I don’t make new year’s resolutions for the simple fact that any plans I make, and I mean any plans I make, are always screwed with and nothing ever goes to plan.
As you can tell by my recounting of my extremely well planned New Year’s Eve.
Not that the not going ot plan is always an issue. Sometimes it works out better. Like the time I planned to make a cup of tea and found myself with a vodka and tonic. It happens. Sometimes its a good thing.
I also figure “why wait” and just embark on things as they come to me. So when I got the Wii Fit Plus I asked for for Christmas (because I went shopping with GrumpyPants, took it off the shelf, handed it to him and said “buy this for me for Christmas. In fact, go and buy it now so you don’t forget”) I started there and then. Still, I use “this time of year” to take the time to really think about things a lot more and set some vague “I’d really like to do thats”.
Also, Grumpy and I did have a big chat yesterday morning about getting some kind of “routine” in our weekly lives. Daily = good. Weekly and monthly, outside of regular extra curricular activities, not so good. Things like a social life and spending time together and the much maligned by Grumpy “sitting around doing nothing on Sunday’s” (yet not actually communicating that he’d like to do anything until approximately 4.13pm, when he is beyond grumpy and has spent the day pissing everyone off with his grumpiness).
Thus it is how the Family Day comes about; a trip to Queenscliffe, with the bikes on the back of the car, picnic lunch packed and the sunscreen left home on the table. I, in my infinite wisdom, have yet again organised for the kids to be inappopriately dressed.
Usually, I’m the mother with the kids wearing shorts and a thin jacket when the temperature calls for beanies and waterproof jackets. It was cool at home and we were heading beachward, so I insisted on tracksuit pants. Not that the one’s my kids own are particularly suited to cold temperatures.
Of course, we get to our destination, it is hot, the Amy Gillet bike ride is in progress, traffic getting into the area is at a standstill, the Thomas and Friends show is happening at the Queenscliffe historical rail thing (who’s name I really should know give we’ve been there a bazillion times in the last few years) and Godzilla is wearing the oldest, rippedest pair of tracksuite pants he can find, along with a short sleeve pyjama top three sizes too small and a high visibilty vest, oft seen amongst road workers, that I had in my wardrobe for when I applied to be a Walking School Bus Driver and we didn’t have enough kids on our route, so it fell in a heap.
(See? What did I say earlier about plans? Hmmm?)
Queenscliffe itself isn’t as crowded, and we consume our lunch, saddle up on the bikes and head off.
As is tradition, Grumpy gets Chippie on the back of his bike. Because he is less terrified of riding a bike, and more confident with Chippie on the back. Also, should I have to lug an extra 15 or so kg on the back of my bike, I would be out of breath rather quickly and only be reminded of how terribly unfit I am.
Also, my bike doesn’t have the structure to allow the child seat to be attached. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
Therefore, I get to ride up the back of the pack and listen to the insufferable and relentless whining of the seven year old, who is too hungry, or too tired, or can’t get down the hill because it’s too hard, or is just too fucking annoying or whatever he can conjur up at the time. I also know that I’m not going to get anywhere near the workout I would like to, because we’re going to have to turn around and come back before I’ve even worked up a slight heart rate.
This was remedied, however, by the erratic zigzagging I was forced to do, to avoid running into and over the aforementioned seven year old as he did his own erratic zigzagging up a hill whilst whinging about “can’t do it”, multiplying the length of that particular section by four. Hurrah.
See, you can still get a good workout with whiney kids.
Back for snacks, complete with screaming tantrums about wanting to see the trains, then a wander around the streets, locating an establishment that sold exceptionally brilliant iced coffee, and icecream with which my kids could smear all over their faces and appear not to actually consume any at all.
Time for home … and a good long nap in the car. Always in the plan.