Every Wednesday evening I take this kick-butt cardio kick boxing class and every Wednesday I am very afraid. Our teacher is like a drill instructor and at 149 beats a minute without breaks, she tells us that we are her slowest class. Her class is HARD; let me put it this way – she trained in Tae Bo with Billy Blanks. She says she is a drill instructor and I am pretty sure she means literally as I certainly feel like I am in the army – and she definitely makes us drop and do push-ups.
I try to keep up by staying at the front of the room. I sweat, hop and pant my way through every step. We’re all moving and praying that she doesn’t see any one put their hands on their hips or we’ll all have to do 20 more of whatever we were doing. By the end of class I am literally stinking but I feel exhilarated. I feel proud that I once again made it through the class – it’s just not as easy as it used to be.
Last week I don’t know what I was doing or trying to prove but I think I jammed something – so much to the point that I felt like I was two inches shorter. I felt like I was in one of those Lifetime movies where “a freak accident leaves someone paralyzed” as I gingerly tried to maneuver around the next couple of days. Turning my head required turning my entire body in the desired direction; putting on shoes meant trying to retrieve them with my toes and tossing them up into my hands to put on rather than bending, and it felt better walking sideways rather than straight ahead. I felt really pathetic when Parker offered to help me walk! It has been a week and I am still walking tentatively and have not been to the gym since. I finally waved the white flag and made a doctor’s appointment for Friday. I thought this was something I could shake off with rest and taking it slow, but the old body doesn’t seem to recover like it used to.
In my 20s and 30s I lived on the Upper Eastside in New York. There used to be this gym called Living Well Lady right at 86th and Lexington where the instructors, all dancers, would smoke cigarettes, eat potato chips and sip soda while waiting for class to start – they were about a size 2. I was right along with them as I’d treat myself to a box of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a can of chocolate frosting as a treat for after step AND aerobics class. It was so easy to go from class to class, hopping, kicking and jumping and then eating a diet of chocolate, hamburgers and fries. I could do that with ease, stay a size 6, and hit repeat. Now I do a bad move in the ONE difficult class I take each week and feel like my body is broken!
What used to be cured with a quick rest now takes a week of monk like stillness to only slightly improve. Yesterday I made myself take a walk because you know at this age it takes one day to gain weight and one month to get it off. I was going so slow I felt like I was walking in reverse. But I trudged on – and I guess that’s the solution. Keep moving through it. I will never be that young girl flying through aerobics classes again – the veins on my hands and rings around my neck remind me of that. But I can meet myself where I am.
I’ll keep fighting the good fight, keep exercising and making doctor’s appointments so that I can recover from whatever trauma I inflict on my body and keep hoping that everything stays in place – at least until the next class.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
The Apple Ain't Nowhere Near this Tree!
Let me tell you how I was in college – quiet. People knew me because I had a gorgeous 5’10” green-eyed sister whom everyone knew. But the same three or four friends I met freshman year, were the same friends I left with. Same with high school, three friends until the end. Don’t get me wrong, I had a LOT of fun with those friends, it’s just I was never the center of attention; everyone else was. My business partner always gets on me because I am never in the photos – I think I do it intentionally. I prefer to be behind the scenes and it’s worked out nicely for me.
I’ve made a conscious effort to tell my daughter to be an independent thinker, to walk to her own drum. I tell her about drugs, drinking and violence against women and to be responsible for her body. I tell her that she might see two mommies or two daddies and that love comes in many forms. She gets mad when she sees litter saying “Mommy, someone is being bad to the earth,” and I smile thinking “Good job mom.”
I want her to be a better version of me. I don’t want her to be a wall flower like I was, but she takes it to the extreme. It’s like she is the complete opposite of me. She’ll puts on shorts, high heels, lipstick and a wig and want to go outside. She mixes and matches her bathing suits, preferring to wear bikinis when she can. She begs me for lipstick and I visibly see her demeanor change when a boy is around; she gets all girly and silly and I want to scream “get it together!” You warn your daughters about little boys, but I have a feeling I’ll have to warn a few moms to protect their sons from my daughter. She can be raucous and loud where I was quiet and shy.
