clickmom

sleep dancing

The reality of my life is that I am one of those people who really does enjoy going to the gym. I love it. I love listening to music, working up a sweat, stretching, and even lifting the weights. I find the whole process from start to finish completely enjoyable and the after effects even more pleasurable. There is some thing I would like to do at the gym every day of the week, but mostly I don't get to go as often as I would like. Last week I managed to squeeze in a lot of gym. On Wednesday I did a spin class, lifted weights and then went back later for a good pilates stretch. On Thursday I ran at the track. On Friday I did a killer spin class with the one spin teacher who does about 85% of the class standing on the pedals while climbing hills and "running" to boot. Saturday I did Bubbles' 7am spin class and more weights. You can imagine that Saturday night I was in less than fine shape. I was beat. Exhausted is more accurate. By 9:30 I declared my intentions to go to sleep to the family, slid into position under the covers and instantly drifted off into a deep solid slumber. Then Evan decided that he needed me to accompany him to bed. He came into my room, and shook me. I recall my eyes rolling forward, barely focusing on his face, and then my eyes rolling back into my head. He waited and repeated the incredibly annoying shaking procedure 2 more times. On the third shake I mumbled something that even in my semi-consciousness I recognized as incoherent, rolled away from Evan and resumed slumber. Evan figured I was as useless as I appeared and called upon his father to perform the nightly ritual tuck-in.

The next day we were sitting around the dinner table when Evan looked at me and said "Your legs were having violent spasms last night" then he did an imitation of a spasming me which very much resembled the devil dog "running" in her sleep minus the little yipping sounds that I find so completely endearing. It with was an odd combination of embarrassment (I sleep like a dog) and pride (I have the answer to that!) that I then asked him "Do you know what that is?" I took a deep smug knowledgeable breath, assumed the stance of a learned professor and prepared to illustrate just how our nervous system sends out electrical impulses while we sleep when Evan interrupted me with a wave of his hand and answered "Yeah, I know, you were doing the worm."

I RAN 3 MILES TODAY!!

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I ran 3 miles today? I figured out how to use my heart rate monitor and saw that I naturally kept my heart rate right around 140. Above 140 makes me feel a little panicky. It is out of my comfort zone. I suspect that I go above 140 during spin class, when I don't have to support my whole self, so I am going to put that theory to test tomorrow morning. Then after the spin heart rate challenge some of my babes are dropping by with their kids for breakfast. It's going to be a great day. Today I forgot to pick up an entire winters worth of dog poo in the back yard. Whoops.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I ran 3 miles today? All day long I keep wondering why my legs are so tired and then I remembered, oh yeah, I ran 3 miles today. I really love having Bubbles by my side, I know I would have never have come this far without her there. For example, today I got a little discomfort in my right hip after about 3/4 of the run. If I were alone I would have had this internal dialogue with myself where I warn myself about pushing too hard, mention how overweight I am, and ultimately decide to stop running because I don't want to hurt myself. But Bubbles was there, so I said "My right hip feels weird" and she asked me if I thought I was running crooked. I reminded her that my back is twisted and I am crooked always. Then I recognized that the right hip is the hip that is lower and pushed back, so I tried to tighten my muscles and hold that hip high and it worked! I had to really concentrate, but I could hold that side tight and I felt fine. All the while completing my 3 mile run. Remember when I planned on running 3 miles last summer and I didn't do it? I downloaded all this stuff of the internet, had the husband print it out at work, bring it to utopia and did the plan for exactly one day. Yup, I lasted one day. Heck, I was on the crew team in college and managed to weasel out on all the running. I can't believe that at 42 I can run 3 miles for the first time in my life.

