Field Day is the new Hunger Games

As an elementary kid, I was never too excited about field day.  According to my dad, I was a bit of a girly girl (still am!).

I’d rather be hanging with the daisies.

If there was an event in daisy chain necklace making, I would have won the gold.  If there was an event in skipping while singing, I would have been given a trophy.  If there was an event in twirling in circles until falling down dizzy, I would have received a first place ribbon.  Sadly, none of these options were available when I was in school.

We did have sack potato races, balloon tosses, one-legged races and egg/spoon races.  Those were fun.

At Squishy and String Bean’s school, their field day was much different.  Gone were the sack potatoes.  Vanished were the balloon tosses.  Abandoned were the eggs and spoons.  All were replaced by Olympic style battles fit for Odysseus and a slew of Titans. Or Katniss, her faithful Peeta and all of the psycho warriors from District 1.

Kid’s organized sports have nothing on Field Day.

As for preparing for the exclusive Field Day, there has been extensive training in gym class.  For the last month (I am not kidding) there have been time trials, practice races, and even qualifying heats.  With all of the suspense surrounding the day, both dudes were anxious and a little concerned about their events.  Who can blame them?  Training for the summer Olympics sounds vaguely similar to the festivities known as Field Day.

“Mom, you have to pack us water bottles for field day tomorrow.  It is going to be hot and we may get dehydrated,” he stated as if he was a pediatrician.

“OK.  Gotcha.  Anything else you need to get through these mighty games?” I asked, without a hint of sarcasm.

“We need to bring our best to the field,” he said.  I wondered if I let him watch Percy Jackson too often.

Field Day is serious business.

Next year’s Field Day dress code.

Prior to the start of the extreme games fun, as all of the students are gathered outside gripping their water bottles, an announcement came on the PA informing the students of the intricate procedures.  Maybe all of the important items were scattered around the cornucopia or something.

The static voice resembled something like, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” Oops – not really.  More like, “Off to the races we go!”

And, with that, String Bean and Squishy were both sacrificed for the games.

The lone ribbon.

After school, there were long faces.  There was only one ribbon given to my dudes.  It was the magical Participation ribbon that only first and second graders receive.  Wise fourth grade String Bean, tired from the exhausting day and discouraged from being ribbonless, dismissed himself to the basement to play on the iPad.  His parting words as he melted down the steps were of the final PA announcement that said, “Congratulations to the winners, and better luck next year to everyone else.”

Squishy lagged behind and, in his first grade humor, regaled tales of his success in the tug-of-war.

“Did you get a ribbon for tug-of-war?” I asked him.

“Nope.  But we were the champs!” he exclaimed, “And I was the reason we won because I was in the back of the line and used my massive muscles to pull the other side down.”

Triumph.

“Why didn’t you get a ribbon?” I inquired.

“Hmmm,” he pondered, “We really didn’t need a ribbon.  Our teacher told us we were awesome and gave us a hug.  That was better than a stupid ribbon,” he said with a big smile on his face.

“I agree, Squishy, I agree.”

Until next year when the games resume again.

True triumph.  Almost better than a daisy chain necklace.  May the odds ever be in your favor.

If I Only Had a Clone

Remember the movie Multiplicity with Michael Keaton?  Over the past two weeks, I know why he embraced the philosophy of having many clones.

I would like just one clone.  Stat.

It has been unbelievably busy lately.  I mean non-stop busy.  I have decided the way that would have been the easiest would be to have a clone.

Many me.

I would have my clone take my place as National Honor Society adviser.  I could have celebrated with the newly members while my clone could have eased the pains and wiped the tears of the 15 who did not get in.

I would have my clone go to Walmart.  I hate going there, and it is almost a festival of clones there anyhow.  I would have hung out and read books with Squishy or played String Bean in a round of Mario Kart.

I would have my clone sit through long meetings.  She could sit there, smiling at all the information that would have been better off in an email while I would get my copies ready for the morning’s classes.

I would have my clone fix technology for everyone.  My clone could go and fix a computer for two hours while I ventured to the park for a nice walk.

I would have my clone conference with String Bean’s teacher.  My clone may be better at this than I am because she would not be so frustrated.  I would get a massage – to calm down, of course.

I would have my clone grade freshmen English persuasive essays.  I would give her a purple pen (it is less threatening) and have her go to town.  She would not feel pained as the students leave the classroom and dump the carefully graded essays in the garbage after glancing briefly at the score.

