Prime of My Life?

Ok, let's get this out of the way:

Yes, it's been a long time since I updated this site.

Yes, I have changed jobs/houses/cities/countries again, and yes, my children are now all bigger than me, which isn't fair. It's been a lot (especially the last bit).

But, let's talk about something else.

Doctor, Doctor!

While the kids had checkups and shots several months ago—because otherwise they couldn't go to school and I would have to teach them myself (no thank you)—I had my own first US medical experience yesterday, because, yikes, expensive. 

(We still sort of have Canadian healthcare, but it's a long, complicated process for partial reimbursement. We are very excited that we may, one day, get back a portion of the cost of the kids' state-required health assessments and immunizations, which, when it comes in, will literally pay for a weekend in New York).

For me, I'd found it impossible to find a doctor for myself, giving up after about four months of frustration. 

But then Fis had a concern, and couldn't find a doctor in two days. So, he asked his colleagues what they did. (See, four months, above.) 

So, here's what he found out: somehow, "Amazon Doctors" are a thing (what is HAPPENING???). I signed up for this via my Prime membership (WHAT) two days ago... and had an appointment with my lovely new primary care practitioner yesterday morning. I left with referrals for a whole slew (not just half a slew, as you might expect) of other doctors, including  a dermatologist and a radiologist, and bloodwork (hello, cholesterol) too. 

I think my warranty has expired. 

Jumpstart my parts

Point: my left shoulder, last year, hurt so badly all the time that I could no longer do pushups.* (Gasp! I know!) Luckily, I'd had it treated and healed right before we moved here, thank goodness, by my mad chiropractor, who used: Active Release Therapy; Shockwave; ultrasound; cupping; acupuncture; and the special acupuncture that also involves electrocution. (Plus physio exercises.) He traumatised me deeply for four months straight, and voila! It's as good as new (though I will never be the same). 

He had fixed my other shoulder the year before, and both times, was like, "HOW did you even do this?" No idea, sir. Sure, stick that vibrating needle into me while I sweat. Please.

Heal thymyself?

But maybe I didn't need to put myself through all that. 

In March, I fell off a (ridiculously small) ladder while hanging didgeridoos, and sprained my right ankle horribly. I was in agony for days, walked with a cane, and could barely move or use the stairs for two full weeks. Even two months later, it was still swollen, and didn't feel right. I resigned myself to the possibility that I would probably never again turn a gentleman's head with my delicate instep run without pain.

BUT THEN! After ten full weeks of painful hobbling, I hopped over a curb, landing badly, twisting and going over my ankle—respraining my hurty ankle, which somehow fixed it completely (yay, science?). I went for a run the next day, realizing five minutes in that, perhaps, I shouldn't have mourned not being able to run, because it's awful.

AND I've realigned my left wrist. I noticed, while sitting with my swollen foot up on an ottoman, that I had a wonky bone sticking out (see also, warranty), and that it hurt (again) when I did pushups.* Here's how I fixed it: by actively not putting it into very weird positions for no good reason. Seriously. I'd find it tucked up/folded in half like a little wing while I watched tv or slept. By focusing on keeping my hand "normal", it got better, in only about six weeks. 

You should definitely follow me for health advice.

It wasn't supposed to happen to me

Like a sucker, I really believed that my entire lifetime of frequent exercise with cardiovascular and weight-bearing activities, coupled with a a pretty healthy diet and obsessive sunscreen use would have given me a leg up on this 'aging with dignity' thing. Alas, no. It's all lies. 

Tonight is pizza night, and I'm going to have it with wine and chips and probably some gin, and no sunscreen because the system is evidently broken.

But yes, my ankle is tantalizingly dainty again, thank you for asking.

*No, Mom, the answer is not, "Maybe you shouldn't be doing pushups."

Sending the Kids Back to an Active Lifestyle is More Important than Sending Them Back to School

Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash

Get them moving. Now. 

Lockdown, isolation, social distancing...whatever you practiced between March and September, I'm willing to bet your kids aren't as fit as they were.

From a global perspective, “prolonged home stay may lead to increased sedentary behaviours, such as spending excessive amounts of time sitting, reclining, or lying down.” Of course it did. 

We got far less auxiliary exercise (the steps I didn't take to bring the dog to the dog park, or even meet the kids at the bus stop across the street; the stairs you didn't climb up onto the top deck of the bus, the steps you didn't take to transfer tube lines or grab a coffee from the shop at lunchtime). All of these added up during a normal, pre-lockdown day. And there we were without them, for almost six months.

Now, what about the kids? Kids move a lot, far more than the average adult. They're supposed to.

Let me be clear: I’m not advocating for shaming kids for their perfectly-understandable, lowered fitness levels, or for pushing kids so hard that they get injured; I understand that they can’t just jump back into the pre-pandemic levels of activity, especially those that didn’t have a (cruel yet creative) mom. Most parents, while juggling working from home and home schooling, didn’t have the luxury (or patience, knowhow and inherent evilness, all important attributes for personal trainers) to coach their kids to move and stretch so much.

