All I wanna do is Zumba-zoom-zoom...

I was supposed to go to the Zumba class at my local YMCA branch tomorrow morning with a friend of mine. A friend whom I've been wheedling, pleading, begging and otherwise generally nagging into joining me so she can see how fun it is and then want to immediately join the Y so I don't have to go work out alone. (Yes, Hubby belongs to the same Y, and yes, we do sometimes work out at the same time. It is SO not the same thing, though. You see, Hubby likes to *work out* when he's working out, all running at crazy fast speeds on the treadmill and pumping the iron and such. Me, I'm more of a "chit chat while walking at a moderate clip on the elliptical machine" type of worker outer. Hubby doesn't even watch the same things on his little TV that I'm watching, so I can't even make a joke about The View or Regis or Who Wants to be a Millionaire. So, not really the kind of working out at the YMCA companion I'm looking for, my beloved Hubby, and this is why I'm desperately trying to get a friend to do the Y workout thing with me.)

I thought this would be the week. The week that she'd finally go to Zumba with me. I've been working on her for ages now, but one thing or another (her dentist appointment, my kid's eye surgery...) kept getting in the way. This was going to be it. I was so sure of it that I bought myself a cinnamon streusel friedcake donut from Wegmans earlier tonight. I went to Wegmans to buy every hair-related product I could find with tea tree oil extract in it because I hear lice don't like tea tree oil and today for the second time in a month, we got a letter from the nurse that head lice has been confirmed on at least one kid's head in Kiddo's class (though Kiddo's head was checked and is clean *KNOCKING WOOD SO LOUDLY YOU PROBABLY CAN HEAR IT ALL THE WAY AT YOUR HOUSE, WHEREVER IN THE WORLD YOU ARE RIGHT NOW*) but of course, getting to the Nature's Marketplace groovy organic section means walking straight past the bakery. Did I ignore the siren call of the cinnamon streusel friedcake donuts? Of course I didn't, because I am GOING TO ZUMBA tomorrow. At least that's what I told myself, Kiddo and the random lady standing next to us at the donut display as I was reaching for the bakery bag, although out of the three of us, I think only Kiddo actually believed me. But I *WAS* going to be going, because my friend was going to be going too, so I couldn't POSSIBLY slack off, stay home in my jammies, reading one of the SEVEN, count them, SEVEN books I brought home from the library today, eating donuts and NOT going to Zumba. This was how I would overcome my PMS and sore neck and shoulders from spending eleventy million hours hanging clothes on racks two feet above my head in the past two days doing volunteer slave labor at the PTSA SuperSale set up and my warm jammies and snuggly fleecy blanket and cinnamon streusel donut who will all, no doubt, conspire against my showering before 6:30am, wrestling my way into a sports bra, cramming my bloated midsection into exercise appropriate clothing (deepest, darkest confession: a few weeks ago I went in a pair of pajama bottoms because I couldn't find a clean pair of yoga pants and because most of my yoga pants are more often worn for pajama purposes, not actual yoga anyhow.

Really - this is me that particular day. I photographed myself when I got home from Zumba class:



That was me setting the timer and approximating a Zumba maneuver - action shot!) See, now all of those things, conspire as they may (will?) tomorrow, would not vanquish me because I had a friend going with me, forcing me to be good and go no matter how much I don't want to in the morning. A FRIEND. Meeting me there.

Until she emailed me just now and said she can't, because she has a sick kid of the barfing variety in her house.

Le sigh.

I started to write back to her, to explain all of this, all the conspirators ganging up on my flimsy, flabby resolve, how she was the *one thing* that allowed me to get that donut (which, seriously, is probably enough calories to undo any good an hour of me sweating my rear off at Zumba might do) and how she was the *one thing* that was going to ensure my attendance at tomorrow's class.

But then, I realized it wasn't fair to my dear, sweet friend to hold her responsible for my health, well being and food - even donut - choices would make a better blog post, so I deleted that email and here I am blogging away now.

I've been meaning to post about Zumba for ages now. Have you heard of Zumba? I hadn't until I first walked past a class at our old Y before we moved last spring. I've since done extensive research a quick googling and discovered Zumba is, in fact, some sort of worldwide exercise craze. There are tons of clips of people Zumbaing available on Youtube, for example..




Look - it is a worldwide phenomenon, this video even says so:



Okay, I admit it - I didn't realize it was an actual revolution until I saw that last video clip. I mean, the only revolting going on that I've been aware of is the revolution of spandex and lycra and elastic in my clothes against the body they're attempting to contain and/or cover. And the class I take doesn't remotely resemble either of those clips, except for some of the moves and music. Let's just say that the demographics are a little bit different in my neck of the suburbs.

