Spinning. aka Simon’s Bike

 I tried a Spinning class yesterday. Why do they call it Spinning? Nothing is spinning. No wheels, not me, except for maybe my head at the end of the class. Why not just call it Pedalling in Hell? 
I found that you actually need to be quite tech savvy to Spin. Once I had finished fiddling with all of the levers to adjust the height and angle of the seat and then the handle bars, there was a devise with a screen and a light. This electronic devise asks all sorts of personal questions and demands data before I can begin pedalling. 

This is not a bike, it is a pedal powered instrument of torture equipped with lights that change colour according to speed, effort or just for fun, I don’t know.

The idea is to keep the light a certain colour and the rpm on the screen at a certain level. I’ve no idea what the other three sets of numbers mean. There is another little dial that I have to turn to adjust the tension of the pedals. All of this while frantically pedalling, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the rock hard pencil thin seat and somehow have fun.

The next thing I know, they’ve turned out the lights, disco lights are twirling and loud up-beat dance music is pumping through the room. I’m on an exercise bike in a nightclub!  It’s just too surreal.

The instructor at the front, wears a microphone into which she shouts commands, mostly colours and numbers.

Coloured lights are flashing, disco lights are dancing, numbers are doing random things on the screen, I’m sweating, feeling sick and the seat is just too hard for me sit. The manic instructor tells me to stand in the pedals, adjust the tension but “KEEP PEDALLING! GREEN LIGHT, 90 RPM, 3 mins!” 

Dance music pumps.

“YELLOW LIGHT!”

Yellow? Oh my god, my light has gone red, what does that mean?.. Is anyone else red? Oh, now it’s blue, what the hell?!

“TRY TO KEEP THOSE LIGHTS YELLOW!”

How do I make it yellow?

“30 SECONDS”

Pedal faster, twiddle the knob. Blue light, green light, yellow.

Yes!

“5,4,3,2,1. RED LIGHT 100 RPM”

What, your kidding right? I only just found yellow. And my crotch really hurts.

This is like the crazy bicycle version of Simon Says, deluxe edition. It must have been devised by a bike fanatic who loved both the kids party game and the electronic game so decided to combine all of his passions into one demented torturous creation. 

Again, why call it Spinning? My son thinks it should be called Simon’s Bike. I agree.

 Next week I shall I try another Simon’s Bike class and this time I’ll take a cushion for my crotch. 

Uber Mum to Goober Mum.

Upon receiving the Autumn Term newsletter from school, I dutifully read it. I felt very happy and content doing this little task. Last year, I was not receiving these emails and as a result missed a lot and played catch up all term. So to be reading this and feeling on top of the whole good parent in sync with the school was great!

At the end of this newsletter was a list of recommended reading for the Year 3s. I instantly felt like a literary inept mother for not having a single book from the list in our extensive library. So I popped onto our classes Facebook page to ask the kind mums if anyone had any of the books listed on the email and could they lend some to us.

Moments later there were a couple of replies asking “What email?”

Was it true? Was I the only mum to have read the email? Am I Uber Mum today? Do I get some kind of medal?

As the morning wore on my post filled up with parents commenting on how they had not received this email. I appear to be the only or one of the very few to have received it.

So I am not an Uber Mum after all. Back to being Goober mum as, A) I don’t already have the books on the list. And B) For drawing attention to myself and creating a drama as I sent all the other “almost uber mums into a panic”.

As one mum icely pointed out to me You don’t have to read from the list either, it’s only a guide, they can read anything they like within reason of course.” She of course had received the email.

Green Smoothies

I am trying and failing to love my NutriBullet. I love the idea of these super healthy, nutrient full smoothies. I have all the ingredients for different concoctions which all sound delicious. But lets not fools ourselves here. They are not delicious by any stretch of the imagination. the first mouthful is acceptable, even palatable, the second and third, slip down without much trouble. About halfway through the beverage I’m starting to pull faces, wrinkling my nose, pursing my lips, still pretending that I am enjoying this torture. By now I am almost gagging, I just cannot take anymore pureed vegetable and fruit. Maybe I put too much celery in? Not enough pineapple? If i put more water in its just going to prolong the agony, so I force the thick gloop down telling myself how its doing my body wonders and if i keep it up I will thin and lovely again.

Once the glass is empty and rinced out, I tell myself how wonderfully full and engergised I feel. And I should go for a swim.

My tummy wants to know where the biscuits are.

The gift of a child’s love

More precious than diamonds my children are.
More beautiful than sunsets and roses and rainbows over mountains.

As unique as the finger prints that smear every surface they touch, thus blessing it.