Read the whole article at Medium.com:

Is "Easing Back In" the Best Way to Go?

My kids have had more screen time since March than they have ever had in their lives. Cumulatively. Like, the time they have spent on screens between March and last week outweighs allll of the screentime they have ever had in their 7, 10 and 11 years, respectively.

Oh, and read this one, too.

"I Don't Need Anyone Pressuring Me to Work Out Right Now"

Remember when that photo of Adele went viral? A beautiful, incredibly-talented, successful woman and mother lost a lot of weight, and it broke the internet. People that have praised her new look have been vilified, because they must be celebrating looks and the diet culture over talent, are completely invalidating the rest of her accomplishments, and "skinny doesn't necessarily mean healthy".

Fitness for Shut-ins Part One: Motivation vs Dedication

A three-part series about staying fit and healthy while on lockdown

These puppies are going to stay looking new for a while. (Image: author's own)

In this strange new world, it's going to be harder than usual to stay fit and healthy, but it CAN be done.

First, let's discuss the difference between motivation and dedication. Motivation is wanting to do something, which is great. It's having a good reason to do what you're doing, and it's how most people get results: they want to get fit, so they work out and eat better.

Some days, however, even the most motivated people don't feel like working out. I have had days (and still do) where I would rather die than eat another chicken breast, and would sell my firstborn if I could just lay on the couch with several Creme Eggs, even though I have a very good reason to do the opposite. That's when dedication kicks in.

Committing to a task means doing it even when you don't feel like it (see also, Work or Marriage). Dedication is always linked to motivation, but goes that extra step towards action. After all, it's not enough to have a good reason or a goal in mind. What gets you there are the actions you take every single day.

So, how do you make this work for you while you're locked in your house? Easy.

Keep reading...




What do you want to achieve while you're stuck inside? How are you going to do it?


Watch for Part Two: Indoor and Small-Space Fitness Routines and Part Three: Home Fitness Tracking Tools

What is the absolute least amount of exercise I can do?

Snacking on Exercise: Could four minutes of exercise really be enough?

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

Originally published on Medium on April 9, 2019.

We are all busy. We have jobs, families, pets, plants… responsibilities (yuck), and only some of us can properly manage everything and maintain healthy exercise and eating habits too.

We hate those people.

But I think we all want to feel fit, be healthy, and if we could look great naked, too, well, good. So, the growing interest in the “snack on exercise” movement, with a total of…wait for it…only four minutes of exercise a day sounds pretty fantastic. But is it too good to be true?

Of course it is! Four minutes??? I mean, really.

But then I started to investigate. (As I do.)

I reviewed the research into the snacking on exercise movement here. Go check it out!

Where did this ridiculous idea even come from?

High-intensity interval training, or HIIT, has been around for a while. You’ve probably heard of this training method by now, which combines short bouts of all-out, intense exercise interspersed with active rest, like light cycling.

Now, “all-out intensity” is highly relative to the fitness level and perception of the individual; HIIT, to be properly done, must be at levels between I-feel-terrible and oh-dear-I-just-threw-up. It’s been employed by athletes for at least a century, but we’ve only been seriously studying it for about a decade.

Author’s note: While I do feel that HIIT training sounds better than just HIIT, then I’d be saying “high-intensity interval training training”, which I think we can all agree is stupid.

So, while “HIIT” sounds scary, the fun-and-relatable term “snacking on exercise” was originally coined in a 2014 University of Otago study to describe “snacks” of six, one-minute, all-out workout sessions interspersed with active rest or resistance training in groups of insulin-resistant individuals. They found that, compared to 30-minute sessions of moderate-intensity exercise, those in the snack groups showed more effective blood sugar control. This result — and the catchy title — helped the movement towards less-is-more take off. Most studies — but not all — that have looked into this phenomenon are putting their participants through the paces with HIIT.

HIIT, to be properly done, must be at levels between I-feel-terrible and oh-dear-I-just-threw-up.

I reached out to Lauren Parsons, of Snack on Exercise. She is a Wellbeing Specialist, speaker and consultant, whose mission is to make people fitter and happier with just four minutes of exercise per day. She firmly believes that, by removing the ubiquitous “no time” excuse, people can discover the joy of exercise and make a huge impact on their health and wellness by investing the same amount of time each day that it takes to brush their teeth, a minimal and very doable outlay of time.

“The Snack on Exercise movement is primarily about getting people started,” says Mrs. Parsons, who differentiates between HIIT and her principle of wanting people to make a healthy habit of four, one-minute bouts of exercise over the course of a day. “I really went to reach people who are currently quite sedentary at present (and missing out). It’s about getting them moving regularly because of the incredible benefits the research shows they’ll receive.”