For example, the average age of the participant at my Wednesday morning class is a lot closer to 70 than 20. Hardly any midriff-baring tops are worn (except by one dogged old dame who seems to think that you're only as young as you dress, and dagnabit, she's going to wear the rolled-down-waistband pants and sports-bra-baring, cropped tops like she is still a lithe 16 year old) and hardly anyone has been able to master the moves. Did you catch that arm maneuver in the first video with the two hottish chicks who look NOTHING like anyone in my Zumba class (except perhaps the instructor)? The one where the arm is raised, does a circle-y, whippy thing down and then up again? We have done that move in my class. And by "we" I mean "everyone other than Heather" because in my case, by "done" I mean "flailed around wildly like an alien imitating an arthritic New Yorker trying to hail a cab in vain" 'cause my arms just don't do that.

I just don't - or can't - do a lot most any of the Zumba moves. All the step-ball-changes and jazz squares and whatnot that utterly eluded me back in my high school musical-participating days as well as cardio classes going back to the very first Jane Fonda aerobics tapes we did for gym in high school through the step aerobics craze of the early 90s and on to today......... still elude me. Age may have brought me wisdom (and a slower-than-a-turtle metabolism plus a generous sprinkling of wiry, silver "highlights") but it hasn't brought me any better a grasp on basic dance steps. Alas.

Not that this stops me, mind you. I may not look like a hot, young thing shaking my booty for all I'm worth (which, by the way, is one Wegmans bakery cinnamon streusel donut. Just sayin'...) but neither are any of the other class participants! They're all, at best, only slightly better than me. Some of the older broads don't even attempt the Zumba moves. They just sort of gently sway and shuffle and occasionally lift an arm into the air. Some of them don't even do that - they just come, stand there, chat, move once in a while, then go have a swig from their sports bottles and towel off. So even in my worst Zumba mess-ups (like, say, when we're supposed to be doing some sort of convoluted turning maneuver with arm motions and feet motions and hip motions, and during which I invariably, consistently manage to wind up out of sync with the rest of the class and thereby facing them all since they at least can manage to, you know, turn in the right direction to the beat) I'm not that bad. I find them funny, usually, and wind up cracking myself up regularly. I also seem to be highly entertaining to the various patrons of the Y who pause in the doorway with regularity to watch for a while. They get a good view of me as I always position myself at the back of the room, closest to the door which is also closest to the giant fans mounted halfway up the wall. Thankfully, our class meets in the gymnasium, which means no walls of mirrors to reflect my sweaty, panting redfacedness over and over to everyone.

So, why do I love Zumba so much, if it kicks my behind and I can't possibly do the moves properly? I do enjoy all the moves I can't do and they are a refreshing change of pace from any other cardio-aerobic type class I've ever taken. Zumba involves a lot of different genres in the moves - everything from samba and tango to hip hop and belly dancing. Even if I can't do the moves, they're still fun to attempt. One of the biggest reasons, though, is the music. The Zumba music is really fun. Our instructor (who is fantastic, by the way!) mixes the music and the routines up each week, and the songs range from crazy, Latin remixed mashups of 80s classics like Walk Like an Egyptian to mixes of songs that are apparently popular these days. (Not that I'd necessarily know them, mind you, as my knowledge of current music is limited to the occasional five minutes of VH1 and MTV viewing in the mornings. I mean, come on, I referenced the freaking Spice Girls in my post title, for crying out loud. Current is not my middle name.) Just the other day, we were all huffing and puffing and swaying away to a song when I actually began listening to the lyrics and realized that the singer was exhorting all the shawties to go burn up the dance floor. This had me doubled over in a paroxysm of mirth (which undoubtedly could have been mistaken for the onset of a major myocardial infarction) as there was no one in this room besides perhaps the teacher that would ever, ever be addressed as "Shawty" although it was true that the chafing action my thighs were producing in my pajama bottoms posing as exercise wear definitely would qualify as burning up...

So, anyhow, that's the story of Heather and Zumba. It nearly kills me each week, but I do enjoy the class enough to keep going back. Although it would be so much better to go with a friend, I must say. You know who you are....... But don't worry, I'll try to overcome those conspirators of comfort and laziness and get myself there, all alone, again, tomorrow. Wonder if Hubby could be persuaded to do Zumba with me...?

