If you read my blog you’ll know Little Z loves dancing. It’s his favourite thing in the whole wide world at the moment and I think it would give The Muppets movie a run for its money. In fact, you won’t see my son walk anywhere. When not dashing somewhere in a rush, he will skip or dance his way to his destination. Always prepared. Always ready to bust a move.
He has been loving how I’ve started exercising (That’s right. Don’t laugh. I’ve just started doing the Sleek Technique and am really liking it. Well, as much as anyone as unfit as me can enjoy exercise I mean).
He joins in with all the vigour an energetic toddler can muster, which is a lot, and bounces around me as I stretch and crunch and will those abs to turn all slender and sleek and mostly just flatter than they are right now. Of course he will more often than not, land on top of me and any peeping Tom at my window would understandably mistake it for wrestling. (Thankfully we don’t have any peeping Toms. Being winded by a toddler constantly is embarrassing enough without having spectators giggling around your front garden). On the positive side he does encourage me to keep going by mostly shouting “Come on Mummy. Dance!!” as I collapse in a heap from my 8th sit up. My very own free personal trainer.
Although something’s happened this week that could hinder his personal training position slightly. He must have seen the state of the economy, all the cuts proposed in the recent spending review and my own take on it and decided he should help. Yesterday, on our way out he declared “I’m going to work!” and wouldn’t leave without his toy laptop.
Ahh it would be fine, we thought, we’ll just leave it in the car. It turns out he has a strong work ethic. He insisted on carrying it around the shops as he danced along the aisles and telling anyone that asked that he was, indeed, going to work.
We haven’t yet worked out what he does at work.