I would have my clone go bathing suit shopping.  She could have the honor of trying on a variety of suits and finding the perfect one all while standing under harsh, fluorescent lights.  I would sit and read  Stephen King’s new novel on my Kindle.

I would have my clone update my Facebook, reply to text messages, fetch my lunch, get allergy shots, pay bills, go shopping, feed the dogs, clean my closet and pretty much do everything that has piled up from The Captain’s musical and break.  During this time, I would have been able to write on my much-neglected blog.

If I only had a clone.

Open House and the Big Fart

I rushed into open house at Squishy’s elementary school last spring with a sense of trepidation.  It was the middle of our March Madness. First, The Captain was one week from the opening of Thoroughly Modern Millie at his high school (he directed, I choreographed).  Also, spring baseball had started for both boys, and finally, all three of the dudes I live with were in rehearsal for the Wizard of Oz.  Needless to say, I was a human taxi cab and the Open House became one of four stops that evening.

After finding a place to park (because this is not easy on Open House evening), I finally had the chance to get a good look at Squishy.  He had chocolate ice cream all down the front of his white Life is Good t-shirt.  Awesome.

“Squishy, did Grandma really have to give you ice cream the second before I picked you up?” I asked as I took his incredibly sticky hand in mine.

“Mom, I wanted it and she gave it to me. Geez.  I was hungry, but now I want a Star Wars book from the book fair and a brownie,” he replied, quite sure of his goals for the Open House.

“I don’t think so,” I said as we continued through the door.

Squishy dropped my hand and ran down the hall like lightening.  I was hustling behind him, bumping into the massive herd of parents in the hallway.

“Wait up,” I called to him, as I tried to put on a very fake “I have everything under control and my life is really a dream” smile for the parents who turned their heads to look at me.

“I am trying to catch up with you, sweetheart!” I stated to him in an as pleasant as I could get, sing-song voice.

“Mom, you are so slow,” he hollered down the hallway, “Oh, and I farted.  Safety!”

Awesome.  Now my kindergartener has yelled “fart” across a crowed hallway.

But it gets better.  It always does.  A guy I dated for a long while BC – Before Captain, Before Children – was standing nearby with his absolutely beautiful, poster-like family.  And he was smirking.  Did I mention it always gets better?

My fake smile turned into gritted teeth.  My posture changed to that of a wild animal.  My hair turned into the snakes of Medusa.  I smirked back while briskly walking by and said, “Hi there.  Gotta catch up with my little man!”

Secretly, I kind of hoped that the fart would linger and bring the idyllic family to its knees.  That would be awesome.

A picture is worth 1,000 words. This photo was taken at the open house.

When Children Learn to Read

Or, what really happens now that my children are reading.

My seven-year-old, Squishy, loves to read.  He is at the point where he reads everything. He will read over my shoulder.  He will read labels.  He will read t-shirts.  He will read basically anything.

There is a fun print my sister-in-law gave The Captain for his birthday.  He likes to make (and drink) martinis.  Squishy now knows how to: 1.  Say martini and 2. Spell martini.

Squishy has become a reading machine.

He also likes to read over my shoulder while I am on my Kindle.

“Mom, what the crap is wrong with this lady?”

“What lady?” I ask, “and don’t say crap.”

“The lady in your book named Anne.  She is a freak.”

I am reading about Anne Boleyn.  “She is not a freak, Squishy, she just had some issues.”

“Like what?” he asks as I wonder briefly how far to take this.

“She was married to a famous king of England and it didn’t end well for her,” I strategically answered.

“Why?  Is his name Henry?”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I read it over your shoulder,” he grinned triumphantly, “See ya, I am going outside, OK Mom?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I answered.

Yesterday, heading for a quick grocery store stop, Squishy said, “Mom, the truck next to us has a bad word on a sticker.”

“What does it say?” I asked, trying to navigate through the zillion traffic lights in our small town.

“Will I get in trouble if I say it?” he asked.

“Just read it to me,” I said, with the patience and kindness of a women with mild road rage.

“Bad ass,” he said, “It says bad ass.  Why is he a bad ass, Mom?  He doesn’t look like a bad ass.”

“OK,” I said, using the mom voice, “You can stop saying it now.”

“Well, he doesn’t look like one anyway…Hey, Mom, the sign over there says not to text and drive.  And that one says the service begins at 10, and that one says…”  And so on, and so on.

I think I may need that martini.  Stat.

Kitchen Cluelessness

Richard Nixon’s most famous line was, “I am not a crook.”  My most famous line is “I am not a cook.”