Phriday Photo Phun Phiesta: Photos, the Next Generation

Wow, I've totally deserted my blog of late, sorry 'bout that. I have many excuses, truly I do. It appears I last posted on a Wordless Wednesday a week ago, and now here we are with a Phriday Photo Phun Phiesta. I would have phantabulous photos to share, if I hadn't had my excuse-laden week happen. (By the way, I'm totally about to plagarise myself from a comment I left over on the fantabulous Andy's blog. Oh, and she is having a giveaway right now so you might want to pop over there, but then again, *I* want to win the giveaway, so maybe never mind, not to mention then you'd see this next bit in its orginal context....) Anyhow, I’ve been hit with a double whammy this week, part one consisting of a massive allergy attack following my lawnmowing escapades of Monday afternoon, which resulted in two subsequent days of red, watery eyes, red, stuffed up, Rudolph-would-be-jealous nose and a permanent fog from massive doses of antihistamines that would only clear for a few brief seconds during “damn, I think I actually just sneezed my nose off” sneezing spells. Whammy Part Deux came the day before yesterday, when, coming off the heels of my allergy attack, I was at the gym and pulled something in my lower back. Well, okay, fine, I actually began to pull the something in the shower before going to the gym, when I dropped my little scrubby bath puff thingy and had to BEND ALL THE WAY OVER to retrieve it from the shower floor and my back said “BEND ALL THE WAY OVER? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? SOMEONE YOUNG AND LIMBER? HAHAHAHAHAHA!” and twanged ominously. But, since hurting oneself at the gym at least sounds like one isn’t utterly pathetic and my back did twang ominously again while stepping down off the elliptical machine, I’m going with that. Annnnnnyhow, however it began, I pulled something in quite a painful way two days ago, and it got progressively worse as yesterday wore on, so I’ve been hobbling around slowly and heavily, all hunched over, for the past 24 hours, cursing myself for choosing to put the ibuprofen (along with all the other medicine-type things) waaaaaaay up on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet so Kiddo can’t get to them because, as I’m presently about 2/3 of my height, I can’t reach them either. Kiddo has proved useful in other ways, though, such as fetching me icepacks from the freezer…

"Wow!" you're no doubt thinking to yourself, "this blog post claimed to be full of Photo Phun and so far all I've read is Heather whinging on about her hunchbackedy sneeziness!" (Oh, and by the by, have you ever had a massive sneezing fit while suffering from extreme lower back pain? Ouch to the nth degree, let me tell you!) "Hmmm," you further are thinking, "When and where are these phun photos going to appear?"

Well, fear not, dear reader, because Kiddo has stepped up to the plate, pinch-hitting for her Rudolph-Hunchback mama. You see, Kiddo is a shutterbug in her own right, albeit one with a fairly lame, low-quality digital camera. Kiddo has been snapping pictures like mad all week, and since *she* took 286 photos this week to my 0 photos, she is going to be featured here today.

On with the show!

Here's proof that I am, in fact, Quasimodo:

Working hard on my computer, if by "hard" one means "playing Farm Town and Farkle on Facebook" .....



Sitting at the table, trying to read, eat breakfast and remain upright all at the same time:



(You'll note the abundance of wadded up tissues next to me in each shot above; sorry her camera isn't high-quality enough to capture the Rudolphian/W.C. Fields nose itself.)

As I was turning out to be quite a boring subject, Kiddo turned her camera to more exotic species of wildlife in the form of Chompy, one of the rabbits that frequents our yard. These were from Chompy's daily visit as taken out one of the office windows:







Once Chompy had ventured on to yards beyond our own, Kiddo found herself another model. This is Buster, a member of her Stuffed Animal Entourage...

Posing on top of a TV tray,



on top of my rapidly dwindling supply of Puffs Plus in my office,



on a placemat on the dining room table,



and in EXTREME CLOSE-UP!



Kiddo also took many self portraits.... This one's my favorite.



So, there you have it. Photo Phun courtesy of the Next Generation Shutterbug in my house! Hoping you are all having a much more upright kinda Phriday, and for more Photo Phun, pop on over to Candid Carrie's!

Friday Foto Fun: Follicular Follies

Hello, hello world! It feels like forever since I've been here! I've been buried under a mountain of boxes and used Puffs Pluses for the past few days, as I tried to continue with Operation Declutter around the home-from-school Kiddo, who has one heckuva bad cold. I know, I know, it seems like she is always sick, but actually she's staying healthy for much longer stretches than she used to when she was younger. I don't know if it is because of the circumstances of her premature, complicated birth or what, but she does manage to pick up a lot of germs. One of these days, I'll finally get a patent for my stylish yet functional Biohazard Bubble suit and then I'll be able to retire with my wads of cash to my private, tropical isle without fear of anyone ever catching another germ again. Until that day, though, I gamely troop on, Vicksing soles and humidifying rooms, steaming congested heads in the shower and squirting saline spray up Niagara Fallsian nostrils, losing game after game of Mario Kart Wii (yes, even when under the weather, Kiddo still kicks my sorry behind at All Things Wii) and fixing bowl after bowl of chicken noodle soup.

The good news is that Kiddo was able to return to school today, and thus life returned to normal, or whatever it is that approximates normal in my life these days... So anyhow, sorry I've been a bad blogoshpere citizen and haven't been leaving loads of comments or posting merrily away, I'm still here, just a wee bit crazed of late.

