Magnesium (A Cautionary Tale)

Once upon a time I got married.  On our way to happily ever after, we got divorced thereby increasing our chances of happily ever after tenfold.  I like to think I have a reasonable relationship with my ex-husband.  Mind you, I like to think I have a reasonable relationship with spiders, too.  I pretend they don't exist and try not to kill them even when tempted.  I'm Buddhist like that.

This story may or may not have something to do with my ex-husband.

Magnesium (or the nasty thing that happened to my ex-husband when he went running one day...)

So this guy I know, he started running at some point.  I don’t mean running like, “Hey, I’m posting to Facebook because I did a couple of minutes on a treadmill” kind of running.  I mean “Run, Forest, RUN!” running.  And then he started running more and more and more.  I have my suspicions that it was partially to escape from his unpleasant wife.

Anyway, early in his journey to becoming an UltraMarathonMan, I did a bit of research into important things for distance running including muscle recovery.  In his last big run before his first full marathon taper (it’s a thing) I went and bought him some new skins, some kit and some tissue salts.  Okay, actually I bought magnesium.

I had researched it.  I told him to take some before his run which he did.

He also bought himself some super-duper sports drink which contained high levels of magnesium and he drank that too.

When he stumbled up to the back door, wide eyed and traumatised looking, I wondered if he had been chased by a man with a knife or been molested by a posse of delinquent possums.

It turns out that too much magnesium causes massive bouts of almost immediate explosive diarrhoea, which can be difficult to manage when you’re running beside a major road at night.

He now frequently runs races in excess of 100kms which the kids and I are all very impressed with.  His team even won a major race this year.  Sometimes though when he pisses me off, I remember that night fondly.

________________________

Non-sponsor note - If you ever find yourself in this situation (or even just need to go to the toilet at your own pace sometime) you should totally be using Who Gives a Crap toilet paper.  It's not just kind on your bum. Who Gives A Crap give 50% of their profits to water aid to build toilets and improve sanitation in the developing world.  Plus they home deliver and have awesome biodegradable wrapping.  It's certainly the toilet paper of choice at HSD.  So now you know. Just in case you were wondering.  You're welcome.

Shit my kids bring home from school

I am not one of those parents that wants to keep everything their kids ever farted out on a bit of paper.  What makes this worse is that my kid was into 3D sculpture instead of paintings.  Paintings can be kept FLAT in a box.  A cereal and shoe box glued together with 5 toilet rolls, 17 bottle caps and some glitter does not make for a happy parent.  Where are you supposed to display these creations?  How are you supposed to carry them while wrangling a baby and toddler, backpack, wet sandpit clothes, sheet bag, nappy bag, holding notes from the pigeon holes about a healthy lunchbox workshop, try to stop the kid running into oncoming traffic all while fishing around to find the fucking bag your car keys are in?

Shit my kids bring home from school

Are there rules for these things?  Do other parents keep them?  I am sensitive to how important these things are to my kid but SERIOUSLY if you are in receipt of up to half a dozen of these things a WEEK, what do you do with them?

I know that creativity and expression are important but I'm starting to think that we parents should form some sort of collective resistance movement. Maybe we need to start getting the kids to make giant cardboard box creations to give to their teachers every day until they stop sending those things home.

“Oh goody!  A tissue box with coloured macaroni, paddlepop sticks and FEATHERS on it!  Lucky Daddy!  How about we grab that giant box the new freezer came in and make a tardis for Ms McDonald so she can go back in time and stop herself from sending you home with this shit?”

How not to talk about your kids about death

My Grandma died.  It was a few years ago and not unexpected.  She died at home surrounded by her husband and children who had cared for her while she was ill.  All of the grandkids and great-grandkids had been around during the last few weeks and months.  We chose to be very open about the process and about what would happen afterwards (she wanted to be cremated).

How not to talk to your kids about death

We had the funeral in a beautiful garden where we also held the wake.  

As the coffin was being wheeled out to the hearse, I said to my eldest boy (who was about five years old at the time) that we would now attend the wake where we would eat some food and toast Grandma.

His eyes grew wide as saucers and he started to get quite upset.

I held him close, told him that it was okay to feel sad and we walked on hand in hand.

Just before we arrived he pulled me back and whispered to me,  “Are we really going to watch them toasting Grandma?”

I have wondered since whether he thought there would be a human sized toaster on site.