Hey, did I mention that I ran 3 miles today! Now I am committed to doing a 5k run on Mother's Day. There is only one thing. It's a kind of big thing. I run slower than I can walk. Significantly slower. As a matter of fact when I mentioned this little tid bit of humiliation to the chiro he said he was going to get me and grandma in the parking lot for a race. I laughed right along with him, but seriously, she might take me down, cane and all, so I am not going to do it. I am pretty sure this turtle running phenomena has something to do with my stride, which is long when walking and short when running. I suppose I have a month to lengthen that out, at least until I can run as fast as I can walk. I did the 5k part of the run (walk) in 42 minutes at the triathlon this year. It takes me (I can't believe I am admitting this) about 10 minutes longer to run that. I actually walked for 1/2 a mile today, one 1/4 walk in the middle and one at the end as a cool down, so I am not sure how long the actual running section took, but I know it was longer than I'd like it to be. So, a new goal for me, I need to get the lead out.

gloves not drugs

When it was determined by my CRAZY family that I was indeed going through with the whole moving grandma near me thing, they called the building where grandma lived in her little dirty hot rent stabilized apartment and asked if they would offer up a little cash incentive to get her out of the apartment. It is pretty common for big landlords in NYC to give a little money to long term residents to encourage them to get out since the landlord can then refinish the wood floors, install a new kitchen and quadruple the rent. This landlord wasn't willing to play ball. Then the scum-cle informed them that he was thinking of subletting the apartment for the next two years, as is legally allowed, and the landlord retorted with "We won't approve your tenants. Nyah nyah nyah" Needless to say, the landlord was pissed. It was obvious that it was grandma's time to go, they had seen her leave by ambulance enough that they were probably shocked we took as long as we did to move her. (haha, did you see that I said "we"?)

In the mean time, there are still a few things that need to be cleaned out of grandma's place, and I have been putting off doing that. The scum-cle was in her neighborhood and decided to go over there and catalog what was left, in case there was anything of monetary or sentimental value he hadn't already stolen from her. The doormen told him they had been given orders by the management not to let any family in. The scum-cle pushed his way past them and went up stairs. A few minutes later the police showed up and made him leave. Hahaha. He didn't have time to sift thru her things!

The next day the management called me, and in attempt to avoid a law suit, they explained that by calling the cops on my 72 old mild mannered professor uncle, (I find his tweed jackets with the elbow patches to be very intimidating myself) they were merely attempting to protect their long time resident, my defenseless sweet old grandma, and that despite the release form she had registered with the main office allowing my scum-cle, mother and myself in to her apartment, they just didn't know if they should allow any family in. They also mentioned that the scum-cle was "hostile" towards the police man, and well, I'm thinking that at least he and I do have one thing besides DNA in common. I told them they could have their (stinky) apartment back as soon as we finished taking grandma's belongings, and that now that the scum-cle hadn't been able to help, our efforts might be greatly diminished. They asked me to have grandma write a letter allowing us in (cover your asses people!) and to fax it over before we come again. Now, I have to do this, which would be fine, if I didn't feel like I was the one who was being punished for my father's and scum-cle's lame and useless attempt at apartment extortion.