Before I return once more to my Mountain of Boxes, I will give you a little piece of Friday Foto Fun. You may recall, I have had hair issues pretty much my whole life. You may further recall my ongoing struggle to grow out the Mom 'Do. (Yes, I know, my hair is pretty much always a Hair Don't no matter what I try...) Well, it seems that I've finally, finally passed the stages of Wolverine Fawcett-Von Beethoven *and* Carol Brady. (And there was much rejoicing: yay.) Here's what it looks like as of this morning:



(Yes, I slapped on a little eyeliner and tinted lip gloss prior to photographing myself. I was feeling kind of icky following this morning's torture session - I mean Zumba class - and wanted to look spiffy for y'all. That's not blusher on my cheeks, either, by the way - just a combination of leftover redfacedness from working out and then walking all the way across the Y parking lot in the stinging, windblown snow. Brrr. Oh no, wait, I mean that's just my natural, youthful, rosy glow... *snort*) (Oh, and see that blank wall right behind me? A week ago, there was a jammed-full-of-stuff bookcase in that spot. Go, Operation Declutter!)

Okay, so I no longer can lay claim to being the illegitimate love child of Wolverine, Farrah and Ludwig. (I'm not a geneticist; you figure out how 2XY+1XX = 1 ilc......) Now I seem to have mid-90s, midsize market News Anchor hair going on instead. Woot. I'm in dire need of a trim again (as evidenced by my vision-impairing bangs) and have been feeling sorely tempted to just cut it all off again. (Chorus of screams: NOOOOOOOO! Don't!!!) (Or should I? Hmmmm.) I'm hoping that it is long enough now that when I do finally get around to going to the hair stylist, she can give me something more closely resembling an actual style, because as you can see above, I still have the dreaded Mom 'Do. Oh well, at least it isn't winging out all over anymore! If anyone has any thoughts on the topic, feel free to share.....

So that's what's going on in my neck of the woods. I have like half a dozen posts in draft form about all sorts of scintillating topics like Lost, American Idol, the aforementioned Zumba class and my ongoing adventures in the ladies' locker room at the Y, but right now, I must be getting back to my boxes - I want to get another load ready to haul off to the storage unit before Kiddo gets home from school. I am going to leave with you with the following video clip, because I've got Latin music on the mind after Zumba this morning and because it's almost Valentine's Day..... Enjoy The One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song:



Au revoir!

My life on the D list

Hello, everyone. I know, I know, I haven't been around the blogosphere much this week. There's even been speculation that I whacked my head on something at the gym and passed out or fell into a snowbank or skidded off into a ditch somewhere...

Well, I'm not Dead (yet). Though that does fit with the overall theme of this week: the letter D. Because of all my D stuff, I haven't been feeling much like posting. For example,

I've been stuck in the Doldrums. (Is it just me, former Child Bookworm turned Adult Bookworm, who cannot read/see/hear the word "doldrums" without instantly thinking of The Phantom Tollbooth? That was one of my favorite books as a kid...) I've just been feeling generally blah. It's a combination of not sleeping well, Aunt Flo, and our weather of late, which has been rather

Dreary. More like Downright cold, actually. Ridiculous windchills and Arctic weather fronts which all combine to make every last centimeter of my skin most horrifically

Dry and really, really itchy. There aren't enough lotions or moisturizers in the world to combat this adequately. Especially my face - I have the worst time finding a moisturizer that works but doesn't leave my skin feeling slimy or make me break out. (If anyone has any suggestions for a cheap - read: available at Target or Walmart, not Sephora or a department store brand type thing - and effective moisturizer, I'd love to hear them...)

Also, I've been Dealing with a good bit of Drama of the five-and-a-half year old variety. As in sass, attitude and Disrespect. Always very Draining to have to deal with that Day in and Day out. Fortunately, Kiddo seems to have pulled her shizzle together as of today (we had a Long and Serious talk while waiting for the bus this morning about improving the attitude) and today went well both at school and afterwards. Well enough that I consented to host a birthday party for her beloved pet tiger, Roary. Complete with birthday cake (actually, a Doughnut that Kiddo picked out after school), candle, singing and party games. A certain group of Kiddo's stuffed animal menagerie attended; I'm not sure if the rest weren't invited or simply declined to come all the way downstairs from the warmth of her flannel sheets where they've been huddling.

I also have been a bit Depressed. General worry about Life and All That Entails, including concern about the Future and various family members and the State of the Country and World, etc. In more self-centered concerns, I've also been bummed (pun intended) about the wide, wide expanse of my Derriere. Yes, I've been faithfully going to the gym per my New Year's Resolution, and I know it is too soon to expect to see major results, but would it be wrong to just hope for a little miracle? Couldn't I hop on the locker room scale and have to slide the big weight Down to the 150 notch? How about one muscle showing some Definition? Humph.

So, anyhow, there you have it. Blah Heather in the Doldrums. Certainly nothing that anyone wants to read about, eh? I have other stuff I've thought about posting about, like some recent Discussions that have taken place with Kiddo and a positively Disgusting exchange I overheard at the grocery store yesterday, but I am getting grumpy all over again from my whining thus far. I can't stand myself when I'm Down and Dismal, so I must shake off the funk and quit my kvetching.

Instead, I shall give a belated but heartfelt shout-out to the always Delightful Eudea-Mamia, who bestowed upon me this lovely blog bling:

I don't know that I Deserve it, but it is very, very much appreciated. Thank you!

