I have been remembering my friend Carol lately as I try to exercise a bit each day and get my pre-pregnancy body back.  Carol and her husband were my neighbours in Healdsburg. They once took me on a ski trip to Tahoe.  I was 32. They were 55 (ish). They have exercised at least one hour a day for most of their lives.

At Tahoe, they skied circles around me. I was tired by 2:30 or so. They kept going until the last run (AND not on bunny hills either–double diamonds and moguls I am sure). Regardless, I vowed when I was 55, I wanted to kick some 32-year-old butt.

Carol and I used to walk in the mornings when we could—sometimes just a few kilometres, sometimes around the entire mountain (Fitch Mountain–the bump in the landscape we lived on).  Sometimes we walked on a weekday morning before work or sometimes even a Saturday morning. I once told her Saturday mornings were best for me: Having to get up early and walk around Fitch Mountain kept me honest the night before. Meaning, I wouldn’t go out and drink on Friday night if I knew I was getting up on Saturday morning to exercise.

She told me: “Honestly Jen. Even if you do go out and have a few too many, you’ll need to get up and go. Exercise anyway. It is the best you’re going to feel all day!”

So these last few weeks as I struggle to find the energy and make time for exercise I think of her. Although, these days, my worries are not about having one too many the night before–but more about just getting enough sleep. And not having to get up five times a night to check on sick babies.

I find I just need to get up and go. Then it’s done. In the morning when I have enough energy. And she is right. It is the best I feel all day.

I am a Mum. I am allowed to brag…a bit. No? The other day we were out walking. I was pushing Michael in the baby buggy and Johnny brought his scooter. He is just starting to get good on it, but he doesn’t know how to brake. We paused at the top of his uncle’s driveway.

He wanted to go down — but I was too worried. It was too steep. I said he couldn’t. How could I guide him on his scooter and guide Michael in the buggy? No. It was impossible. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave Michael up on the street and guide Johnny down the driveway. I couldn’t manage guiding them both down the driveway.

I told him he needed to be in control on the way down, otherwise, he would fall and break his head (even though he was wearing a helmet). “Tu vas casser ta tête.” I couldn’t help him. We should just carry on the way we were going.

He paused for a second–still determined to go down the driveway. “Marche Maman. Marche.” (Walk Mummy. Walk.)

I was stunned. S-T-U-N-N-E-D. He is two years old…and a little bit. He solved the problem.He saw another solution.

We proceded to walk down the driveway. I pushed the buggy. He pushed his scooter.

Not only is he cute, he is smart too!

I had an interview in Geneva recently. I felt it went well with the hiring manager but am skeptical about how it went with the HR person. She asked me those questions that nobody likes to answer, and I wasn’t prepared for them. One of them was: “What one word would you use to describe yourself?”

And you know they are going to judge you on your answer (even if they say there is no wrong answer).

My mind went spinning. One word. One word. One word. I don’t participate in the memes in Facebook when they make their rounds (although at that moment, I wish I had). One word. One word. One word (my thoughts finished that phrase: One word to rule them all ….phasing evil laugh).

My mind went to the one word that ALL my high school teachers used: conscientious. Not a bad word, but I hoped I had grown in 20 years. I was looking for a more encompassing word. One that described my knowledge and experience.

I panicked. I couldn’t think of a word. I finally answered: active. I like to do things. I get things done. I like to be part of what’s going on…even if just as an observer. You learn things. And, in my business, you need to learn things.

Active. I like to be fit. I need to move. I need to do more than one thing.

I blurted: Active.

I saw from the look on her face: Not the right word. (Or that’s how I felt anyways.)

After the interview, I remembered I had written a blog entry once, on being a piece of equipment.

I thought: Damn. Damn. I should have answered: Swiss Army knife. (Not one word, I know, but it is one thing).

So, just to recap my original blog entry on if I were a piece of equipment, what would I be? I would be a Swiss Army knife.

Small.
Compact.
Incredibly useful in any (or almost any) situation.
Functional.
Practical.
Low maintenance.
High performance.

I’m not talking about the all-in-one Swiss Army knife. I’m just talking about a regular one. The run-of-the-mill Swiss Army knife. The one you would throw in your backpack for an expedition. That’s me right now.

The Swiss Army version of me would definitely have a corkscrew.