I started my research with the study she cites in her inspiring TED talk.

That 2016 study from McMaster University is mentioned in several news articles on the exercise snacking phenomenon. It is just one of a number of McMaster University studies on the effects of short-bout exercise programmes — as compared to those of longer durations of moderate-intensity exercise — on various health markers and in different populations.

How long do these short bouts have to last?

Some studies show that as little as 36–60 seconds of intense exercise per session (in six-second bursts) are enough to make impressive gains in certain populations. They have shown health improvements in overweight adults with a cumulative one minute of hard exercise, three times per week — that’s three minutes per week. Sedentary students have improved their cardiorespiratory fitness with three, twenty-second snacks of brisk stair climbing per day, for a total of three minutes a week. And they’ve seen insulin sensitivity decrease with “reduced-exertion” high-intensity interval training (a bit of an oxymoron, I think) with only two, twenty-second sprints, three times a week.

Yes, math fans, that’s 120 seconds (or two minutes) of exertion a week. No wonder people are interested.

Does it really have to be high-intensity?

Author’s note: If I come across as totally judging people that hear that they can improve their fitness by working out for just four minutes a day, but then complain that it has to be hard, yeah, that’s about right.

I asked Lauren about intensity. “Numerous studies have shown that by adding a bit of intensity we see much better results in a wide range of health markers including fitness, muscle gain, fat reduction, blood lipid profiles and insulin resistance, than simply doing longer steady state exercise,” she says.

I think I can safely stake my professional reputation on agreeing that higher intensity equals better results, and that the amount of research showing positive results from high-intensity, lower-volume sessions is impressive.

But research into moderate, six-minute exercise sessions and those lasting less than ten minutes per session showed positive results for the participants too: improved blood sugar moderation after meals and cardiometabolic profiles, as well as bold declarations that the results are as good from these ten-minute sessions as if the sessions lasted over 30 minutes. Another study states that participation in both “bouted” and “non-bouted” (shorter and longer than ten minutes, respectively) moderate-to-vigorous activity reduced chances of developing multimorbidity, and recommends that both types of exercise be promoted.

In plain English, then: intense, really short workouts are good for you, but engaging in short, moderate exercise also shows great results if you lead a largely inactive life.

Lauren agrees. “It’s still definitely worth breaking up your day of sitting, as we know that having a sedentary lifestyle — which is defined as six or more hours of sitting per day — increases morbidity and mortality. This remains true even if you exercise at other times — that doesn’t undo the negatives of a sedentary lifestyle. It’s the regular movement breaks that are key.”

Just bear in mind that quality vs. quantity is important with all of your exercise.

Do people enjoy it? Do they stick with it?

So, it’s been clearly established that even a few minutes of exercise a day has physiological benefit. But what about the emotional and motivational benefits of snacking? Does snacking lead to adoption of a regular and/or longer-duration training programme? Do snackers tend to maintain or augment their routines?

Another team at McMaster University found that enjoyment of high-intensity interval exercise actually increases with ongoing training — even those doing it “properly” at I’m-about-to-puke intensity. And a 2012 study reported that a tabata group also reported improved enjoyment of — and intentions to engage in — continued exercise, whereas the endurance group showed no change in enjoyment.

Author’s note: HIIT is sometimes used interchangeably with the term, tabata, a specific form of HIIT with a set ratio of twenty seconds of (very hard) work and ten seconds of rest, eight times, for a total of — you betcha — four minutes of exercise.

A study from the University of British Columbia also suggests that interval training makes exercise more enjoyable for sedentary individuals, and proposes it as a good alternative to traditional continuous exercise for ongoing adherence to exercise. Two other groups studying insulin management in sedentary adults had similar findings: high-intensity, time-efficient training programmes improve participation among inactive populations who otherwise wouldn’t adhere to time-consuming traditional aerobic exercise regimes. As well, they spent more time performing intense physical activity overall per week.

So…yes, and yes.

Working harder (and putting the HI into HIIT) shows more benefits, because OF COURSE IT DOES.

Two last questions

After my research review, I had a few further questions for Mrs. Parsons: what about non-physiological improvements, for example, in mood, sleep habits, social aspects and eating habits?

These are points that I couldn’t find in the existing research, so I’m stating clearly and on the record that more research is needed specific to short-duration exercise, and in fit people in particular.

But! I would assert that, as physiological benefits are consistently shown, and enjoyment and adherence are positive, this is a no-brainer. They should (should, not do) echo the accessory benefits of traditional exercise programmes. The anecdotal evidence, at least, is all positive, as are Lauren’s client testimonials.

My last question to her was simple. So, is four a magical number? Do I have to stop at four minutes?