So, I was pissed. And I forgot to wake up early on Tuesday and call the posh gym for a spin seat, so I was pissed and spin seatless with my favorite instructor on Wednesday. Since spin was a wash out, I stopped by The OFH on my way to the gym to get grandma to write that letter. Josh insisted we stay for breakfast. It took forever. It was encroaching on my exercise time. I planned on doing some sort of cardio machine before weights with Bubbles, and was hoping to get at least 40 minutes in. Time was ticking away. TICK TICK TICK EAT YOUR PANCAKES!! By the time I got to the posh gym, got Josh signed into the kids room, and made my way down to the fitness area, I had only about 15 minutes of cardio time. Don't you know that people were on my favorite eliptical machines? I couldn't believe it. The ultimate slap in the face. Don't those people know I need my regular machines? I had to get on an unfamiliar machine, and that was more than I thought I could handle, but I did it anyway. Those machines are so state of the art that I can't figure out their computers, but somehow I managed to program in an interval program (which is what I wanted) for 60 minutes (which I was never going to get) I started pumping and all the pissy pissed off adrenaline from the last couple of weeks started to take over my legs. I pumped and pumped and raised the resistance, and pumped some more. When Bubbles found me a few minutes later, frantically pumping away, she thought I might have been on the machine for the 56 minutes that it showed. "No, I told her, that is what is left of the hour it is programmed to. I'm so pissed I could do it though, and never even slow down." Then I pumped pumped pumped mentioned how pissed I was. Pump pump pump. I told her that the scum-cle pump pump was making all this work for me pump pump and that pump my Dad had helped pump this time pump pump and that they pump pump wouldn't stop calling pump me, and they were pump driving pump me pump cra-pump-zy. But I am sure that back in the gym I used the word "pissed" at least 7 times in there. Bubbles watched me frantically trying to pump my way into taking flight, cocked her head in a thoughtful position and said "I'll be right back" She came back a few minutes later with the best thing I have ever seen in that gym. Boxing gloves. I was like, yeah baby, you got my number! I dismounted the eliptical and followed Bubbles into an empty squash court. I put on the gloves and let loose on those little square red pads she had strapped onto herself. The squares were scum-cle, mommy dearest, and dear old dad. They were the management company that is yanking my chain, the lady on the phone who pretended to care about grandma, the doorman that didn't just look the other way, and even the bitch in the Lexus that stole my parking spot. I was out for blood, and swinging as hard and fast as I could. (While keeping my good posture, tight core, and proper arm position of course) Sweat was running out of my hair as I jabbed and hooked and straight punched out some serious pent up frustration. It was sooo good. I was spent. I sit here, a day later, jumping with fear of family each time the phone rings, yet with a warm cozy feeling deep down inside tinged with longing, yearning, and desire for the gloves. I think me and the gloves might have a beautiful future together.

P.S. That was yesterday. Today I ran 2 1/4 miles and walked 1.

run baby run

Today's run: 2 miles!! I spent the whole last day and a half with my fingers crossed that the forecasted rain would hold off until after my run with Bubbles today. Fortunately things looked good for us and I met her at the track right on time. She told me our 12 laps/3 miles would go like this today: walk one-run one-walk one-run two-walk one-run two-walk one-run one-walk one-run one. This has me doing 1 3/4 mile of running (in case you are keeping track) which is 1/4 mile more of the running than I did last week. The goal is to increase 1/4 mile each week. Which was fine with me, but honestly, I can barely keep track of twelve boring all the same laps, let alone this kind of convoluted schedule. We just got on the track and set off on our way. During one of the walking laps I admitted to Bubbles that I am anxiously awaiting breaking the 2 mile mark. Last week when I told the kids I had run a mile and a half they were less than impressed, and to be honest even in my own head, any length that starts with a 1 seems like child's play while a 2 mile run seems like much more of an accomplishment. I knew her response was that we were building up gradually for several good healthy reasons, blah blah, blah. I did the run with no problem today and even felt that I could have given more. I wanted to give more! At the end we combined the last two single lap runs and Bubbles got confused as to exactly how many laps we had completed. I knew it had been 12, but she wasn't sure. The two of us were side by side counting out on our fingers."run, walk, run, run, walk......" and she really thought I was cutting it short, so I said "Okay, but if I do another lap I am going to run it!" because then I'd get to the 2 mile mark and also because it was starting to rain a bit. I ran that final 1/4 mile with the biggest cheshire cat grin on my face. When we got back to our respective vehicles, Bubbles handed me the registration slip for the 5K run we plan on doing on Mother's day. I can't believe that at this age and this weight I can do this. I'm so proud of myself I'm telling every one what I did.

water logged phone pole legs

What a day. Evan came into my room this morning just as I was managing to wake up all the while wondering wether or not my normal legs had been replaced with water logged telephone poles that were sinking deep into the bed. He slipped into the husband's recently vacated spot and I turned to say good morning to him. I said "Good morning Brown" (which I call him since he is my only brown eyed boy) and had the sudden vision of a young man Evan trying to pick up women by saying "What can Brown do for you?" I thought I was hilarious, Evan didn't.