Thus concludes my big, fat, D list. At least the week should be ending better than it began, albeit with more of D same.... We are going out to Dine (a Delayed anniversary celebration), also to see Disney on Ice *and* we have a Day off on Monday. That makes for a much better weekenD than the week so far! Stay tuned for further Developments once I'm no longer Down in the Dumps! Now it is time to start thinking about Dinner, after which I plan to watch Grissom's Departure from CSI *sniff sniff* while eating some Dessert. (Yes, I know that ice cream is counterproductive when I'm trying to shrink and tone and turn my Jabba the Huttness into Heather the Hotness, but sometimes, a girl's just gotta have her bowl of ice cream, y'know?)

And now, I will leave you with a Doldrums-Defying Ditty, courtesy of my good pal Ernie (with an able assist from the fantabulous Cookie Monster):

Why I will be sore and grumpy tomorrow morning...

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.


Snowball fight!

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.............

Weighty matters

I've tried to resist blogging about this, but I've decided I shall. It may make me more accountable if I'm discussing it publicly.

I'm fat.

Yep.

No point in prettying it up with any euphemisms. I'm not "big boned" or "plump" or "chubby" or anything else. I am F-A-T.

And I've resolved, once again, to do something about it.

I'm a serial exerciser. I get myself all pumped up that *this* is going to be the time that I do it. I'm going to get into the habit of going to the gym every day. I'm going to become one of those people who feels icky if they *don't* work out daily. I'm going to become one of those folks who is addicted to exercise. I start out all positive and hyped up. I go to the gym once, then the next day, then a third. Possibly even a fourth or a fifth. I don't like it any more than I did on Day 1, but at least I'm going. I feel good about what a conscientious caretaker of my body I'm finally being. Then, something happens. Kiddo is sick so I have to stay home with her for a day or two. I'm sick so I skip a day or two. Aunt Flo makes me absolutely NOT want to go to the gym for a day or five. I have an appointment or alternate plans that I can't avoid so I can't go to the gym. And then, before I know it, I'm out of the habit. Once I start skipping, it all goes downhill. Fast. The next thing I know, it's been weeks since I've gone. I start feeling worse and worse about my fat self. Eventually, I summon up the motivation to go back to the gym and the cycle begins again.

I wind up losing a few pounds, which always come back. I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life. And to think, back in high school when I weighed 132lbs, I thought I was fat. HAH. I'd love to be 132lbs again. Not that this is an actual goal. I've tried that before - the "I'll lose X number of pounds" goal, and that is just setting myself up for failure. My goal now is simply to get into better shape. I don't want to be winded after climbing a few flights of stairs. I want to be able to run after Kiddo at the park and not run out of steam, or follow her when she's on her bike and not spend every second hoping she'll slow down because I'm panting and red in the face. I don't want to have to hold my breath and hope that the shirt I see on the rack comes in extra-extra large. I want to be able to walk into ANY store and know they're going to have something in my size. It's embarrassing. Regardless of what I'm wearing - how much I think it is hiding my body, who am I fooling? Take one look at me and it is pretty obvious, I'm fat.

Why am I fat? Simple. I'm lazy. No better reason, unfortunately. Sure, I could probably eat better, but I don't eat that badly, either. I don't eat a lot of junk food (well, besides those darn Christmas tree nougats, and thank heavens they're gone for another year). I don't drink lots of soda. It all boils down to one thing: I don't like to exercise. I'd rather sit at my computer, or sit on the couch with a book, or just about anything that doesn't involve working out. The only thing missing from my regular, daily life is a concerted effort to exercise.

Sigh.

So, as I sit here waiting for Kiddo to get ready for school, I am in my workout clothes. My plan (once again) is to put her on the bus and go directly to the gym. I've got my 20th high school reunion coming up in May, and I'd like to be better looking than I am now. I mean, I've never been a hottie, but I'd rather not walk in and have everyone think my greatest accomplishment in the past 20 years has been turning myself into the Michelin Man.

Hopefully, this time, it'll become a habit. Hopefully, this time, I'll be in better shape in a few months, instead of exactly where I am now. Hopefully, this time, when I go shopping for an outfit to wear to the reunion, I'll need to look for a smaller size and won't have to worry about if the top is loose enough to cover my stomach, hips and rear, if it is clinging to my thighs. (Again: who am I fooling?) Hopefully, this time it will be different. Hopefully I'll get my weight down and my stamina up. I'm not going to think "I'll get down to 132." I'd just like to see something well below 200. If Oprah can admit it, so can I.



And away I go................ wish me luck!

