I am not so happy about this, but I should be -
Bulverde Creek Kinder Round-Up.
First of all, what's this business with a ROUND UP? I have a good boy, not Billie the Kid. I understand that it's true, we eventually have to take the plunge (I'm drowning in worry) and send Will out on into the big scary world of kindergarten. This elusive round up is scheduled for Monday, April 10 at 8:30 AM. Will is taking it in stride "Cool!" but me, I'm not showing up so well, and turning rather green. Seriously, my stomach is full of knots.
With fearful scrolling I scanned the website and checked out the teacher biographies - some are NOT up to date, but there are some teachers I think Will would do better with. I'm not sure if with the public school system I really have a say in this matter? My request is Chasity. Can you please apply at NEISD and just teach kindergarten? Or maybe you could have a chat with Ms Becky and get Northern Hills accredited to teach kindergarten? My expense, I'll take out a loan, stand on the corner...
In reality, I am fearful of accepting the fact that Will is growing up. He will be totally in the hands of strangers in kindergarten. What about bullies? What about testing? What about the athletes and the GT kids? Oh, the worry. Maybe this is the problem having kids right out of college? - it's too easy to remember the drama involved in school coming of age-ness. So my friends, I'm looking for some therapy - if you have any coping methods or kidergatern prep websites (for Moms)can you send some my way?
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
The Boy is Back
Hurray! My first born made it back in town. He has been vacationing for 11 days at the sunny resort of Grandma and Grandpa's - except he went in between Dave's parents and Mom and Dad's for a little variety. We would talk to him on the phone and desperately, I'd ask him: "Can I drive up there and pick you up? I miss you so". So sweetly he would respond, "Mom, it's going to be okay, I'll be home Friday." So there he is ready to conquer the world or EBay, without any help from his dear old Mom. This should be good, right? We raise our children to be independent and to be able to leave our nest and head out into the lives they create for themselves. But Will seems to do this with ease at 5.5.
Thinking back, Will was the child who wouldn't cry when we dropped him off at the church nursery or kid's club at the gym. He was more the type to cry when we picked him up. At 15 months he would walk bravely into any crowd of kids delighted for companionship with 2 toys in his hand, ready to persuade others to play. We should have known; when Will was 9 months Dave and I took off for our honeymoon in Playa del Carmen while Will stayed at Camp Grandma and Grandpa's for the longest week of my life. Dave and I actually packed up ready to check out only to find out we were staying a day longer. Instead of being overjoyed to stay in this heaven on earth I cried. Back in town, and ready for stories of an unhappy child I left with an itinerary of what he had done during the day full of scheduled meal times, nap times, play times in different stations - sandbox, flower bed, swing, etc. Disgusting; It's not supposed to be that easy...
Will came home Friday afternoon and we celebrated - balloons, banners, pizza, and cake. Will hugged his sister and kept asking "How many teeth does Avery have now?" and she just grinned and held on to him longer, relishing the attention of her long, lost brother. We do our bedtime routine and tucking Will in he asks: "Can we go to the kid's club tomorrow?” Before the balloons are deflated Will is back and ready to charge on with Mom just watching on.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
A Sunday Drive
Awful! Truly awful! Dave and I were headed out for a Sunday drive. I have been relentlessly looking for a pair of New Balance running shoes for a few weeks now. Today, I promised Dave I would choose one pair and walk out of a store with a purchase. We head over to Academy (yes, it was the one I visited last week) and still the magic shoe wasn't there. We head over to the Forum shopping center, driving on the access road. Low and behold, a police car was sitting there in a completely unproductive spot waiting for a victim. Instinctively, I look at our speedometer - 45 mph. Good job, Dave, it's usually a little faster. We keep driving, thinking nothing of it. Dave and I watch the police car in the mirrors where of course, he follows us. Hum he must have decided it wasn't a good place, either.
But, oh no, he turns on his lights. Instantly, my blood pressure raises and my heart beats fast. These guys have it out for us. He pulls us over and asks for Dave's driver’s license and insurance. That's all. I'm thinking "Wait, what is this for?" He walks to his car, writes on his little notepad, and issues us a citation for SPEEDING. "You know you were doing 50 in a 40."