My kitchen is not mine.  The Captain, my husband, is the chef at our home.

Wine. The one thing always in my kitchen.

When we first met, I had some leftover Chinese food and some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in my fridge.  I may have had mayo, but I don’t think so.  I do know that I had plenty of wine in my apartment along with a box of Velveeta Cheese and Shells.  I am not a cook.

My dad and stepmother bought me a recipe book called, “Help! My Apartment has a Kitchen!”  but I didn’t read it.  I didn’t have time for it, and I hate grocery shopping (but that is another post entirely).

Good thing The Captain is addicted to cooking or my family would go hungry.  He loves watching The Food Network and the show Chopped in particular.  He gets three recipe magazines – Everyday Food, Food Network and Bon Appetite.  He loves to cook.

I asked him to sum up my cooking abilities.  He looked at me as if it was a trick question.  I said, “Be honest.  Be harsh.  It’s OK to tell me the truth because after you do, I am going to put it directly into my post about cooking.”

He responds, “Why would you ever consider writing a post about cooking?”

“Come on,” I begged, “Tell me what you think about my kitchen abilities.”

He looks over, studying my face as if to see if I am serious.  He finally answers by saying, “Clueless and in a state of despair,” and turns back to the latest episode of Chopped.

Well.  That sums it up pretty nicely.

My nemesis.

The thing is, I really just don’t like cooking.  I feel like spending hours in a kitchen for the food to be devoured in less that a commercial break is depressing.  I also find that I get frustrated in the kitchen.  It is not simple – there are so many things to get out and put away.  Ugh.  I wish the kitchen was more like my laptop.  Everything there – right under my fingertips.

Touching raw food is also difficult for me.  I hate touching raw chicken, hot dogs, or basically any meat including lunch meat (it is slimy – gross).  The Captain says this is typical.  Ha.  I think if I had to cook for myself, I would surely be a vegetarian.  I can handle vegetables and fruits.  They are nice in the kitchen.  Nice fruits and veggies.  Good fruits and veggies.

Some of the more vivid memories of my lack of kitchen prowess:

  • When dating The Captain, I made his entire family shrimp jambalaya.  It was so spicy that only his brother (bless his heart) finished his.  Everyone else seemed to be very intense on drowning their salads in ranch dressing.
  • When promising my dudes chicken fingers, I did not really understand how to do an egg dip mixture.  We ate chicken fingers ala scrambled eggs that evening.
  • When making a casserole, I didn’t notice the recipe mentioning that I had to cook the rice before adding it to the casserole dish.  It was crunchy, and not in a good way!
  • When trying to make potato cheese soup, I let the soup boil over the pot and I still have remnants of soup between the glass panels looking into the stove.  I don’t know how the soup got there, but I do know that I am reminded of the fiasco whenever I turn the oven light on.

I can happily say I haven’t once caught the kitchen on fire.  I have, however, burned some bread in the oven.  The Captain said broil it, and I thought that meant for 15 minutes.  Apparently broilers are quick and dirty cookers.  Who knew?

So, for now, I will stick to using the beloved microwave and my debit card at food establishments and for quick grocery trips.  Farewell, kitchen!  Until we boil again.

Say Cheese

I love taking pictures.  I have always loved it.  I am not a professional by any means, but it is a little hobby of mine.

My dad liked to take pictures.  He had a Vivitar SLR camera that he took to Disney World when I was nine.  I remember being so interested in that camera – the weight of it, the feeling of looking through the viewfinder, and the connection we had because I admired the camera so much.

When I was in junior high, my dad got me this great little camera that took a disc instead of a film roll.  It was a lot like the little Canon Digital Elph point and shoot cameras of today.  It fit perfectly in a back pack and was fun to use!  Plus, if you looked really closely at the disk film, it looked like little, itty bitty photo slides.  Coolness for a very gawky time of life.

In high school, I got another camera.  It was a Kodak film camera – the real film, not a disk, and I remember settling into my dark closet and putting the film it in so I didn’t expose any of it (because sometimes I could get more than 24 pics on a roll if I did that – score!)   I was on the staff of the school paper and by my junior year, when I moved to Ohio, I got a Canon Rebel SLR for me.  Unfortunately, there was not a school paper at my new school, but I loved that camera.