Jane Fonda's got nothing on me!*

Lately, I've been feeling kind of like this:



Which leads to me feeling like this:


But when catching a glance of myself before my eyeglasses were mercifully removed to get in the shower this morning, I saw this:



I knew I had to do something. So, I re-resolved to get my assorted rolls-n-dimples over to the gym regularly, starting today. (I must be firm with myself or I'll never go.) And so I put on my workout clothing and sneaks, threw Kiddo in the car, drove up to the corner (hey, it was cold, besides) and as soon as I'd seen her onto the bus, I drove immediately over to the Y, do not pass go, do not spend the morning snacking and blogsurfing.

Once I'd left my stuff in a locker, I decided to get the bad news over with. You see, along with the whole "not exercising regularly" thing I've had going on, I've been eating worse than usual of late, as well. Kiddo is on a Cheez Doodle kick, so I've been using that excuse - "they're for her lunch!" - to buy and keep Doodles in the house. And I've been eating the majority of them. Me, not Kiddo. I parcel them out so sparingly to her - a mere handful in one of those itty-bitty snack-sized baggies - but the bag has been empty before week's end nonetheless. (Pardon me while I lick the telltale orange powder off my fingers....) It isn't just Cheez Doodles, either. This month, between PMS and stress from all the ongoing ridiculousness with the school district's IEP noncompliance (and yes, that *is* still going on - how happy I will be when we've moved to another district for next year!!), I've been eating and eating and eeeeeeeating. Like I said,



So, I was expecting to find a gain of at least four or five pounds when I hopped on the gigantic, "slide the weights over much too far to the right" old-school scale in the Y locker room. At the best, I was hoping to have remained at the weight I was when last I hopped aboard the scale, which was during my last big working out kick too many moons ago.

Lo and behold..... I've LOST six pounds! SIX POUNDS! From doing NOTHING except blogging and eating and blogsurfing some more... Perhaps it is my extremely fast typing speed, but apparently blogging appears to really be burning calories...

Now, don't worry, I didn't take this weight loss as a sign I should immediately head for home and plunk myself down in front of the computer with a bowl of Cheezy goodness at my side. I was so excited, I made a beeline for the elliptical trainer and pounded out a little over a mile and a half in less than half an hour (it helped that I was totally absorbed in the Today Show, as I forgot to grab a book on my way out the door this morning). Considering I usually average a 20 minute mile on the elliptical and that I hadn't worked out in eons, doing 1.7 miles in 27 minutes was pretty good! I headed towards the weight circuit, but it was chock full of people so I wound up bagging that plan and headed off to get a haircut (my bangs were halfway down my nose) instead.

I plan to continue this routine of putting Kiddo on the bus and then heading straight to the gym in the morning and see whether I can purposefully lose some more weight between now and, say, my birthday (mid-December) or Christmas... That way when I take to the dance floor at Hubby's office holiday party this year, his coworkers won't see this:

Heather's Holiday Party Dance Moves

And with any luck (I know, it isn't luck, it's hard work and dedicated effort...) I might be able to say goodbye to a few chins and a jeans size or two!



* Yeah, I name-checked Ms. "Haven't been an exercise guru since the 80s" Fonda in the title of this post. It was between her and Richard Simmons. Sadly, my Workout Mavens References are all woefully out of date. If anyone has a suggestion more current (Susan Powter? Suzanne Somers and her Thighmaster?) I'd be happy to hear it! In the meantime, Jane stays...

Thar she blows!

This afternoon, I took the kiddo to the pool for the first time this summer. With our membership to the YMCA, we get access to the pools at the Y camps in the area, something we began taking advantage of the summer before last. There is a camp about 10 minutes from our house, and not only is the pool heated (ahhhh - nice for wimpy mommies) but they have a new splash pad play area for the kids (with an adjacent, shaded seating area). Not a bad deal at all, as we can use the facilities in the afternoons once the day camp is through and also most of the day over the weekends. Last year, the kiddo and I hit the pool a few times a week, as swimming is a wonderful sensory activity and really chills the kiddo out and gets her system regulated.

Of course, the down side to all this pool fun is the unavoidable Mommy in a bathing suit in public issue.

As much as I long for bathing suits to go back to the really old-school style like this:



it isn't likely that this is going to happen any time soon. This means showing off my jiggly, dimply, pasty whiteness in public, something of which I'm not particularly fond. (Imagine the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in a raspberry and fuchsia paisley tank and you'll get an unfortunately accurate picture.) I've eyed the "suck you in and slim you down" suits that supposedly make you look ten pounds thinner as soon as you stuff yourself into one, but frankly, they wouldn't help me unless they went at least to my knees. I think my thighs would look even scarier to the general public if they were wobbling about underneath a tightly-sucked-in midsection. I've pondered getting one of the swimsuits with a skirt, but I haven't found a tank with a skirt that didn't positively scream "old lady" and I will. not. wear a tankini - I tried on about a thousand of them last summer on my sister's advice ("seriously, Heath, they're soooo forgiving and make any body type look great since you can mix and match!"). It wasn't good. I prefer the safety of the full-coverage, one piece suit, thankyouverymuch. Now, part of the problem is that I'm cheap - I won't spend $100 some-odd bucks on a bathing suit, not even for the sake of vanity. I'm all about the Land's End overstocks dept for my swimwear needs. So, no miracle suits for this mommy...

