I’m sick. Despite trying to convince myself all day that I’m really fine, the cold hath descended and I’m miserable. I’d be asleep now except I CAN’T BREATHE. Commence the pity party?
So… no post today. Not that I think I’m the center of anyone’s universe here but misery loves sympathy;) And also, if you’ve got any suggestions for how to clear out massive amounts of snot stuck in my sinuses – without using amphetamines (like ephedrine) since they make me super anxious – I’m all ears! I’ve already tried (and struck out with) the Neti pot, a hot shower, Emergen-C, vapo-rub and reflexology. Yes, I’m serious: I actually tried rubbing my own feet so get my snot to go away. It didn’t work. But that’s how desperate I am!
My Karate Kid: Out of all my children, this is the one that laughs the most. He’s also the one that cries the most. I understand that.
Tiny arms moving gracelessly through his first form, face a mask of concentration and trepidation, tongue poking out between his teeth, just like his mom; I watched the teacher watching him, trying to take the mother out of my eyes and failing. “I hate karate,” he had said as we walked into class. My heart was tight in my chest for him. It’s hard to be new. It’s hard to be unsure. It’s hard to be little. But most of all it’s hard to want nothing more than to be a great Karate master and have your limbs continuously betray you.
The Sensei paused in front of him – it felt like eons before he nodded, his twinkling eyes belying his strict mouth – and said, “You did well.”
Even though I was pretending to read my book, the 5-year-old drama eclipsed the one in the paperback and I watched my son’s small chest puff up in pride. The tightness in mine loosened. But then I saw it spark in my son’s eyes and I knew what he was going to say before the impish words left his mouth. “No I didn’t.”
Birthdays are supposed to be festive affairs and so when Son #3 recently had one we decided to party it up by going to a local Italian all-you-can-eat buffet. It was insanely delicious and we all had a great time. Until. On the way out my son looked up at me with glowing eyes and said, “Mom you got me the bestest birthday present ever!”
“Oh you’re welcome sweetie,” I cooed, thinking that he was talking about the sweet race track we got him (which he demolished the next day with a screwdriver to “make it work better” making me wonder why I even bother with real toys instead of just taking them to a junk yard and letting them go nuts).
But no. He had something else in mind. He reached his tiny hand up and patted my stomach and said, “You got me a new baby! I always wanted another brother!” At least Jelly Bean had the decency to look offended. Although that might have been because he kinda just dissed her. (He’s still not over being de-throned.)
This doesn’t look very, um, relaxing. Also, he’s wearing “jorts” and a mesh tank – officially the worst masseuse outfit ever.
I fell asleep on the toilet. Yes, today. I’m pretty sure I haven’t done that since I was potty training. Other places I fell asleep today: in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, in my car before preschool pickup, right before dinner, during dinner and right after dinner. Oh and sitting in front of my laptop, working. That last one was like ten minutes ago. So what’s up with my sudden narcolepsy?
I’m pretty sure it was the massage I got earlier today. Yeah that thing people do to relax and rejuvenate themselves? Knocked me out colder than Kanye at a press conference.
I would not find this massage at all relaxing. Not at all.
It started with a good friend (who’s excellent, by the way, and I totally recommend her to any locals!) starting a massage business at home and offering an awesome introduction rate. Despite the fact that I’ve only ever had one real massage before and it was a super awkward experience, I decided that this would be the best way to celebrate my new-found preschool-provided freedom (and also to work out the kinks in my shoulders and back from the eleventy million push-ups T25 has us doing).
Today this happened:
Yep. Jelly Bean started preschool! After 12 years of waiting for the day when I’d have a consistent block of time to myself you’d think that I’d be thrilled. And I am. I’m so thrilled I sobbed in my car for 20 minutes after she trotted blithely into her classroom with nary a backward glance. Truly I did not expect to feel this way. It’s like the end of an era. I’m no longer a “young mother” in the baby years – a fact driven home to me as I chatted with a new mom whose oldest is the same age as my youngest when she said, “It’s so nice to connect with other young moms [long pause] … and you!” Then she added that she likes me because I remind her of her mom. Which, for the record, I am totally not old enough to be. I would have had to birth her at age 9 and as all long-time readers of this blog know (thanks to my chronic oversharing) I did not begin menstruating until 16. So take that young-but-bad-at-math mom! Oy.
