It’s no secret that I have recently bought a workout DVD.

I am going to Italy in 3 weeks and then Florida in 5.  During both of those holidays I will have to wear less clothing.  In the last year I have put on so much weight that I think I now weigh the same as I did 3 seconds before I birthed the 4 year old.  Short of chopping off a limb or two I’m fooked.

Never one to diet, I like my food too much and certainly not one to go to the gym I decided my only course of action was a dvd, maybe eating more fruit and drinking more water.

So, 2 weeks in and I have amazed both myself and The Husband by continuing to leap around the living room with Davina McCall.

I have absolutely no coordination so whenever Davina lifts her left leg, I lift my right.

I have no weights so have been using two jars of Ragu.  As I leap about waving my Ragu jars I am praying that the neighbours don’t come out of their house and/or the lids don’t burst free spraying the carpet with white sauce and the ceiling with original tomato sauce simultaneously.

In the main I have been doing Davina when the children are in bed, however at the weekends the children and the dog have joined me.  This has it’s own complications.

The dog spends Saturday and Sunday mornings lazing around in any chink of light that can be found on the carpet … until, that is, Davina and I start doing star jumps.  Star jumps are like amphetamine to the dog.  She jumps up and down next to me, thinking I am playing some elaborate game of ‘Chase the squirrel up the tree’ with her.  She was banned from the room after the second set of jumps.

The 5 year old wanted to ‘Do Davina’ with me the first few times … but on her terms. She stands between me and Davina and does her own workout and tells me I must copy her.  This leads to much arguing and she is now banned from the room.

This leaves the 4 year old … the moment I start doing lunges or any type of squat his brain screams ‘tunnel’ and he instantly starts commando crawling through my legs.

I am convinced that it must be doing some good, but without any scales or will power when it comes to anything covered in chocolate I may just be doomed.

My final thought ‘If you are blessed in the boob department … never … ever … do Davina without a bra’. I don’t know what I was thinking.

I am now a finalist in the MAD Awards for Funniest Mad Blog where you can vote for me to win … if you want to! (Voting ends on the 6th of June at Midnight)

I had an email like that a few weeks ago.

Would I like to test some Green & Blacks chocolate? Umm, let me think about that for half a millisecond. Of course I would.

So the lovely people at Green & Blacks, who must go home to their families from work each night smelling divine, sent me some.

The postman, the one who we think is grooming the dog, stuck one of those ‘I couldn’t be arsed to ring the bell and wait for your husband who works on the third floor to answer the door’ ’sorry you weren’t in’ cards through the door without ringing the doorbell … twice.

I ended up having to get it redelivered to work.  All in all it took over a week.

A week of thinking about chocolate.

I had all sorts of ideas about how I would savour each piece of chocolate and tell you, my loyal readers, how good it smelled, how each piece was like liquid velvet. I was going to do a really amusing blog post all about it.

My intentions were all good, the thought of how I would write about the taste testing kept me awake at night as I sniggered at my own hilarious jokes about chocolate.

Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out like that.

By the time Royal mail pulled their finger out and redirected my chocolate I was like a woman possessed.  All rational thought of being a good taste tester gone.

On the first Green & Blacks (White) night … The Husband and I had an argument. I think he thought I was being poncy when I told him to smell the chocolate before putting it in his mouth. I went in a huff.  I asked him to ‘observe the appearance of the chocolate’,  ’smell the chocolate’ and ‘pinch his nose to experience the taste’. Despite my huff, it tasted lovely.

On the second Green & Blacks (Cherry) night … The Husband saw the error of his ways and HE suggested we taste it properly. I laughed as we read ‘Allow roughly two squares per person. Any more will give you tasting fatigue’.  I pinched my nose  and decided I had no sense of smell. … and it still tasted lovely.

On the third (Butterscotch), fourth (Almond) and fifth (Milk) Green & Blacks nights … We threw caution to the wind and whilst distracted by the TV ate with very little taste testing.

On the sixth Green & Blacks (Creamy Milk) night … The Husband played football and I accidentally fell on an open bar of chocolate.  Unfortunately I had my mouth open and before I could regain my senses it was gone. Although an ‘accidental’ eating, it still tasted lovely.

On the seventh Green & Blacks (Dark 85%) night … So here I am, with one bar left … 85% dark chocolate feeling like I need to do it more justice than just wolfing it down. I’m thinking of making some chocolate brownies … unless any of you can suggest something else!

Oh, and no tasting fatigue here, I can honestly say that two squares is never enough.

We’ve opened presents, eaten all the Quality Street, celebrated the New Year, had a few hangovers, eaten lots of sprouts, I’ve *shock horror* nearly finished reading my book, watched LOADS of films … and now it’s time to go back to reality.

School and work are looming large on the horizon, tomorrow in fact. The children who have had more late nights than I care to mention have been reacquainted with their early bedtime in the hope that it will ease them back into the school routine smoothly. Who am I kidding? As with every other ‘back to school’ week after a holiday my children will be little demons after school this week and I will tear my hair out. But today, which is Sunday, I am optimistically ironing uniform, packing the 3 year old’s lunch, writing cheques for the 5 year old’s school dinners and trying to remember where I put the 5 year old’s PE pumps two weeks ago.

It feels like longer than two weeks. I am actually sad that we won’t be spending all our time together, that I will be handing them over, once again, to teachers and childminders. As a working mother I feel guilt that I spend less time with the 3 year old than I did with his sister. I feel annoyed that during the working week I get the after school versions of my children which sees me sorting out reading, homework, tea and bedtime with often reluctant participants

Still, on the upside I won’t have to repeat myself over and over again at work. Choice phrases from this holiday have been … “You are too close to the TV”, “How long have you been playing on your DS for?”, “The dog has done a poo where!?”, “No, you have eaten all the chocolate coins”, “No, there are no more presents, this is it now”.

Only another 323 days till the next Christmas holiday

Now, where did I put those pumps?

We ended up at the lovely Coniston Hotel near Skipton, North Yorkshire where we ate fabulous food, did off-roading in a Land Rover, clay pigeon shooting in driving rain and archery with a hangover.

I shared a room with my colleague, Ms B, who I pre-warned about my shouting and sleep wandering.  Luckily I did no wandering or shouting  but I repeatedly told my children off throughout the night and kept her awake.

On Sunday morning I knew we were going out into the drizzle for some archery so I decided to wear my jeans from the previous day.  I noticed a chocolate cake stain on my jeans (I can’t even blame the children for that one) which I wiped off successfully with a flannel in the bathroom.

I immediately went out of the bathroom and told Ms B that the discarded flannel, which was now loitering in the bath, had chocolate on it and that I hadn’t wiped my bottom with it.

It was only when I was in the car on the way home that I thought maybe should have left a note for the maid giving her the same information.

Once home the crying subsided, he ate some chocolate and went off to play on the trampoline.   This confirmed that he hadn’t broken anything and I didn’t have to spend 4 hours waiting in A&E whilst he jumped off the furniture.

Later he wanted to watch TV and got snuggled up on the sofa with Lulu. 

I sat next to him and he put his feet on my lap.  I gave his feet a tickle and he said …

“Hit my feet like Grandpa does”

So I patted his feet gently.

“NO!  Harder like Grandpa does and on the bottom” he demanded.

So I slapped the soles of his feet as he relaxed and watched Mister Maker.