“No,” declares Lauren. “You certainly don’t have to. This whole concept is about getting you started and ideally getting you moving at four different times throughout your day for a minute or so. If you can increase that and do more, then good on you. Go for it! Just bear in mind that quality vs. quantity is important with all of your exercise. Spending longer periods, particularly doing restorative movement in ways that you enjoy and getting out into nature for good dose of sunlight is also important. It’s all about balance. We just want four minutes to be your baseline every single day.”

The verdict

Doing a few quick bouts of exercise a day will benefit most people, as long as it is of an intensity higher than they are used to.

Highly-trained individuals can’t expect good results from moderate-intensity exercise “snacks”; they would have to work at near-maximal (barfy) levels.

But the research clearly indicates that untrained or sedentary populations can use very short intervals of exercise to achieve impressive improvements in their blood pressure, blood sugar management, body composition and VO2 Max and have a good chance of enjoying it and sticking with it, whether they be at vomit levels or lower.

My take: it’s an excuse-proof time commitment, with mountains of evidence of physiological benefits, and the studies show that it’s more fun than longer-duration sessions. However, it’s also true that working harder (and putting the HI into HIIT) shows even more benefits, because of course it does.

Author’s note: Although “all out” HIIT models (such as Wingate cycle-type exercise) are the most effective, this type of extremely-high-intensity training may not be safe, tolerable or practical for many individuals.

So, can health and fitness gains really be made by taking on snack-size intervals of exercise, for as little as four minutes’ effort, or less?

It’s too good. And it seems to be true.

So, consult your doctor first, but get up and start snacking!

***

Interested in getting started? Lauren Parsons offers a free, 7-day Snack on Exercise Challenge and lots of resources for snacking ideas. Give it a try and see how four minutes a day feels for you. (After you consult your doctor.)

***

Karen (Power) Hough is a writer, editor and blogger with an Honours BSc. in Human Kinetics, whose part-time “superhero job” has been as a fitness instructor for over 20 years. She currently lives in London with her husband, three energetic kids and a codependent dog, and bores/impresses them all with stories about how she used to be a nutritionist, personal trainer and national-level fitness competitor. Her glutes still hurt from a tabata workout three days ago.

The Cranky Book Reviewer read Fat Chance

AND SHE DIDN'T LIKE IT

Disclaimer:  This will totally come across as smug and obnoxious, and maybe sort of mean.*  Also, IT'S FULL OF SPOILERS.


I've been reading and re-reading a lot, as I always do, and was just at the end of the available reading material in my house.  So, imagine my surprise and delight when I flipped through my Kindle to see a title that I had either never meant to upload in the first place, or uploaded and forgotten about during my brief foray into Kindle Unlimited, a place that the CBD never wants to go again.  I don't have a problem with self-publishing, per se, but when I signed up for a free trial (yep, I'm even cranky about things I read for free on a free trial), I didn't realize that most of the books available there would be people who thought their work was good enough to share with the world, though traditional publishers might disagree.  And yes, I realize the irony of this.  

But I digress.

I had apparently downloaded Fat Chance, by Nick Spalding.  At last check, it had 3,300 plus reviews, with an average of 4.4 stars out of 5. It's also available in paperback. 

It starts out with a reasonable premise:  an overweight, late-thirties couple enter a Biggest-Loser-type contest (published in 2014, when I guess some people were still watching?) and journal their way through six months of healthier eating and exercise.

Spoilers ahead

There are lots of cheap laughs at fat people's expense (but then stern reminders that this is wrong and that they have feelings too) and cheap emotional heartstring-tugging...and a completely unrealistic ending in which, after being extremely overweight for years, they drop lots of stone** in six months, stand up to bullies, realize the true meaning of friendship, look great naked again, and then celebrate by going out to a restaurant, but leave to pick up the fixings for a healthy stirfry instead.  Oh, and apparently/possibly/finally conceive a child.

All this, couched in embarrassingly preachy "revelations" about fad diets and exercise gimmicks.

*sigh*

Where do I start?

The times, they are a-changing

Well, first, it's the Tennies (remember the 80s and 90s? I hereby christen this decade the Tennies).  Fat jokes aren't funny.  And someone writing fat jokes and scenes to show how ridiculous fat people are just to make a point that they are people too seems, oh, completely idiotic and outdated, because Of Course They Are People Too.  And They Have Feelings.  Jeebus.

There is only one way to be happy as a woman

The female character isn't able to conceive a child; this has been "diagnosed by a doctor", because of her being overweight.  Not to put too fine a point on this, but they started out fit, g-r-a-d-u-a-l-l-y put on weight starting in their late twenties, and became obese as their thirties progressed.

So, they couldn't have a child even when they were fit and "normal" weight, but were told that they couldn't have a child because she was obese. (To the author:  nice use of maternal shame!  After all, a woman who doesn't have a child is no woman at all!) AND THEN, in the last chapter, after they had lost all that weight, she was nauseous and emotional but didn't know why. Though the author didn't write, "she was pregnant!", I drew my own conclusions (that he was beating over my head).  Good happy ending, I suppose, but sort of/completely insulting.