“Note to Mothers: Play safe with your young ones – make sure they get sugar every day.” Egads… P.S. I want to watusi too!!
The next time you’re tempted to mindlessly eat handfuls of chocolate chips or order the extra large soda with dinner or drink syrup straight from the bottle (which… I can’t really judge you for because real maple syrup is delightful), instead science wants you to think about making baby-nuggets with your cousin. Because nothing will pull you out of a junk food binge like imagining sexy times with the kid with whom you not only share grandpa’s nose but also shared the Summer of Boogers.
In what has got to be the best quote by a researcher ever, Dr. Wayne Potts, a biology professor and senior author of a new study about the effects of the “recommended amount” of sugar on mice, opined, “Would you rather be on the American diet … or have parents be full cousins?” In case you aren’t already totally squicked out, he added, “This data is telling us it’s a toss up.”
Forget night swimming REM, night running has always been my favorite nocturnal sport. There’s just something about running through an unlit night, the inky blackness completely obliterating my body until I feel incorporeal. Dispossessed. Airborne. In the sense of flying, yes, but also that I feel born of air. I’m elegant in ways that I never can be in daylight. I’m light and quick through the dark, a sure-footed sprite.
That is until I trip over a tree root and face plant.
Oh and did I mention that I like to do my night running set to Orff’s “Carmina Burana” or Edvard Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite? (Lie: It’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King”. Of course it is.) Very very loudly. And with no reflective gear, save the glow of my pale legs? And preferably in the mountains or the forest? It’s the closest I get to real magic.
It’s probably also the closest I get to really putting myself in danger too which is why I’ve not done it in years. And that’s a travesty because I used to love it.
Mika Brzezinski did something very brave today. The MSNBC anchor took a picture of her scale and posted her weight – 135.9 – on Twitter. Caption: “My weight. One year ago today I was 118 and felt fat. I feel good about this actually ..#obsessed pic.twitter.com/fHx2mhM0BW” While I don’t normally advocate the sharing of weights in any forum other than a birthing room (and even then, only the baby’s!), this is a really big deal for her. For any of you who don’t know her story, she’s publicly battled eating disorders and has written extensively about her struggle with body dysmorphia, self image and depression – particularly poignant as she’s a public figure whose job arguably relies on her looks. In case you didn’t catch that, girlfriend gained 18 pounds and she feels better about herself now than when she was closer to the “ideal.” (Heavy on the air quotes, there.)
Well, Mika and I have something in common beyond the fact that we both wrote books about our struggles with exercise addiction that should be stocked in the “overshare” section of the bookstore. (What, that’s not a real classification? It should be!) I too have gained 18 pounds over the past year-ish.
Truth: I will watch ANY show with dancing in it. I don’t care how spurious the plot, how pedantic the dialog, how vacuous the characters. I love watching people dance. And these girls are aMAYzing ballet dancers.
The ballerinas started it. There I was watching my guilty pleasure Breaking Pointe – it’s basically the Real Housewives of Ballet West and not at all like Breaking Bad (I swear I only watch it for the dancing…) – when this conversation happened:
[Two teeeeny ballerinas kneeling side by side on yoga mats and doing random arm exercises with 5-lb weights and talking]
Allison: Everyone tells me I have amazing arms. And people are like “Oh your arms look so nice, do you go to the gym?”
Beckanne (yes, that’s her real name. I think her mother must have been really fond of chicken calls): Oh yes! I say I just started and…
Allison: NO! No. You say “no”!
Allison: No you say, “I don’t work out, this is all natural.”
Beckanne [gesturing to her lithe body]: Well this is all natural!