My blood boils: we most certainly were not. Dave tells me to be quiet, but this can be a problem. I usually do not speak up; I don't like confrontation and really believe that people do not intentionally hurt you BUT this is an injustice, this is accusing someone of something that just isn’t true, this is completely ridiculous that I can’t calm myself down several hours later enough to write without shaking. From the passenger seat I bend over Dave, I’ve got something to say to this policeman (whom I’m sure does do valuable work and this is just a rare occasion for him):
“He and I both looked at the speedometer and it said 45. I’d like to see your radar.”
He dismisses this comment; of course, he’s not going to let us see the radar. Yeah, just ignore the blonde lady who just has to balance the checkbook: $103 for defensive driving plus court fees for NOTHING.
We drive off and I still am not satisfied. It’s enough to ruin a shopping trip. That is just unacceptable, there is nothing worse than getting in trouble for something you did not do. It’s just NOT fair. And I can’t just “let it go” like Dave suggests. “I’ll just take defensive driving. We’ll be okay.”
It’s just a driving ticket and in truth we are speeders. The only problem is that it’s our word against theirs. What would happen if we contest? Is it worth it? And this gets me thinking on a bigger scale: what happens when people are wrongly accused of bigger things than just tickets. That’s scary!
We continue our drive over to the New Balance store although I’m tempted not to give Selma anymore of my money. A little while later I walk out with a great pair of running shoes and a vow: I will not come in contact with the Selma police department, 2 times in 10 days is too much to handle. Really, don’t these guys have better things to protect the public from a woman walking and a man speeding slightly?
But, oh no, he turns on his lights. Instantly, my blood pressure raises and my heart beats fast. These guys have it out for us. He pulls us over and asks for Dave's driver’s license and insurance. That's all. I'm thinking "Wait, what is this for?" He walks to his car, writes on his little notepad, and issues us a citation for SPEEDING. "You know you were doing 50 in a 40."
My blood boils: we most certainly were not. Dave tells me to be quiet, but this can be a problem. I usually do not speak up; I don't like confrontation and really believe that people do not intentionally hurt you BUT this is an injustice, this is accusing someone of something that just isn’t true, this is completely ridiculous that I can’t calm myself down several hours later enough to write without shaking. From the passenger seat I bend over Dave, I’ve got something to say to this policeman (whom I’m sure does do valuable work and this is just a rare occasion for him):
“He and I both looked at the speedometer and it said 45. I’d like to see your radar.”
He dismisses this comment; of course, he’s not going to let us see the radar. Yeah, just ignore the blonde lady who just has to balance the checkbook: $103 for defensive driving plus court fees for NOTHING.
We drive off and I still am not satisfied. It’s enough to ruin a shopping trip. That is just unacceptable, there is nothing worse than getting in trouble for something you did not do. It’s just NOT fair. And I can’t just “let it go” like Dave suggests. “I’ll just take defensive driving. We’ll be okay.”
It’s just a driving ticket and in truth we are speeders. The only problem is that it’s our word against theirs. What would happen if we contest? Is it worth it? And this gets me thinking on a bigger scale: what happens when people are wrongly accused of bigger things than just tickets. That’s scary!
We continue our drive over to the New Balance store although I’m tempted not to give Selma anymore of my money. A little while later I walk out with a great pair of running shoes and a vow: I will not come in contact with the Selma police department, 2 times in 10 days is too much to handle. Really, don’t these guys have better things to protect the public from a woman walking and a man speeding slightly?
Friday, March 17, 2006
Outlet Malls and Outlets for Nasty, Dirty Dead Bugs
Disclaimer: I would really like to erase this, but I wanted to give Tracy a good laugh... My intentions for this blog where to find beauty and depth in life and report about it, but instead it's mostly 2nd grade potty humor. I am so ashamed of this blog I've been trying to stuff it under a lot of fluffy posts, but this has given me writers block. If I purge this demon from the draft pile maybe I can be totally self accepting and move on. So moving on...
