Musical Monday … Love Generation

Not much to write other than it’s been a bit of a crappy weekend.

We were due to go to a bonfire party on Saturday night and to my mum’s for Sunday dinner, but had to pass on both because the dreaded lurgy is alive and well again in our house.

The oldest, the youngest and myself have all been sick and I’m surviving on barely any slumber.  I just can’t sleep when any of my children have a fever and usually end up spending the wee hours of the night sticking thermometers in their ears to check their temperatures and then plying them with necessary meds and cold cloths to keep said fevers at bay.

Thankfully, both their fevers are gone, the big guy is back at school and the wee one is doing lord knows what on his brother’s World of Warcraft account, but the mummy is T-I-R-E-D!

*yawn*

So, just to wake cheer me up, I’ve picked a nice, catchy, upbeat song … Love Generation by Bob Sinclair.

Just look to the rainbow, you will see
Sun will shine till eternity
I’ve got so much love in my heart
No one can tear it apart, yeah

Feel the love generation
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Feel the love generation
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, yeah

So, what feel good song helps wake you up?

Haiku … The Middle Child

you think you know me

but you really don’t at all

caught in the middle

My first attempt at a haiku, so be kind!

Son, you’ve come a long way …

Proud does not begin to describe how I’m feeling.

They played hard and they played with heart.  They stood tall and proud, ignoring the taunts of the opposing team.

My oldest son made a spectacular goal, but sadly it wasn’t enough.  His soccer team was unexpectedly and abruptly knocked out of their upcoming  tournament.

Afterwards, when the team showed good sportsmanship by congratulating the winning team and each other on how well they played despite the defeat, it made me realise how far my son has come.

He seemed to come out of the womb with a competitive streak.  He was the kid who hated to lose.  He had to win at everything.  Everything. Whether it was racing across the playground with his friends, playing a board game with his family or finishing up his macaroni and cheese.

He’s been playing soccer since he was four-years-old, but when we first signed him up I have to admit I was a little worried that he might be thrown off his team for unsportsmanlike conduct.  The hubby and I discussed it at length and decided playing competitive sports would actually be good for my big laddie.  Where else would be better for him to learn how to be a good competitor in life than on the pitch?

It was hard watching him from the sidelines that first season and I questioned our decision to let him play so young.  He would lose his temper and pout when he missed a goal, but then so did most of the other players.  Slowly though, he began to see for himself that  it’s not always about winning because not every one is going to win.

Not every one can win.

It’s about the love of the game and love it he does.

He’s played on winning teams and he’s also played on losing teams.  He’s known the joy of holding that winning cup in his hands and he’s also known the pain that comes with being knocked out of a tournament.

I’ve come to realise these losses are important for our children.  They teach them invaluable lessons, getting them ready for the real world.  And, if he shows half the class he did that night, then I’ll be more than satisfied that through playing competitive sports, he’s developed the tools he needs to deal with life’s joys and disappointments.

When the team gathered for their final huddle and team cheer, the head coach’s words made me choke up.

“You left your hearts out there on that field.”

And, I left my voice out there on the sidelines.  Cheering them on.

No blame was cast.  It just was what it was.  An unfortunate loss.

Son, you’ve come a long way.

Walking with Manatees …

Our Saturdays and Sundays have been taken up lately with sports, birthday parties, family gatherings and other soirees of one kind or another.

With soccer season coming to a disappointing and all too early end on Friday night, we realised we actually were going have a free weekend.  So, on Sunday we headed out for a much-needed family day out to Tampa Electric’s Manatee Viewing Center in Apollo Beach … sans the teen who had a birthday party.

And, can I just say?  How great is this place?

It’s educational, child-friendly, educational, outdoorsy, educational and free!

The center has a museum with lots of fun, hands-on exhibits, a long boardwalk and observation deck where we were able to observe and walk with the manatees.

We saw plenty of other wildlife too … rays, sharks and birds.

We loved the tidal walk that is sort of covered with what my boys called “a tunnel of trees.”

There’s also a gift shop, outdoor cafe and a new hurricane simulator to see.

