Happy President’s Day, everyone! Hope you’ve all enjoyed the holiday weekend. Our weekend? Well, here goes.
Friday: Thanks to the small people, our house now has an additional measure of security that will be sure to dissuade any would-be troublemakers from conducting their business in our yard. Friday afternoon, the kids developed a rather complex if low-threatening booby trap (or booty trap as my daughter initially dubbed it) on one side of our house. So if anyone dares to enter a section of our yard and trips the cord, they will be pelted with a series of dead palm branches. “Anyone” will likely be me, about a week from now, when I forget its existence and go out attempting to do some minimal yard work.
Saturday: Alas, we are nearing the end of our cheerleading & basketball season. I have pictures galore of my daughter cheering her little heart out (or often, standing still, oblivious to the fact that she signed on to be a part of the cheer or dance going on around her), but I haven’t gotten many of my son yet, due to several factors. So naturally, as I attempted to remedy this deficit on Saturday at his game, I had difficulties with my SD card that I “remedied” incorrectly, and ended up with only four salvageable pictures. This means that the pressure is on for this weekend’s game, as it is his last. I’m considering dyeing my hair and wearing thick glasses and a press badge, so that I don’t embarrass the heck out of my son as I wield my camera like a mad woman.
Sunday: In the afternoon, the small people decided to build a fort out of chairs, pillows, blankets and, my personal favorite, a 13-inch TV. After building it, they saw that it was good and requested permission to sleep in it last night. Permission was granted, and I think it was midnight before I stopped hearing the sounds of laughter and shuffling around from within the tent. Oh, to be in the single-digit age group again.
Monday: The New Health Regime Update
This morning, I whipped out one of my more challenging cardio DVDs, and after completing it and feeling as though it was nothing but a thing, I’ve decided that I’m ready to take it to the next level and become a runner. This will be for the sole purpose of then being able to eat with wild abandon, at least on the weekends, since that’s certainly what I appear to be doing. We’ll see. The challenge will be avoiding the stress fractures in one toe that I’m pathetically prone to, as well as the hurdles of flat feet and back pain that plague my
sometimes somewhat good otherwise highly admirable intentions.
On the marital front, it is no small irritant that LCB lost about 17 pounds to my 4 (not including the initial pre-regime 10 he dropped during his week of subterfuge), all with virtually no exercise. Then, he had the audacity to come in the other day bemoaning the fact that he’d gained a couple of pounds back after several business dinners and a, get a load of this, food tasting. With a level of compassion that only he can demonstrate, he went into painstaking, redundant detail on the deliciousness of the food tasting,
driving me to excessive baking Saturday night allowing me to share in the joys of his culinary experience.
Despite his impertinent move of losing weight without exercise, a phenomenon I wouldn’t know the first thing about, I do want him to be as healthy as he can be. And, by his own admission, the beach is the only thing that’s ever inspired him to run. So, in my latest self-inflicted burden with high odds of failure, I am determined to get that man to run with me, even if it means assuming a wild-eyed expression and wielding a meat cleaver as I chase him down the beach in order to get him started. If that’s what it takes, so be it.
This is also, incidentally, why I’ve opted to maintain a small level of anonymity for my family on this blog (no names, no frontal pictures, etc.). It’s their choice whether they ever want to reveal their relationship to An Island Mom. I imagine, for instance, that admitting to being the offspring of the mother who will be running down the beach wielding a cleaver at her husband shortly might not boost one’s elementary school reputation nor garner a surplus of preschool playdates.
Anyhow, I’ve got the beach, the cleaver, and the anonymity, and let me tell you, girlfriend’s got enough motivation to make this acting believable.
Academy Awards, meet An Island Mom.