So the three little monkeys of mine now have swimming lessons. All in one place and for a half an hour every week. For thirty minutes I sit calmly and safely. I sit there and zone out from time to time while cannon balls shatter in the distance. I nod my head every once in a while to acknowledge a water tread, back float or half attempt at a dive. I nod away, they think I’m watching.
Sometimes if I get really animated I yell out, “Great job boys, keep it up.” I feel so free. I know there will be no Sharpie’s upon my walls or gallons of milk dripping from the counters. I know no child has clogged a toilet with a toy screwdriver which would later lead to its demise and removal. I know nobody is putting special bubbly in mommy’s contact case. I know no child is breaking and entering a neighbor’s home for chips in their pantry. I am at peace.
Why in the world didn’t I come up with this sooner? Why? This is the calmest thirty minutes I get each week. I do not care if the instructors pass them. I will pay anything to keep them learning water survival tactics. You’ll see, by the time they are 20, 15 and 13, we will have Olympic hopefuls in the making. I am a perfectionist and I believe, in order to achieve, we must practice, practice, practice. Ah, Namaste.
So by the time Peeno gets out of the pool and I wipe him dry, Noochie is getting out. Then Nickelbass finishes up his last belly flop from the high dive. Now I have regrouped, recharged and didn’t even need alcohol. But as we all know, all good things must come to an end. Now when your children are escorted out of the pool by their instructor, you dry them off and they put their shoes on, you expect them to make their way towards the exit sign. There should be no need to have your guard up or your mommy defense in overdrive. Nobody is getting back into the pool.
But yesterday when I was gathering my belongings, because somehow we always leave with more articles of clothing than we came in with, little Noochie decides to conduct a test. Yes, quite similar to the Emergency Broadcast System. Where it gets your attention until you hear, “This is only a test”. Well I guess over the thirty minutes while I was meditating, when I thought little Noochie was working hard at his breast stroke, he was eyeing up the Lifeguards.
Not in the ‘dude scoping out the chicks’ kind of way, but as in, ‘are they really paying attention kind of way’. Oh yes, you guessed it. He “accidentally” falls in. Of course they do nothing. I hurdle the swim team members, resin chairs and water-logged noodles and practically jump in after him. He says, “Mommy just calm down. I got this.” Then he swims to the ladder and in Baywatch fashion climbs out. I am all like in fight or flight mode and this little $h*t walks up to the Lifeguard and goes,”Hey, I just fell in the pool and you weren’t even paying attention.” I wanted to crack him upside his head. Yet, at the same time, he did have a point. Well at least he proved a point, which is exactly what he set out to do.
The Lifeguards are all apologizing to him, a five-year old, and I was still without words due to a potential drowning shock. But last night as I lay in bed with fury critters (more on that to come) I thought to myself, what a sly little guy. He is five and while he was challenging his instructor to push his limits and watching me to make sure I didn’t miss a stroke, he was also eyeing up the fact that the Lifeguards were not life guarding. The fact that teenagers were shaking in their swimmers for fear of job loss as a result of a five-year old’s test, just awed me.
Last year on vacation, when a stranger said to her sister, “That boy. That boy right there is gonna be somebody. He just has that look about him.” Well, she was talking about Noochie. I guess she was on to something. I hope I survive to see his triumphs.
What recent scare did you almost ___________ your pants from? What about you LifeGuards? Do you pay less attention when parents are around?
I do go to that happy place everyday fella. I ponder how we skipped the terrible twos and proceeded directly to the tortuous threes. Three is the age of potty training, learning to write your name, taking a lunch for the preschool field trip and testing mommy beyond no end. Three is the year my boys put me on a parental assessment.
I have been here now three times and in all honesty returning to that “happy place” gets sidetracked by things like Wusthof knives cutting Play-doh while mommy takes a shower, emptying the entire contents of bulk Kirkland laundry detergent on the carpeting and putting Purell into mommy’s water bottle.
What is it about this age? Is it just boys or do parents of princesses go through the same thing? Are girls this destructive? Three can be a wonderful but terrifying year all in the same. I know somewhere in history somebody came up with the “terrible twos” but I beg to differ. Can anyone relate to the fact that the age between two and four is the longest 365 days of your life as a parent?