When I got to college, my major was journalism with a minor in English literature and another minor in (drum roll here) photojournalism.  The good thing was that I got two photography classes in.  Bad thing was we had to use slides.  Right around that time, and before the end of my freshman year, the university removed the photojournalism option for a college minor.  If one wanted the photojournalism degree, it had to be their major in the school of the arts. So back to taking pictures for fun.

One of my favorite pictures I have ever taken. Ever. It was also pouring down rain. She is beautiful, isn’t she?

Which leads me to today.  I like taking pictures. I like cameras.  I still have my original Canon SLR, but I also have two Canon Rebel DSLRs  and a Canon Digital Elph (for my pocket).  I also am into digital video editing, and teach Broadcast journalism at school along with updating the district’s webpage. Whew.

In my post about being a digital hoarder, I mentioned I have over 25,000 pics in my iPhoto.  My kids are the subjects in most, and are never surprised when the camera comes out and I chime, “Say cheese!”  They now roll their eyes at me, but smile all the same.

But I want to get better at taking pictures so this past summer and fall, I took two digital photography courses with DSLRs.  They were really informative and sparked a new level in taking pics for me.  It was time for me to do something for me, which can be very hard sometimes for moms to separate ourselves from our little ones.  I knew it was time to rediscover what I liked about photography so long ago – and find out how to push myself to taking better pictures – manually instead of relying on auto.

iPhone pic of Squishy drawing.

On my blog, I try and take most of the pictures I post with my articles.  I am somewhat of a freakish purist.  However, my neighbor two doors down wasn’t home last night so I had to use Disney pictures of the witch from Snow White instead.  Just kidding.  Kind of… I do find that it is so easy to take shots with my iPhone on Hipstamatic (which I love).  I also adore the fact the iPhone pictures float through “the cloud” and land on my laptop in iPhoto – ready for my blog.  Hooray!  Photos made easy!

I know I should use pictures I take with my DSLR, but sometimes I am just a little lazy.  There are days when I just don’t feel like uploading them, editing them if needed and all of that hoorah.  Maybe next week.

But, hey, it is pretty outside so I am going to call it a day and run and take some pictures of my dudes with my real camera for a change.

Say cheese!

Yes, I am the Tooth Fairy

Spoiler alert:  If you still believe in the tooth fairy, stop reading now.  This may come as a shock to you, and I want you to be OK and not to worry your pretty little head about anything.   Go back, visit Freshly Pressed and wait for the Easter Bunny and Santa.  And remember to brush your teeth because the Tooth Fairy really appreciates it. 😉

This is me! Ready for anything to come my way - involving teeth!

Now, let’s begin.  I am the Tooth Fairy.  I provide the almighty cash when teeth are lost in my home.  I collect the teeth and put them in a special “place” in my secret container located in my bathroom.  I could make a glorious necklace of teeth shed from the children, but I am not creepy so I won’t.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  I have made stealth missions under pillows to find the tooth in the porcelain holder.  I plan my missions with ease and expertise.  I begin planning as soon as the tooth becomes visibly loose.  I show many ways the tooth can be wiggled, prodded, twisted and pulled.  After all, the goal is to lose the tooth.  I patiently wait for the tooth to be placed under the pillow.  Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible has nothing on me.  I am ready.  Bring one the tooth!

I am the Tooth Fairy.  I have made mistakes.  Once, hunting for a particularly difficult tooth under a pillow in a bed surrounded by over fifty stuffed animals, I woke up the sleeping darling.  He looked at me and asked if it was morning yet.  I told him no, that I heard him coughing and I was checking on him.  The Tooth Fairy must think quickly on her feet.  Another disaster was when the sleeping angel woke up and asked me why I had the tooth holder in my hands.  I said I was checking to see if the Tooth Fairy had visited because I knew I would not be home to see if she came.  This answer was acceptable, and the little man drifted back to sleep.  As the Tooth Fairy, I am ready for anything.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  For some reason, my sidekick, The Captain, conveniently never has any cash on the precious Tooth Fairy visits.  “With great power, comes great responsibility.”  Being the Tooth Fairy carries a high threshold of organization and duty, and, obviously, The Captain cannot handle the extreme elements of the task.  For some unknown reason, he does not worry if the Tooth Fairy forgets.  This has happened on his watch and, in Tooth Fairy land, is unacceptable. On my watch it won’t ever occur again.  In retrospect, The Captain makes an awful Tooth Fairy.  He is fired from ever being the Tooth Fairy again.  He may have to do double duty as Santa next year.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  It is a hard job.  It is demanding, does not come with rewards or benefits.  But there is one thing it does – it keeps the belief alive.  So, I will stay the faithful Tooth Fairy until my services are no longer required.

