein my lifestyle will achieve perfect balance which means that my backside will retain its current shape and keep hanging out with riffraff like Gravity.

But this is okay. Every plan needs to be refined.

I happen to know that there are a set of steps at a railway overpass near my home. I also know that this overpass is directly opposite Crazy Cat Lady's house. I don't know if she's really crazy but anyone with that many cats has a prima facie case against them.

***

Kids decided to follow me to overpass. Minutes tock by as we search for hats, sunscreen, shoes, extra water, tissues etc and finally we're off. By now it's uncharacteristically hot. Halfway there Master Three reneges. Walk home again. Walk back to railway. Bloody cats everywhere.

23 steps. I go up and down 15 times. That's 345 steps. By now I have chest pains and my head feels like it's going to pop. When we get home the radio announces we are having a mini heatwave. Resist urge to claim it's a sign from God and renounce all exercise from here-on-after as a sign of piety.

After a gallon of Gatorade and a quick lie down it's time to choose my new challenge for the day. I've done the physical. What about the mental?

I wrote 2 books several years ago. One was a cook book with a funky twist. I was told by agents that it was a great idea but unless I was a celebrity nobody would publish it. That was before 4 Ingredients went gangbusters. Go girls!

Challenge Number 2: Resurrect cook book and do a little work on it every day.

Oh yeah.

DAY 1

My name is Lee Hannah and I’m in a rut. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the past year was running over a pedestrian – and that wasn’t exciting in a good way. Neither was the massive hangover from all the medicinal whiskey I had to take in order to calm my nerves, nor the ding in my bonnet that serves as a constant reminder of what a rubbish driver I am.

Yesterday somebody asked me what I’d been up to – just a casual question of the kind asked a million times every day by a million different people. My answer? ‘It’s still Groundhog day.’ That was it. End of conversation. What does that make me? The world’s most boring suburban housewife or just one of a billion men and women plodding through life one unremarkable day at a time?

My mother and I went to see Julie & Julia last week. We were so inspired that we went straight from the theatre to the library in search of a French cook book. The Julia Child cook book had 47 holds on it. Tres surprise.

So we took what was left, bought some bubbly and cooked chicken in Muscat with parmesan pureed potatoes and asparagus braised in butter. We basked in the glow of doing something a little out of the ordinary and vowed to do it more often.

This got me thinking. Why is it so long between the tiny adventures in my life? Why don’t I break out of my comfort zone more often?

When domestic bliss is domestic blah and I’m wondering for the hundredth time when, for God’s sake, am I going to get off my bum and learn to play the guitar the answer I give myself is: When the kids leave home. Translation: In 15 year’s time when I’ve probably lost the inclination to do anything except play Bridge and bake cookies.

Most of us have seen stories like Jim Carrey’s ‘Yes Man’, or ‘Julie & Julia’. My question is: what if it’s true? Could I change my entire life by changing just one aspect of it?

It’s a frightening thought. I mean, what would I change? I love cooking but there’s no way I’d burn my way through a massive cook book. And saying ‘yes’ to everything? Well, people would first have to ask me a question and quite frankly, I don’t socialise much. After so many years at home with the kids I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to hold up my end of a conversation with anyone but a Wiggle.

And then it came to me. It doesn’t have to be just one thing – it could be anything. The options are endless … I could go abseiling. Get a Brazilian. Eat chicken feet at my local Chinese restaurant. Lose the 15 kilos I put on after my last baby.

What’s stopping me? The answer is nothing.

So here’s the challenge: do one different thing every day. Just one. It could be huge or it could be small. It could be on-going or it could be a one-off. The point is IT WILL BE DIFFERENT.

My first task? Exercise.

As the world is my witness, I’m going to get off my pasty butt and exercise every single day, starting today.

And tomorrow? Probably not the chicken feet, but I’ll be sure to let you know.