Are you a Car Star?

I have a confession. I like to sing. In my car. Really loudly and with much passion. I know. You're wincing, aren't you? I'm the chick you pull up next to at the traffic lights who's howling along at the top of her lungs. All you can be thankful for is that the windows are up. And I can't even guarantee you that.

Today I had some errands to run. Errands involving highway driving. I'm politely referred to as a Nervous Nellie when it comes to driving, so my singing serves two capacities in these situations. It keeps my mind off the 4,500 'what ifs' that can turn my palms sweaty when I'm driving at 100km/hour - and it makes me breathe deeply and keeps me calm.

That's my excuse, anyway.

Today I found myself singing the fourth part harmony that The Dixie Chicks so obviously miss. I totally rocked a Pink song (did I mention I'm a closet (or not so closet) dag?). There may or may not have been some Jimmy Barnes in there. Singing along with Jimmy makes me appreciate the range of the man's voice. Those songs get high, people.

In the privacy of my own car, I'm the lead singer, with any choice of international superstar backing band I damn choose. I like to think I make the most of that.

Are you a Car Star? What's your music of choice?


[image: bsandgren]

Proud parents come in all shapes and sizes

The scene: the empty carpark at the local swimming pool. Dark clouds gather on the horizon, threatening. A mother gathers her babies about her, anxiously scanning for traffic.

The Misters are back at swimming lessons. Which means that the race from school gate to pool is on again. Twenty minutes from bell to the first splash, via a quick snack, changing from uniform to what Mr4 calls 'swimming underpants' and a hurried 'how was school?' update. It's a finely timed operation.

The scene: deciding that the coast is clear, the mother lines her babies up. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. You can almost hear them sounding off like the Von Trapp children as she makes sure they're all there.

At 3.15pm, we pull up out the front of the heated pool. Across the road, the open-air pool is closed, awaiting the long weekend and the warm weather. As I unbuckle my seatbelt, I glance across the deserted carpark, surprised that there are so few cars here yet. And that's when I see them...

The scene: Dad appears from nowhere to bring up the rear of the line. There are so many of them and they have a long way to go. Between them, the parents frogmarch their little charges to the edge of the carpark. They stand near the kerb, watching, waiting. The road in front of them, a standard suburban street, appears vast.

"Quick!" I shout, racing around to let the boys out of the car. "Look!" I point to the little family, taking its first tentative steps onto the street.

"Ducklings!" shouts Mr7. Mr4 claps his hands. We all stand and watch, breaths held as we watch the line of fluffy ducklings, sandwiched at either end by their ever-vigilant parents, make a break across the street.

"There aren't any cars coming, are there Mum?" asks Mr4, worried.

"Those lookouts will let them know," says Mr7, pointing out the two ducks standing, as though on guard, nearby.

The scene: the ducklings flap and waddle and wiggle their way across to the other side, and the safety of the river bank. Mum and Dad Duck stand on the verge, watching as, one by one, they slip and slide and slither their way down the grassy hill towards the water below. Proud parents.

We watch them until they disappear over the rise. At which point I realise the time, line the boys up and we skiddle and skaddle and run helter skelter toward our first lesson of the season. Where Mr4 did the best 'big arms' ever, and Mr7 received a 'good' from the notoriously tough teacher. Proud parent.

[image: via dreams that glitter xo]

A note about school notes

On Monday they fall like confetti from the sky. Or from the reader bag. School notes. Blue, pink, yellow, green, orange... All full of instructions. "You need to do this/sign that/pay this/prepare that."

A deluge.

I read them. I immediately throw the ones of least apparent relevance. A sizeable pile remains. I sign what I can. Return it immediately to the reader bag. One down. Truckloads to go. How, for instance, to deal with the 'Buskers Afternoon' notification. Can I be a parent helper? Can I avoid it?

The Fair Trade Colouring Competition is due on Thursday. I have a bad feeling the colouring sheet remains in the Fibro, under the renovation dust - will Mr7 be devastated? School photo season is upon us. Choose a package - cheque or credit. Due back when? Eeek! Tomorrow. Wait a minute - wasn't there one about the preschool photos as well? Rummage. Due back when? Eeeek! Tomorrow.