After all, I am the Tooth Fairy.

A happy customer.

The Thinks You Can Think

This past weekend, The Captain and both of my dudes wrapped up a three-weekend run of the musical Seussical at our community theater.  In a word, it was “adorable.”  I really wanted to be clever and put a Seuss word in there, but, alas, none come to me.  Yet…

“I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful, one hundred percent.”  The musical is actually the story of Horton Hears a Who and Horton Hatches the Egg.  There are also references to The Lorax, The Grinch, Oh, The Places You’ll Go, The Cat in the Hat and Green Eggs and Ham.  The Cat is the “narrator” of the musical, and the characters are all the Seuss favorites.  In a word, it was “magical.”

Both of my dudes are in this photo.

My little guys were Whos.  They had to wear stuffed suits and wild wigs.  They were adorable.

String Bean had to hold the roast beast so the Grinch could carve it.  His face was priceless!  In a word, it was “precious.”

The Captain played one of the three monkeys who torment Horton.  His song was called, “Monkey Around” and the main lyric was, “You wanna monkey, monkey around?!”  Is it bad that I completely burst out laughing during this song?  Well, I did.  Thank goodness I was sitting by one of my friends, who also was laughing.  Not sure why this song would be included – adult humor?

A monkey…I am so proud.

It was pretty difficult keeping a straight face while my husband, in orange and white striped bib overalls, orange Chuck Taylor’s and an orange beanie is bouncing around the stage, like a monkey, asking the audience to “monkey around” with him.  So wrong on so many levels.  In a word, it was “goofy.”

“Don’t give up! I believe in you all. A person’s a person, no matter how small!”  The musical itself carries this message throughout, and it is one to always remember.  I don’t know how the good Dr. Seuss did it – but he made his work immortal. Move over vampires, read some Seuss.

I had the pleasure of getting to take pictures for the show, and that was a blast, but very challenging, too!  I hope I captured the heart of the show.  In a word, it was “memorable.”

So, here are some of my favorite “magical, precious, goofy and memorable” Seussisms:

“Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!”

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”

“From there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere!”

“I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny, but we can have lots of good fun that is funny.”

“Be who you are and say what you feel,
because those who mind don’t matter,
and those who matter don’t mind”

“Today is your day, your mountain is waiting. So get on your way.”

In a word, Seuss is “Seusstacular.”  And a happy belated birthday to Dr. Seuss.

Oh, the thinks you can think!

Life is Laughter and Rediscovering Erma Bombeck

My mom, Crazy Pat, has always really been into the Erma Bombeck books. She would buy the hardbacks, read them cover to cover, and then let me read them.  The two I most vividly remember are Family – The Ties That Bind…And Gag! and If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What am I Doing in the Pits?  It was 1987, and both of these books were keepers.

In 1987, I was 15.  It was a strange year.  I was a sophomore in high school in New Jersey. I had frizzy hair, the wrong clothes, braces and even a bionator – which is orthodontist speak for torture device – see my post on Teen Gooberville.  I worked at a doughnut shop in the mall where I had to wear a t-shirt that said “A Hole Like No Other.”  I. am. not. kidding.  (This shirt will have to be a topic for an entire other post).  😉

Every evening, no matter what, my mom could be found snuggled in on the sofa (or couch – whatever you want to call it depending on the region where you reside) reading Erma and laughing hysterically.  I had to read that book!

Looking back, after getting married, having children and dealing with progressive-like family dinners during any holiday, I decided that I needed to look at these books again, with a new perspective.

Here are some things I have rediscovered through Erma (all of her famous quips are in quotes):

Don’t deny yourself the little things.  “Just think of all those women on the Titanic who said, ‘No thank you’ to desert that night. And for what?!”

There are no instruction manuals on how to being a good parent.  “When a child is locked in the bathroom with water running and he says he’s doing nothing but the dog is barking, call 911. ”

Pets are important members of a family.  “Despite all the demands pets put on you, in the pecking order of a family, they are right near the top.” and “A dog will sit with you through the worst television show…and never once will he try to change the channel.”

Life may hand you lemons, and that is just life.  “There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.”

A clean house is for the birds.  “Housework can kill you if done right.” and “Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop-offs at tedium and counter productivity.” and “Housework, if it is done properly, can cause brain damage.”