I dropped Evan and Matt of at school, picked up some cleaning supplies, and headed over to the Old Folks Home (from now on referred to as The OFH) to see grandma. The great news was that not only was she out of bed and dressed, she even had makeup on, and lip stick too! Josh and I brought her down to breakfast. She seemed great! Then we went back up to her apartment to do some unpacking. I tried to degrease her little microwave, but seeing me cleaning upset her ... a lot. So I switched to unpacking. Seeing photos of my grandpa who died in 1969 made her cry. She said she was mad at him for leaving her. I said he had couldn't help it, he died. I swirtched to a different box. This unpacking continued to upset her for a bit, until Josh got interested in unrolling the 1/2 ton of paper the movers used to protect grandma's long life time of bric a brac. It was fun for Josh to find the little ceramic duckies and unicorns hiding in all the shredded dead trees. I made grandma in charge of paper collection, so we all had a job and I managed to clear out about 5 more boxes. Then I dropped Josh off at school.

It was off to the track then. Remember that lofty 5K goal I made for next May? And how I was going to not only be able to run 5K in May, but do it for an actual 5K race? I've been less and less sure I could do it, but I managed to find my groove, and today I did 12 laps (3 miles, or approx 5K) and actually ran 5 of them, which means I ran 1 1/4 miles! There is a first for me! At some point I am pretty sure I channelled the awkward run of the awkward runner I see around town. I may have run awkward but hey, I was running.

Then it was off to Starbucks to main line some latte, and over to the Middle School up Matt. I hung at home with Matt for a few minutes, and then I drove over to Josh's school where I got to sit in the truck for 1/2 hour just so I could get a good parking space and be able to leave fast to pick up Ev. So as not to waste my precious time, I initiated project PSA for Public Bathroom Use. So far so good, it got a chuckle out of Evan so if you like potty humor, stay tuned.

I then brought Evan and Josh back to The OFH, unpacked two more boxes, which Evan enjoyed tremendously. He liked taking charge of Josh and letting Josh know that Evan had all the answers to all of grandma's curious stuff. I stifled a laugh when I overheard Evan telling Josh that something he had unwrapped was "decreational" because all I could imagine it being was a very pretty bong. Then I gathered the boys and grandma, and headed off to Target. You see, when I signed all 900 pages of The OFH contract, I noticed there was a clause in there which mentioned that all electricity using devices must have UL tags on the cords and meet current safety standards. Ahhhh, let's just say that grandma needs new lamps. Honestly, I don't think I'd plug her lamps into my home, just saying. Grandma said she wouldn't mind burning to death, but I said we had to think of the neighbors.

Since Target is such a huge place, I cleverly called ahead and asked if they had a wheelchair I could use for grandma. They said they did, but upon arrival I was pointed toward an electric chair scooter with a big basket on it. Hahaha! Joking right? Nope. Grandma climbed in and she was off. She was like a little kid zipping around with a big smile plastered on her face. Several times she tried to let the boys have her seat and I had to forbid that. Grandma settled on letting them depress the forward button, so grandma zoomed down the aisles steering with the two boys jogging by her side, pressing the go forward lever. Every motherly bone in my body wanted to yell "Hands off the cart!!" at them, but grandma was so darned happy with the whole set up that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I simply stayed 10 steps ahead of them clearing the aisles and warning the other shoppers.

We brought grandma back to the house for dinner, which I picked up on the way home (Japanese tonight, as opposed to diner food last night and Chinese the night before. I wonder of they miss me at Whole Foods) I tried my "What can Brown do for you?" line from this morning out on Matt, who thought it made as much sense as some scenario where Matt whispers "Where the pets go" or "America runs on Matthew" so I am seeing that no one else gets my humor here. I returned Grandma to The OFH around 7:30. I'm pretty sure she was happy and content. She told me how much she enjoyed the boys and how good it is to know she will be seeing them all the time. I told her, that now I could say "See you tomorrow" instead of "I'll try to come back soon" and I'm sure that deep down inside she knows that even though she has to adopt to this new surroundings, it'll be a happier life for her from now on. The proof is below.

lame and fat

Can't really type too much because yesterday I went and sprained my wrist. I managed this accomplishment while using the virtually harmless cable propelled weight lifting machinery. I am coining the phrase "spazthlete" and the definition is me.

