Monday, May 2, 2016 on a tangent of outrage and vindication

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You guys.

Last night I was all WOOHOO because we're off on our cruise this morning.

I was full of anticipation and much excitement.

Until #1Hubby spoke to my Mother in Law.

#1Hubby and I have long had an ongoing feud over who was responsible for the Twin Tornado.

He claims to have no history of twins in his family.

As did I, except my Grandmother on my Mum's side was adopted, and we don't actually know anything of her family history.

So it's fair to say that ever single time the twins fail to display any sort of twin bond (ALL THE TIME), #1Hubby gives me a look that says WELL DONE, GOOD GENES, HAD TO CREATE TWINS, DIDN'T YOU....

And I shoot him back a death stare plus 2 finger salute, and by the time our silent debate is over, the twins are usually happily playing together again.

Passive parenting.  That's what I'm calling it.


So anyway, last night, packing and preparation has been completed.

I was enjoying a bubbly beverage in the bath to slip in to cruise ship mode.

#1Hubby calls his Mum for Mother's Day, since we won't be able to call on Sunday.

Then I listen as they go off on some tangent, and suddenly twins comes up.

Those that have come from more than one relative on HIS side.

Son of a.....

HE is responsible for the two-fer.

Not me.

HIS genes.

I was like a giant, sopping wet yeti springing from the bath the second he put the phone down.

I've warned him that the on-board duty free better have something pretty and sparkling come Mother's Day, because clearly I deserve it for putting up with his bloody multiple birthing genes providing me with a total of 3 kids when I was expecting 2.

I mean, obviously they're awesome and I love them and wouldn't swap them etc etc.

But still....I feel vindicated - it wasn't my fault.

And also wish I'd thought to do this....even though mine are not identical:

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Now I am off to turf half of #1Hubby's two dozen pairs of shorts out of the suitcase, to make myself feel better before the taxi arrives to take us to the ship.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Anchors Away : We're going on a cruise

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After extensive research, I came across a cruise ship with kids club hours longer than my go-to resort.

That was enough to tip #1Hubby over the edge.  We were all "take our money!".

That was almost a year ago.

#1Hubby marked the one-week-to-go countdown by repeatedly advising the kids of just how many hours the kids club is open.

Miss7 is psyched.  She's keen to swim in a pool on the ocean.  She was planning on taking the cat swimming with her, until advised pets are not allowed on cruise ships.

Mstr7 wasn't too fussed either way, until we told him about the Lego room in the kids club, and now he won't shut up about it.  God help us all if that one feature doesn't live up to his expectations.

Miss10 is pre-tween, so she can't decide if the kids club equals being parent-free (and is, therefore, uber grown up), or if she's being lumped in with the little kids in a Daycare type scenario.  Thank the Vodka Gods for the iPad room, where I expect she'll park herself when not trying to covertly drown her sister in the pool.

For my part, I selected the all-inclusive drinks package, so no matter how it plays out, I will be merrily bobbing up and down in the ocean for 12 nights.

I figured the kids are fairly well travelled, and getting older, so I put their suitcases on their beds yesterday, and told them to pack what they thought they'd need for a 12 night cruise around Indonesia.

There was a Catfish marathon on TV, so I wasn't really paying attention, and this is what I found when I surfaced for air/wine....

Miss10 : The Tween's Essentials

Miss10 packed herself FIVE pairs of shoes (plus her slippers), TWO iPads, her collection of lip gloss, a box of Oreo's, and her recent karate trophy that she, clearly, can't part with just yet.

No clothes.

 Miss7 : Bringing her entourage and looking fabulous

Miss7 opted for her version of the essentials - her enormous, life sized doll (would love to see how that suitcase xray went down...).  Plus the mandatory pink flashing crown headband (obviously), and matching pink heart shaped sunglasses.  There is a pink blanket, but it's not for the doll.  It's for the cat.  Because she thought she could get around the no-BYO-pets policy, by packing him in her case.  Again, I'd love to see that suitcase xray go down.

Also, like her sister, no clothes.

Mstr7 : The Boy's Basics - Lego and clean undies

Mstr7, and finally, a child that isn't a full nudist.  He's packed a single pair of jocks.  Just the one.  Plus his bathers, and a half a suitcase full of Lego.  He's obsessed with the Lego aspect of the trip.  Probably won't realise we're on a cruise ship at all, because he'll spend his every waking minute in the Lego room (pending room service agreeing to deliver there).