Since the little squirt turned three I have been walking around on my tippy toes checking for pistons of poop droppings on the floor, with my shoulders crunched up into my ears while reminding myself to breathe. We should never have to remind ourselves to breathe unless we are drowning. I know I can survive though because I made it out alive with the other two. I cannot say I was not injured and I am deeply scared for life, but I am alive.
When my little Noochie was three he put some sort of solution in my contact case. It took a few minutes after insertion, and then the burn and oozing began. It burnt so bad that the other eye started burning and I couldn’t even open my eyes to remove the contact. When I asked the little man what he put in there, he smiled with his giant blue eyes and said, “Oh just some special bubbly mommy.” For the love of my eyes. He was so proud. I was so in pain. But I reminded myself that when the eyes are blind, look with the heart.
When you have brought up kids, there are memories you store directly in your tear ducts. ~Robert Brault
This one time, in mommy boot camp, I woke up to the mini drill sergeant. I purposely set my alarm very early so I can gather my thoughts, contacts and sanity before the little men wake up. So, one morning around Valentine’s Day when the same little boy who burnt my eye was three, I had to survive a sugar and honey bath. I proceeded into the kitchen, in the dark, on my tip toes of course and slid into the cabinet. It was as if my feet hit sand. The sand-like mixture and ceramic tile was like a slip-n-slide without the rocks poking through and water.
My right hip hit the cabinet and my feet got stuck in sandy goo. I was so sticky and could barely make my way over to hit the light. When I did, all I saw was sugar and honey everywhere. The honey bottle was still dripping from the upper cabinet, down onto the counter and down onto the floor. As I was just about to scream, I see him, those big eyes and giant smile peering at me from across the living room. What on earth happened here?
He jumped out of his chair and ran over to me and said, “Mommy, are you glad I finally did not wake you up? Remember when you told me to never wake you up in the middle of the night again when I can’t sleep? Well, I tried to read and since, well I am only three, well that didn’t work because I can’t read. So since I am not allowed to boil water for tea, I made sugar and honey water. Aren’t you so happy I didn’t turn on the stove? Then when that didn’t work….” “Wait a minute! Stop right there! What do you mean when that didn’t work? What did you do?” I exclaimed. He replied, “I decorated our house for Valentine’s Day! Let me show you mommy, you are going to be so proud!”
I ruined this kid. When he was expecting me to be “so proud” I was crying in terror. He glued everything and I mean everything to our walls, doors, cabinets, closets, head-boards and carpeting. He broke down in tears because mommy was supposed to be so proud. It took me two weeks to clean up the mess. That was two years ago and I still have remnants of Valentine’s Day 2011 lingering throughout my house.
The trouble with learning to parent on the job is that your child is the teacher. ~Robert Brault
So now, I have another three-year old. I do not want my boys to grow up. Yes, I want to keep them little forever. Bull$hit. But when will enough be enough? Can I survive another round of the Torturous Threes? So far it has cost me my eyesight, I will need a future hip replacement, a whole house woodwork and paint job and $75.00 in plumber fees this year. That’s right, my fresh little three-year old recently flushed a Diego screwdriver tool down the toilet. The plumber looked at him, then me, then him and was like, “huh?” Did he think that was odd? I actually thought it was a clean disaster. A little pricey but picking up the phone to let someone else deal with the mess was a lot easier than other adventures I have been on with my boys.
I love them. I do. I have no idea what I would be without them. Sometimes I wonder if Karma is real. Perhaps Uncle Karma is knock-knock knocking on my door. I know from experience and asking of my parents, I was never like this. Being a girl I just wouldn’t think of these things. I wanted to paint, color and draw, on paper. I wanted to brush my dolls hair and put my mom’s makeup on, neatly. Never did I want to cause extreme fatigue or bodily harm to my parents.
Parenthood is one crazy ride. I do love every minute of it. Especially since I am still here to talk about it. So my advice to new parents approaching that magical age of three, if you think age two was rough, hold on tight. You are in for one heck of a ride! Just remember, moms and dads, you are your child’s favorite toy!
It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn’t. ~Barbara Kingsolver
I have to work this Sunday. My clients typically do not want to hear me say things like I want to be home to tuck my children into bed, it’s family day or I’m sorry my boys have a game. They want me on call at all times of the day. I don’t blame them. Technology has given us the quick fire response. The hitting of a key or button has induced this constant state of urgency among people. Hell, I’ve even trained my clients by being Suzy on the spot for the past ten years.
