I visualise myself as a health and fitness junkie. I have visions of waking up in the morning and going for a five mile run before the rest of the household is even awake. I breeze back in through the front door, hot, sweaty, alive and AWAKE. I even get into the shower soap the sweat off my glowing toned body. Towel off my firm and perky backside, moisturise my sculpted calves and legs and dress myself in beautiful clothes. My make up is impeccable and my hair flows down my back in beautiful shiny layers. I even manage to eat a hearty and healthy breakfast of freshly blended fruit and vegetable smoothies followed by warm and inviting oatmeal with golden syrup…. because of course calorie counting is no big deal since I exercise so much. I can afford the little treat.
All of this I do before I rouse the angelic children and serve them up delicious breakfasts of soft boiled eggs, crispy grilled bacon and toast. They always wake up with smiles, pleased to see mummy. They rub their eyes and give me warm and inviting cuddles before they turn and cuddle each other. So pleased are they to see each other after 9 hours of sound sleep. They wander to the dining table and eat ravenously. Never forgetting to say thank you and how much they appreciate my efforts. Like little soldiers they march to the kitchen with their dirty dishes and rack up the dishwasher. I don’t even have to ask them to get dressed. They know the drill. They brush teeth and wash faces first because they know they don’t want any dribble on their clothes. They put everything in the dirty laundry basket leaving nothing on the floor and no water round the sink. Toilets are flushed without having to ask or shout. The dress themselves in crisply ironed clothes left out the night before and are waiting by the door well before its time to leave with bags packed, lunch boxes in hand and soft shining hair, faces of little angels I tell you! Ahhh! Such wonderful little children I’ve raised.
But let’s get real here….. It’s time to burst my bubble. THAT is not my life! And it’s never going to be. I go through phases. I go to fitness shops and buy the get up and trainers. I join the gym. I get all excited. Set my alarm for 6 am and shoot out the door. Look at me! I’m up and out at the crack of dawn. I sprint off down the street in my beautiful fitness clothing smiling at myself, so proud am I running out the house. The milk man, newspaper delivery people, taxi drivers and early morning bus drivers are all out. A few left over revellers from the night before are strolling home. I give them smug looks. Don’t they know what they are doing to themselves? Tut tut tut! They need to look after themselves more. And then I realise…
OMG! I C.A.N.’T. B.R.E.A.T.H.E.
I’m gonna die. Call an ambulance. Quick…. somebody… H.E.L.P! Oh no, the mortification! All these people around me looking! I’m only 100 yards from my house. I can’t turn back. I can’t stop running. They’ll laugh! I struggle to make it around the corner where no one can see me and collapse in a panting heap. It takes me about 30 minutes to catch my breath so I have a cigarette cause I’m sure that’s going to help. Eventually I think I can walk after I stretch out the leg cramp in both by calves and I hobble home.
I get in the door and it’s mayhem. First of all it’s 7 A.M. now. I have to leave by 7:30 to get to work. It took me so long to get breathing again, my 20 minute run turned into an hour of near death experience. The kids have eaten at least or so I have to believe because I haven’t time to do otherwise. There’s rice crispies all over the kitchen counter. And the floor. And the living room floor. Oh good though. It doesn’t look like they’ve used the table so that’s one less thing to clean. The fridge door is wide open so I take that as a sign that they must have put some kind of hydration into their bodies and then I go into full panic mode…….. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! “Hurry up!!!! We’re late, we’re late! Get your clothes on everybody! NOW”
Of course the kids just look at me with that look they save for when they think I’m crazy. I don’t know why I say they save it. They give me that look all the time. Does that mean they think I’m crazy all the time or does that mean they just don’t save the look for those times? Who the hell knows?! I don’t have time to analyse that at that moment. CRAP CRAP CRAP. So as usual, I have a 2 minute shower and leave the house with half dressed children. Hair wet, no make up – but that’s ok, I think I have a 4 year old mascara in my bag, I can put that on at work – and the kids….. well one of them informs me she has forgotten her lunch and needs money to buy some. My handbag…. well that’s back home on the counter where I left it!
So my body? A temple? Certainly not. I gave up even attempting to make a temple out of my body years ago. Now I just dream about winning the lottery and not having to rush out of the house! In the mean time I throw Toddler Child in the back pack so I can get on with the chores without her pulling at my apron strings!
P.S. I think I am supposed to give credit to where pictures came from for copyright reasons and I have no idea how to do that so apologies for offending anyone but the picture is courtesy of http://omtimes.com/2011/03/my-body-my-temple/. Thanks for brightening up my post omtimes!