I may be some time.
Triathlons are the new mid-life crisis. Porsches are so passé – feats of endurance are the new way to beat that “I’m 40” feeling. Are you, like me, a triathlon widow?
I’m not 40. Yet. But many of my peers are. And it seems that not a day goes by without a Facebook request for sponsorship for a physical challenge that is going to make them feel young again.
I get it. Mid-life makes you aware of your mortality. You want to be healthy and strong. You want to kick the footie around with your kids when they’re back from uni.
And you want to get out of the house.
For hours.
Every Saturday.
And Sunday.
And then flop on the sofa, groaning weakly, “I’ll help with bedtime in a minute. Can I have some w-w-water?”
We see what you’re doing here, menfolk! You are getting fit; we are getting frantic. “Daddy’s just going for a ride, darling. He’ll be back for teatime.”
HE’D BETTER BE!
It’s not just the actual cycling, running, swimming, whatever. It’s the time spent:
- Researching the perfect kit (for this very likely one-off event)
- Mapping endless routes – both before and after
- Making trips to specialist sports shops
- Meeting fellow “triathletes” for strategy planning. In the pub.
- Smugly eating the contents of the naughty cupboard, because they’ve burnt a gazillion and 29 calories on their run (they know this exactly because they have all the tech).
But of course, I can’t say a word against Mr Wry’s mid-life tri-sis.
“Because it’s for charity.”
Which certainly puts my petty complaints into perspective. Yes, he may be getting fit as a positive side effect, but the driving reason for his participation is to raise money for a cause very close to our heart. As is the case with the majority of people putting themselves through triathlons, Tough Mudder, Peak-to-Peak and the rest. I salute you all.
So, as much as it occasionally rankles that our lives are currently revolving around my husband’s “long rides”, I am extremely proud of him and wish all his fellow triathletes the best of luck.
As you’ve probably guessed, my husband is currently training for a triathlon: the Triathlon for Duchenne, or Tri4D. Our friends’ son, Jamie, who is two years old, was recently diagnosed with this rare, and currently incurable, form of Muscular Dystrophy. The Tri4D is raising funds for life-saving research that aims to “End Duchenne in 10” [years]. Over 150 mums and dads are competing (so there’s a few triathlon widowers out there too!).
I know we are all inundated with fundraising requests, so I’m not going to ask for sponsorship (although that would be lovely, of course). But if you could Like the Tri4D Facebook page, follow on Twitter, share over social media, anything to spread awareness of this campaign, that would be awesome.
Thank you.
I LOVE CBeebies. But I hate it when they change stuff. Until I come to love it again, that is. Coming to accept a new CBeebies show follows a standard pattern. Here’s the timeline of how I – and maybe you too – move from fear to love. Day 1: Shock or Disbelief. Kate and Mim-Mim. A show that at first glance, beggars belief. Why is Kate so often left alone? Why does she have an adult’s voice? Why does she never talk below a bellow? When you’re used to Tree Fu Tom following Octonauts like night follows day, it is a terrible shock to have a shake-up to the schedule. An imposter in the midst of your afternoon viewing. One to be treated with hostility and scorn. Day 2: Denial. Kids are much more adaptable than adults. Never is this made more clear than by the fact that they are actually beginning to like this show. I can deny it as much as I want, but that is what they are asking for when the TV flickers into life. Day 3: Anger. Why did anything have to change? I remember the days before Tree Fu Tom. Heck, I remember the days before The Octonauts. Yes – and I greeted those little legends as underwater agents of evil. “Gup!” I scoffed. ‘What kind of a word is that?” We now own every single one, obviously. The subtext to this, of course, is: why does my child have to change? Why isn’t he happy watching the same vintage Postman Pats I grew up with? Why does he have to grow up? My baaaaaby! Day 4: Bargaining. If I let you watch two Kate and Mim-Mims, please please can you then watch a Grandpa in My Pocket (my previous bête-noir)? These are the kind of pleas I hear myself making. Day 5: Guilt. My kids love this show – who am I to mutter about it in the background? I’m poisoning their innocent enjoyment of this wonderful programme. I’m not the target audience, anyway. Day 6: Attrition. By the magic of the I-Player, we have now seen every released episode 18 times. I have come to smile when it comes on. I’m humming the theme tune in the shower. I believe there’s a name for this: Stockholm Syndrome. Day 7: Acceptance… and Love. How else can you respond to a programme that both delights your children and keeps them quiet while you cook their tea? Thus, like Statler and Waldorf, the Muppets in the balcony, I move from outright criticism to abundant praise in a volte-face as hilarious as it is predictable. Talking of the Muppets, The Furchester Hotel skipped right from Disbelief to Love for me. It’s hard to believe that The Muppets could be recreated but they had me at “Cooookie”. Those tunes are catchy, man! And the Vegetones – they rock! 
Picture credit: www.muppet.wikia.com ‘That was awful! That was really bad! Well, it was OK. It was pretty good. That ROCKED!’ There’s one final stage that I haven’t listed above: Boredom. Like any craze, after a certain time, it dies out. Real stayers, like Octonauts, have a renaissance every few months, and obviously there’s huge excitement when there’s a new series out. And then you realise: the guys at CBeebies are not mixing the schedule up for the children. It’s to keep us parents interested. Is it just me who struggles with changes to CBeebies? 
As anyone who follows me on Instagram will know, I ADORE pink roses. So when Bloom & Wild asked me to choose a bouquet, I of course went for The Rosalind. Their app makes it super easy to choose and order bouquets.
Eventually I gave the poor blooms a break and arranged them in a water jug we were given as a wedding gift (pictured top).
On the first day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the second day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the third day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the fourth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the fifth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the sixth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the seventh day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the eighth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the ninth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the tenth day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the eleventh day of Christmas, my children gave to me On the twelfth day of Christmas, my children gave to me 
February 25, 2022
Say It With (Letterbox) Flowers: Bloom & Wild Review – Wry Mummy
maximios Blog
Receiving flowers is such a joy. As my neighbours know well. I very rarely get sent them, but when I do, you can be sure I’m out when the delivery man comes, and I have to pop apologetically next door with the children squabbling behind me.
But this time was different! Bloom & Wild offer a genius concept of the letterbox bouquet, where your beautiful flowers are delivered in a flat box designed to fit through the letterbox. So it was that on Saturday morning, I received an exciting package kindly sent to me by the company.
So having made my choice on Friday, the next day through my letterbox came a dozen of the most perfect flowers I’ve ever received. It was my birthday weekend, so the timing couldn’t have been better.
Through the letterbox? How do they not get bashed around? I hear you cry. Well, they wear petal nets – a bit like a hairnet, but for flowers. Ingenious. Each bloom arrived unsullied by the postie’s bag.
The only challenge was knowing how to display them. I couldn’t decide, so I had a lovely time trying them out in different settings.
A bouquet from Bloom & Wild would make a lovely gift for Mother’s Day, but it would brighten someone’s letterbox any day of the year. Since my husband gave me flowers for my birthday, I’d be pushing it to get another bouquet for Mother’s Day, I feel. But I am still enjoying good days and happiness from my dear Rosalind.
I was sent this bouquet for review, words and opinions my own.