The manatees usually come to this area every year in search of the warmer waters created by the outflow from the power plant.  Sadly, our unusually cold snap has caused a high number of deaths of the already endangered beloved Florida residents.

Here’s hoping the warm-up in our weather helps out these majestic creatures.

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Just what is a super mum?

So, most mornings I can be found supping on my coffee cup, grunting sweet nothings to my family, waiting for the java to do what it’s supposed to do and wake me the hell up.

I’m not sure why, but on one particular morning last week, I thought I’d spark up a half decent conversation with the hubby before he left for work.

Looking at my coffee cup, I pondered the question … just what is a super mum before mumbling it out loud.

My hubby answered … in all seriousness … that he thought a super mum is probably a single mum or widow raising five or more kids alone, who also fosters disabled kids and the elderly, volunteers every night in a soup kitchen, manages to work out regularly, cooks every meal from scratch, attends every school and sporting function their children have and has every item in the house ironed at all times while running a massive, billion-dollar, international conglomerate.

Then he thought for a minute … the look on  my face obviously didn’t put the fear of God in him like it was meant to … and added that she can probably single-handedly change  a tire with a baby at her bosom.

Honestly.

I took a deep breath, peered at him from over the top of my coffee cup and said “so, you don’t think I’m a super mum then?”

The look on his face said it all as he quickly realised the error of his ways.  He tried to smooth things over with a hug and a kiss before dashing out the door with his tail between his legs.  Yeah, dude run, I thought and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

In the hubby’s defence, I think I kind of maybe set him up asking such a loaded question.  But, come on, I ask you.  Does that woman my husband described really exist?

Before long my sweet middle son came downstairs and yawning he gave me a hug and asked if I wanted some more coffee.  He took my cup, looked at me and said, “Mum, you’re my super mum.”

Then it came to me that yes, super mum does exist.

In my family’s eyes.

And, in your family’s eyes.

And in her family’s eyes.

You’ve probably met her on more than one occasion because she’s everywhere.  She’s standing in the queue behind you at the local supermarket and she’s likely jogged next to you on the treadmill at the local gym.  She’s in the White House and she’s at the school gates waiting for her child to run out to her.  She’s cooking dinner for her family and she’s sealing her next business deal.  She’s putting the finishing touches on her next blog post and she’s maybe having a cup of coffee made for her by one of her sons.

Because, every mum is a super mum.

Musical Mondays … Hollywood

Caught this band, Marina and the Diamonds, on BBC America’s Friday Night with Jonathan Ross the other night and thought this song was fab.

Skiing in the Alps …

Did ye hear there’s a little event called the Olympics taking place right now in Vancouver?  Isn’t it great?

So, all this talk of winter sports has made me harken back to the first … and last time I ever skied.

The year was 1983, so I’m sure lots of leg warmers and fingerless gloves were involved.  It was on a secondary school trip to the beautiful country of Austria.  I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the ski resort that we stayed at, but I do recall that it was a small market town near Innsbruck.  The town was nestled in the heart of the Alps and was within walking distance to the slopes — we used to schlep our skis there in the morning and schlep them back in time for lunch and then repeat the same again before the evening meal.  It also had one nightclub that we were able to sneak in, a beautiful church and a fountain that we thought was hilarious because it was frozen solid.  *eyes rolling*  Teenage girls!

There were various levels of skiers on the trip.  Some of my classmates seemed to have come out of the womb with natural skiing abilities and easily hit the advanced slopes, however, there were a handful of us that were newbies.  The closest we’d ever come to skiing was sliding down snowy hills on plaggy (trash) bags.

My first (or second or even third) trip up the baby slopes was pretty funny, yet also strangely painful.  More painful than coming down, if you must know.  You had to hitch a ride up there by grabbing hold of a moving rope.  Yeah, it can be safely said that I ate snow several times before getting the hang of it.  I quickly became an expert at that baby slope and advanced to the next level where I got to ride a ski lift just like the big kids.  These slopes were trickier and I obviously wasn’t the best skier, but really enjoyed it.