I can't even...

For such well travelled kids, they certainly take after their father when it comes to packing.

He once demanded to pack his own suitcase, and forgot to pack any jocks or pants.  Lucky for him, I am totally OCD and snuck a peek in his case and repacked it for him.  It was back in our honeymoon phase, so I kindly packed the missing essentials.  Which totally would not happen these days.

The grown-ups

#1Hubby and I are currently locked in tense, United Nations worthy negotiations, over just how many shirts he needs, versus how many clutch purses I can't live without.  It's not really going well (read: I'm not winning), so we will probably literally mark a line down the middle of the suitcase and cease all communication from here on out.

Fingers crossed he forgets all his pants again.

Pacific Eden, are you ready?  You have until Monday to stock up on the bubbly, medicate the Kids Club staff, and generally brace your crew for all of this awesomeness.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Doing the hard yards, like a pro

Imagine that's a black sports bra.
Lots of sweat pouring down the anguished face.
Arms wedged firmly against the head.
Add a sweaty pony tail to the back.
Then read on....

Now that I'm a fitness fanatic / work of art, allow me to update you on my enviable fitness regime - just to prove that I did not quit within the first week...

Computer says no

Not a clue how to work the treadmill computer.

And it doesn't matter either way, because the bastard thing has a mind of its own.  It knows when I'm about to tap out, my lungs are on the verge of exploding....and that's when it ramps up to the speed of light and I go shooting off the back, straight into the wall.....more than once.

That said, it is an excellent exercise companion.  I spend my exercise time talking to it, trying to come to an understanding, attempting to bargain with it to not ramp up to maximum torture speed and incline...and suddenly the timer beeps and I'm done.

Kind of like going to a gym with a friend and chatting as you exercise in tandem to pass the time, no?

Wearing my fitness on my sleeve

I joked previously about wearing my workout gear in public, so that people would immediately recognise that such a finely tuned machine was the result of exercise.

Karma stepped in, and I spent a whole day last week in a sweaty sports bra, because I couldn't reach the back to undo it.

It was horrific.

I could smell my sweaty self every time I looked down at my keyboard.

I cringed whenever I turned or stretched and was reminded of my damp, sweaty companion.

Finally, when we got home from school, a very puzzled Miss10 sensed my desperation, and negotiated an extra 15 minutes TV time in return for undoing the clasp at the back.

Angels sighed with relief, as did I.

So too would the poor sports bra, if it could.

But wait, there's more

Now, before you ask "Why didn't you just slip it off over your head?"....

I tried that a few days earlier with a sports bra that didn't have a clasp.

Do you know how difficult it is to remove thick lycra when it is wet with sweat, and you're still puffing and panting, in a weakened state from your 4km marathon?

Forget handcuffs.  Whack a damp sports bra on any offender, then have them try and remove it over their head.  They won't be going anywhere in a hurry...

I wrestled it up to just below my neck before I realised I'd reached the point of no return.

No going forward / up, and no going back / down.

Hands shooting straight up in the air, wedged up against the sides of my sweaty head.

I jumped up and down.  I wiggled.  I swore.

That bad boy was firmly wedged around my shoulders.

I had to run downstairs - hands flapping up above my head - and beg #1Hubby to help me, so that I could free my arms in order to punch him in the face for laughing so hard.

Running under the influence

I've worked out that I have a very poor sense of balance.

I run like a drunk.

I have the treadmill set up in the corner of the room, and I get super psyched about my supreme physical abilities if I go 5 minutes without coming within a sweaty stray hair of side swiping the walls with my face.

If I close my eyes for even a few seconds, I fly off the back of the treadmill and into the wall.

It takes a lot of focus to try and remain upright, forward facing, in the middle of the conveyer belt.

The kids have worked this out, and take sick, sadistic delight in asking me random questions while I'm jogging - just to watch my little brain implode with the effort of paying attention to them and my balance at the same time.

The whole breathless attempts to wheeze out a response is just icing on the comedic cake, for them.

Will it ever end?

All of that said, I am not giving up.  I've got just 3 weeks until our cruise, and we've decided to splurge on the all-inclusive booze package.

So I'm kind of working in reverse, attempting to off-set the impending glory of 13 days of open bar (and free kids club all day and night = lots of bar time) on the high seas.

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