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Over the last four weeks, life’s been a strange convoluted version of itself. No working out, hardly any bike riding, very little posting … horrible, horrible stuff!

From today, it’s all back on - well, the bike riding and the posting anyway. Even though I’m tempted by the idea of just a few dumbbell presses, I’m trying to apply the same rules I’d be making my clients live by to myself. So no dumbbell presses. Yet.

And to mark my return to the normal world, I’ve signed up for nanowrimo … because running a business, being a single parent and every other thing just isn’t enough … I’m going to write a novel as well. What I love is the idea you’re not allowed to edit during November - that’s for December. So let’s see how it goes … plus the idea of writing part of said novel in the tropics of Bali … how can it be a bad thing?

Ran 2.5k’s this morning with a little help from Limp Bizkit on my iPod. Until I can lift weights again, I’m going to turn myself into a cardio machine. Or that’s the theory, anyway. I also did a huge ab workout, since I usually manage to find some excuse not to do that part of my training.

Today I’m loving: toss up between Limp Bizkit and the new pedals on my Kona. I’ve got room for both today!

After two weeks of swanning around with my hand either swathed in a bandage or delightful skin coloured splint, I’ve finally recovered enough to dispose of any type of wrist support. My wonderful osteopath has done a brilliant job manipulating my joint back to normalcy, and although I can’t quite sling around a twenty five kilogram plate the way I used to, I can write without looking like I’m using a hand belonging to a mannequin, and carry an average sized paperback book without wincing. I call that success.

Any routine I might have had has gone right out the window, any kind of posting regime gone, cooking, cleaning - even writing appointments in my diary has just become totally impossible to keep up with. Which resulted in a little stress while filling in my timesheet for work, but hey, I’ve been injured, dammit.

Adding to the domestic upheaval is the arrival of a guy on the scene (my scene?) - previously mentioned here as the guy from the bikeshop - and the feelings of my eight year old daughter about any kind of relationship not exclusively involving her and me. Her words? “I feel like there’s a love triangle, and I’m not included”. That was before any kind of dating action had even happened. But last night I made him dinner, so I guess things must be progressing. It’s strange, but kind of nice, and I’m trying hard not to expect/think too much.

The coming week involves getting the pedals on my new bike changed over, since I’ve decided I can’t quite come to terms with learning to ride with clips so soon after hurting my wrist, running, and getting my diet back on track after not being able to chop anything, or cook properly.

But now it’s time to take pizza out of the oven, and then read my new discount Thomas Harris book, probably scaring myself stupid before going to bed. What could be better?

Today I’m loving: Bali - only three weeks away!

If you’ve read any of my recent posts, you probably know about my bike accident. Initially, it all seemed super done with, I was fine … thank you universe.

But as I’m discovering, first impressions aren’t always accurate, and almost three weeks later, I’m typing with a splint on my wrist, after having x-rays (apparently it’s not fractured), and if hasn’t improved in a week, an MRI is on the cards.

Yesterday was my absolute lowest moment, as I cancelled all my afternoon sessions, and begged more than one doctor for pain relief. No cigar. Or codeine, which I would’ve preferred.

So life as I knew it is on hold for a while. I can’t really ride my bike properly, pick anything up with my right hand, or clean my teeth satisfactorily. But I’ve made a killer running mix for my iPod, and I’m going to work my frustration out tomorrow afternoon, since I have a gap between clients. I can really feel the difference in my mood and ability to cope (in a negative sense) since being unable to exercise the way I usually do.

But on the good side, I have my third date with a cute guy tomorrow night, and I’m looking to pick up a pair of Adidas shell toes in the afternoon, so it must be getting serious.

Today I’m loving: my splint - although ugly, it’s making my hand so much more comfortable. Now if I could only dye it black!

A while ago I used to get really annoyed when I had cancellations or rescheduled appointments. Now I love it (most of the time). I especially loved it this morning, when I came home at just before 8am and went for a run with Mr Dog, then lay in the park for about ten minutes watching brightly coloured birds fly around. I’d been intending to run at the gym, but then realised I could multi-task, and make my dog happy as well as breaking into a sweat.

While I was home I cooked … really cooked, which I haven’t done in ages, while listening to a mix tape (CD) my brother made (burned) last week. This is the recipe I made, and it was fabulous enough for me to have eaten it three times today. Easy, delicious … everything you could want in a recipe, including chickpeas.

While I’m discussing things I’ve consumed today, I’m in love with Nudie lychee, lemon and lime juice, and have had one almost daily this week. It’s taking the sting off my sore wrist, which my osteopath worked on a couple of hours ago. Courtesy of my bike accident there’s a chance I may have a fracture due to *falling on outstretched hand (funky acronym, huh?). Crazy wrists sometimes don’t feel pain right away, and it can take up to a couple of weeks for anything to show in an x-ray.

Whenever I see “x-ray”, it makes me think of a Blue Heelers script where we changed a guest character’s name from Ray to Tony at the last minute. The script co-ordinator consequently changed several mentions of medical imaging to “x-tony”. Several actors were highly confused - perhaps not for the first time.