Now, the second part of the problem comes when the kiddo wants to go in the pool. As long as she's playing in the splash pad area, I can stay safely covered up and dry on the sidelines. But, she's not old enough yet that she's allowed in the pool sans grown-up, and I don't think I'd feel comfortable with her in there without myself or Hubby even if she were. So, when she wants to go in, Mommy must go in as well. And this, unfortunately, requires revealing all my Moby-ness to the world.

My strategy is this: Find a chair that is realllllly close to the edge of the pool, leaving my shorts/t-shirt or cover-up on until the last possible second. Once everything is set - the kiddo's bubble is secured on her back, shoes are shed, towels are laid out on the chair, etc. - then remove the covering and hightail it into the pool. As the other pool guests look on in stunned silence - "What was that large, white, jiggly mass that just flashed in front of my eyes?" - I get into the water at least as high as my cleavage. I'm totally comfortable with being visible from the boobs up - I like to think that the sun's reflection off the surface of the water minimizes my chins - and I pretend like crazy that the water isn't crystal clear, but rather black as ink and therefore no one can see the baby belugas protruding from my suit underwater. Denial is my best friend in this situation, always.

Now that I'm safely obscured in the pool, I am easily enough distracted by monitoring the kiddo, who comes up with new ways to give Mommy a minor coronary each year. Last year it was the "watch me jump in all by myself!" phase, and this year we've moved on to the even scarier "watch me 'swim' underwater!" phase. I use swim in quotes there because she's not really swimming, per se - first of all, she has the bubble on so depth is hard to achieve, and then there's the fact that in her mind, "underwater" is anytime her face is wet, so at the most she is maybe an inch below the surface but generally it is just her face in the water. (I'm even more paranoid than usual this summer with all the news stories about delayed drowning, so I was yanking her face out of the water constantly this afternoon.)

So, once I'm submerged, I'm pretty well occupied until the dreaded moment arrives when the kiddo either needs to do a potty run, wants to go back to the splash pad, or I have to pull the plug as her lips are turning purple. (Side note: I have never felt more like my mother than when I am ordering the kiddo out of the water "because your lips are turning blue, is why, right now!" as I must've heard my own mom say that to me at least a thousand times as a kid. I guess it is karma that she gives me as hard a time about it - "But Mooooommmmm, I'm not c-c-c-c-cold!!" through chattering lips - as I gave my mom back in the day.) Now not only do I have to bare the belugas again, but I'm cold and dripping wet and I don't believe that goosebumps are particularly slimming... Once I'm safely ensconced in my towel or cover-up once more, I finally can breathe again. (And hey, holding my breath is rather slimming anyhow, is it not?)

I've been trying to lose/tone up some of my Stay-Puftness in anticipation of our Florida vacation at the end of the summer, but I must admit I've been slacking a bit on the workouts of late. (For a while there, I was working out five - count 'em, FIVE - times a week at least!) I think today's pool visit has refirmed my resolve to firm the jiggling as much as I can between now and the end of August. I've still got eight weeks, I ought to be able to do something between now and then... In the meantime, if you happen to visit the pool at the Y camp one sunny afternoon, don't be scared when Moby Mommy blows past you on the way into the deeper water!

This-n-That

You know how "they" say that you should take at least 10,000 steps a day? I've read that many times, along with helpful hints on how to get more exercise into one's day - you know, park in the farthest spot from the entrance instead of driving around looking for the closest spot, taking the stairs instead of the elevator/escalator, etc. Well, I found out that I do not take nearly as many steps as I thought I do by actually wearing a pedometer for the bulk of one day earlier this week. I put it on when I got dressed around 8am and wore it until 4pm, at which point it registered that I'd taken 2,703 steps. Now, this was not a fancy-shmancy pedometer - it was a freebie that Hubby had been given while touring an assisted living facility (um, not for us or any of our relatives, btw; it was a work-related thing). So, Hubby warned me the guy that gave it to him said that it has a 10% error rate, so while the good news (ha, ha) is that I could've taken closer to 3,000 steps, the bad news is it might only have been around 2500. In reality, 10% either way wouldn't get me so much closer to the 10,000 step goal, so that's a non-factor, I suppose, and while I did more walking (up and down stairs after the kiddo, etc) between 4pm and bedtime, it isn't like I took another 7,000 steps. So, I'm woefully under-moving, is the conclusion I've drawn. Depressing to admit, but also nice to have a realistic picture since I honestly had no idea how many steps I typically take in a day. I wore the pedometer on a pretty average day in terms of movement for me - I didn't go to the gym or run a marathon (ha!) or anything, but I didn't sit on the couch reading or in front of my computer for hours on end, either. I guess I'd figured that my routine day (hey, I'm always running upstairs or downstairs for this or that when I'm home, and there's that flight of stairs at the kiddo's preschool, and we're usually out and about doing things during the afternoons....) included more steps. One more reason to renew my commitment to get to the gym at least 3 times a week - to get those extra 7,000 steps in and get me up to that 10,000 mark!