Where is the pizza?

The main characters never backslide.  They don't journal about sneaking in a donut here or a bacon sandwich*** there.  They follow fad diets, which make them feel lousy (but don't cheat) and start painful exercise regimes (but never give up).  Sort of not like real people at all. Real people, even ones who haven't been eating poorly and living completely sedentary lives for a decade, sometimes eat delicious sugary food and take time off.  And honestly, who celebrates with a stirfry?  Nobody, that's who.

Face palm.  And repeat.

I think I found the health and fitness "advice" most painful of all.  I felt like the author maybe set out to write a Common Sense to Healthy Eating and Exercise manual, but didn't know how, so wrapped it in a terribly-written and implausible story.  The characters' inspiring revelations that the cabbage soup diet wasn't a long-term solution, or that electrically stimulating your muscles instead of exercise was a bad idea were ...well, dumb. Not revelatory at all, really.  Again, I felt like I was being beaten over the head with a big piece of obvious.

To sum up

This book tries to show how terrible it is to be obese, both physically and from a self-esteem/mental health viewpoint, and that we shouldn't laugh at people who are overweight, but neither should we pity them.  After all, it's simple!  Just eat well and exercise and you can easily lose lots of weight and succeed at life.

As I have always been an exerciser and a healthy eater**** and have a degree in the field as well, true, maybe I'm not the target audience, and perhaps this sort of thing is what the masses need (as evidenced by Amazon reviews).  But this book oversimplifies the show-up-and-do-the-work method of becoming and staying fit, and spoon feeds its audience with offensive stereotypes and insultingly basic messages throughout.

To this book, I say, "bleah."




* But that's what makes me the Cranky Book Reviewer. So there.
** It's British.  I looked it up, and a stone is 14 lbs.  You're welcome.
*** Also British.
**** ...with a candy and wine problem...

Destination Normandy: Happy Hacky Half Term

Alternate title:  Six Seven Days in Frants (where insects go on vacation!)

Spoiler Alert:  In most alternate universes, I don't survive the week in Normandy

In the wonderful, inexplicable system that is international-schooling-based-on-the-French-curriculum (and thus full of je ne sais quoi), the children have two weeks off every five weeks or so.  My French friends inform me that, in proper French schools, they also get off at 1:30 every Wednesday, for no good reason other than to ensure that mothers can't work outside of the home, or something, so I suppose we can consider ourselves lucky.

So, with October half-term looming, Fis announced that he was going to Canada for a week, abandoning me with my own children.  Again.

"Fine," I retaliated.*  "I will take the Hufflings to Fraunce.  It will be lovely, it will be educational, and it will be restful."

He grumbled a bit about my "leaving the country with the children" but I countered with "you're leaving the country first, so try to stop us" and we called it a draw.

I had heard wonderful things about Eurocamps from another friend.  They have children's activities!  I could relax and drink wine and the children would make friends and do their own thing, safely!  I could bring the dog!  They were reasonably-priced!  And not just reasonably-priced for London, but actually reasonably-priced - for 6 nights, it cost us £330, including the ferry to Calais.  (Using the October half-term discount of 50%, plus the £25 off for being a "Single Parent").   So, we booked.

AND THEN I checked the dog's passport, which the Unnecessary and Expensive Heathrow Vet had apparently filled out incorrectly last year.  This, of course, was two days before we were supposed to leave.  Panic, panic, wait, it's ok.  For only £67, it was corrected, and we were good to go!

Chris left for the airport early Sunday morning.  About four seconds after the front door shut behind him, I felt chills and aches.  I had the flu, and a day and a half to recover with three kids underfoot and packing to do.  Because I am a genius, I booked a babysitter for three hours on the Monday morning.  It was a hard decision:  I could either use this precious time to go for a run, do necessary errands, or take a 3-hour nap to try to get healthy.  Lucky for me, I didn't have to decide; the babysitter didn't show up (she overslept by four hours), and I got to do everything with three kids in tow and a good'n'high fever.**  The last stop of the day was to buy euros, which we left until just after the "euro desk" at the bank closed.  *cuss word*

We left at 9 am on Tuesday morning, only 30 minutes past when I wanted to.  If we maintained the speed limit, and didn't stop, we could still make the ferry with four minutes to spare!  We drove towards Dover, making up enough time on the highway to be able to afford a quick break to fill up the station wagon with good British petrol... which was lucky, because the receipt had the address of the service station on it...which I needed when I had to call a garage to fix our flat crazily exploded tire less than three minutes later.

Now that is a flat tire. 
Note that the Hufflings were not given any direction for this photo.  They just looked like that.