The sound of their laughter rivals symphonies.
The sound of their gentle breath in peaceful sleep, is more reassuring than the locked doors.

The drama of their lives unfolding is more fascinating than any blockbuster or news headline.

And they love me. Even when I’ve told them off, confiscated every toy in sight, banned tv and raged at them. They still crawl into bed next to me, and wrap little arms around my neck, and kiss me with those overly wet lips.

They love me and trust me and that’s the gift.

Oscar

The many faces of Oscar

The Cherub.
He lays asleep, perfect little up turned nose and perfect little pout, his eyelashes long and dark just brushing his ruddy pink and full cheeks one of which rests upon his folded little hands. His hair curls on his forehead, around his ears and down the back of his slightly sweaty neck. Baby fat still shows around his wrists and elbows. He snuggles and nuzzles and is a delight to behold.
He is an image of heavenly peacefulness, purity and sweetness.

What a great disguise!

The Story Teller.
Awake and full of life, he is a bundle of curious and creative wiggles and bounces. Every object has a life and a story of its own. Spiders grow in size. They become super beings imparting super powers. Mystery puddles were left by aliens from the planet Blue.
I can’t always tell when he’s lying, please don’t tell him that. His stories sound so plausible sometimes that I find myself falling in to traps. Like the time he convinced me that the teacher brought her dog to school. His description of the dog was so real and so detailed, right down to the colour of his collar. How could it not be true?

The Wildling Child.
He has suddenly lost the ability to use words, has lost his language and can only grunt and whine and even growl. He laughs like a crazy possessed thing and does exactly the opposite of everything I ask with deliberate and cruel joy.
He runs, he throws, he hits and howls. And when I try to hold him he pulls and pulls and suddenly flops to the ground refusing to stand.
He becomes deaf to every warning, every plea. He demands and stomps and wails and screeches going red in the face with such rage.
All without warning and little provocation.

The Little Brother.
He often stands in the shadow of his older brother who he idolises and despises in the same moment. At once aspiring and frustrated. He admires his brothers skills but is frustrated at his own lack. He does not understand that he too will be that fast, that strong, that smart in just another year. He wants to play with his brother and be with his brother but on his terms and by his rules. He is lucky to have such a tolerant sibling who loves him and is patient and adores him just as much.

The Rebel
He is my tiny rebel without a cause. He strives to be different from the rest. He’s the child with the crossed Velcro straps on his shoes, the Spider-Man with blue hair at the Halloween party. Dances to his own beat, sings his version of the song but still as sweetly.
He’s the boy who will dress smartly for dinner one day but turn up naked the next.
His creativity knows no bounds and bears no restrictions. He can colour within the lines but he will not be oppressed by these boundaries.

Eppure si muove. And yet it moves

“Eppure si muove”. “And yet, it moves.” These are allegedly the words spoken by Galileo Galilei in 1633, when he was tortured and forced to recant his theory that the Earth orbits the sun.

Despite the torture, despite what anyone thinks, the Earth still moves.

Despite whatever tortures we go through, despite the wars, despite anything life may choose to throw at us, the Earth still moves. Life continues, it carries us along with it and no matter what, we are a part of this great Earth and we too must continue.

Galileo is also thought to have said “The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.”

Well doesn’t that sound like a mother?

We may not feel this way often. We may feel more like a fizzled out sparkler on bonfire night and less like a blazing sun. Depression will do that to you.
But even at our worst we are the Sun and we are ripening our little grapes and it is the best thing in the universe to do.
Next time the dark clouds or demons inside are torturing you and forcing you to give up, remember “Eppure si muove” And yet it moves, and so can I.

This rather great man also said “Wine is sunlight, held together by water.”

Sunlight is vitamin D, so therefore wine must be full of it so I’m off for a glass of vitamin D.

2.5 Seasons

I like seasons, all of them. I like summer, who doesn’t? Sunshine, longer days, school holidays. Nice.
I love Autumn, not Fall, Autumn. I love the colours, the smells, just the pure feel of it. School starts again and it feels like a new beginning. Indeed Halloween was once celebrated as New Year, a time to say goodbye to all things dying to make way for new life. I love the smell of bonfires and those last few warm days before winter makes its presence felt.
I like winter. Yes I do. I don’t mind the cold when I know I can get warm, really toasty warm. I love wearing snuggly jumpers and hats and scarves. Then what I love most of all is that first scent in the air that heralds the coming of spring.
And I love spring. I love it wet and breezy and green and full of life. Spring smells good too, it smells green. I love all the seasons.

