After a short hiatus (weeks. ok, months) from the gym I decided to give it another go last night since my fat clothes are getting an eensy bit snugly and we have recently moved into house that is 1 block from my local rec center. Rushing the kids into a bath I threw on my old trusty workout ensemble that is hideously tight and beyond unattractive in any language, snatched my iphone away from my husband and jumped into the truck before I had time to chicken out. Yes, I drove the 500 feet to the workout room; creepy people hide in the shadows thank you very much. Here's how it all went down ....
- Jumped out of the truck with purpose, tied unruly natty hair into bun, sauntered into the gym.
- Put my John Hancock on the Sign-In sheet, attendant mentions she hasn't seen me in a while and has the audacity to ask how I've been. the nerve
- Walk into the exercise room like I own the joint and then quickly reminded that whomever set up the treadmills so that your big ole arse faces the parking lot/entire world must be skinny sadists and should be fired.
- The room is empty (thank God) so I pick the treadmill closest to the wall as to not be seen by another local I may possibly see again during the light of day, plugged in some tunes and started walking.
- In between my huffing and puffing during the warm-up cycle (smirk and you die) the darn thing starts blinking my weight in bright red numbers! What in the Hell kind of torture contraption is this? Look - my pants are leaving an indention on my waistline, I look like I have on a shirt from my 9 yr. old and the friction that is coming from my thighs rubbing together could light up the whole damn town. Do I really need to know what my weight is?! I think not. Hey Nordic Track - let's do away with the weight indicator and instead display You are a stone cold fox. Make it happen people.
So there I am about 15 minutes into my little workout which started off pretty calm and almost/barely enjoyable until some random fella from the weight room decided to join me on the treadmills, and by joining me I am telling you he got on the one facing me I'm assuming so we could "get some chemistry going" over my wobbly bits and the uni-boob action I had going on. Oh, I could've had him with all the crazy-sweaty-sexy vibe radiating off me if I was into that kind of thing .... dating my grandfather .... but it royally ticked me off. There we were amongst a plethora of equipment that was totally available for someone to use NOT facing me and here this joker comes in and makes it so I have to step-up my game. Not pass out on the 4.9 incline and supersonic speed I set. Stare up at the ceiling pumping my fists to 50 Cent and not fall breaking a hip. Pretend that I don't want to die after only 20 minutes.
By the grace of God I survived for 35 minutes with my pride relatively intact and without a Same Time - Same Place nod from Old Man River. Also a huge shout out to my husband for eating the remaining 3.2 cookies while I was out therefore dashing any possibility of me consuming them upon my return which would have undoubtedly happened. Tonight all I need to do is plug in some more funky beats, squeeze into my ravishing walking gear and run out of the door while I am still motivated. All of this of course depends on me being able to walk up the 2 flights of stairs to reach my front door. So, if you see me sitting in my driveway tomorrow morning in the same clothes I have on today you will know there was not a repeat performance on the treadmill or I had a late night at the V.F.W with gramps.
If I had to guess I probably tell my kids on average of 1,000 times a day to not be concerned with what someone else is doing or has and instead they should just worry about themselves. Sadly I cannot stick to my own advice. What is the saying? "Those who cannot live by their own advice, tell others what they should or should not be doing because they know everything and everyone should listen to them." Something along those lines.
To be honest I worry way too much about what other people have and nowhere near enough time on what I should be doing to change circumstances in my life. Just the other day I finally watched the 2005 Commencement Speech given by Steve Jobs on youtube and it totally reminded me how ridiculous I am. Steve was talking about how each morning he wakes up, looks into his mirror and asks himself if he is excited about what he will be doing that day. If the answer is NO several days in a row, then he knows the time has come to make a change in his life and he does it. I on the other hand begin my mornings by looking into the mirror and become immediatley annoyed that once again my prayers of waking up looking like Minka Kelly have gone unanswered. For the love of Tim Riggins! It's not like I place that eensy weensy prayer request before all the important ones like God blessing all the little children in the world, keeping them safe and watching over my family; I'd consider it to be more like a closing statement. Dear Lord, thank you for blah blah blah, watch over the children blah blah, keep them safe from blah blah blah, make my kids listen to me and let me look like Minka when I wake up. Amen. Goodness how I would love to be a "The glass is half full" kinda gal but alas it is not meant to be. I would say I am more of a "Her glass is prettier than mine and I want it" girl. Horrible.
Sitting here thinking of all the bad things I have done and will do in my lifetime, I've come to grips with the fact it is my complaining thats gonna keep me out of those pearly gates of heaven. I just know it. And the worst part is I really do not have anything to complain about! Honestly I would have to say there are a great number of checks during the first 37 years of my life. Born into a loving family, healthy, got the Holly Hobby with the yellow banana seat, got the Outback Red outfit I wanted for my 15th birthday, was accepted and attended my dream college, moved to the beach like I wanted, married the boy I wanted (other than Brad Pitt), had the 2 kids, have great friends that make me laugh, has a closet full of elastic pants and Mom jeans ..... check, check, check and a check. And STILL I'll sit here complaining about my glass that is only half full and has a smudge on it.