I still try to sing the childhood songs I made up for her when she was a baby but she will drop me in a heartbeat for Ariana Grande or Iggy Azaelea. I put her in ballet and tap hoping to introduce her to dance. I didn’t want her in hip hop because I thought it’d be too grown. For three years I watched her clunk through some painful movements during recitals. She always got cheers for personality over performance. Yet, without a lesson she has managed to match the Ariana’s “One Less Problem” video in one attempt.
And don’t let her see another cute kid. When she went to my niece’s camp performance, Park was outraged when a cute little girl (who oddly enough everyone thought was her sister) performed and got attention, later telling me she challenged the girl to a dance-off and declaring “Oh – it’s not over!” She still brings this up, months later as if there is a dance-off waiting to happen. My brother-in-law still blames me for my nephew’s lack of coordination. I am the known non-dancer in the family – even my mother won a dance contest on the Katie Couric show!
When we go on vacation everyone knows her, certainly before they know me or Larry. She’s the kid people from Canada wanted to take photos with when she was a baby. When I go to her school, parents tell me even the older kids know Parker and she cracks them up. My daughter is a sweet girl but she can be wild and un-tame. She is that kid that always looks a mess at the end of the day as she comes tumbling off the bus. She is so unlike me – no one knew who I was in high school and this kid has eighth graders who know her name.
But I’ve decided that’s ok. Although I don’t see any resemblance of me in her, others do. They say they see it in her attitude, personality and actions – so maybe she is like the woman I’ve grown into as an adult. Sometimes I have to shake my head and go “where did this little girl come from,” and then she asks for a magazine to use the bathroom and I think, oh yeah, she’s mine!
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
School Trippin'
I have been waiting for two years to go on a field trip with my daughter’s school; a privilege that starts in kindergarten. I already had my police background check and fingerprinting done, which is customary these days and I was ready to go. I even thought of counter-actions I could perform to combat the death-stare Parker would surely give me if she saw me so much as talking to another child in her presence. I’ve had plenty of experience with that volunteering in her classroom – the cold stare, followed by the hung head, followed by tears; but I was ready to spread equal love while making her feel special.
The day before the trip the teacher told me that neither she nor the assistant teacher from their class would be going. I could have sworn I saw clouds cover the sky and a raven land on my roof as she said that! Was this an omen? Nevertheless, I was determined to carry on with a positive attitude.
Got to school and got a little nervous as one new kid pointed gun fingers at me. Another kid told the teacher and the student immediately put them back in his holster while others regaled me by telling stories of the guns their dads had at home. I guess she’s in a class with pro-NRA parents! Two little boys got the “you’d better behave or you will never go on a school trip without your parent personally bringing you” talk and I began to imagine a wild day full of me chasing kids through the zoo and quite possibly making the news.
All of the kindergarten students loaded onto ONE school bus. Well, I have not been on a school bus in decades and forgot all about that one seat with the hump on the floor – of course that is where I sat, with my knees to my chest, with two girls from another class who were clearly disheartened they had to sit next to an adult. Why wasn’t I with Parker you ask? Why wasn’t I with my darling girl who practically sits on my head at home, and who last year wouldn’t want me to so much as look at a classmate? Why she was in the back with her two girlfriends not thinking about Mommy being snubbed upfront.
We made it to the zoo and we were off! And while I imagined chasing kids across acres of land with some potentially ending up in a cage somewhere, our group was surprisingly well-behaved. It helped that the teachers were experienced pros. While I as a parent, always worried about how I was talking to someone else’s child was like, “Darling, stand over here; sweetheart, don’t do that,” the teachers had those kids in line in short-order with a few stern words and a look that seemed to solve any problem. My favorite line from a teacher that day was “listen the first time;” I have since used it 1000 times at home; obviously Park listens to me the 3rd or 4th time! The weather was great and it seemed as if all the animals were out celebrating – the lion pride, pandas, elephants, great apes – you name it, we saw it. One teacher had her Fitbit with her and we clocked 11,000 steps in about three hours, so there was a side benefit as well. Of course I got back to school and was so tired and exhausted that I went for McDonalds including the Oreo McFlurry with extra-extra Oreo thus negating every single step, but I consider it my reward for my effort – and I did get the Happy Meal which was probably on 17,000 calories vs. 25,000.