I do recall that we all got to tackle a slope that had a small jump to it.  The ski instructors were having those of us that were less experienced skiers go first, holding up everyone else.  There was a certain big-headed twat of a classmate who thought it funny to heckle us, shouting that he thought we should go back to the baby slopes which in turn made everyone laugh.  He had to suck eggs when we all made it down in one piece … I think it was the most exhilarating run that I had on the whole trip.

A highlight of the trip for me though was when we boarded the coach and made our way to the site of the 1964 and 1972 Winter Olympics in Innsbruck.  The ’72 games were originally awarded to Denver, but the city officially withdrew due to the costs and impact it would have on the city so Innsbruck was selected as the alternate host.

It was a very humbling experience to be next to the dual cauldrons that had been used for the Olympic flames of each games.  To stand where great athletes had stood years before.  We also saw the ski jump or Bergisel ski jump as it is called.  At the time, it was no longer in use and looked very weathered, but has since been rebuilt and I was happy to read that Innsbruck is to be the location for the first Youth Olympic Games.

I would love to go skiing again, but the opportunity has never really presented itself.  The hubby and I have been talking about planning a skiing holiday in our future and I’d actually love to revisit the area and even stay at the same ski resort I did all those years ago.  Who knows?  Maybe I could tackle that slope again.  Now, if I could only remember the name of that town.

How about you?  Do the Olympics bring back any great memories for you?

My tweet cloud …

A collection of my most used tweets over the past year.  Yeah, I guess I’m a nice tweeter … =)

One of those days …

It was one of those days.

Not a day that I’m proud of, but it’s one that also offered me up an epiphany.

It was to be a laundry day.  I was cursing at the laundry pile.  Rather loudly.  I didn’t know I was throwing a tirade of verbal abuse at my boys’ tee-shirts, jeans, socks, sweaters and skiddie-laden underwear until my boys appeared at the laundry room door.

“Mum, is everything okay?” they asked.

I was a bit taken aback, but still on a roll so found myself sarcastically telling them that, “yeah I was just fine and so happy to be doing laundry.”  I think I rolled my eyes at that point and even went so far as to say that this was why I was put on God’s green earth to do their laundry.  Then I told them to take their freshly pressed piles up to their rooms and put them away, barking the word “neatly” as they walked away.

And, I just felt awful.

Boys are difficult and wonderful all at the same time.  They’re messy and full of adventure.  They love fiercely and have enough energy to run a marathon and more.  And, not to mention all that testosterone.  One minute they’re clinging to your legs begging you to sing the ABC’s with them and the next they’re towering over you asking what’s for dinner.  They have the most amazing sense of empathy and heart and I love them.  And, did I mention that they’re messy?

This was my epiphany …

I’m fed up of barking at my boys.

I want them to know every day how much joy they bring me.

But on some days like this day, I worry all they will remember of me and their childhood is me going on about the laundry or their untidy rooms or their table manners or their grades.

I need them to know how much joy they bring me.

And, so on this day, I went upstairs and helped my boys put away their clothes.  I apologized for my harsh, stupid, sarcastic words.  They don’t need to see nor hear me sweating the small stuff.

I want them to know how much joy they bring me.  every. single. day.

This post was inspired by Josie’s Writing Workshop over at her fabulous blog Sleep is for the Weak.

I’m the grumpy old troll …

Whenever we come across a bridge, my little one and I like to play a fun game we call the Grumpy Old Troll courtesy of Dora the Explorer.  If you’ve not had the pleasure of a Grumpy Old Troll episode on Dora, please let me clue you in.  It’s a troll, who is very grumpy and very old, that makes poor Dora and her traveling partners solve his riddles before they can cross over his bridge.

It’s usually me that gets to play the Troll … ahem, no comments from the peanut gallery please … and ask the riddles, but this time he decided he was going to assume the position!

Who’s that crossing over my bridge?  Trying his best to look like the grumpy old troll …

He makes a much cuter troll than I do, yet his riddles are much more difficult.  Take for example, what’s pink and goes moo?  Hmmm?  He stumped me on that one, but I wasn’t too surprised when I found out the answer was  a pink cow!    It’s a fun game to play with your preschooler when at the playground, provided that you have the all-important bridge!

He doesn’t look too much like a grumpy old troll does he?

Much?

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