What I need is a good dose of zest, gusto, ambition, passion! Now that would be a good cocktail.
I was going to begin my blog this morning with a list of pros's and con's about my husband but thought it could get a little dicey so I'll just skip to the #1 thing that absolutely pisses me off more than anything else in this entire world.
~ Having to ask my husband to help me do something concerning our children.
It's not that he minds helping, that he intentionally tries not to, or doesn't want to help. Actually it's quite the opposite. Trey is a great dad, loves his kids and is the first to jump in and get the crew moving .... but you have to ask. And people, it is the need to ask part that sends me directly into witch overload.
As an example, this morning I overslept and woke up a few minutes after 6 am instead of our normal 5:55 am wake up time. Kids are still snuggled in their beds and my husband is on the back porch reading the news on my iphone (that is a whole other issue) smoking. There he sits undisturbed, chilling out before he has to get ready and leave the house by 6:30, which leaves me alone to wrestle our brood through the morning ritual and out the door with lunches and bookbags packed. Of course I jump up when I notice the time and race to the porch to ask for assistance with getting the kids up and served breakfast while I barely have time to shower (another day of not shaving my legs) and scurry around making lunches and getting myself dressed. What infuriates me is that in his hands rests the darn phone that, sur-freaking-prise, shows the TIME!! Dear Sweet Baby Jesus in Heaven ... why why why why why doesn't he notice that it is past 6 am and take a brief moment to wake up the kids, instead of me screeching like a banshee at him from across the house? I used to think that nirvana was recreating the love scene in Legends of the Fall with Brad Pitt but now I would gladly take waking up and finding my children dressed and eating breakfast without any of my assistance.
On another note, Annie my sweetcakes 5 year old is becoming quite the little troublemaker in her kindergarten class. Mind you we haven't even completed 1 month of school and Annie's "green lights" are coming home with strikes and notes that simply say, Will Not Stop Talking, Will Not Participate, Does Not Listen. When asked to explain why she is not behaving in class, her answers are very short and delivered with a little eye-rolling, hands waving, hip holding, sassy explanation. Oh, and don't let me forget the bright red light she received earlier in the week for flat out not participating in music class and then proceeded to pick the paint off the classroom wall while she was standing in the corner, supposedly to think about her bad behavior. Awesome.
Mixed in this craziness is Carl who loves his 4th grade teacher but not the homework and it's practically pulling teeth to have him complete it. (he doesn't even know the meaning of homework yet) And then there is me who is alone after 9:30 pm since my husband gets up at the crack of dawn for work; eating and pathetically watching episode after episode of Friday Night Lights. Which is my new obsession and I am totally in lust with Tim Riggins who is a character on the show, and is not even a real person because he is an actor who plays a character on a television show, where everyone is an actor with a script and none of these people really exist.
I hope he calls me.
http://youtu.be/-BrDlrytgm8
About a month ago I was happily reading the online version of The Daily Mail which is nothing more than the UK's version of US Magazine; when I stumbled upon an article about this amazing short independent film, that has totally wrecked my life. It featured these 3 guys who are filmmakers and artists that spent a month and a half traveling around 11 countries filming this fellow named Rick walking towards the camera, and compounded all the places they visited into a one minute masterpiece. It is incredible! Here is this guy walking while the venues change around him, some of which I visited during a trip to Europe with my high school language arts class. That film is my new drug and I cannot stop watching it. Later that day as soon as I walked into my house I showed it to Carl and we began to make plans to make our own version, setting out for an adventure as soon as possible. The problem is, I don't know where to start.
I'm not quite sure why that one thing struck a chord so deep down in my soul but it has and I've been obsessively compiling a "bucket list" of things I want see, eat, hear, learn and experience since. Some are obtainable, others I'm not sure will ever be but by God I want to try. For years I have been stuffing little nuggets of "one day I will do's" into my back pocket for safe keeping, but after watching that short film I am just chomping at the bit to lace up my boots and get my Indiana Jones on.
Taped to my bedroom wall is a large sheet of paper I borrowed from Annie's easel that I have begun writing all of my wants into 3 columns of Before December 31 , Before I'm 40 and Before I'm dead. Naturally all the big ticket items are in the "dead" column with the sincere hope that I can afford to make these dreams a reality, since it gives me additional time to save up the money. Of course in a pinch I can always remarry someone with the extra cash flow if I'm getting down to the wire. Honestly it has helped me to remember some things that seemed so significant at one time in my life, it makes me laugh to think how easily I had forgotten all about them.