So the day wasn’t so bad after all, other than being really, really tired, we had a great time and I’d do it again, which is a good thing as the next trip is in two weeks!
The day before the trip the teacher told me that neither she nor the assistant teacher from their class would be going. I could have sworn I saw clouds cover the sky and a raven land on my roof as she said that! Was this an omen? Nevertheless, I was determined to carry on with a positive attitude.
Got to school and got a little nervous as one new kid pointed gun fingers at me. Another kid told the teacher and the student immediately put them back in his holster while others regaled me by telling stories of the guns their dads had at home. I guess she’s in a class with pro-NRA parents! Two little boys got the “you’d better behave or you will never go on a school trip without your parent personally bringing you” talk and I began to imagine a wild day full of me chasing kids through the zoo and quite possibly making the news.
All of the kindergarten students loaded onto ONE school bus. Well, I have not been on a school bus in decades and forgot all about that one seat with the hump on the floor – of course that is where I sat, with my knees to my chest, with two girls from another class who were clearly disheartened they had to sit next to an adult. Why wasn’t I with Parker you ask? Why wasn’t I with my darling girl who practically sits on my head at home, and who last year wouldn’t want me to so much as look at a classmate? Why she was in the back with her two girlfriends not thinking about Mommy being snubbed upfront.
We made it to the zoo and we were off! And while I imagined chasing kids across acres of land with some potentially ending up in a cage somewhere, our group was surprisingly well-behaved. It helped that the teachers were experienced pros. While I as a parent, always worried about how I was talking to someone else’s child was like, “Darling, stand over here; sweetheart, don’t do that,” the teachers had those kids in line in short-order with a few stern words and a look that seemed to solve any problem. My favorite line from a teacher that day was “listen the first time;” I have since used it 1000 times at home; obviously Park listens to me the 3rd or 4th time! The weather was great and it seemed as if all the animals were out celebrating – the lion pride, pandas, elephants, great apes – you name it, we saw it. One teacher had her Fitbit with her and we clocked 11,000 steps in about three hours, so there was a side benefit as well. Of course I got back to school and was so tired and exhausted that I went for McDonalds including the Oreo McFlurry with extra-extra Oreo thus negating every single step, but I consider it my reward for my effort – and I did get the Happy Meal which was probably on 17,000 calories vs. 25,000.
So the day wasn’t so bad after all, other than being really, really tired, we had a great time and I’d do it again, which is a good thing as the next trip is in two weeks!
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Slow Jam the Mammogram
Slow Jam the Mammogram
Not that long ago I had a mammogram; that turned into a comprehensive mammogram that turned into an MRI. So you know when that happens you’re already as nervous as crap, and as my sister says, I’m a “pre-worrier.” I worry about things in the future – finding a Montessori high school for Park (who is in kindergarten), wondering if I’ll have to replace my bed when I’m older because it’s so high and I don’t want to break a hip climbing in; shoot, I even insisted on putting a full bath on my main floor in case I got too old or sick to climb the stairs and needed to live in what is now my office. That’s just how I am. I like to plan so I won’t be caught off guard and I guess I thought that included my health. So when they kept sending me back in for tests, I was trying not to go over the edge.
So I get to the place for MRI in time for my 7:00 a.m. appointment and they can’t find my referral. I hadn’t had breakfast as I figured I’d be in and out. Two hours later, I am still sitting there nibbling on two saltine crackers that a minister shared with me, trying to fight off a hunger headache while keeping my mind from going to defcon 1. When I finally get called in, I am hungry, tired and aggravated, THEN I discover they need to give me an IV. I HATE needles! But there’s more - after, they took me to this huge metal contraption where I am told I have to lay perfectly still, face down with the offending breast in a, for lack of a better word, hole, for a half hour so they can capture the image! Of course the minute they said something like that everything on my body started to itch and I wanted to sneeze. I knew this was going to be interesting. I got as comfortable as I possibly could and got ready.