There has to be an easier way.

How do you deal with the onslaught of school notes? Any tips?


[image: how much do you love this picture by beet09? You can buy it as a greeting card at RedBubble.]

Making the switch (or thinking with your eyes open)

Following Thursday's Inner Hoon post, Mr4 (who, by the way, did not read that particular post) decided that today was the day to Lose The Training Wheels. He was ready to be a Big Boy. Fo' Real. So, with great ceremony, the little wheels were removed and he and I and Mr7 duly removed ourselves to the wide, open spaces of the local showground to see if we could, as Mr7 put it, get him going.

Half an hour into proceedings, huffing and puffing and with very sore hamstrings from bending over to hold the back of his seat (which is not very far off the ground), I called a halt. He had made some progress. He could push off and pedal a few rounds, but then it all went pear shaped. Let's just say that any distraction is a good distraction as far as Mr4 is concerned. And every time he spotted a distraction, his handle bars went left and he went with them.

As I carried his bike back to the car, I told him that he needed to concentrate a little better. Looking at motorbikes roaring past, for instance, was causing him to crash.

"But I was looking at the lovely day," he responded.

I know the day is lovely, but even so. If he wanted to ride his bike, he needed to think a little harder.

"But when I think really hard, I have to close my eyes, Mum," he responded. Er, yes, I could see how this would make staying on the bike difficult. (See Thursday's post about raising the legal driving age to 30.)

I told him that he needed to find a way to think hard with his eyes open.

Later, as we were driving out to view an antique food safe (I take them to all the best places, it's true), he told me that he'd had a breakthrough. "I've worked out how to think with my eyes open," he told me, pride infusing every syllable.

Oh?

"There's a switch in my head," he confided. "If you push it one way, your eyes close. But if I push it back the other way, reeeeaaaallly hard, I can think with my eyes open."

Oh, that's all right then.

We are heading back to the showground tomorrow for round two. Let's hope that switch is in the right position.

Have you taught a child to ride a bike? Any tips for one who is distracted by 'the lovely day'?


[image: fieldnotes]

Writing + Weight Loss = Same/Same

I'm guest posting at Diminishing Lucy today. I love her blog. She covers an awful lot of ground, from family to fitness, and does it without apparently breaking a sweat. My post today is all about how writing and weight loss have a lot of similarities... particularly given I'm not doing a lot of either at the moment. Please pop over and say hello...

Also, if you haven't joined up with the Weekend Rewind, it's not too late - and it's SUPER EASY this week. All you have to do is to link up a post from this time last year. How hard can that be???? Hope to see you there!

Big red cars

Mr4's inner hoon is well developed. At four. He will stand on a street corner and point out the 'coolest' cars. All of said cars have flashy paint jobs, shiny wheels and 'wings' aka spoilers. Mr7 has told him that spoilers are aeroplane wings turned upside down, so they hold the car down, rather than pushing the plane up. Mr7 learned about that on an episode of Peppa Pig, or Olivia, or one of those Piggy ABC shows. See, TV is educational.

Mr4 likes the music loud when he is in the car. He likes the window down and the breeze in his hair. He tells me that he will be a much better driver than me. Apparently he will be 'fast' and will not hit the gutter when he attempts to reverse park. Everyone's a critic.

Mr4 dons his bike helmet, puts on his gumboots, and climbs on his little bike (with training wheels) as though he is stepping over a Harley Davidson. He brmmms as he drives, makes screeching noises as he skids to a stop, and swaggers like a Bandido as he pushes his bike into the preschool playground. He walked around with his helmet under his arm for ages the other morning, waiting for someone to notice, then tossed his hair back with 'oh, this old thing' attitude as he confided that he'd ridden to school that day.

Mr4 has all the makings of a mother's worst nightmare.

I think I'll start lobbying now for the driving age to be raised to 30.

[image: Disney]