There is a huge disconnect between real people time and world-wide web time. I think real people time is now getting the short stick. I never want to lose my passion for my career nor make my children feel like they are a nuisance. There is a fine line between work and home and it’s a delicate art balancing it all.
I have extreme working mommy guilt. So, I over commit and over schedule things for myself with respect to being all in for my kids and their school events. Usually I get flustered. Not because I can’t handle it but because it takes me away from what matters most, my children. So the past twelve months I have said that one syllable word, no, more than I ever have. So instead of Room Mom I am just parent volunteer now. I get the same amount of hands on time without the planning and organizing task. Simple. So you might think?
Anyways, I am working this weekend because I volunteered to help out in my middle son’s kindergarten class for their Valentine’s Day Party. I was delegated the task by Room Mom #2 to bring the sweet treat. Yet, because of all the allergies and sugar addictions I had to submit what I would be bringing. If you know me and how I bake it’s a pinch of this and a smidgen of that. So, I had to actually find a recipe. Room Mom #1 recommends for me to set up an account on Pinterest for ideas. Really? I am quite qualified to come up with some original and festive treats on my own. She gets really bothered and indicates to me she sent me an invite on Pinterest.
Alrighty then, Pinterest to the rescue. I had no time to set up an account but since everyone is pinning, I could too. Pinterest is a creative ideas, arts, crafts and motivational posters sharing world. It forces us to now steal or is it pin other’s ideas and have all our friends ooh and ah us. Don’t get me wrong, there is some hot things on there but is it forcing us to lose our sense of creativity?
So, I find M&M bars and candy bark. I get approval from Room Mom #1, Room Mom #2, Grand Master Head Room Mom, teacher, aide, school nurse, school psychologist, principal and district superintendent. These delectable treats are a go.
So I make them up the night before the party while entertaining a friend, cooking dinner, doing homework and watching my children NERF each other to exhaustion. Now the easy part, set the timer and let them bake. That is until your newly potty trained son is running around naked from the waist down shooting his NERF gun at our guest. What the? He proceeds to tell me he peed on the basement carpeting. So, I pseudo clean that up and tell him to go upstairs and get some clothes. In the meantime, his other brothers come running down the stairs to tell me, this same child now pooped upstairs. Oh my heavens.
In the midst of all the chaos I forgot about the baked goods. Oh they were baked alright. They were definitely done, toasted, burnt and disgusting. I am two glasses of wine into the evening, 1.5 children tucked into bed and 11 minutes away by expressway to the grocer. No thank you.
So the next day I planned on giving myself an in home manicure at 5:00 a.m., working a half day plus a few and then stopping to pick up some M&M cookies. Bars or cookies, who’s keeping track? Fault numero uno right there. The PTA secret service is, that’s who. Anyways I woke early and began my manicure prep. Now I must disclose here that last Saturday I treated myself to a manicure. I was asked 40 times if I wanted a shellac/gel manicure and I kindly replied each time, “No thank you!” I do not have time to come back and get it removed and keep up with that kind of routine. This is a small treat I do for myself once in a while.
So naturally when I went to remove my polish on Valentine’s Day morning, it should come off, right? I didn’t insert my hands into an ultraviolet light drying contraption. Why won’t this polish come off? Come on already. I soak them and still no polish removed. My nails looked hideous and my skin was forming 2 inch paper cut lacerations from the acetone bath soak. I can’t even call the nail salon because it is 5:30 in the morning. The day must go on and it does.
So when I get the kids off to school and tuck myself into my office chair, I call the nail salon. I explain to them I did not have a shellac/gel manicure and that my nail polish will not come off. The nail representative replies, “Oh we use a gel topcoat to make your french manicure last very long. You can come here and we can take it off and do another manicure for you, okay?” No it is not okay. I need this polish off. This is not what I asked for. I reply, “I am not wanting another manicure. I want my polish off and now maybe a refund for my inconvenience.” Her reply, “NO, I will not give you both. You don’t like that we tried to do something nice for you well than I am too busy to talk to you!” Click. Are you for real?
Time to forget the nails, I needed cookies. And the M & M cookies were there all right at the store. Yep, one pack of ten cookies left. A whole table of M & M cookies sold out. So I had to get chocolate chip brownie stuffed cookies instead.
