Exercising with Children

AN EXERCISE IN FRUSTRATION

We are in the car on the way home from Kindy.

'Why didn't you make me sandwiches for Kindy?' asks The Bombshell.

I looked at her in the rear view mirror.  'I made you quiches,' I said.

'But I don't like quiches, I like sandwiches.'

Grrrr. This is a complete fib, I think to myself. I watched her eat eight in a single sitting once.

'I thought it would be fun to have something new at lunch,' I say. 

She changes tack.

'I don't like the big ones, I only like the small ones,' she tells me.

Now I'm getting cranky.  Miss Curly Mop is watching the exchange with interest.  She finds it fascinating when Lexi gets yelled at and she isn't.  She can probably tell what is going to happen if the Bombshell continues down this path.

'Why don't you like the big ones, they have exactly the same ingredients as the small ones, they just have more.'

'But the black ones...', she says.

'I didn't give you any black ones,' I say.  As if I burn my mini quiches!

'But I only like the black ones...'


AN EXERCISE IN HARSH REALITY

The Bombshell and I are in the shower and she has pointed out that I have some red spots on my back.  She helpfully gives them a poke as she counts them.

Naturally I cannot see them, but for some reason I think if I twist around I will be able to see my own back.  Pregnancy is doing nothing for my common sense let alone my agility.

I give up trying to look at my own back.

The Bombshell shrugs.  'Maybe you're just getting old,' she offers helpfully.


AN EXERCISE IN CREATIVITY

Still in the shower, the Bombshell is covering herself in soap suds.

'I like this,' she says.  'It smells like lemon.'

'Pretty smart,' I tell her.  'It's called lemongrass.'

She looks up at me, her eyes wide.  I can tell she has just had a big idea.

'Ooooh lemongrass, that's a nice name.  Maybe we should call the baby Lemongrass.'


FINALLY, AN EXERCISE IN WHY WE TOLERATE THE ABOVE

The Bombshell and I are out of the shower, and I am twisting around in the mirror to find these red spots on my back. 

I don't like what I see.  It's all a bit blobby and wobbly, and those aren't even the bits that are pregnant.

I must have had a frown on my face, because the Bombshell walks up to me, wraps her arms around my legs and tells me: 'Mum, you're perfect just the way you are.'