Be a good listener.  “I love my mother for all the times she said absolutely nothing…Thinking back on it all, it must have been the most difficult part of mothering she ever had to do: knowing the outcome, yet feeling she had no right to keep me from charting my own path. I thank her for all her virtues, but mostly for never once having said, “I told you so.”

Having children can make one feel like a crazy psycho at times.  “Insanity is hereditary. You can catch it from your kids.”

Family is important.  “Families aren’t easy to join. They’re like an exclusive country club where membership makes impossible demands and the dues for an outsider are exorbitant.”

Justifying my kitchen prowess (or not so much of one).  “Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes.”

Recycle, reduce, reuse.  “I found a letter to my sister the other day that I had forgotten to mail. It just needed a little updating to send. After “The baby is…..” I crossed out “toilet trained” and wrote in “graduating from high school this month.”

Laughter is highly important.  “When humor goes, there goes civilization.” and “If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it.”  Amen, sister.

I wonder what Erma would think of blogging today.  Would she thoroughly enjoy the sharing of silly stories, life lessons and bittersweet sentiments?  Would she laugh at my doughnut shop uniform?  I think she would be pleased with this paradise of connecting through technology.  Thanks, Erma, for being the first to really write with flair, laughter and humbleness.  Glad I rediscovered you.

The original Crazy Pat hardbacks circa 1985 and 1987.

The Importance of Workout Buddies

BC, Before Children, I had a great workout buddy.  Her name was Mary Lynn aka Wild Blond.  She and I would walk daily in the spring, summer and fall, and workout indoors during the winter.  She was one who would be sitting in my driveway waiting for me so I couldn’t use any excuses not to go.  She would talk non-stop and sometimes we would even end the workout at the local pub for a beer, a light one of course.  She was the best workout buddy, and I was in the best shape of my life since graduating from high school.

When I met The Captain, he and I would workout together.  He liked going to the gym and on the treadmill.  When I would get him to walk outside with me, he insisted on bringing my hulking golden retriever, who enjoyed sitting periodically on the journey.  This did not make for a real walk, more of a start/stop, pull the dog sort of expedition.  Not quite the motivation of having Wild Blond honking in my driveway.

BC it was easy to find time to workout.  AC, After Children, not so much!

BC it was fun to go to new classes.  AC I am too tired.

BC I was vain and searching for a husband to have children with.  AC, well, yeah.

Sadly, I have not had a workout buddy since my youngest, Squishy, was born.  That was seven years ago.  I think I am in desperate need to get a workout buddy, but I don’t know where to find one because most of my friends have kids, activities and busy lives, too.

I have a friend who teaches workout classes.  She is a workout guru.  Recently, as in two summers ago, I attempted to have her as my workout buddy.  It didn’t go so well.  Instead of Wild Blond honking in the driveway, my workout goals were reduced to guilt.  I was afraid of not doing what I was supposed to do.  It was as if all of the family obligations were overtaking me, and I felt bad about not being able to make a good effort at the gym.  So, I ended the workout buddy relationship, and we are better friends today without it.

The Captain and I were chatting in the kitchen and I was explaining my workout buddy woes.  I asked him to teach me how to run.  I have this fantasy of doing the Princess Half Marathon at Disney, mainly because I want a bag of goodies, cute t-shirt, character autographs and a crown.  Disney, ah.

“I want to learn how to run.  You are a runner, can you teach me?”

“There is no way to teach someone to run,” The Captain replied, already appearing as if this conversation was one he wished to avoid.

“You run.  Who taught you to run?”  I wasn’t letting this go.  No way.

“I am not sure why we are even talking about this.  You have had a gym membership for three years and you have only gone three times.  Maybe you should just go to the gym,” he said, and then picked something invisible off of the floor.

My eyes glazed over, red as the gates of Hell.  My lips quivered, like the impact of a tornado.  My body shook, with the strength of a nuclear bomb.  The wrath was coming.

“Wow.  Really?  When am I going to pencil that in between working, your rehearsals, running kids, helping with their homework, grading papers?”

“You forgot about sitting at your computer for hours,” he mumbled as he went to take out the garbage.  Exit The Captain.  Obviously this was the end of the discussion.

Grrr.  So, I am now reevaluating.  To The Captain’s sheer excitement, I dragged him to the running store and, with his superior running guidance, bought new running shoes.  Now, I just need to find some poor sap who wants to be my workout buddy and make it happen.  Maybe I will increase my gym attendance to double digits.  Maybe…

Anyone want to be my oh-so important workout buddy?  Honking in the driveway is a must.

My new kicks. Time to get going!