Exciting news: things are looking back to normal! Today is a beautiful St Patty's day, straight out of Ireland. Dave, Avery and I headed to San Marcos early to do some Spring clothes shopping. I needed running shoes. Avery needed shirts and shorts. Dave needed another pair or two of khakis to match his other 20 pairs. And Will wasn't with us so he was spared, except for a little Nautica polo we couldn't resist. Yes, Dave likes him preppy, but I throw in a little skater boy. It's a shame Will doesn't get a say in what his geek parents decide. We filled Avery's treat bag with a few dum dums and 100 calorie cookie packs (by the way Nabisco it's an appropriate serving size for a baby, not an adult). After a quick run through, a manager at Banana says something to his coworker about expecting a huge day - 60,000 in sales. Small countries could run on that amount. I am disgusted and ready to peel my way throw the throng of spenders and head out of the shopping frenzy. Truthfully, I get shoppers high - there is something wonderful about good deals, but there are people starving and I very well could be too if I don't get my happy hiney out of here.
Speaking of happy hineys, I did say I was feeling better right? Then what has happened to my digestive system? So tonight, I met Tracy in Yoga class. It's my first class for the week.
Wait, I didn't tell you what I had for dinner, did I? Dave and I stopped at Pappadeaux for a little Cajun Yum-Yum to go. We've had a gift certificate forever and since we are compulsive spenders we had to rid ourselves of guilt. Waiting for the food, we grabbed a Guinness for St Patrick’s Day, and head out to the patio to let Avery play around the fountain (bath?). So before Yoga, I had a delicious meal of mostly beer (and very dark beer at that) with a side of seafood fondue. (Oysters and cheese...YUM!)
Anyway, class was going good (if you like to have your head between your legs) and our instructor had a wonderful Yoga voice. You know what I mean, very breathy and affirmative with lots of positive things like: "Great!", “That's beautiful!", "Wonderful!", “You are doing so well!" "Feel the negative energy leave your body." Then we get to the 'dead bug' pose.
Not a good thing when Tracy and I have already been told we were the trouble makers of the class, I have a full stomach, and I have recently had many humbling moments from the whole "shooting' virus. In the same beautiful voice the instructor informs us:"And it's okay if you blow a little dirt."
I look over at Tracy in confirmation that it's not the voices in my head and she is laughing. And then I am! AND Guess what? I blow a little dirt! Oh, lord have mercy, I can't stop laughing now. Really, I was just talking about the episode of Jackass where Johnny Knoxville goes to a Yoga class and totally lets his digestive system relax and he 'blows dirt'. I am mortally embarrassed, but we are laughing so loud that we really ARE disrupting class. Tracy gets up and leaves (in disgust?) and I am left in the corner still trying so hard to keep everything in!
After class, instead of slinking out red-faced and humiliated, I walked up to the instructor. Appartently, she thought Tracy and I were instructors, too, giving a review of her class.
"Uh, no, I'm the lady that hangs out in the back mostly messing up on poses,
making faces at my friend in the mirror, and tooting I mean expelling a little bit of that NEGATIVE ENERGY."
Exciting news: things are looking back to normal! Today is a beautiful St Patty's day, straight out of Ireland. Dave, Avery and I headed to San Marcos early to do some Spring clothes shopping. I needed running shoes. Avery needed shirts and shorts. Dave needed another pair or two of khakis to match his other 20 pairs. And Will wasn't with us so he was spared, except for a little Nautica polo we couldn't resist. Yes, Dave likes him preppy, but I throw in a little skater boy. It's a shame Will doesn't get a say in what his geek parents decide. We filled Avery's treat bag with a few dum dums and 100 calorie cookie packs (by the way Nabisco it's an appropriate serving size for a baby, not an adult). After a quick run through, a manager at Banana says something to his coworker about expecting a huge day - 60,000 in sales. Small countries could run on that amount. I am disgusted and ready to peel my way throw the throng of spenders and head out of the shopping frenzy. Truthfully, I get shoppers high - there is something wonderful about good deals, but there are people starving and I very well could be too if I don't get my happy hiney out of here.
Speaking of happy hineys, I did say I was feeling better right? Then what has happened to my digestive system? So tonight, I met Tracy in Yoga class. It's my first class for the week.
