Last night Daren was out of town and Dylan had a birthday party to go to. Since my in-laws were picking Dylan up to keep him for a sleepover, and my dinner guests had canceled, I thought it would be nice to have a date with a younger man: my 3 year old.
So we hit Blockbuster and Thomas picked out two very sophisticated movies complete with Mickey Mouse and a certain porous yellow fella.
When we got home, my date stood on a chair to help me spread nacho chips on a cookie sheet and steal sweet onions as I chopped them and laid them out over grated cheese and diced tomatoes. He watched as I whipped up guacamole and it was he who dutifully carried two ramekins of sour cream down to the coffee table in the family room — one at a time.
When the baked nachos were ready, we settled down to eat and watch Patrick, Squidward, Sandy and Spongebob, both of us laughing out loud at age appropriate jokes, (Have you ever watched this show? Holy barnacles it’s killer funny in spots.).
While my date really enjoyed his dinner, we both stole sideways glances at each other, smiling. It was clear that we were both enjoying the evening. My date was allowed to stay up an hour past his bedtime, and when he did go to bed, he got to sleep in his big brother’s bed, though he wanted to sleep upside down with his feet at the pillow side of the bed.
He hugged me so hard at bedtime, he knocked me over from the sitting position I was in on the bed and giggled his head off.
And even though I had to brush my little date’s teeth and help him put his jammies on, it was the best date I’ve ever had with a younger man.
He had fun too. This morning he came to the side of my bed and said, “Mom? Mom?”
“Yes Thomas,” I answered groggily.
“I loveded the last day,” he claimed (his way of saying last night).
“Me too buddy,” I said, “Do you want to climb in and snuggle?”
He crawled into the softness of my bed, pulled the duvet over himself, and put one little arm over my shoulder as he nestled in.
“Awwww I love you buddy,” I told him.
He put his hand on my cheek, and said, “You’re the bestest Mom ever.”
When you find a new band that you love love love and you can’t listen to it around your spawn because the f-bomb is in it.
Jenorama recommended Vampire Weekend to me on Twitter and I bought a bunch of their songs off iTunes, courtesy of Kimberly @ Petroville. Thanks Kimberly! (Do you know how awesome Kimberly is? Of course you do.)
Anyway, I put my shiny new iPod into the cool ipod radio thingy I won at my cousin’s Jack and Jill and fired up a little Vampire Weekend as Daren and I were making dinner. We were dancing in the kitchen, laughing, cutting up veggies for baked nachos and grilling chicken. Mmmm grilled chicken…
The next song came on and the first line is “Who gives a fuck about acts of Karma?”
Ugh.
Fast forward to the next song. Which also included the phrase “fucked some women.”
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
They are a great band. A talented band. I’m not saying that artists shouldn’t swear because the Great Bagel In The Sky KNOWS that I swear on a regular fucking basis. I mostly curb it around my kids though.
It’s just the old man in my husband comes out and wags his finger at me when I introduce him to a new band and they say fuck. Don’t the Gods of Music know I’m trying to teach my loving man that there is music beyond Country?
I wish Willie Nelson would come out with a song where he says fuck so I can say “See? See? It’s an artist thing, not just my fucking taste in fucking music, fucker.”
Yesterday was a particularly difficult day in terms of motivation and the fatigue from the weekend had me whipped, stressed and handcuffed to a bad mood that I could not shake.
Nevertheless, I went to the appointment I had with Master Homie G and she patiently watched me attempt to get through our routine despite my transformation into Whiny McWhinerson. How she did it without smacking me around, I don’t know. *I* wanted to smack myself around for her, but I was too tired.
Near the end of our session, I finally admitted the fatigue I was feeling and we stopped. Lack of good sleep over the weekend definitely had me over a barrel. I told her I would attempt to run at 4 minute intervals with 2 minutes rest in between, even though she looked apprehensive.
I ran for 4, walked for 2 and didn’t have enough steam to get past the 2 minute mark again. I was getting a cramp in my side, my shin splints were sore and so at 25 minutes, I caved on the whole thing and trudged to shower.
As I walked past Master Home G to leave, I gave her a distinct look of defeat. I was sad and frustrated.
I felt really pissed off with myself for the rest of the day. I was withdrawn, sulky and angry at not doing my best. I was really discouraged about the 8K marathon relay and thinking I could maybe only do 5K on my own, which would kick me off the team.
Last night Homie G sent me an email that made me cry:
Hey lady ,
so you looked a little discouraged/ sad when you were leaving the gym today, I’m guessing due to falling a bit short of 4 minutes 3 times. Listen DO NOT worry about it (that’s an order) …..that was EXTREMELY ambitious considering your lack of sleep over the weekend and previously weight-training for 45 minutes. I know you want this really bad and I’m so proud of you for that, but you have to respect your body -otherwise it simply will not let you train to the fullest ability the next day - which you need for your cardio session.