I went total Helpless Female when I saw it.  We were stranded on the side of a highway, we didn't have roadside assistance (I called Chris and woke him up to ask - it was only 6 am in Ottawa), and I knew I couldn't drive the rest of the way on our donut... even if I knew how to put it on, which, being a Helpless Female, I didn't.  But! £105 later, the tire was replaced, and it turns out that I had tricked my brain into thinking we were on an earlier ferry... we technically could still have made it, but I decided to avoid even more stress (still running a high fever) and the wonderful Eurocamp call centre rebooked it to an hour later, leaving us time to buy our euros in Dover.

The ferry was great.  We had a beautiful view of the white cliffs as we pulled away from the pier, a full cafeteria (more tea for me), and a play area for the kids with Scooby Doo videos playing in alternating English and French.  I curled up with a tea and a book.  We rolled off in Calais, and immediately found ourselves back at the ferry port.  And again.  The GPS was being a real jerk.  We pulled over, I applied weird little stickers to our headlights, as per weird French law, and we... ended up back at the port again.

Finally, though, we were off towards Normandy.  The roads were fast (130 km/h), the tolls were high (it felt like I had to pay 8.30 Euros every 10 minutes, but then again, high fever), and a little over three hours later (11 hours of travel), we finally pulled up to the Eurocamp.  It was dark.  My skin hurt.  The reception desk had closed 20 minutes earlier.  Over the long, long day, I had slowly developed a hacking cough that doubled me over.  A security guard showed us where to go, gave us our key, and we checked into our little caravan, which had two bedrooms, one with a double bed, and the other with bunk beds and a third bed.  Perfect!  Once I sent a text to the handyman to ask for heat, it was good.

It was late, but we were starving, of course, and the restaurant was supposed to be open, but wasn't, because of quiz night, which the staff seemed to feel was a reasonable and complete explanation.  After I started crying (see also, Helpless Female), however, a nice man made us a pizza, the kids drank lemonade***, and I impressed everyone by naming Madonna's Holiday with just one note.  I tucked the kids in, then fell into bed myself, still shivering and coughing and feverish, and Dr. Ziggy jumped up to watch over me in the night.

This little dog is going to get a big wakeup call when he gets home and is no longer welcome on the bed.

The next few days were a blur - I'd get up, feed the kids and walk them and the dog over to the Kids' Club cabin, where they met new friends and painted, sculpted, played cards, played football, and did archery and climbing and something called "photo rallye".  I sat on the steps with Ziggy and a mug of tea and shivered and coughed deep, wasting coughs.  The parents I met were amazed that I had "come on holiday without my husband", which seemed odd, but I was so sick, so maybe they were referring to that.  For two of the nights, I wasn't sure that I'd wake up the next morning, and left notes for the kids beside my phone, telling them how to call Daddy, and that I loved them.  Looking back, it seems a bit melodramatic, but I have literally never been that sick before, and definitely never that sick, fully responsible for the kids in a foreign country with nobody I know and no way to get home but to drive all that way again.  I felt terrible, and even more terrible that I had driven so far when I probably shouldn't have been even operating a mechanical pencil.


In our (feverish) haste to leave London, I had left a bag of peanut butter, salt, pepper and olive oil in our kitchen back at the flat, so I left the kids to one activity and drove into town to pick up some more groceries - easy stuff like soup, fish sticks and oven fries, but rounded it out with nutella, veggies (frozen ratatouille!  amazing!) and barbecue-able meats like sausages, chicken legs and hamburgers, should I feel well enough to try to cook outside.  The wine was ridiculously cheap, but I was feeling too sick to even buy any (imagine).

Les saucisses, la ratatouille...mais ou est le vin???
I have to say, my skin looks great.  It's either from being super-hydrated from all that water and tea, or the chic sheen of clammy sweat.  

I was too miserable to barbecue for the first three days, then it was too windy to light on the fourth.
By the Saturday, though, I was feeling slightly better, at least well enough to feel guilty that we had come all this way and hadn't yet left the campsite for a museum or a visit to the beaches.

I chose Juno Beach (of course), an hour's drive away on the coldest, windiest day of our holiday.  The kids were cold, but I tried to explain to them why it was so important that we came.  We saw two monuments and Canada House, and felt the weight and sorrow of so many young men lost as we walked down the beautiful, deserted beach.

We warmed up and fortified ourselves with crepes and hot chocolate then headed to the Juno Beach Centre, a Canadian museum designed and staffed by Canadians.  It was incredible, and very much worth the visit.  We went into German bunkers, played with interactive exhibits, and the kids filled out a trail map of their visit. 

Hufflings learning about how the French who were forced to help build the bunkers sabotaged it. 
Fun fact:  "sabotage" is from the French word sabotage, meaning "to sabotage".

Again after dark, we got back to our caravan, ate hamburgers (barbecue-in-the-rain success!) and got done up for the Halloween party that night.

Zombie family:  guess which one of us isn't wearing any makeup?

