A blog by any other name

A few years ago I read an interview with an actress whose Dad was a national newsreader, and she said that as a child, she had assumed that all Dads went to work to read the news to their families on television, and it wasn’t until she was a bit older that she realised it was only her Dad who was a newsreader, and that other Dads went out and did other jobs.

Growing up I had a similar experience. My Mum was a PE teacher, and so throughout my childhood there was quite a lot of importance placed upon things like learning to do cartwheels, pointing your toes when you did a handstand in the swimming pool and vaulting over gates when you went for a muddy countryside walk. I assumed that this sort of thing was going on in everyone’s families. It wasn’t until I was at least thirty that I realised not all parents placed as much emphasis on scissor kicks and box splits as my Mum did.

But by then it was engrained in me. Luckily as a special needs teacher and a friend to several Mums with small children I get regular access to trampolines and jumping pillows so I can jump and turn somersaults as often as I like.

One day one of my friends commented on a Facebook photo and asked me what my secret to looking so young is, so I flippantly replied that to look young you have to eat a lot of jelly and do a cartwheel every time you go to the beach. I do actually do both of these things, but not as a conscious effort to stay young, I do them because jelly is delicious and cartwheels are fun.

People say that as we get older we stop being able to do the things we used to. Not a lot of people would do a cartwheel as part of their daily routine, and then one day they realise they can’t do them any more. So I am testing the theory that if I do a cartwheel every time I go to the beach (and I go to the beach a lot), then I’ll never not be able to do one.

Cartwheels In Cazmania wasn’t my first thought when I needed to come up with a name for my blog. It took a whole summer of daydreaming on my surfboard to name my blog, and there were plenty of other blog name ideas that seemed brilliant for five hours, or sometimes only five minutes before they got rejected.

But as I’m never going to stop cartwheeling, and as many of the people in my life call me Caz or Cazza, it seemed fitting – and futureproof – to christen this blog Cartwheels in Cazmania.

The rejects

The Flying Wombat