But wait a minute – what’s that I hear in the headsets they put on me? Was that LUTHER, begging to “hold me tight, if only for one night?!” I was thinking, what in the world is going on? Apparently they pump in music to relax you during this stressful experience and we were about to slow jam this mammogram! Clearly, they hit the “black mix” button for no sooner had Luther left than Heatwave was loving me “Always and Forever.” It took everything in my being to keep from cracking up and/or waving my hand in air!
The whole experience took me back to the Wegman’s where I live where, while shopping you can hear Earth, Wind & Fire asking “would you mind, if I touch, if I kiss if I held you tight, in the morning light,” all while getting eggs! The DC-area can be a veritable R&B mix of music that you hear while doing basic errands - shopping, sitting at the gas station and apparently even when you get an MRI! For a half an hour I had my own little “Quiet Storm,” a veritable concert of 70’s and 80’s R & B music that calmed my fears, relaxed me, and actually gave me a few laughs.
When it all came out in the wash, I was lucky - I had dense breasts – all of that for dense breasts! If I’m going to have dense breasts they could at least be large! Dense breasts mean a follow-up mammogram, which I had today. It is a comprehensive mammogram where they take about 107 images and have a radiologist review the results. No MRI, no IV, no music. I stared at the eggplant walls in dead silence, while they pressed my breasts into various positions. While standing there, I felt a sense of nostalgia for my MRI as I imagined being back in that room, with my headsets, Jimmy Fallon and the Roots in the background as Brian Williams starts with “Aww yeah…” - and I cracked a smile. Mammograms will never be the same again!
P.S. My mammogram was fine and I am back to regular screenings. To all my women friends October is Breast Awareness Month – get your mammogram!!!!
Not that long ago I had a mammogram; that turned into a comprehensive mammogram that turned into an MRI. So you know when that happens you’re already as nervous as crap, and as my sister says, I’m a “pre-worrier.” I worry about things in the future – finding a Montessori high school for Park (who is in kindergarten), wondering if I’ll have to replace my bed when I’m older because it’s so high and I don’t want to break a hip climbing in; shoot, I even insisted on putting a full bath on my main floor in case I got too old or sick to climb the stairs and needed to live in what is now my office. That’s just how I am. I like to plan so I won’t be caught off guard and I guess I thought that included my health. So when they kept sending me back in for tests, I was trying not to go over the edge.
So I get to the place for MRI in time for my 7:00 a.m. appointment and they can’t find my referral. I hadn’t had breakfast as I figured I’d be in and out. Two hours later, I am still sitting there nibbling on two saltine crackers that a minister shared with me, trying to fight off a hunger headache while keeping my mind from going to defcon 1. When I finally get called in, I am hungry, tired and aggravated, THEN I discover they need to give me an IV. I HATE needles! But there’s more - after, they took me to this huge metal contraption where I am told I have to lay perfectly still, face down with the offending breast in a, for lack of a better word, hole, for a half hour so they can capture the image! Of course the minute they said something like that everything on my body started to itch and I wanted to sneeze. I knew this was going to be interesting. I got as comfortable as I possibly could and got ready.
But wait a minute – what’s that I hear in the headsets they put on me? Was that LUTHER, begging to “hold me tight, if only for one night?!” I was thinking, what in the world is going on? Apparently they pump in music to relax you during this stressful experience and we were about to slow jam this mammogram! Clearly, they hit the “black mix” button for no sooner had Luther left than Heatwave was loving me “Always and Forever.” It took everything in my being to keep from cracking up and/or waving my hand in air!
The whole experience took me back to the Wegman’s where I live where, while shopping you can hear Earth, Wind & Fire asking “would you mind, if I touch, if I kiss if I held you tight, in the morning light,” all while getting eggs! The DC-area can be a veritable R&B mix of music that you hear while doing basic errands - shopping, sitting at the gas station and apparently even when you get an MRI! For a half an hour I had my own little “Quiet Storm,” a veritable concert of 70’s and 80’s R & B music that calmed my fears, relaxed me, and actually gave me a few laughs.