The Sunday was a bit better.  There were Kids' Club activities at 10 am that the kids went to without me, and in the afternoon, when they did archery, I joined a Zumba class, pausing to cough now and then on the down beat.  I texted Chris and told him that I would be ok to drive home the next day.

We were up and out only 60 minutes late the next morning, again pushing the timing close on the drive back to the ferry port (the GPS knew the way), but pealed in with about five minutes to spare.  We passed the French checkpoint... then British... home was just over the water... then the agent at the ferry checkpoint told us that Ziggy's passport wasn't valid.

We couldn't travel back to Britain for the next 24 hours at least.

Over the wails and howls of anger and sorrow in the back seat, the poor man was able to give me the name of a vet close by (35 euros), who in turn gave me the name of a cheap, dog-friendly hotel close by (68 euros).  We discovered that it was next to a McDonald's, which cheered the peanut gallery up considerably.

So, on the 7th day of our six-day vacation, I was still feverish and coughing, but we had McDonald's for breakfast, swung by a wine warehouse for a case (or so) of Super Cheap Good Wine, and drove back to the ferry port with an hour to spare.  This time, they let us on, no problem.  I had a nap while the kids played watched le Scooby Doo, and we drove back to London with no further mishap.

All in all, although it could have been (vastly) improved by Chris being with us and me not being near death, the holiday was a success, and still (somewhat) reasonably-priced.****  If I had had to take care of the kids and dog in our tiny third-floor London flat by myself, it would have been terrible, and probably filled with screen time, which the kids might have loved, but I'd hate.  As it was, they were outside, running and playing, practicing their French, and meeting new friends.

This is the result of the "photo rallye", which apparently involved self-face-painting, ice cream, and ... honestly they couldn't explain it at all, but said they had fun.

I came back skinny and weak, still coughing, but with super-defined abs (thanks, Hackercise!(tm)), and this morning, after the kids got on the school bus and Ziggy got his walk, I fell back into bed and slept for two hours.

We will totally do this again.




* after, of course, pushing him out of the way, racing to the computer to check for flights to Ottawa, and realizing that they were not only very expensive, but, as my parents were cruising AGAIN, we wouldn't have anywhere to stay.

** and nary a cowbell in sight.

*** "lemonade" in Europe is not lemonade.  It's Sprite.  They freely admit this, but still call it lemonade.  

**** for those following along at home, the final price of "unexpected issues" with the dog and the car (and not including food, wine warehouse and petrol) was approximately £650, only about £320 more than the planned price of the holiday.  Still a win.

When Good Form Fails

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Add the Good Stuff First

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(Like I needed an excuse to share that photo around again!)


(Also, if you like my articles, you can "clap" for them on Medium...a shameless call for applause, I know.)

The Mommy Diet: Eat Like Your Kids Eat

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Know Yourself, Trick Yourself

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Small Changes, Big Results

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(And why yes, those ARE my abs.  Fourteen years ago.)

(Belated) Early January Random Ramble (with wine)

What's up with the radio silence?, nobody has asked.  Too bad, I'll tell you.

Backstory:  Against all rational thought and cautionary tales from friends, family, and people on the Internet, I had three children.  The first one caused a huge stretching of the belly, which, although it didn't exactly "snap" back into place, it came pretty darn close.  Comparatively.  The second one caused another huge stretching of the belly, and decided to manifest itself in small stretch marks where my belly button ring had been, and also a slight -- but unnoticeable to a non-medical professional -- umbilical hernia.  The third one, who coincidentally also has red hair, rent my rectus abdominus asunder to the extent that it the two halves have still not migrated back together (and she's TWO), and encouraged the umbilical hernia to progress to the point that whenever I sat up, laughed, or even breathed, my intestines would leap forth and try to escape my body through my bellybutton...resulting in terrible discomfort, but mostly an outie.

SO....I had an umbilical hernia repair (I call it a herniectomy*) at the end of November, so (and this was written in January) I’ve been unable to do anything, and can’t lift more than 10 lbs… note that Tamsin weighs considerably more than that, especially when she’s mad.  Chris, knowing that he somehow booked travel only 2 1/2 days after my surgery (!!!)  (again) (!!!)  taught Vaughn how to help Tamsin out of her crib, and figured that I’d be fine.

I was actually excited for the surgery – aside from being in constant discomfort, having an outie, and spending nights whining about the discomfort and the outie, I was looking forward to checking into the hospital, lying around in a gown for a while, then being drugged until I passed out quietly, and napping away the rest of the day, while my organs could technically be being harvested, and I wouldn’t mind at all.  In my mind, it was like going to a day spa in the 70s.  A shady one, I suppose, but a spa nonetheless.  (See also, Mother of 3.)