Sadly I find seasons in Hong Kong rather disappointing. To me, Hong Kong has 2 seasons. Hot n Wet (summer) and Cool n Dry (winter). At this moment in time we are experiencing something in between. Cool n Wet. I guess this must be spring. So lets say 2.5 seasons because it’ll only last a few weeks.

Hot N Wet starts in May. Dead on May. Not around May, May. May 1st, wham! Someone turns on the furnace and sets it to High.
It’s hot, it’s humid, it rains so hard it hurts. It rains so hard that the rain actually bounces off the pavement and up your legs.
We get weather warnings and rain has a colour code. Amber, Red and Black.
Amber is get ready to get a bit wet and see the rain literally beat the leaves off trees. It’s just occurred to me that Amber is a funny colour code for rain, I guess that’s where the phrase “pissing it down” comes from.
Red is stop and watch as the drains back up and turns the garden into a lake.
Black is stay inside and build an Arc.

Then we get typhoons which are like hurricanes but Asian. Typhoons are numbered according to their proximity to Hong Kong.
T1 is standby for a breeze.
T3 is breezy, you might want put your potted plants somewhere safe.
Then it jumps for no apparent reason to T8, which is a tree bender and branch breaker.
Last year there was a T10 which was pretty full on. It tore up 6 large trees in our local plaza bringing up half with surrounding pavement.
A T3 closes kindergarten schools, because our 3 year olds can’t stand to mess their hair up in a breeze.
T8 is a public holiday.
Just before a typhoon it usually gets really hot. Then we get a Hot weather warning. Thanks. Like I hadn’t noticed!

By October it’s cooled down enough to kill off the mosquitoes and cockroaches and we commence with BBQ season! Yippee.
For some reason none of the housing seem to have double glazing or adequate heating, so if Cool n Dry gets any colder than 10° it’s hard to get that snuggly warm I was talking about before.
Again we get weather warnings. We actually get Cold Weather warnings. Honestly, if its under say, 16° we get a warning and reminded to put on a jumper. Thanks! Seriously Hong Kong, you don’t know what cold is. You don’t even get ice!

But for all this there is little change. The trees don’t really change colour and their leaves fall at random times throughout the year (especially when it’s an Amber rain). It’s either Hot n Wet or Cool n Dry with exception of about 3 weeks in April this year where it’s still quite cool and has rained relentlessly the whole time. This is usually the best time of year to plant and Aunty put down grass seed a week ago only to watch it get washed away the next day when the garden became a pond. So who knows what season we’re in right now.

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I Like My Grey Hairs

Last month I turned 40. ,  Strangely enough this didn’t seem to bother me. 40 sounds mature, I like the sound of 40. I don’t have to pretend I’m 20something, I’ve got two kids, I’ve seen the world and done a fair bit with my time. I can be 40.
I don’t like late nights and can’t drink too much anymore, so what!
I’ve started liking musicals and costume drama, so what!

Every time I look in the mirror there is a new grey hair. Someone asked me if I am going to dye my hair or highlight it or something. I don’t think I will. Not yet.
I quite like my grey hairs, they remind me that I am nearly 40. They remind me that over the past 4 years things have been tough but we got through them (you should see how little hair my husband has and how much of it is grey).
They remind me that there is a reason I can’t quite shift that extra bit around my middle, there is a reason I can’t do cartwheels anymore and there is a reason I see the world a little differently.
That reason is NOT because I’m older, it’s because I’m more mature. That maturity has brought a certain acceptance of things that were once intolerable, ok that could translate as sinicism but its not; well not always.

I feel that 40 should be as special as 21. The true celebration of adulthood. 21 marks the passage into adulthood, 40 celebrates making it through adulthood alive.
Many of us party our way through our 20s, with all the naivety and irresponsible behaviour expected of a 20 something. We might make head ways into a career, we might meet our future spouse, or the first one anyway. Some may have made an early start on a family while others are busy putting notches on the bedpost. On the whole 20s is fun. No?
30s are still fun but we might be focusing on the future a bit more. Our careers might be well under way, or we may have gone thru several career changes. The bedpost vandals may have settled down or at least settled on one for now. We may have growing families or only just embarking on parent hood, either way we still have a lot to learn and more to experience, the ride ain’t over yet.

So by the time we reach 40, we should pretty much have the hang of the whole adulthood thing regardless of what kind of adult we have grown into.
I don’t know what we do in our 40s. More of the same but with better knowledge? Is it like 30s but more relaxed? That would be nice. Anyway, I’m ready and I’m keeping my greys, I don’t need to look an age I’m not. The age I am is part of who I am and I think I’m comfortable with that person now.

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