When it all came out in the wash, I was lucky - I had dense breasts – all of that for dense breasts! If I’m going to have dense breasts they could at least be large! Dense breasts mean a follow-up mammogram, which I had today. It is a comprehensive mammogram where they take about 107 images and have a radiologist review the results. No MRI, no IV, no music. I stared at the eggplant walls in dead silence, while they pressed my breasts into various positions. While standing there, I felt a sense of nostalgia for my MRI as I imagined being back in that room, with my headsets, Jimmy Fallon and the Roots in the background as Brian Williams starts with “Aww yeah…” - and I cracked a smile. Mammograms will never be the same again!
P.S. My mammogram was fine and I am back to regular screenings. To all my women friends October is Breast Awareness Month – get your mammogram!!!!
Monday, September 29, 2014
Flabby and Fabulous?
Went to my doctor’s appointment this morning and was so proud of myself as I dressed in my workout clothes which would serve the dual purpose of not adding more than one pound at my assured weigh-in, while also making it easy for me to jet to the gym immediately after. When my doctor first greeted me she said “I almost didn’t recognize you; you look like a teenager walking in here!” “Oh surely you jest” I joked as I floated into the exam room to defrock – still high off of her words. The doctor entered the room started her exam and upon closer examination said “Oh – you’re starting to get a little flabby. All of your weight is going here – as she gently grabbed my stomach – and look, it looks like your arms are getting a little soft; your legs are strong but your thighs look like they too are getting soft – you have to be careful about that.” Then she started detailing how hard it was to get rid of “turkey wings.” Did I say this was my OB/Gyn?! Yes, all of this was being told to me while my legs were in stirrups with strange metal objects being inserted in and out of me! I couldn’t exactly move, so there I was, held prisoner as the doctor gently expressed that I needed to go to the gym more often. I was embarrassed to say that I went quite often as it clearly wasn’t evident. She threw me a bone by saying “Your face hasn’t rounded out and you still look young, like you’re in your 30s” mind you, moments ago I was a “teenager” walking in her door; l guess I aged 20 years just by de-robing!
This was the same doctor that told me to get on the stick if I wanted another baby; because even though I had my daughter so late in life, my body was young and healthy and she actually thought I could pull it off if I tried. How did I go from that to “get thee to the gym” in one year’s time? Well, I didn’t think too much about it because you can be sure my butt was at the gym for two hours after that appointment. Fortunately I ran into an instructor while I was trying out equipment I hadn’t worked with since the millennium. She was also a trainer; after I told her what happened she simply said “You look good; we all have to work on something. You know what you have to do to get in better shape; you just have to make up your mind to do it.” And she’s right. It’s mind over matter; it’s making a decision to do and be better. It’s giving it a shot instead of giving up. I could have gone home and eaten chocolate after my flabby diagnosis – but I worked out two hours instead – and then had chocolate – ok, baby steps.
At least it got me thinking – and writing again.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Walking Dread: Putting Too Much on My Plate
I thought this was supposed to be my relaxation time. I am done with event season and pictured myself lulling through the days with nothing to do except volunteer at my daughter's school. So WHY am I working on a million things this week alone?! I've got a Halloween get together at my house Thursday, I'm speaking at career day for my daughter's school Friday and am producing a church event Saturday. Add to that writing a script for a friend's show, planning my daughter's birthday and getting ready to host Thanksgiving at our house - that's like what, six things between now and Thanksgiving - three of them being this week?
My daughter didn't have school today so I thought I'd take her to the zoo, but I ended up spending at least three hours trying to get this church event together. I am ashamed to say I said some awfully un-Godly words during those three hours including a few I made up. Parker kept asking to eat because she was hungry, and I kept saying "I"ll be right there" as the phone kept ringing. Finally she got tired of waiting and went to the fridge, pulled out the ham and cheese and said she was making her own sandwich. I even let her dress herself - it didn't bother me that there wasn't a lick of soap nor water on her body - at least she had clean clothes on and it was one less thing for me to do. Thankfully a little later my mother-in-law came by with my nephew - I thought letting them rip the house to shreds was a small price to pay for getting out to do some errands.