Wait, I didn't tell you what I had for dinner, did I? Dave and I stopped at Pappadeaux for a little Cajun Yum-Yum to go. We've had a gift certificate forever and since we are compulsive spenders we had to rid ourselves of guilt. Waiting for the food, we grabbed a Guinness for St Patrick’s Day, and head out to the patio to let Avery play around the fountain (bath?). So before Yoga, I had a delicious meal of mostly beer (and very dark beer at that) with a side of seafood fondue. (Oysters and cheese...YUM!)
Anyway, class was going good (if you like to have your head between your legs) and our instructor had a wonderful Yoga voice. You know what I mean, very breathy and affirmative with lots of positive things like: "Great!", “That's beautiful!", "Wonderful!", “You are doing so well!" "Feel the negative energy leave your body." Then we get to the 'dead bug' pose.
Not a good thing when Tracy and I have already been told we were the trouble makers of the class, I have a full stomach, and I have recently had many humbling moments from the whole "shooting' virus. In the same beautiful voice the instructor informs us:"And it's okay if you blow a little dirt."
"What?"
"Did she say what I think she said?"
I look over at Tracy in confirmation that it's not the voices in my head and she is laughing. And then I am! AND Guess what? I blow a little dirt! Oh, lord have mercy, I can't stop laughing now. Really, I was just talking about the episode of Jackass where Johnny Knoxville goes to a Yoga class and totally lets his digestive system relax and he 'blows dirt'. I am mortally embarrassed, but we are laughing so loud that we really ARE disrupting class. Tracy gets up and leaves (in disgust?) and I am left in the corner still trying so hard to keep everything in!
After class, instead of slinking out red-faced and humiliated, I walked up to the instructor. Appartently, she thought Tracy and I were instructors, too, giving a review of her class.
"Uh, no, I'm the lady that hangs out in the back mostly messing up on poses,
making faces at my friend in the mirror, and tooting I mean expelling a little bit of that NEGATIVE ENERGY."
Monday, March 13, 2006
Not So Good Potty Humor
My apologies ahead of time, but I feel the need to put discretion on this post. It is not for the easily grossed out, but alas our lives are filled with lots of it, especially if you are the primary caregiver to anyone (even CATS).
I'm talking about poo.
Okay, so poor, poor Will. He is new to asthma medication and with any green popping out of the earth a little cough turns quickly into panic breaths. We visit the pediatrician who recommends an allergist, but sends us home with an inhaler and oral steroid. No fun. Anyway, Will starts his medication that day and we wait it out: no recess, no outside time, no running, so sad. Amazingly, after the first breathing treatment his cough has lessened. We respond well to all the medicine we're prescribed (Way to go, Doc!) and he's good to go (almost). However, a few days into this he comes rushing out of the bathroom, stark naked.
"Mom, I have a little problem."
"I would think so, your missing your clothes."
"In the bathroom...I tried to wipe my hiney and clean it up, please don't be mad at me."
This sadly, is not a good sign. Will has been beat down by his rather cruel mom when it comes to picking up after oneself, even if this means one most learn to clean the rim of the potty if one chooses to pee standing up. In other words, something must be out of the range of the typical bathroom experience. So we walk into the bathroom together.
Its disastrous, its disgusting, its vial: its poo, leading to the toilet, down back of the pants, covering the seat. He's tried to clean it up with little bits of toilet paper peering out of the bowl waiting to be flushed. And Will, so defeated, starts to cry.
"Its okay, Bear, you didn't mean it. Your stomach hurts that's all." So we get him in the shower and rinse he rinses off (with bleach?) and I disinfect the floor, toilet, counter (house?). It breaks my heart when I see him like this, especially when he is afraid to tell me.
We had a little difficulty for a few days there after. Mostly, we tried to stay as close to the house as possible, even the mailbox was just a little out of reach. When the weekend came, Will was a little better, so it seemed.
I headed to the gym, unaccompanied, to meet Tracy and check out what Spinning was all about. Exhausted (who knew a bike going know where could be so difficult?) I returned to a napping household except for Will who was playing on Disney.com. He gave me a quick kiss and resumed play. I sat at the kitchen table with a monster sized bowl of cereal. Hello, I just burned 600+ calories.
Spoonfuls later Will calls "MMMOOOOOMMMM!"
I know what this means: bathroom duty. I put up my bowl and head to the room of death (smells). Meanwhile, my slumbering husband awakes and meets me in the bathroom, where he groggily asks "Boy, did you shit your pants?"
