The Marketing Department Read Twilight As Well

Middle Sister, also a bit of a "Twerd", sent me this. As someone who used to work in advertising, I applaud those responsible for this. I mean, there's just so many creative ways to promote feminine hygiene products. A little, um, unorthodox but creative as all get out. And trendy too!

Still by far, my favourite ad for these types of products was one done in the early '90s for Playtex Tampons (I think) in Europe. Two little girls are in a field of daisies, lying on their tummies.

Girl A: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Girl B: I think I want to be a teacher or a doctor. What do you want to be?

Girl A: Well, I don't know what kind of job I want but I know I want to use Playtex because then I can ride horses, go swimming, wear the nicest white pants...

March? Yes. Break? No.

I'm trying to study for this fitness instructor test that I'm to take in about 10 days. How sad is it that I'd rather take a Pap test?

I'm also furiously trying to make stuff for the next craft show which is in 9 days. Guess what I'll be doing at my booth while waiting for a sale? This isn't coming easy to me. I'm so out of practice.

March Break is here. I could tell right away because the numbers were down in my Monday morning class. Yesterday's class was the fullest I've ever had but I was running a St. Patrick's Day thingie. I had prizes (a green juice bag tote, Irish Spring, green gum, green tea, pencils), brought in snacks (honeydew, cucumbers, iced green tea). People like free, it seems. I had my water in an empty can of Guinness. When I brought it to my lips the first time, I swear, people gasped. "It's water. I swear!" I got more guffaws from my "Irish for a day" sash and green hair extensions. Any bozo can go to the dollar store and get that. The water-in-the-Guinness thing was imaginative! Sheesh.

Middle Sister came to my class. She said I really motivated her ("I think that was the first time I ever broke a sweat in a Pump class") but, apparently, I don't lead the way she's used to by the instructors in her club. "Don't get upset," she begun. Hey, if I was afraid of criticism, I wouldn't be up on stage making a total ass of myself twice a week.

Daughter is spending the next few days with her and I have Eldest Nephew in return. Middle Sister has actual plans to keep her busy. She doesn't need it because when Daughter and Niece are together, they need no one. I, on the other hand, just hope to keep Eldest Nephew and my boys away from the screens for part of the day.

And when Daughter comes back, the first order of business, she tells me, is to go to the store and buy the DVD of Twilight. Say what you want about my parenting (and Middle Sister did), but I'm letting her read the book series. I'm reading ahead, just so I know, and it's a good idea. The girl has been gulping it down like other kids did with Harry Potter, a series she never could get into. She's just not interested in fantasy, I explained to a friend. "But Twilight is about vampires! That's fantasy." Er, not entirely. It's more of a romance than anything else. Kinda reminds me of Brideshead Revisited, you know?

Daughter has always been a good reader but this series has her coming home, doing her homework and chores, and then curling up on the chesterfield to get lost in Forks, WA. She's soooo impressed that I've been to Port Angeles. No joke. And, get this, she helps with the cooking. She's keeping her room tidy. She's washing the dishes after dinner. Why? Because that's what Bella does. I'm telling you, I'm okay with her reading the books.

Is the romance bits over her head? I don't think so. My tween is still a kid, don't get me wrong, but she has moments of maturity beyond her years. Maybe it's an oldest child thing. Maybe it's an estrogen thing. I don't know, but I'd like to think I understand my kid. I believe she can handle this and I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I want to give her some independence. I've guided you from here; now I'm going to let go of your hand for a little while and be right beside to catch you if you fall. Baby steps.

Hopefully, she'll heed my opinion that, chances are, she'll never meet a guy quite like Edward Cullen. Further, if she gave up her whole life for a guy, she can expect a slap upside the head from her mother. And I'll get a slap upside MY head from Middle Sister with a smattering of "I told you so!"

Me and My Big Mouth

There's a governing body for fitness instructors in Canada, and I took their course last weekend so I could be certified as a specialist.

The other instructors I work with all told me to skip the classes and just take the exam. But since I didn't have a science background like they did, I signed up for the classes anyway. I took another staff member with me, R, a high schooler but an old soul. She's studying to teach Zumba, a Latin dancercise class.

We were quite happy to be going, taking it all very seriously, and really hoping to learn tons. We got in to the university with seconds to spare and took our seats just as the pro trainer was introducing herself and wanted introductions from the 21 of us in the class.

Maybe because it was in a university, but half of them were kinesiology students. Two older women wanted to open up their own gym in their small town. One guy with a brain injury and could barely put two coherent words together wants to teach Body Combat (good luck and God speed). One woman wanted to teach Step at her local GoodLife.

At this point, the trainer said that teaching the Les Mills programs at GoodLife is horrible. "There's no personality to them. The music is the same. The moves are the same. They're even given cues that they have to say."

And then they got to me. "Hi. My name is Jen and unlike most of you, it's been about 20 years since I've stepped foot inside a university. And unlike many of you, I don't work in healthcare or nutrition or athletics per se. But I am a Body Pump instructor, certified by Les Mills International.

"And I take issue with your comment about GoodLife and Les Mills.