Will I realize all of my desires and create my own 1 minute video of my amazing journey? Probably not. But boy will I be livid if I die before I achieve at least half of them.
Here are a few of mine:
Before December 31, 2011
Be able to put on, button up and breathe in my wedding dress.
Develop all random film canisters and place pictures into an album.
Learn how to start a fire with a flint rock and 2 sticks, pitch a tent by myself.
Spend the night fishing on the pier.
Start playing the piano again.
Learn how to make my Grandmother's green pepper jelly.
Sending friends and family postcards just to say hello.
Go oyster and clam digging with my kids.
Tie a cherry stem with my tongue.
Before I'm 40
Learn how to play the drums.
Become a certified lifeguard.
See the Cherry Blossom Festival in D.C. and the Rockettes in at Radio City Music Hall.
Help my kids build a treehouse.
Be able to communicate in Spanish and French.
Ride a horse along the shore.
Walk through an Indiana cornfield.
Before I Die
Drive across the U.S. in an old Jeep Wrangler, jeans and a white tank top.
Backpack in Europe with my kids.
Sail to Key West with my family.
Work on a vineyard, be an assistant to a glass blower, learn to dance the Tango.
See the sun rise and set over the Pacific, Arctic and Indian Oceans.
Watch my children get their college diplomas.
Visit Australia and pet a wallaby.
Learn to crack a whip like Indiana Jones.
This morning I dropped my baby off at the front door of his school per his request for the first day of his 4th grade career. How can this possibly be when his father and I were just standing in the discharge room of the hospital with our newborn, trying to figure out the rocket scientist designed car seat we forgot to assemble just yesterday?
Earlier in the week a friend of mine posted on her Facebook page that she corrects her children when they correctly pronounce blueberries instead of bluebabbies, and all those other sweet little nuggets of "baby English" every parent adores. Packed away in my attic are baby books and calendars I spent countless hours detailing every time Carl sneezed, drooled, rolled over or breathed; where are those now? That post from my friend reminded me of Carl saying lasterday instead of yesterday and when he used to call Halloween, Forever Halloween, and how I actually threatened to kill Trey if he even thought about correcting him. Those sweet, precious words. Lasterday and Forever Halloween were my trinkets of pure joy, sprinkled with that dear sweet melody that makes your heart swell; something that can only come from the sound of your child's voice.
Weren't there others? What was that darling phrase Carl used to say when he held my face in his yummy little hands, while looking at me with those chocolate brown eyes; a mirror of my own. How could I have forgotten when at that moment I was positive that treasure was imprinted on my heart and stored in my mind forever? And here I sit in a panic trying to recall what he wore that first day of Kindergarten and in what drawer I've filed his picture along with countless others I promised myself to place in a photo album. Did I remember to pack away that outfit along with those embarrassing baby pictures to pull out during the first time Carl brings home a "girl friend"? You know, the pictures only a parents can appreciate those cherished memories associated with the one at 2 years old in just a diaper, cowboy hat and boots holding a sticky Popsicle? Please Lord tell me I'll uncover them again one day.
I didn't sleep much last night; instead spending my time in the doorway of Carl's room watching him in a peaceful slumber with his long tan limbs reaching the end of his bed. Clutched to his side was Teddy his faithful bear and on the floor beside him was the shirt and shorts he set aside for today, his first day of 4th Grade. And as I leaned against the door glancing at the pictures, school projects, graded papers and sport trophy's that line the walls catching moonbeams peering in from the curtains I hear myself saying, "Slow down Father Time, stop running in these hallways. Let me keep my baby like this just a moment more".
1st day of 4th Grade
2 Years Old
Just this past Saturday I had a rare treat of going home and spending the night with my parents without the kids and my husband. It's so easy to forget how much you really don't speak to one another when the whole family is visiting with kids running around, bedtimes to prepare for and just the normal interruptions that come along with accommodating several people and their schedules. Although I really enjoyed driving around my hometown and taking advantage of some alone time with my parents, I must admit it takes me about a week to get over those visits. I am neurotic by nature; I mean super-de-duper over the top analyze every single little thing bananas, and this process begins the second I step into the driver's seat for the 2 hour drive back to my home. My radio volume barely rises above level 2 and I will spend that entire time driving along a dark HWY 87 thinking of all that was said, and not. All that's left unsaid should truly be my motto because I feel that is pretty much an overview of how I view my life.