I arrive at the party start time not set-up time and run into the classroom. The room moms turn and give me a stern eye with folded arms while proudly displaying their VISITOR badge. One proceeds to say, “We were getting nervous because we didn’t think you were coming.” Right, I know because being on time now constitutes late. Then Room Mom #1 goes through my bag and says, “Umm, where are the M & M bars?”
I explain what happened and they become frantic and all like, how are we going to serve these without the Head Room Mom’s approval? So I grab the cookies, run down to the nurse and principal and they okay them. There, done. It was in that moment that I realized I had been in my son’s classroom and school for at least 12 minutes now and never even acknowledged him. That’s when I put my foot down to these women and said, “I’m here for my child and his friends. I am going to say hello to him now!”
I ran over to him and could see the disappointment in his eyes and just gave him the biggest hug. I wanted to bury myself in his shoulders and cry but these Pinterest freaks are not getting the best of me. So, I gather myself and walk over to the orange table to help the children assemble their bead necklaces. Now mind you they have been inserting micro-mini beads on a wire for the past fifteen minutes. Owen J. turns to me and says, “I’m done, can you tie it together?” Sure buddy, I sure can.
See because in the eyes of a child you can do no wrong. A cookie is a cookie and being on time is whenever. Until I go to twist the wire and my severely numb, acetone cracked fingers get pierced by the wire end and I drop the necklace. A gazillion beady things go flying everywhere and Owen J. starts screaming and crying, “Noochie’s mom ruined my necklace!”
I literally dropped to my knees. My poor son was horrified because nobody wanted his mom near their necklaces. Room Mom #1 walks over and just when I thought she would put her hand on my shoulder and reassure me she goes, “How about you just put those cookies of yours on the plates. You did bring the plates right?” Huh? I was supposed to bring plates too?
I’m banned as a parent volunteer, I am sure, for life. I feel horrible for my son as I think I did more harm than good, by being there. He will always have the mom who ruined Owen J’s necklace.
Just as the bad mom stigma couldn’t get any worse the teacher called out all the children whose mothers helped out because they get to go home early. No, no please don’t.I can’t take him home because I have to finish up my work day at a client’s house across town. In front of the room mothers, my son, his teacher and all his peers I had to mumble, “He can’t come home with me because I have to work.” The words I have hated saying since all three of my boys were born.
I want you to know if you are that mom or dad struggling daily to be all in for your kids and your career, that it is okay to fail once in a while. It is okay if you don’t have the perfect craft or cutest felt frog to pin the heart on. It’s okay if you ruined Owen J’s necklace. It’s okay because I demonstrated to the kids that nobody is perfect. That accidents can and will happen. That how we respond under crisis is when our true character is formed. I told the orange table this and the blue table and green and red. I still got just as many hugs as Room Mom #1 and Room Mom #2.
Nobody is perfect. You don’t have to have a Pinterest account to make you a good parent. Being there for your children, no matter what happens, is what matters most to them. And I can promise you that if you are ever that mom or dad, struggling, hurting or treading in the deep end, I will not push you under but help you float! I promise!
So I ask, do you juggle family and career? Do you have mom or dad guilt? Do you Pinterest and if so, do you think it makes you a better parent? Do we volunteer to out do each other or to be involved in our kid’s lives?
Since you are reading this post, this can only mean one thing, I survived the cleanse. As you know the first three days were really rough. My head ached so bad and I was so hungry I could have eaten dirt, but I pushed through the pain. By day 5 I had super human powers and was starting to think I was no longer real.
I got into pretzel like yoga poses I was never able to accomplish in 9 years of practicing yoga. I had so much energy that I could have done my entire street’s laundry and still had time to make cupcakes, gourmet tofu dinners and clean my home’s interior walls. I was like a ball of sunshine no matter what crossed my path and all you had to do was glance my way and you would have had zip-a-dee-do-da chills go up and down your spine. Everything about the day 5 turning point was unreal.
I worked out everyday during the cleanse. I climbed 38 flights of stairs in 8:01 minutes in a climbing charity challenge and I gained and lost. I lost eight pounds in seven days and feel healthier than ever. So, I am not stopping. I eventually will stop losing weight when my body gets to it’s magic number but I never want off this high. In fact, I never set out to cleanse to lose weight. That was just one of the additional perks. I am not going to follow the exact daily detox plan because well that would be just stupid and borderline unhealthy. Plus a 38 flight descent, defying gravity, cranking my lung capacity into full gear and twisting and turning in a stairwell is enough stupidity for one week. Yet, I am all for helping out a good cause! Even if it means hacking up a lung or two.