I also read your new “work it mom” and recent blogs and now I am more convinced than ever that you can do the 8k……but you need to listen to me okay? Like you NEED to get your rest - Daren can suck it up for a month and a bit and let you sleep longer than your usual 5 hours. You need to eat regularly and well (and this does not include those Portuguese custard thingies…hehe….j/k) and stay hydrated (especially during your runs). Also please stay mentally strong…..you know this isn’t easy and I hate to see you so discouraged over little and completely normal bumps in the training road. Okay ? Hope this makes you feel better and go to bed now…we got a long run ahead of us tomorrow :).
Master Homie G
And so I bawled like a baby, wrote her back a thank you and went to bed.
This morning was Migraine Central and I nearly canceled tonight’s run, but took a couple of Tylenol and sucked it up anyway. I figured getting moving would be beneficial to shaking this headache.
On the way to the gym, I started thinking more positive thoughts. Once there, I warmed up and Homie G had me commit to 5 minutes of running. Having barely touched 4 minutes the day before, I took a deep breath and said I would.
What happened next is still a shocker.
I ran the 5 minutes.
Then walked 2, and ran 5 MORE.
THEN walked 2, RAN 2 ON AN INCLINE AND 5 MORE! SEVEN FREAKING MINUTES AT ONCE!
I walked 2 once again, and ran 5 MORE!!!!
I walked 2 again, and ran 2, then cooled off. That’s 24 minutes of running where I was only doing 15 before!
When I was getting near the end, Homie G pointed something out to me:
Tonight, I ran/walked 5K (3.1 Miles).
It felt GOOD. I’m still floored. And I’m still doing this, but that’s okay:
I couldn’t do this without Homie G’s constant support, my husband’s picking up of the slack with the kids & house, and you guys cheering me on.
Thank you.
xo
p.s. Now I know it’s okay to have bad days. I need to listen to my body.
From the gym shower I could hear them. Two young girls were being very loud and obnoxious in the change room and everything they said ended on a high note as if it were a question. There was a lot of the word “like” and giggling, and the two of them clearly thought they were the cat’s ass. For some reason, the two of them felt they were putting on a show for the rest of the women in the change room and I’m pretty sure everyone else in there thought the same thing as me: Shut the hell up already, you morons.
Lo and behold, when I got out of the shower, I discovered my locker was right near where the two of them were. I quickly opened my locker, got my clothes and went into a cubicle to get dressed. As I closed the curtain, one of the girls loudly asked, “JEALOUS?”
I have no idea if she was talking to me or not, but I thought so as I was the only one besides her friend in her vicinity and I hadn’t looked at either of them when I grabbed my stuff. Maybe they were mad I wasn’t finding them amusing. I hurriedly got dressed, packed my bag, did my hair and left.
Was I jealous of these two complete douchebags? Not in the least. Was I upset that they thought that I might be jealous of their dumbassery? Uh, that would be a big fat no.
I just wish I had known for sure if that girl was talking to me. So I could have said, “Yes please, kill off a few of my brain cells and give me a big mouth from which I can spew stupidity just like you, sweetheart.”
Do young people really act like this? Please tell me they are the exception. If this is our future, I’m going to drop a few weights on their heads.
Of course I know they are the exception. Just yesterday, 3 young girls were in the change room, speaking nicely to each other, talking about hair and an upcoming event they were attending. When I told them my sister-in-law-to-be is in the business and they could get colouring done for $12 at the high end hairdressing school, they were sweet and grateful, thanking me over and over. It was clear these university students were raised by parents who taught them manners.
Young people get a bad rap I think. Rudeness certainly isn’t limited to a certain age group. While my Granny and Papa were on a cruise last month, my Granny was in an elevator, laughing and joking with two other couples when one of the women turned to her and said, “You sure talk alot!”
My Granny saw red, she said. She turned to the woman and said, “I’ve been told that before. I’ve also been told I have manners.”
Points to Granny for replying so eloquently, but these situations make me wonder why people are purposely so mean when you least expect it.
Today I went out and bought stuff to “dress the house” and tackled the main floor. I know we need new furniture but we aren’t buying anything until the new house is built, for obvious reasons.
The sofa slipcovers are only for when we’re showing the house - they are chocolate brown and Mylie sheds like a cat and chews the couches, so I’m not putting them on.
When you find a new band that you love love love and you can’t listen to it around your spawn because the f-bomb is in it.
They are a great band. A talented band. I’m not saying that artists shouldn’t swear because the Great Bagel In The Sky KNOWS that I swear on a regular fucking basis. I mostly curb it around my kids though.
From the gym shower I could hear them. Two young girls were being very loud and obnoxious in the change room and everything they said ended on a high note as if it were a question. There was a lot of the word “like” and giggling, and the two of them clearly thought they were the cat’s ass. For some reason, the two of them felt they were putting on a show for the rest of the women in the change room and I’m pretty sure everyone else in there thought the same thing as me: Shut the hell up already, you morons.