"Yes, the music is the same. You can go to any of the 72 countries in the world that have Les Mills programs and the music will be the same, regardless of the language spoken. They spend millions on great music. It keeps people coming in.

"Yes, the moves are the same. They are choreographed and approved by a team of fitness professionals and medical personnel to ensure they are fun and safe and reachable for all levels of fitness.

"Yes, we have compulsory cues. They're always there so we're mentioning the technique needed to perfect and perform the moves in a safe but effective way.

"But boring? I take offence to that. My Pump class would be different from yours or hers or his because we're all individuals with a unique style and unique focus. And there's even a difference in classes because of the participants. I have young and middle-aged members on Monday and retired folk on Tuesday.

"And I know I'm not alone. There's a reason why GoodLife is the number one gym in Canada."

I'm pretty sure the trainer had some spin experience because there was some serious backpedalling.

Of course, there were other things that got my heart rate up, and it wasn't the endless fricking grapevines I had to do. Oh, yes, we spent 90 minutes on musicality: how to find the beat in a song. Seriously, everyone had White Man's Overbite. I wanted to cry, it was so frustrating. I ended up trying to wrap up the discussion by saying, "If I could impart my experience here, may I say that musicality comes with practice. You'll learn to identify the downbeat, learn to talk in cadence with practice. You're not going to come out of this class being as good as our trainer here."

"Or Jen," R added. Sweet kid.

This came after spending scant amount of time on anatomical issues, which was what I came for. But in a room of kinesiology students, I suppose my needs were trumped.

We had to choreograph two warm-ups on the first day. The first one was a high/low one to be done alone. I had to go first because I had instructing experience. I've never done anything like that before in my life, but I whipped something together, faking it completely. I even worked in some jokes about how I wished I had a bar and 50 pounds instead. So what I lacked in aerobic knowledge, I made up for it in personality.

Knowing I wasn't a bouncy-bouncy girl, I was then matched up with the two guys in the class to do a cardio-kickboxing thingie. I have no experience with that so I let the boys show me the moves and I led the class from there. "That was the best kickboxing demonstration I've seen," the trainer said.

"Great, because I didn't know what I was doing there either!" I told her.

So when it came to choreographing a muscle portion (I had to demonstrate interval training), I incorporated lots of creative but effective moves. Frankly, I rocked the house. I mean, I better! But then the trainer had the cojones to CORRECT MY FORM! On DEADLIFTS! That's probably the easiest thing in the world to do. I coached the proper Les Mills way: tip from the hip, bar held with hands just outside your hips, tummy in, toes out at 11 and 1, knees slightly bent, taking the bar to the top of the kneecaps while having it just skim the thighs. The trainer told everyone that a deadlift goes away from the legs and as close to the floor as possible.

"That may be true if one were to work with a personal trainer or on their own," I interjected, "but that is entirely unsafe form to be teaching in a group exercise setting. If someone in my class couldn't reach that far and hurt themselves, then I'd be up the creek."

"Oh, you and your big corporation. You're so wrapped up in legal issues." And she moved on.

The weekend was a complete Gong Show. R and I debriefed our team leader on the next day. Our stories made her visibly shake with anger.

"It's just too bad we need the certification," she said. "And maybe too bad for you because guess who will be marking your exam, Jen."

Why It Sucks Being a Body Pump Instructor In a Small Town

I was at the grocery store today with Baby Boy. He was pleading, wearing me down, like only he can, begging for a bag of Oreos.

If you're a regular mom, you'll understand. I pick my battles. This wasn't one of them. I put the Oreos in the cart.

And then I saw one of the participants in my early Monday morning class. "Cookies, eh? But you won't have any, right, Jen?"

Of course not. If it were Chunks Ahoy, however, I'd be home in a minute with a glass of milk. Still, I felt a little stung. Even now, I don't know if I'm embarrassed to have bought cookies or because my parenting may have been put into question.

And then we went to check out. The cashier recognized me.

"Aren't you the new Body Pump instructor? I was in a Flow class with you and the instructor there introduced you to us."

And then she started ringing in my Kotex, my Jolen, the aforementioned cookies, Kraft Dinner Crackers, psyllium fibre cookies (for Middle Child's wonky digestive system, I swear), etc.

Struck By Lightening v2.0

I went to an RPM spin class taught by my boss. After class, she pulled me aside.

"Who is that blonde woman, really yoked, in the back corner?"

"The one with the distinguished grey-haired guy, J? The total flirt? That's A," I said.

"Are they together?"

"No! They're just friends. That's what they told me a year ago. Besides, I talked with J at the Farmer's Market in December. He was holding hands with another woman and they were telling me about their basement, so I assume that was his wife."

"Well, then these two are having an affair because I've been seeing them going like rabbits in his truck in the far back parking lot where staff parks."

Ewww. Now I can't look at them.

I came home a little shaken. I don't like hearing crap like that, you know?

And then, that afternoon, I found out that my friend's husband is having an affair. He used her cell phone to forward a text message to his married "qahba".

So if I was shaken before, now I'm crushed.