Today I’m loving: the cute guy from the bike shop (yes, again)

Being Miss M’s mother is generally a fabulous job. She’s funny and clever and we have a really lovely relationship. One of the nicest elements of being a parent is when your child surprises you by showing what a good human being they are.

Yesterday I was taking Miss M to before school care just after 8am. It’s a mutually good thing, because I get to start work half an hour early, and she really enjoys going one morning a week. Miss M’s school has a most fabulous lollypop lady named Gwen, who has been helping children cross the road safely for about twenty years. She’s a truly wonderful person, and cares deeply about the kids, their parents … and the Richmond football club, which in my opinion just makes her even greater!

As we crossed yesterday, Gwen dropped a whole lot of rubber bands on the ground - she’d been trying to bundle them together, and hadn’t had any luck. Miss M skipped ahead of me and picked them up, put them all together and gave them back to Gwen. I know it’s only a tiny thing, and in the scheme of the world probably doesn’t matter all that much, but there are many people who would’ve just kept walking without a second thought. I felt a surge of pride at her little act of kindness - and the smile she had as Gwen thanked her.

After my faith in humanity was shaken a little bit after my bike accident last week, it’s nice to think we might be raising a generation who care about doing the right thing and being good people.

Today I’m loving: the nasturtium we picked by the river, and the idea of eating icecream at the beach in just a little while

This title seemed quite apt, because last night was Miss M’s school production, and she played the pivotal role of a dog. When I say pivotal, I may be stretching the truth, but to my slightly biased parental eye, she was the finest dog up on that stage. And she did a rendition of the Charleston which will live in my mind forever. Perhaps not totally authentic, in the 1920’s jazz club sense, but the best one I’ve ever seen.

School productions always mark one of those times when I can’t help getting teary. This time I laughed as well, because it was clear Miss M was in her element and having the best time, but I still cried - not sadly, but proudly. She looked so cute, having rightly decided she’d do a better job of applying her makeup than me.

Yesterday afternoon she spent some time with Mr Dog, doing some last minute characterisation before the big event. She followed him around, carrying a notebook, and when I snuck a look at what she’d written later on, it just said “ears!” Hers were made of fake fur, but she still managed to work them well.

Today I’m quite exhausted from a post 9.30pm bed time, but it was worth it. Here are some pics of the dog in question.

I’m drawing a long bow with the title, but it’s been so long since I’ve written anything, so cut me a little slack while I get my brain back into gear, okay?

It’s been an odd few days, with a lot happening, yet very little happening. Allow me to run it down for you in order of importance.

Since approximately 6.47pm last night, I’ve been appreciating life just a little bit more, since I had my very first official accident on my bike. It was the car driver’s fault, I handled it as well as I could, and I was able to first walk, then ride away from it, but nevertheless, it was quite intense.

As I lay in the middle of a wet street with my bike on top of me, there was a restaurant full of people who’d witnessed the accident eating stir fry, and none of them felt the need to ask if I was okay. They felt totally cool with gawking at my predicament, but clearly didn’t want their food to get cold. In my book, that’s bad behaviour. The driver who caused the accident stopped, which is great, because they don’t always, and was very apologetic. I was so happy to be alive and unscathed, I rode home before I noticed my front wheel was massively buckled, then I kind of went into shock, spending several minutes babbling at my brother who’d come to take me to dinner. After a plate of pork ribs, all was well again.

So the upshot of the accident is today I spent a huge amount of money on a new bike which has hydraulic disc brakes - state of the art apparently, so next time some crazy maniac pulls in front of me illegally, I’ll be able to stop before I run into them. And that’s got to be a good thing. I’m sad to see my lovely old Revel bike go, but it’s time to upgrade, and I don’t want to be skidding under someone’s car thinking “damn, if only I’d shelled out some dough on a safer bike” before I die.

Next - last weekend we actually bid on a property. And didn’t get it. And we were pleased we didn’t get it. And the upshot was there’s a new exciting development stemming from our insane bidding frenzy, which may work out well. For anyone who’s come for news, the phone call hasn’t come yet and it’s after six so I’m not expecting it now, but as soon as anything happens, you’ll know straight away.

That’s about all my news. Oh, and I taught Monday afternoon yoga for the first time in six weeks today, and it was gorgeous. Gill, you had the best spot in the sun for resting pose - I was quite jealous.

Tomorrow night is Miss M’s production, in which she plays a dog. The only female dog. I imagine she’ll steal the show, dog-wise. I have to apply makeup to the little actress before we leave, so it’s all her dreams come true at once.

Today I’m loving: a) being alive, b) the cute guy who installed my pannier frame (maybe I need a new helmet too, and some big time help choosing it?), c) Gill’s gorgeous spring posy which smells so good it’s almost criminal, and d) getting my scarf back after leaving it at the movies last week.

After being given tickets by one of my favorite clients (thank you Clive!), yesterday I took Miss M and her friend Alex to see the Guggenheim Collection at the National Gallery. I’d toyed with the idea of just taking one eight year old, but it seemed like a foolhardy idea. So we set off on a tram after picking Alex up, had something to eat, and went to Fed Square to find the exhibition, which was of course down the road at the “real” gallery.