Came back to a still standing house and let Park have every piece of candy I could find as well as put on my red lipstick, so I could work on my presentation for her school. How did things get this mad? It's to the point where my business partner called me about something work related and I could barely return her call because of the personal stuff I was doing. I keep pushing my "I can relax" date back - first it was September after my last large event, then it was October, now I am looking at after Thanksgiving!
I'm falling off the wagon with my eating too - I see that scale starting to inch its way back up and chocolate tempting me again as if it were crack. I just can't do one cookie. One turns into 157. Last week I ran, I roped, I did floor routines and I STILL put on a pound - THAT is how much chocolate I am consuming. Not to mention I'm slipping back into staying up late - especially on Sundays - Once Upon a Time, Walking Dead, Talking Dead, Homeland, Masters of Sex - I'm DVRing stuff to watch later but later just becomes later on the same night. I was a zombie this morning, but I made myself run - even if it only keeps the weight at bay.
As I am writing this Park is screaming for me to turn a scarf into a dress as she disrobes and demands "no sleeves!" Took care of that and now I am counting the seconds until Larry gets home, after which time I will kiss him hello, go upstairs and zone out until tomorrow. It's his turn... Dammit - the dress fell apart, let me go search for a larger scarf!
My daughter didn't have school today so I thought I'd take her to the zoo, but I ended up spending at least three hours trying to get this church event together. I am ashamed to say I said some awfully un-Godly words during those three hours including a few I made up. Parker kept asking to eat because she was hungry, and I kept saying "I"ll be right there" as the phone kept ringing. Finally she got tired of waiting and went to the fridge, pulled out the ham and cheese and said she was making her own sandwich. I even let her dress herself - it didn't bother me that there wasn't a lick of soap nor water on her body - at least she had clean clothes on and it was one less thing for me to do. Thankfully a little later my mother-in-law came by with my nephew - I thought letting them rip the house to shreds was a small price to pay for getting out to do some errands.
Came back to a still standing house and let Park have every piece of candy I could find as well as put on my red lipstick, so I could work on my presentation for her school. How did things get this mad? It's to the point where my business partner called me about something work related and I could barely return her call because of the personal stuff I was doing. I keep pushing my "I can relax" date back - first it was September after my last large event, then it was October, now I am looking at after Thanksgiving!
I'm falling off the wagon with my eating too - I see that scale starting to inch its way back up and chocolate tempting me again as if it were crack. I just can't do one cookie. One turns into 157. Last week I ran, I roped, I did floor routines and I STILL put on a pound - THAT is how much chocolate I am consuming. Not to mention I'm slipping back into staying up late - especially on Sundays - Once Upon a Time, Walking Dead, Talking Dead, Homeland, Masters of Sex - I'm DVRing stuff to watch later but later just becomes later on the same night. I was a zombie this morning, but I made myself run - even if it only keeps the weight at bay.
As I am writing this Park is screaming for me to turn a scarf into a dress as she disrobes and demands "no sleeves!" Took care of that and now I am counting the seconds until Larry gets home, after which time I will kiss him hello, go upstairs and zone out until tomorrow. It's his turn... Dammit - the dress fell apart, let me go search for a larger scarf!
Monday, October 21, 2013
Mom - There's Chicken in My Butt
Yesterday my daughter told me there was chicken in her butt - and she had no idea how it got there - and neither did I since we didn't have chicken that day. I didn't bother to look, I just assumed it was one of the many interesting comments she says in a day. I am constantly amazed at what comes out of her mouth and what she can get in to. This child is active 24/7 to the point where after swim class this man once said "Ma'am, I don't know if you have any boys but if you don't, that's your little boy right there."