I did spend time with Bubbles on the treadmill today. It was depressing. I kept looking at her legs in the mirror and my legs in the mirror. (I can't see anything else due to the tv screens mounted on each treadmill.) The running didn't go well, so I don't want to talk about it.

Then the mail came and there were lots of catalogs. There was this one, which I can buy socks or gym bags from, but none of the clothes, shoes, bras, or underwear fit me and then there was this one, which I am going to need very soon if I don't stop bingeing.

I am not going to bed happy.

3 confessions in 12 laps

I wondered if perhaps Bubbles was trying to kill me today. In fairness to Bubbles, and all the Bubbleses of the world, I asked her to make me do what it is she is making me do, and that thing she is making me do is run. Thursday is make clickmom run day. Last spring I had this fantasy about running (instead of walking) the last 5K leg of the triathlon. Then over the summer, I got myself all psyched to do what I needed to do to work my way up to running it and didn't have what I thought was the enthusiasm to run, which actually turned out to be the early signs of the intestinal condition that side lined me for two months this fall, except I thought it was all in my head and didn't realize it was physical. So, I just resigned myself to walking. And I walked, most of it. I did run for two little tries, and my final time was faster than 4 mph, in the end I was satisfied.

So, I one day I tell Bubbles that I dream of being able to run and she suggests we work together towards a goal, say a 5K in the spring, and she prints up a little schedule for me, and we start meeting at the track and walking with little bits of runs thrown in. It's all good, well pretty good, in the back of my mind I have to block out a lot of negative self talk that suggests that a person of my size might 1. look completely foolish running 2. break her ankles/knees/hips running and 3. have a heart attack running. Also, Bubbles has about 8 ounces of fat on her and all 8 are tucked flatteringly into her sports bra, so next to her I feel even more like a Michelin Man than I would next to someone with more of a typical American sized body.

Today it was too cold for the track (for me, maybe not for someone way tougher than me, but it was for me) so we met at the posh club, where I mounted the dreaded treadmill. Folks, this is where I make my first dumb confession for this post. I fear the treadmill. Truthfully, more than the treadmill itself, I fear falling off of the treadmill. Which, if you knew me would be a distinct possibility. I am the friend who can manage to fall while standing completely still, not only that but I can also manage to break my wrist while falling when standing completely still, so me on a fast moving conveyer belt might not be your best bet if you are the one who does not want to drive a broken me to the emergency room. However, if you were my orthopedist, you would probably encourage me to spend lots of time on the treadmill.

Once in the vicinity of the treadmills, I realize I am being stared down by Bubbles. I get on the treadmill she gets on the treadmill next to mine and we commence walking. We use the lap program which I request so as not to confuse me when we get back to the track after the melt down, which hopefully happens soon. We walk a couple of laps to warm up and then instead of running half a lap (1/8 mile) like I was doing at the track, Bubbles says, let's run the whole lap. I look at her like she is crazy, suggest she tie one of the 100 pound posh club anorexics to her back just to even the score, then I force a stiff upper lip and commence running. And you know what? I did it! More than once! All together I ran around the track 3 times for a grand total of 3/4 mile of running. Not all at once mind you , I did it in four separate tries. On the first try I did a whole lap. On the second try I had to stop running and walk because (here comes embarrassing confession number two) Bubbles was trying so hard to cheer me on and remind me of things like "breathing" that I was completely distracted from the mathematical patterns I need to think about when I am doing something that is painful and in this case takes concentration (cause I didn't want to fall off!) like running or trying to ignore the dentists drill. I explained to her that I couldn't do the math I needed to do when she was talking. Since I had told her once before about my need for equations, I felt justified in shushing her and letting her know that I require silence when exerting myself on a treadmill. Bubbles tried to be quiet, really she did. Her next strategy involved huffing to remind me to breathe. (Confession number three coming right up) It gives me the willies to hear other people breathing. Not just breathing, but more the panting kind of breathing. To me it is the equivalent of a close talker. If I can hear you breathing then you need to back away from me. I silenced her by putting my pointer finger to my lips and she did the only thing she could do , she increased her own speed on her own treadmill until she was running at a challenging pace for herself. It was about a mile and a half per hour faster than my pace, but hey, I WAS STILL RUNNING! All together I did 12 laps, and I sweating like a glass of iced water in the desert. When I went into the locker room to use the potty, I saw that my face did not have the nice healthy red glow I usually have after a good spin class. I was purple. Running, even in my own special slow and timid turtle like way, had whooped me. I can't wait until next Thursday.