***
Things that have physcially delayed us while driving the kiddo to preschool in the past 15 days:
- getting stuck behind a snowplow
- getting stuck behind a funeral procession (twice)
- getting stuck by the drawbridge being opened (yeah, kind of an unusual one, but our drive takes us over a drawbridge, so while it is rather cool to see the road just suddenly going straight up in the air as the boats go through and out onto Lake Ontario, it's also a real, literal roadblock and there's no alternate route - we just have to sit there as the road becomes a parking lot for about 10 minutes while the bridge does its thing)
- getting stuck behind a school bus that was picking up kids for about 2 miles before it turned, thankfully, onto a side street (I don't know if the bus was really early or running late, but we usually don't get stopped by buses so I'm guessing this was just a freak thing and hopefully a one-time occurrence!)
- getting stuck on our street by a flock - whoops, I guess technically it'd be a gaggle, now wouldn't it? - of Canada geese who were moseying on across the street en route to the pond behind our property. When I say "moseying" I mean it, too - they were going soooo slowly and I swear honking the horn just slowed them down more!

Things that have made the drive seem much longer while driving the kiddo to preschool in the past 15 days:
- the kiddo repeatedly whistling her version of Flight of the Bumblebee, utilizing her recently acquired mastery of the skill of whistling as well as her entire whistling range which is about 5 notes (Thanks, Little Einsteins, for teaching the kiddo the tune in the first place...)
- the kiddo deciding to count every garage we passed on the way to school, getting up to 119 (not sure if she was counting multi-car garages separately or just one garage per house) and then deciding she "just felt like counting," which she then proceeded to do starting from 1 again
- the kiddo repeatedly singing a snippet of a song they're learning in music class despite repeated pleas to STOP FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, JUST STOP PLEEEEEASE! from her quickly-losing-her-not-very-tight-grip-to-begin-with-on-sanity mommy (the section she keeps singing goes "listen to the water, listen to the water, rolling down the river" and is not recognizable to me either by tune or lyrics.... anyone recognize the words that can maybe help me out? Otherwise, I'm going to have to hunt down the music teacher at preschool, ask her to sing me the song, then bribe her with whatever means necessary to never, ever sing that song again with the kids)
- the kiddo telling the "Knock Knock" classic:
Kiddo: Knock knock!
Mommy: Who's there?
Kiddo: Banana!
Mommy: Banana who?
Kiddo: Knock knock!
Mommy: Who's there?
Kiddo: Banana!
Mommy: Banana who?
Kiddo: Knock knock!
Mommy: Who's there?
Kiddo: Orange!
Mommy: Orange who?
Kiddo: Orange you glad I didn't say banana again? *gales of maniacal laughter*
and by "telling" I mean "repeatedly yelling 'KNOCK KNOCK! I SAID KNOCK KNOCK, MOMMY!!! KNOOOOOOOOOCK KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!!!!'" when I stopped responding after about the thirtieth repetition, and then mangling the "orange" punchline and having to say "No, wait, I mean, um...." and starting it over three or four times before getting it mostly right.

***
Another sure sign that spring has sprung? I was brushing our cat this morning and while brushing her, she shed enough fur to make another whole cat, at least. Maybe two, or possibly three smallish kittens... Around our house, Spring = Hairball season!

***
Oh, I wound up not doing anything for April Fools' Day this year. Turned out I couldn't find the supplies I needed in time. Next year, I'll be all over it though, and will get what I need in advance. Stay tuned - we're just 363 days away!! *evil eyebrow wiggle*

***
My new favorite clothing in the world? The "lounge pants" (brand - Gilligan and O'Malley Ultimate) that I found recently at Target. Soooo comfy and cheap, too! I'm practically living in them when I'm at home. I was tempted to not change into real clothes the other day when I had to run to the store, but I refrained and did put actual jeans on for the trip. I love comfy clothes and jammies, and these lounge pants fit excellently into both categories! Heavenly!

***
I may be approaching my late 30s, but I'm still hip enough to have downloaded six songs from this season's American Idol finalists to my iPod. Okay, maybe admitting that I downloaded songs from American Idol isn't hip, but I did, and I enjoyed them thoroughly while running errands when the kiddo was in school this morning! I guess I should score a few "hip" points for having an iPod, at the least. Or is it not even hip to say "hip" anymore? What should I even say? Cool? Happening? With it? Hmmm, this reminds me of one of my favorite Simpsons quotes, with which I shall wrap up this post and get downstairs to test the latest batch of monkey bread that the kiddo and I baked earlier this afternoon (love the way the whole house smells like cinnamon now, too!):

I used to be with it, but then they changed what “it” was, and now what I’m with isn’t it. And what’s “it” seems weird and scary to me. ~ Abraham "Grampa" Simpson