I had a hard time falling asleep the night before my appointment, and I woke up the morning of the surgery with a very sore throat.  I was SO upset – the literature said that they wouldn't operate if I was sick.  I didn’t want to reschedule again**, after organizing my life, finding subs for my class, and filling out paper forms for sick leave from work.  But mostly because I viewed it as a vacation and no damn sore throat was going to take away my vacation!  But I went in, put on my fashionable gowns (one on front, one on back), climbed onto my gurney, got covered up with two nice, warm blankets, and…had a nap for three hours.  In the middle of the day.  It was just what I needed.  I felt completely decadent, until I started getting hungry.

The surgery was only three hours behind schedule, and I was eventually taken by wheelchair into the operating room.  Everyone was friendly and funny,*** and I only had a few (prolonged) fears about my mortality as I hopped on up onto the cross-shaped table and had my arms strapped down.  I'm always nervous when they put me under, but as usual, when they had me breathe deeply into the mask,  I remember giggling, and maybe even trying to say, "wheeee!", as everything swirled happily around me...

I woke up with a breathing tube being "gently" removed from my throat, but dozed on and off for a little while before having to admit that I should probably go home or something.  My wise mother had suggested that I move in with them for a few days right after the surgery, as I "probably wouldn't get the rest I needed" at home with my three Hufflings, no matter how much they were told to leave me alone.  Well, I spent three lovely days alternating between knitting in front of a lovely fire and passing out from the drugs, also in front of a lovely fire.  Either way, I expected a quick recovery after those three days of complete rest, because my doctor told me it was “only two stitches”.  Erm, turns out it’s a 4-6 week recovery, because they cut your abdominal muscles (WHAT??  Nobody told me that part!) and sew them back together, apparently only using two measly stitches.  The upside:  I no longer have an outie that is actually my intestines trying to escape.  The downside:  pain/agony/can’t exercise – not even pushups!!!, and can’t pick up small children, even when they’re clean and sweet-smelling, for well over a month.  Upside (continued):  can’t pick up sticky, stinky, bad-tempered children, DOCTOR’S ORDERS! 

Comment from friend former coworker:  Wow that has to be hard for you... how do you lift wine to your face? I'm assuming you use a crazy straw (I'm implying you drink very large glasses of wine in case you didn't get it haha) 

My response:  I appreciate the implication, but silly girl, you are wildly underestimating my ingenuity and classiness.  I just put the box on a low table, lie down underneath it, and reach up to press the button every few seconds.  Voila!  Or, conversely, thinking outside the box (ha ha), I don’t lift the wine to my face.  I lower my face to the wine.  Also, if you must know, I never drink wine from crazy straws… unless I’m having a bubble bath, and then I actually use red licorice as a straw and stop judging me because it’s awesome and now I have a total craving for pink wine and twizzlers.****

But I digress:  They gave me morphine for the recovery, which just made me dizzy and nauseous and didn't do much for the pain.  Also, the bottle of pills said I had to choose between them and wine, so by the second night (when the pill bottle spoke to me again), I switched to wine.  ALTHOUGH a few people have told me I may have just not had ENOUGH morphine to get the pain relief – to be fair, I tend to err on under-medicating myself (a mistake I don’t make with wine).  UNfortunately, it was Mom and Dad's homebrew wine.  Le sigh.  Dubious moral-in-progress:  should have taken more drugs?

...

They say that you're not supposed to drive a car for 2 weeks after general anaesthetic.  I mistakenly thought that it was because I could strain my stitches (which is also true, I guess), but apparently, you are actually unable to function as a responsible human being during that time.  I just recently found out that I completed my instructor evaluation for GoodLife 11 days later (ok, I knew that part), but was just told that I didn't send the attachment... and it is literally nowhere. 

This post is being written long after this whole thing.  My stomach is now ... better than it was.  I no longer look pregnant, nor do I have an outie.  I can do pushups (honestly, yay!).  I am not back to the same fitness level I had at the end of November, and the doctor also did not gather any and all extra skin into the incision, despite the post-it that I stuck to my stomach explaining my preferences in that respect.  As I have now had to endure two separate 3-month periods without exercise (bedrest with Tamsin and now this), I can say, definitively, that I am not willing to accept that my body will change with age, though, so, with wine in hand, I again declare, as I did long ago:

I will be strong.

I will be fit.

I am doing this for me.

... and I'm adding on this:

And I will wear rock a bikini again.

*  I believe I stole this term from a Paula Danziger book, but I can’t remember exactly which one.

** Note that the first time I had scheduled the surgery, Chris then scheduled travel for three days after.  Hmm.

***  Funnily enough, it was the same anaesthetician (ha ha?) that gave me the epidural when I had Tamsin.  AND SHE REMEMBERED ME!  First, because I was so small and she had never given anyone such a small amount of medication before, and Second, because I asked her "you've done this before, right?"  (I still think that's a perfectly reasonable question, btw.)

**** Not making that up.  Just ask Chris.  He thinks it's charming.