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.