Yes, there are explicatives used, and yes, this was part of my husband I take for better or worse, because as intelligent as he is his words of expression are rather limited.
A little while later, I wake up from my nap. Will runs up to me, from the bathroom no less. Excitedly he says, "Mom, I didn't shoot my pants."
Oh, little Bear you make me laugh so hard I have to share this with the world!
Meanwhile these days I've learned that it wasn't quite the medicine that was creating such a disturbance for my young son - more like a virus. And while I lay on the couch in fear, I realize that it's not that funny - shooting in the pants and all, especially since you are afflicted with it for a little longer than most and Spring Break has started mostly in the bathroom. My trip to Mom and Dad's (my favorite vacation spot) is gone; so long plans of resting peacefully pool side with book in hand. Hope Will's having a good time - he can now sit comfortably in the car for the 5 hours, me, not so much.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Uh No Officer...
Today was a day like others - errands to run, shopping to do, playtime, lunch, nap, rides in a police car. Avery and I dropped Will off at school, passed our neighborhood, and headed back up 1604. We were going up to the Saturn dealership for a routine oil change 2,000 miles overdue. I admit we are slow about proper maintenance, just like we are slow with a lot of things. Dave has a longer to do list than mine so I opted to knock it out of the way - finally.
Avery and I ventured bravely to the service writer who was very nice:
"I have a knocking sound under the hood, I need an oil change, and could you wash the car extra nice?" "Can you do this for me, while I head over to Academy."
(Even with an oil change, you gotta have a little fun!)
Again, the service man was really nice and said: "No, problem and we'll get a porter to drive you to where you want to go."
Normal people would be excited to get a free ride anywhere. And Saturn is right off the service road of a major highway (I-35). But, me, well I'm not so normal (but I try). Truthfully, I was looking at a great way to waste time. I don't like to ask for things, much less a ride to a window shopping expedetion. I don't really have to go, but Poor Avery (and Mommy) would be so bored, waiting.
So the porter drives us and drops us off right at the door.
"Call us when your ready to be picked up."
I walk in, check out the shoes, take a few laps, and I am ready to go. Avery and I head out the door, I turn on my phone, and nothing happens. It's dead, no lights, no battery sign, no nothing. Opps - so we head out onto the service road.
We were walking, no problems, it's a little scary, but Avery and I are so far off the road, I worry more about the stickers and rock piles we're scaling over than cars veering off the service road. We reach a bridge, and I realize this wasn't a good idea. I pick up Avery and run - on the service road, with her bouncing in my arms and laughing. The bridge is nothing more than a rail over a little ditch so I hop back over and we're back in the clear, only a few more hundred yards to go.
As I look down at my flip flops and wish I hadn't worn them and car passes slowly. I hear gravel underneath the tires and I look up.
It's a police car - no doubt about it. The police man rolls down his window, and my skin immediatly flushes.
I know I'm in trouble.
So I break the ice:
"Hi, I'm getting my car serviced and we were just walking back to pick it up."
Get in the car Ma'am." Oh, man I am in trouble.
"I have the baby." I say.
"She's okay in the back." He answers. But really I want to ask him where his baby seat is.
So off we go and I'm talking, which I do when I'm nervous, and I'm shaking in my boots thinking I'm gonna get a ticket. I'm going to jail. I'm going to get my child taken away from me - reckless mother walks on the service road with child.
We head a hundred feet and turn into Saturn. Phew! He takes my name and phone number, talks to someone on the radio and heads out WITHOUT ME! All I see is the service man shaking his head. I duck in like a teenager who's been caught and wait patiently for 2 hours for an oil change in the lobby like the rest of the more intelligent, childless Saturn patrons.
I won't be doing that one again BUT I've never been in the back of a police car and I hope this is the only time my 19 month old ever does.
Avery and I ventured bravely to the service writer who was very nice:
"I have a knocking sound under the hood, I need an oil change, and could you wash the car extra nice?" "Can you do this for me, while I head over to Academy."
(Even with an oil change, you gotta have a little fun!)
Again, the service man was really nice and said: "No, problem and we'll get a porter to drive you to where you want to go."
