Let me just say that if it weren't for my new anthropological/sociological project that is taking place at the gym (and which I promise to blog about soon - I know you're all on tenterhooks waiting for it), and if it weren't for my still-quite-shiny-and-recent New Year's Resolution made just 11 short days ago, the odds of me dragging myself to the gym tomorrow would be about as good as the odds of George Clooney turning up on my doorstep with a bunch of roses.
See, we had some snow overnight. Not a ton, like some other parts of the northeast got, but enough to count - maybe 6 or 8 inches on top of what we already had down, which had dwindled in the freezing rain and sleet of last week. Now, Kiddo has been DYING to going out and play in the snow. She's a kid, you see, and therefore, suiting up a la Ralphie and his little brother in A Christmas Story and then clomping about in the icy cold air and precipitation counts as big fun. For Mommy? Not so much. Speaking of cold, we're supposed to be getting some serious, Arctic chill type temperatures in the coming week. The weatherpeople are downright giddy about informing us how we're all gonna be so dang cold. One of those "the snot in your nose forms icicles before it reaches your upper lip" and "your eyeballs freeze into cubes between blinks" kind of cold spells. And let's not forget the ever popular wind chill, which will make things feel even more vilely cold than they actually are... and those dang weatherpeople won't let us forget that now, will they? So, the next several days are going to involve trying to stay OUT of the OUTSIDE as much as possible, so things don't get frostbitten and then fall off. Which they could, you know, if you're not careful...
Anyhow, I'd been feeling a bit guilty about the amount of time I'd allowed Kiddo to romp about in the winter weather thus far this season. (Total amount of time prior to today: Zero Minutes.) When Hubby was out snowblowing the driveway earlier this afternoon, Kiddo was glued to the window, pea green with envy that he was Out in the Snow. Adding insult to injury was the fact that just beyond Hubby manfully pushing the snowblower to and fro, the neighbors' kids were out playing in their front yard. Kiddo was so very, very much wanting to go out and play in the snow, and I was feeling so very, very guilty about keeping her in, that when Hubby came inside and reported it wasn't too cold except for when the wind kicked up, I told Kiddo to bundle up. Of course, I'm not about to let Kiddo go out and play in the front yard by herself, ever, and even in the safety of our fenced-in back yard, how much fun is playing in the snow by oneself? Not much, take this former kid's word for it. So, I bundled myself up too, squeezing into my snowpants (which I pretend are slimming as they're black and all, never mind that they're padded) and boots and designated "play in the snow" coat which has conveniently large, patch-style pockets for holding kleenexes and spare gloves and the like.
So off we went, out into the white, cold afternoon. Kiddo had a blast.
She made her first snow angels of the season...
She wanted to make a snowman, but the snow we got overnight really wasn't of good, packing quality, so I dissuaded her from attempting such a project. Of course, as I pointed out to her, we will have many more weeks (*sigh* months, actually) of snowy weather, so there will be ample opportunities for snowman creation in our future. Our yard is much too flat for sledding (and I wasn't about to drive over to the sledding hill, as it was getting late and cold quickly), so that left pretty much just one activity left. One of Kiddo's favorites, so she didn't mind one bit.
Now, we have rules here in the Smith family regarding snowball fights. No hitting above the neck, that's the big one. Unfortunately, Kiddo got so caught up in the glee of the moment that she utterly forgot the rules. I wound up with an ear packed tightly with snow, as well as snow coating my hair with melting snow shrapnel running down my neck and back. Now, I would've been a bit more upset, but I accidentally nailed Kiddo in the face myself once (okay, twice) so you know, fair is fair. Though my above-the-neck hits were totally unintentional - I have lousy aim and she was a moving target - and Kiddo fully meant to pelt me wherever she could.
By the time Kiddo went to bed, I found myself aching in places that said "Hey, Heather, you're not 5 and a half anymore, *and* you went to the gym FIVE days in a row last week, *and* you were playing Wii Tennis and Bowling yesterday like a freaking madwoman! Did I mention you're not 5 and a half anymore?" I downed a handful of Advil and curled up on the couch to watch the Golden Globes. By the time the show ended (and yes, that is why I'm still up at this ungodly hour), I could barely stand up, I was so stiff and sore. (Seriously - was that the cat meowing or just my joints creaking?)
All this is to say that tomorrow morning, I predict a Very Grumpy and Sore Heather. A Heather Who Also is PMSing. A Heather Who Will Much Rather Crawl Back Into Bed with One of Her Latest Batch of Books from the Library, Perhaps With the Rest of That Sleeve of Thin Mints Discovered Languishing in the Freezer Midway Through the Golden Globes.
But fear not, dear readers, for even though I need to be up and at 'em in a horrific 6ish hours, and even though I'm going to be as sore as I am tired (did I mention that my right knee does a phenomenal flamenco-dancer-with-castanets impression whenever I walk up stairs? CLICK-clickclick-CLICK! CLICK-clickclick-CLICK!), I will go to the gym. I will. Then I might come home and collapse in bed, but I will go and work out.
But if I do the recumbent bike on level one instead of the elliptical machine on level three, don't judge me too harshly, mmmkay?
Oh and in other news, Hubby seems to have a rather serious case of food poisoning (although not so serious as to wind up in the hospital, as happened to him once before about 10 years ago). We're not sure what to blame it upon, though the leading culprits are (a) the Beer of Mysterious Origins that he unearthed from the fridge and drank with dinner Friday night, (b) the yogurt he ate at lunch on Friday or (c) the peanut butter he had with his toast at a breakfast meeting on Thursday. (C) is mostly an option because of the current salmonella outbreak that's been linked to contaminated PB that is only available in restaurants. At any rate, with him really not able to stomach (pun intended - hey, it's late and I'm up way past my bedtime) anything other than dry toast, chicken soup and saltines, we postponed our anniversary celebration dinner to next weekend, when he hopefully will be feeling more like consuming and enjoying a big, Italian meal. Next weekend is also when we're going to see Disney on Ice, which was one of my birthday presents, so it will be a whole Celebratory Weekend, never a bad thing!
Anyhow, I'm off to bed as it is now officially Monday. I'll see you all, stiff and bleary-eyed, in a few hours, with my report on my own personal Gorillas in the Mist. Intrigued now, aren't you? Stay tuned.............