After spending a lot of time with their hands pressed on the fascinating water wall (and saturating me with as much of the water as they could) we headed inside to get some culture.

Clive had suggested getting an audio tour, or going with one of the guides to get the most out of the exhibition. I have to say my two young companions were probably far more insightful than any guide the gallery could’ve provided. I was fascinated by what they were drawn to - a Jackson Pollock was one of the first things they liked (even I liked it, and I’m not a fan of Pollock), then Alex commented on a huge abstract painting “that must have taken ages to do”. To me it looked as though the artist had banged it out in moments, but when I looked more closely, I realised Alex was right.

We looked at everything (although I skirted around the Mapelthorpe photos - I wasn’t sure if they were PG rated), the kids were intelligent, considered and incredibly well behaved. I asked them questions about everything (the classic “what do you think that is?” served us well for the whole tour), but they volunteered a lot of great comments. We’d decided before going in we’d vote for our favorite, then buy postcards of them afterwards.

Miss M liked the huge Lichtenstein the most (sadly so did everyone else - the postcards were sold out), but Alex and I favoured a giant Jeff Koons painting of sandwich fillings. Seeing the Klaes Oldenbergs in the flesh was also cool, since I’d studied a lot of his work at Art School.

At the end of the exhibition, there was a huge pile of something shiny and black in the corner. Miss M said “that looks like a huge pile of liquorice”. Which was ironic, as that’s exactly what it was. The security guard came over and commented that he’d never seen two children standing in front of a giant pile of lollies and not taking them - then told the kids to take some. So we headed off crunching our interactive art work, and my well behaved art critics spent the next hour running around madly outside.

Today I’m loving: showing Miss M the classic boiled egg gag I used to do when I was a child. She liked it just as much as I did.

So yesterday I had one of those days where you get a piece of really, really bad news. At any other time, it would have been a pain, but not chronic. Thanks to the timing, it was really, REALLY bad. It was also one of those things where you personally have no control whatsoever, and no real entity to blame. How I hate those moments!

So after freaking out, then having to work and pretend not to be freaking out, I went to a food court and bought potato wedges. No sour cream, or anything else to get in the way of their fluffy goodness - just pure, hardcore potato.

I found a newspaper lying on one of the tables, so I sat down there, and read about protests against George Bush while eating. After the third wedge, I could actually feel the effect the carbohydrates were having on me - namely calming. It was really quite bizarre - but hey, it’s another good reason to eat sweet, sweet carbs.

So I say to anyone who’s on a low carb diet and feeling depressed - get some damn potato into your body and feel the sweet serotonin skyrocket - and other such alliterative phrases.

As a side note, the hideous situation seems to have, beyond all possible hope, been resolved. Still skeptical, but it seems like it might be okay.

Today I’m loving: my holiday, booked, paid for, in less than eight weeks. Oh how I need it!

On Saturday, Miss M and I attended another working bee at her school. Although a large part of me thinks “I don’t want to go to the damn working bee”, another part of me loves the digging, wheelbarrowing, and various other demented things you get to do at a working bee. Also, I can’t help feeling proud as my pink cheeked child works industriously out in the fresh air. Plus this week there was cake!

As I was chatting to one of the other parents over a piece of the aforementioned cake, it suddenly dawned on me I couldn’t see Miss M anywhere. I knew she’d been demolishing sandwiches moments beforehand, but she’d totally disappeared. I tamped down the terror rising in my chest and asked a few people if they’d seen her. After the chorus of “no’s”, I hop, stepped and jumped into full blown panic. An announcement went out over the PA for her to come to the staffroom door, but still nothing.

I started to wonder what the hell I should do. What’s the protocol when your child goes missing from their own school, surrounded by people who know them? Do you call 000, the local police … and what do you tell the other parent? I was quite proud of myself because I’d managed not to burst into tears (something I’m not in control of most of the time), but I was almost unable to speak to anyone properly because my throat had closed over with a freaky lump of hideous emotion.

Finally, I walked through the gate to the neighbourhood house next door to the school. I could see some small children in the playground, and as I got closer, I saw Miss M climbing up a slide meant for toddlers. The freaky lump of emotion was suddenly replaced with murderous rage, but I managed to keep my temper in check as I walked over to the safety fence. I calmly told her that I’d thought she’d been stolen or kidnapped, and next time she was going to go somewhere out of my sight, she needed to tell me. Just in case she didn’t get it, I also mentioned I’d been extremely upset. Then I put my sunglasses back on and wept a few quiet tears of relief.

This incident brought back many memories of my parents at various stages of my life being furious at me for disappearing without telling them where I’d gone. From six to sixteen, I think these were the only times they got really, really angry with me. Boy, did I get an insight into why. I suppose this perspective can only change with time. When you’re young, this kind of thing seems like no big deal - and why would it?

Afterwards, I expended my energy by digging huge wheelbarrows full of wonderful loamy soil until my brother rang from outside our house where he was waiting to take us to inspect yet another property. Which was good.

Today I’m loving: Michael, who dug beside me and probably did way more work than I did. And he’s only seven.