I mean she jumps, she flips, she spins and I'm sitting there thinking, I am in my forties dealing with this - what in the world? She is up at 6:30 on weekends and if we let her, she'd stay up all night. She craves independence and kept telling my sister on a recent visit that if she was "a monkey and not a people" she'd be free to do what she wants and not have to listen to people telling her what to do. When I hold her hand she says I hold it too tight, when she dresses herself it typically includes seven skirts on her head - a pair of shorts, lipstick and boots and I'm thinking what in the hell will she be like as a teenager.
I spend my time running behind her picking up items of clothes, putting furniture back in place and being grateful that I can still cartwheel, hula hoop and jump rope - all things I have to pull out of my arsenal occasionally. At any moment I have to be prepared to run, jump, hide - whatever is required. Last week I played a serious game of tag with her and some friends she made on the playground while their much younger parents just sat there in amusement. I'm realizing I actually have more energy than some of the younger moms. Once I climbed to the top of a three story tree house with my daughter and a young mother congratulated me for being able to make the climb! Did she expect me to need oxygen at some point?
I actually think I'm healthier than when I was younger. Waking up to an alarm clock everyday for the first time in 20 years so my daughter can make the school bus is daunting, but it gets me up and running and or jumping rope the minute the bus door closes. I can now run four miles easily - and I hate running, and jump six sets of 500 in less than 30 minutes. Last year when I drove my daughter to school, I got back into the habit of going to a gym on a regular basis as I needed to kill time until her half day pick-up. So for all of the lunacy I am in better shape for it.
But my daughter will still throw amazing zingers to knock me off my horse - like the time she cried when she realized daddy wasn't home, Mommy can't cook and she wondered who was going to feed her. Or when she simply yelled "I hate your work" when she saw me packing to go out of town. Yes kids have a way of knocking you back down to reality, but their honesty and clarity is refreshing and honestly, I wish more people had it.
So this week I expect to continue chasing after my mad-hatter, exercising to insure I'm up to the task, praying Larry gets home in time to make dinner and at some point, I am sure, find out just where that piece of chicken landed.
I mean she jumps, she flips, she spins and I'm sitting there thinking, I am in my forties dealing with this - what in the world? She is up at 6:30 on weekends and if we let her, she'd stay up all night. She craves independence and kept telling my sister on a recent visit that if she was "a monkey and not a people" she'd be free to do what she wants and not have to listen to people telling her what to do. When I hold her hand she says I hold it too tight, when she dresses herself it typically includes seven skirts on her head - a pair of shorts, lipstick and boots and I'm thinking what in the hell will she be like as a teenager.
I spend my time running behind her picking up items of clothes, putting furniture back in place and being grateful that I can still cartwheel, hula hoop and jump rope - all things I have to pull out of my arsenal occasionally. At any moment I have to be prepared to run, jump, hide - whatever is required. Last week I played a serious game of tag with her and some friends she made on the playground while their much younger parents just sat there in amusement. I'm realizing I actually have more energy than some of the younger moms. Once I climbed to the top of a three story tree house with my daughter and a young mother congratulated me for being able to make the climb! Did she expect me to need oxygen at some point?
I actually think I'm healthier than when I was younger. Waking up to an alarm clock everyday for the first time in 20 years so my daughter can make the school bus is daunting, but it gets me up and running and or jumping rope the minute the bus door closes. I can now run four miles easily - and I hate running, and jump six sets of 500 in less than 30 minutes. Last year when I drove my daughter to school, I got back into the habit of going to a gym on a regular basis as I needed to kill time until her half day pick-up. So for all of the lunacy I am in better shape for it.
But my daughter will still throw amazing zingers to knock me off my horse - like the time she cried when she realized daddy wasn't home, Mommy can't cook and she wondered who was going to feed her. Or when she simply yelled "I hate your work" when she saw me packing to go out of town. Yes kids have a way of knocking you back down to reality, but their honesty and clarity is refreshing and honestly, I wish more people had it.
So this week I expect to continue chasing after my mad-hatter, exercising to insure I'm up to the task, praying Larry gets home in time to make dinner and at some point, I am sure, find out just where that piece of chicken landed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)