Normal people would be excited to get a free ride anywhere. And Saturn is right off the service road of a major highway (I-35). But, me, well I'm not so normal (but I try). Truthfully, I was looking at a great way to waste time. I don't like to ask for things, much less a ride to a window shopping expedetion. I don't really have to go, but Poor Avery (and Mommy) would be so bored, waiting.
So the porter drives us and drops us off right at the door.
"Call us when your ready to be picked up."
I walk in, check out the shoes, take a few laps, and I am ready to go. Avery and I head out the door, I turn on my phone, and nothing happens. It's dead, no lights, no battery sign, no nothing. Opps - so we head out onto the service road.
We were walking, no problems, it's a little scary, but Avery and I are so far off the road, I worry more about the stickers and rock piles we're scaling over than cars veering off the service road. We reach a bridge, and I realize this wasn't a good idea. I pick up Avery and run - on the service road, with her bouncing in my arms and laughing. The bridge is nothing more than a rail over a little ditch so I hop back over and we're back in the clear, only a few more hundred yards to go.
As I look down at my flip flops and wish I hadn't worn them and car passes slowly. I hear gravel underneath the tires and I look up.
It's a police car - no doubt about it. The police man rolls down his window, and my skin immediatly flushes.
I know I'm in trouble.
So I break the ice:
"Hi, I'm getting my car serviced and we were just walking back to pick it up."
Get in the car Ma'am." Oh, man I am in trouble.
"I have the baby." I say.
"She's okay in the back." He answers. But really I want to ask him where his baby seat is.
So off we go and I'm talking, which I do when I'm nervous, and I'm shaking in my boots thinking I'm gonna get a ticket. I'm going to jail. I'm going to get my child taken away from me - reckless mother walks on the service road with child.
We head a hundred feet and turn into Saturn. Phew! He takes my name and phone number, talks to someone on the radio and heads out WITHOUT ME! All I see is the service man shaking his head. I duck in like a teenager who's been caught and wait patiently for 2 hours for an oil change in the lobby like the rest of the more intelligent, childless Saturn patrons.
I won't be doing that one again BUT I've never been in the back of a police car and I hope this is the only time my 19 month old ever does.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Sibling Squabbles
This has been my first weekend of pure sibling rivalry, mostly on Avery's part. Will has been good, mostly trying his best to ignore his little sister's demands or relentless squawking.
It truly is a test of wills and I cave in a little quick. Her high pitched wail hits my ear drum in a most painful way and I just want her to be her sweet self and STOP - quickly. It's been a battle over everything, from who gets to color on which coloring book - what does Avery care? She can color on a wall and be perfectly happy- to who gets to take medicine and who doesn't.
I understand life is a learning process but I'm learning rather quick that having two has it's pluses -no one can make Avery happier than her brother, Will was born to be a big brother - AND it's minuses. It takes a lot of effort in finding fairness, drawing the lines between what is okay to do and what is reserved solely for those above 4 ("please, sit in your high chair"), and mediation skills when my common response is: "You need to talk it out with your sister." or "Play with one of her toys until she changes her mind."
Frankly, I am running out of resourcefulness and I don't like to yell - I'm just trying to save a little sanity here - just ignore the loud banshee wails (and it's not coming from the little people that have taken over the house.)
It truly is a test of wills and I cave in a little quick. Her high pitched wail hits my ear drum in a most painful way and I just want her to be her sweet self and STOP - quickly. It's been a battle over everything, from who gets to color on which coloring book - what does Avery care? She can color on a wall and be perfectly happy- to who gets to take medicine and who doesn't.
I understand life is a learning process but I'm learning rather quick that having two has it's pluses -no one can make Avery happier than her brother, Will was born to be a big brother - AND it's minuses. It takes a lot of effort in finding fairness, drawing the lines between what is okay to do and what is reserved solely for those above 4 ("please, sit in your high chair"), and mediation skills when my common response is: "You need to talk it out with your sister." or "Play with one of her toys until she changes her mind."
Frankly, I am running out of resourcefulness and I don't like to yell - I'm just trying to save a little sanity here - just ignore the loud banshee wails (and it's not coming from the little people that have taken over the house.)
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Gym Junkies? Gym Flunkies?