spinning

In my effort to regain my previous level of strength and cardio-vascular health, I realized that I had neglected the dreaded spin class. I had the excuse of Josh's swim class during one of the classes I had attended previously and now I have Bubbles (the trainer) during the other. Oh well. Right? Wrong. I knew that I had to re-enter the wonderful world of spin eventually, (I mean those 11 miles on next years triathlon aren't going to get any shorter!) so when Bubbles told me that the posh club was adding another spin class on Saturday mornings and that she would be the teacher, I decided it was fate. Naturally the class is held at the ungodly hour of 7AM. Normally at 7 in the morning I am trying to use my psychic powers to float myself over to the bathroom so I can start the day. This morning was different, I had the alarm set for 6 and when it went off I jumped out of bed, located the sound which entered my dreams with the subtlety of bullet hail from a gatling gun. (The fastest automatic weapon there is, thank you Evan for that helpful tidbit of gun trivia) Then I limped into the bathroom and sat on the can and tried to psychically will myself into my gym clothes. Needless to say, I need assistance in the psychic department or maybe even a more realistic morning plan.

I made it to the class, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and dropped my stuff onto my favorite bike. I left the rest of my stuff in the locker room and when I returned to the spin room a very sweet woman I know from around the schools was sitting on the bike besides mine. I was happy since she seemed unlikely to have B.O., be a profuse sweater, or be a distracting grunter. Hey, you have to choose your spin mates carefully! I don't want to be in anyone's scent or spray zone, and I definitely don't want to hear them making sex noises while I pretend to climb a hill.

The lady I know from around and I remarked to each other, and to Bubbles who was busy setting up her bike, how many men were in the class with us. We were both used to the SAHM crowd during the day in the middle of the week and had never seen so many hairy legs all lined up in the spin room before. Well, just as Bubbles was going to start the hairiest of the legs spoke up and said to Bubbles "There are so many men in here because last week they were all talking about how HOT you are."

Bubbles froze.

Bubbles remained frozen.

Nobody moved.

Bubbles forced a smile.

Bubbles started up class.

And she gave us a great class. Well, the other people thought it was a great class, I mostly thought "How the hell do her legs move that fast? I can't believe what that guy said. She looks like the road runner! Did he really say HOT? Could he have said HARD? I can't even see her legs! That man has to be stopped, he can't say things like that. My legs hurt. What a pig that guy is. Her legs are an actual circle of blur! Look at those legs. She is animated! I am going say something to that man. I wonder if Bubbles still has circulation in those legs." Yeah, remember me? I am the turtle of the human race, slow but steady, and Bubbles was from some other speedy hare tribe that my tribe of turtles did not ever breed with, and the reason for that is simple it is because we - couldn't - catch - them. Now I fear I might have to stop making excuses and find my way back to one of the other slower paced spin classes.

So, anyway, after the class, I moseyed over to the guy and I said "You owe Bubbles an apology. You didn't say she was tough, or great, or could run circles around you, you said she was hot and if you worked with her right now she would be filing a sexual harassment suit against you." And the guy said "You're right." I was so shocked I just turned and tip toed out of the room and I don't know if he did apologize to her or not.

vacation finale

It's the last day of the kids vacation, all three of them have this extraordinary boogery cold and cough, and it is pouring rain out there. It's a good thing we were so busy the first half of the vacation, otherwise, they would have been home bound for the entire 10 days. At this point I am not even 100% sure I am sending Josh back in to school tomorrow, he did have a 10 minute coughing jag upon waking that was something I could have lived with out. Now I know why my freaky mother used to say "I feel your pain."