Yesterday, everybody went to the store to get dinner–even Ludo. We were both exhausted and just wanted to pick up a pizza or something easy. As we walked in, there was smoked salmon on sale. We llllooovvvveee smoked salmon. We put it in the basket. We went around the store picking up some chocolates for Easter, picking out some bread for breakfast the next morning, choosing a few fruits.

Jman saw the aisle with pickles. He llllloooovvvveeesss pickles. He could eat pickles for dinner (which is what he ended up doing). A serving of pickles corn. A handful of those small sweet pickles. A side of smoked salmon. And a few strawberries for dessert.

I think he could have eaten the entire jar of pickled baby corn if I had let him. I was worried about his stomach.

Whichever.

This morning, after he got up, he was rooting around in the refrigerator and selected a yoghurt. As he took it out of the fridge, he saw his pickles: “Bonjour pickles,” he greeted them. “Bonjour!”

Jman’s nose has been running it seems since September. Occasionally, we get a few days when it is not running. But then he goes to crèche again and brings home another virus or two.

Every time Ludo wipes it, he tells Jman: “Ton nez coquin! C’est embettant, non?” “Your naughty nose! It’s tiresome, eh? (I embellish the translation with the ‘eh?’ because I’m Canadian).

Yesterday, we were driving to visit some friends. Jman pipes up from the back seat: “Nez coquin!”

I turn around expecting to have to wipe his nose (although we have been snot-free for about a week). He didn’t have a runny nose. He was just sitting back there with his finger up it and telling us: “Nez coquin!”

Gross!

Naughty nose indeed!

We are driving along in the car (going to a friend’s for the morning) and I have Pink’s latest cd playing. At the end of the second song (Blow Me (One Last Kiss)), Jman shouts: “Bravo” and claps his hands!

I was playing it a bit loudly. It is kind of a catchy tune. I like the chorus:

“Just when it can’t get worse, I’ve had a shit day (NO!)
Have you had a shit day? (NO!), we’ve had a shit day (NO!)
I think that life’s too short for this, I want back my ignorance and bliss
I think I’ve had enough of this, blow me one last kiss.”

So I sing it out loud. Maybe a bit too loud. Maybe Jman likes that. Or maybe he actually likes the song. Whichever. It doesn’t matter. What matters is he congratulates me when the song ends:

“Bravo Mummy! Bravo!”

Tonight, after Jman finished his dinner, he got down from his chair and walked over to the wine fridge. “Vin. Maman. Vin.” He demanded. “Wine. Mummy. Wine.”

We laughed and told him he couldn’t have any wine. Wine isn’t for little boys. I turned back to the stove and finished dishing out Ludo’s and my dinner.

The next thing I know, Jman is next too me asking for a glass. I pick him up and let him choose a colour (he has a few different plastic cups he drinks from).

He chose a green one.

I asked him what he wanted to drink. I thought he might want water or juice or somehing.

He turned and pointed to the bottle he had pulled out of the fridge: “Vin.”

Ever since my 41st birthday a few weeks ago, I look in the mirror every morning and ask myself: “Could you be taking better care of your skin?”

I am not one to buy a whole lot of make up and skin care products. I usually just use a gentle liquid soap (in Canada and the US, I used Dr. Bronner’s), here I use something I found at the Farmer’s Market.

I use sunscreen in the summer (when I remember). I don’t use make up every day, but when I do, it is a powder foundation and light blush.

Still. With the cumulation of the lack of sleep over the last few years and getting older, I am starting to think about my skin a bit more.

Today, in the 15 minutes I had between putting the Jman down for his nap and Mikey waking up from his, I made myself a salt scrub. A bit of salt, the dried mint leaves from a mint tea bag, and a bit of lemon juice.

I read online I should have added a bit of oil. Maybe almond oil or olive oil. Or some other edible oil with health benefits, but, I didn’t. I just wanted a bit of a clean feel, without the grease. I will moisturize later.

I applied it twice using gentle circular motions with my fingertips. Both cheeks, my nose and mouth area, and finally, my forehead. I rinsed with warm water the first time and cool water the second.

The result: my face feels great! The skin is soft. I think the pores might be a bit smaller. The lemon / mint combination made it tingle.

I just made a little bit to start, to see how it worked. I guess you don’t need to do it more than once or twice a week. I will see how it goes.

I made the J-man gnocchi for dinner tonight. I just boiled a bit of water and slid them in.  I waited for them to cook in the water for one minute (according to the package instructions) then I strained them and added sauce. I don’t know if it is a sense of spring but he didn’t want anything to do with them.

He ate grapes and cucumber instead.