Okay, I am in love with Lifetime Fitness.
Beware: I am NOT a gym junkie because 1) I do not like to have to dress up to get sweaty. 2) I like to sweat by myself, I totally turn on like a faucet (This is my favorite one I blame on my Dad's genes apart from the hair one (not on my head)). 3) I get a chance to be outside even if it's allergy season and I am asthmatic. 4) I'm never too sure about the whole kids’ club idea - not because I don't trust others but I fear that my children will display their high maintenence side. (Can you wipe my hiney?)
5) I don't have a reason to buy more workout videos, yoga mats, exercise balls, stretchy cords, and dumbbells, aside from the treadmill that has moved from Dallas to here without an occupant for 3 years (I'm charging it rent.) 6) I use to work in one in college and am a little tarnished. Darn you squash players and the fanatics who run to the gym at 5am only to workout another 2 hours before going to class and sitting next to me.
BUT times have changed.
First, to address the clothes issue, there are so many people at this gym I can just blend in without having to match. Sweat? Well, the gym provides tons of towels and I'm just going to have to get over that one. Hello, I'm removing toxins! And if I want to be outside I can get on the machine that is closest to the wall of windows where I can admire traffic backing up on 281. PLUS, I can't get so far on a treadmill that I regret that I have to go back. Anyway, Will loves the kids club where he can play in the computer lab without having to use his "stars". He'll eat his lunch, be sweet to his sister, clean up the living room, scrub the toilet just to get to go. Avery on the other hand needs a little more coaxing. When there are a lot of kids she just walks in bravely in awe of the invasion of the little people. Otherwise, I just ask for a pager so I don't have to hear my name on the loudspeaker. As for the home gym paraphernalia, I now spend this money on club dues; it ain’t the cheapest gym on the block, but maybe I can buy some new workout clothes.
This IS going on for a little too long, but bottom line is tomorrow I am meeting with a trainer to evaluate my physical fitness. My love might change drastically. And if you have any good excuses why not to be a gym junkie/convert, let me know. Otherwise, be my workout buddy and try a new class or better yet, meet me in the café and share a double mocha cappuccino – it’s all there!
Beware: I am NOT a gym junkie because 1) I do not like to have to dress up to get sweaty. 2) I like to sweat by myself, I totally turn on like a faucet (This is my favorite one I blame on my Dad's genes apart from the hair one (not on my head)). 3) I get a chance to be outside even if it's allergy season and I am asthmatic. 4) I'm never too sure about the whole kids’ club idea - not because I don't trust others but I fear that my children will display their high maintenence side. (Can you wipe my hiney?)
5) I don't have a reason to buy more workout videos, yoga mats, exercise balls, stretchy cords, and dumbbells, aside from the treadmill that has moved from Dallas to here without an occupant for 3 years (I'm charging it rent.) 6) I use to work in one in college and am a little tarnished. Darn you squash players and the fanatics who run to the gym at 5am only to workout another 2 hours before going to class and sitting next to me.
BUT times have changed.
First, to address the clothes issue, there are so many people at this gym I can just blend in without having to match. Sweat? Well, the gym provides tons of towels and I'm just going to have to get over that one. Hello, I'm removing toxins! And if I want to be outside I can get on the machine that is closest to the wall of windows where I can admire traffic backing up on 281. PLUS, I can't get so far on a treadmill that I regret that I have to go back. Anyway, Will loves the kids club where he can play in the computer lab without having to use his "stars". He'll eat his lunch, be sweet to his sister, clean up the living room, scrub the toilet just to get to go. Avery on the other hand needs a little more coaxing. When there are a lot of kids she just walks in bravely in awe of the invasion of the little people. Otherwise, I just ask for a pager so I don't have to hear my name on the loudspeaker. As for the home gym paraphernalia, I now spend this money on club dues; it ain’t the cheapest gym on the block, but maybe I can buy some new workout clothes.
This IS going on for a little too long, but bottom line is tomorrow I am meeting with a trainer to evaluate my physical fitness. My love might change drastically. And if you have any good excuses why not to be a gym junkie/convert, let me know. Otherwise, be my workout buddy and try a new class or better yet, meet me in the café and share a double mocha cappuccino – it’s all there!
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