I have the most amazing parents in the world but maybe it is all those glances/inquiries/suggestions/hints of disappointment/concern/discussions (lecture) and constant "you should consider's" that put me over the edge. Out of all the wonderful things I have accomplished and seen in my life I am still plagued by the What If's, the Un's and Should Have's. Whoever said "everything happens for a reason" is a jackass and I for one am sick to death of hearing that quote as an answer to any episode in your life that you just can't get your mind around. Whether or not it is true, I don't want to hear anyone say that unless you know the darn "reason" and will share that with me, because I will stay up for the rest of the night and the next night and the next trying to figure out just what that reason is. My mother simply saying "Maybe you should have waited a year before starting college; do you think that things would have ....." catapults me into Analyze My Life world, where I have a nice little comfy spot just waiting for me. Don't they know by now you can't plant a little seed of doubt about my life decisions and then just walk away! Seriously people have mercy!
All those things left unsaid to people in my life, plans unfinished, amazing places unseen, words unheard. If only I had stayed in one town, taken another route, asked a different question, given another answer. All the things I should have tried, people I should have been kinder too, places I should have stayed away from. How different would my life be now? Better? Worse? The same but with different looking characters? I envy those that just take life as it comes without question or doubt. Me, I'll just sit and think about that for a very long while.
My mother has been slowly going through her attic and the closets of my old room so usually each time I see her she has another box of my mementos for me; basically this breaks down to a box filled with every scrap of my life pre 1992. From these goodies I would consider myself a dedicated packrat / borderline hoarder of the past. Most things are the typical movie ticket stubs, newspaper articles, Candy-Gram notes, game tickets, programs, matchbooks, every card I have ever received and restaurant menus with some painful old love notes (cringe) thrown in. It brings back fond times while I pour over all the little ditties I painstakingly packed away so in the future I would remember every sublime moment in my life. Sadly my memory isn't what it once was and this is not the case, but are you really supposed to cherish that menu from Annabelle's 20 years later? Well, maybe that one.
I admit that showing Annie my old Homecoming ribbons brings a smile to my face but it quickly turns upside down when I get to the pictures. When did I get so old and wasn't I turning 18 just the other day? Mixed in the muck of my teen years is a framed photograph of me taken in my high school breezeway; probably given to an old boyfriend I undoubtedly pestered to death until he dumped me along with a box of my crazy tokens of love on my front stoop. Though I can't blame the poor fella I wish he would have just thrown that picture away because it is haunting me and keeping me up at night. There she sits on my dresser giving me the evil eye with a pestering what in the hell happened and those pants don't look like the size 6 I saw you in last. Topping off the dreaded back in the day picture Carl comments how pretty I looked with Annie chiming in with a you sure don't look like that now. Seriously ... the girl must not want to be fed anymore.
It's not that I really expect to be the same size as I was when I was 18 because I don't, but jeez how did I get to be so lazy? L-A-Z-Y. I went from playing tennis for hours, swimming, running, band and drill team practice in the freaking heat to getting up off a couch to fill my red plastic cup with Natural Light from someone's keg and basically nothing else. That was the beginning of the end. I should have hitchhiked across the country like I planned right after high school. Now I am a pile of slouchy, squishy, eating off the kid's plates, caffeine addicted, potty mouth, nose wrinkling, granny panties, whiny, blob-meister, can I please just get a pill for that ... mess with a capital M. Damn that picture! That girl is sitting her skinny self on my shoulder badgering me every time I sit on the couch to watch old episodes of Grey's Anatomy again instead of riding my bike to the beach. Good God she drives me nuts, no wonder the poor guy dropped her like a hot potato! I want all the rewards and results of just good ol basic hardwork and exercise without actually having to lift a finger or leg or squat or sweat. You know?
This latest neurotic installment stems from visits with old friends that I have not seen in a long time; as in since my glory days. Who doesn't want to look their best which is code for looking exactly the freaking same as you did a decade ago. I know I do. But for the life of me all the energy I put into complaining about my current status not one ounce do I save to walk my sloth self down the stairs and onto the treadmill that lives barely 30 feet away. Isn't that horrible? My house is than 1 mile to the beach but rather than slip on the tennies for a quick stroll, I browse the web for a pill I could buy that miraculously zaps the fat off your ass and hopefully won't kill you in the process. What good is it to have a great bum if its face down in your coffin? Thinking of all the money I have spent on workout videos makes me hungry for a HoHo and what good are they anyway unless Julian Michaels is going to jump out of the screen and pull me off that chair. Lazy Mazy .. that's who I am. Honestly if I thought drinking a gallon of honey infused with cayenne pepper or whatever it is Beyonce drinks, would make every man look at Trey and think how in the hell did he score her? and every woman green with envy I would drink it. Every. Single. Day.
In a month I'm going to Hot-Lanta to visit another blast from the past pal and besides typing my post, I have spent the day looking on the Internet for ways to lose a couple million pounds in 80 days. There was an interesting video I tried to watch also but really couldn't hear anything over the crunch of my chips. Looks like I'll be wearing black. Lots and lots of black. And Spanx.