I am sad, frustrated and down right depressed to tell you that just when I thought Jackie was losing strength she was just hiding in the corner lifting weights. I first noticed some swelling yesterday afternoon and then found myself running full speed to the useless pain killers in the medicine cabinet by the time to order dinner came around. (Uh, I can't cook and paint a mural at the same time) Jackie seized up all evening, during my New Years Eve showing of The Last Kiss, (And by the way, I would have totally kicked Zach Braff to the curb for even thinking of talking to that ho) She made it impossible for me to enjoy the formidably priced champagne that the husband brought home. sigh.

Jackie has become my Glenn Close (in Fatal Attraction.) I had one brief fling with the oral surgeon, it lasted less than an hour, and now Jackie just will not take no for an answer. She is disrupting my life, threatening my marriage (read: no nooky) and even taking my kids for a roller coaster ride (one could say I have been up and down with them the past two weeks). I keep looking around, like she is going to come out of no where wielding a knife (or knitting needle) and threatening my existence. Really I wanted to get tipsy and lucky to ring in the New Year, neither of which seemed in the least appealing while clutching a hot microwaved herbal heat wrap to my throbbing mouth while rocking back and forth crying real tears of defeat and surrender. If I could give up I would, but what can I do? Have my face removed? Who will be my Anne Archer? I'd take the world's longest bath if I thought I could drown the bitch. I wonder if I ask the regular doctor of there is some kind of injection that can paralyze a nerve temporarily. I could botox my face, and then talk like I just left the dentist for 6 months. Imagine what a sight to behold I would be if I couldn't lift my eye brows or move the right side of my mouth? How attractive would that be?

I never make New Year's resolutions, but this year I am going to make two. As if I weren't typical enough, the first resolution is to undertake what ever exercise program the new trainer I am testing out at the posh club says I should. She is planning on setting me up with a whole schedule, and I am determined to stick with it. She has never had a weight problem (except for baby weight that she immediately shed after birth-I don't count easily lost pregnancy weight as legitimate, no matter how hard your skinny ass is trying to sympathize with me) but knows what to do to avoid a weight problem. She claims to have two fat sisters and fat potential herself. I don't see that in her, but am willing to do what she says anyway.

I wanted to run in the triathlon last year, and I didn't, but now I want to run in it even more. Every time I see a woman running down the street I seethe with jealousy and want to be able to do what she can do. If I run instead of mostly walk this year, I'll cut 10 more minutes off of my time, and then my time would be completely awesome. I might have to get this trainer to work with me several times a week to start out, but I can do that. This is going to be the winter I get stronger than ever.

The other one of my run of the mill resolutions is going back on a diet, except, Dr. Phil said I have to be specific, so the diet I am going to do is going to follow is the FAA diet. I can recite it in my sleep, now I just have to follow it when I am awake. One big difference is that this time I am going to actually measure my food. I even have plans to buy a food scale until I get the feel for normal portions. It is low carb, high protein, and has worked for me in the past. I might even consider attending the FAA meetings. The stupid thing that turned me off to the meetings was one woman who said the same thing every week. Every single week without exception ever she said "I had a terrible week, I wasn't gonna come, but now I am glad I am here." and I waited for this woman to have a good week, or even a fair week, or any week that wasn't terrible, but it never happened even once, and I wanted to slap her in the face. I guess I am just not programmed to think that way. Maybe she moved.

The kids go back to school tomorrow, and no one is less happy about it than I am. The last thing I want to do tomorrow is wake up early to prepare their food and drag their whining butts out of bed. Bah.

that photo I spoke of

Ok, I figured out a way to share this image with you without publishing a photo of my babes.

Here we are, there is me with the down syndrome on the left, Glory in the middle and Peanut on the right. As you can see... the hands. WTF am I doing with my hands? I am neither old enough nor manly enough to do that with my hands and it bugs me. And Peanut and Glory? I guess they aren't so sweat phobic as I am cause really, I hated all those sweaty women trying to hug me. I even hated when they high fived me, cause they had sweaty hands too. I mean, if I am going to be covered with your sweat, well, you better intend on marrying me.