But I do want to adopt this “better” way of living and eating. I’ve always been pretty good with diet and exercise but I learned more about my body in seven days than I have my whole life including three labors and delivers. And if that didn’t teach me things, then something needed too. A seven-day detox did the trick. I am also onto the bad guys. The hidden ingredients squawking my health and wellness goals and the bad guys I should not consume.
I am all for the organic dairy farmer and their aim to produce antibiotic and growth hormone free cheese, yogurt, dairy and milk. I thought I was doing my body good by replacing conventional dairy with organic back in 2006. Milk does a body good, right? No friends, not mine it doesn’t. The cleanse allowed no dairy. I am a walking cheese ball. Life 9 days ago was not worth living without cheese. So, this was my hardest struggle. Yet, dairy was the one bad guy beating me up my whole life.
So, I am moo-ving on to greener pastures. Ones where the soybean and coconut grow. Perhaps even where the goat roam. Cow’s milk and human beings should probably never co-mingle internally. I am starting to believe we were not meant to consume dairy. There are plenty of other ways to get calcium and Vitamin D.
These are just a few. I’m not trying to cause a controversy, persuade you to tip the spotted animal or boycott dairy. I realized something about how dairy affects my body and honestly I will never go back. I might slide down the pasture every now and then but I don’t think milk does a body good. I think if we look at the history of our own species, milk wasn’t in the kettles burning over our ancestors fires. Perhaps it is an industry induced hype? Whatever it is, it’s no longer for me. Now how do I recruit my chocolate milk loving romano cheese licking children? I lead by example I guess. That’s why they have been drinking coconut water and almond milk all weekend. They love it!
So, what do you think? Is milk for you? Does it do a body good? Could you cut out dairy for a week? Can you make a switch to a greener pasture?
Oh my goodness, so I started this 7-day cleanse and I think I am dying. I am in such a state of helplessness all because I grabbed a flyer when I went into Whole Foods the other day for romano cheese and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Don’t ask and no I am not with child. I am crabby, bitter and ready to eat my arm off. But, I will not give in to hunger pangs nor disorientation. Yet, this headache needs to go! I know, I am coming off a 15 year coffee addiction but I never thought it would be like this. My internal organs checked into rehab on Saturday and now my external being is losing it.
Seriously all the things you hear when first starting a cleanse like:
are all happening. Why do this you ask? Because I want to see if I can. I want to kick-start my organs into gear, lose some poundage and get ready for an upcoming race. Is there a simpler way? Perhaps, but not in 7 days. But, at the end of these seven days, I should be,
5-7 pounds lighter
having more energy
having glowing skin
Yet, I am worried I will not survive. I have never, ever had a headache quite like this. Yes I know only eating fruit in day one and only fruits and veggies yesterday may have something to do with it but a woman needs her coffee. She needs it hot, fresh, strong and NOW! Will I survive the next 5 days. Sure, if I can sleep the whole time I would be fine. “They say” to ease your way into the cleanse. Please explain that to my three sons, my laundry bin, my job and my head.
Anyways it’s no fun going at anything alone so I want to encourage you all to join me. Now that I have just painted a nice little picture about how fun this is, I know you will all want to jump right on board Two Zero One Three to a New Me. So click away and begin today. I mean if I am going to suffer, we all should, right?
I do hope I can get through the next five days and come out glowing and lighter and brighter. But I also hope it will pave the way for continued good eating habits void of all things processed and sugary and fried. Not that I indulge in this much but there is always room for improvement. As for the coffee, yah well void of that is never happening. I will just cut down a bit to five pots a day instead of eight.
So, what’s in your cup? Have you ever done a cleanse? Did you want to rip your head off? Did you cave? Did you succeed?
Every four weeks for an hour and forty-five minutes I get a mommy break. I get to sip coffee, read Gossip magazines, wear a cape, look frazzled and have chemicals eating away at my scalp. The salon I go to when I need to wash my grays away also gives you a hand, arm and scalp massage. In the one and three quarter hours I am there, I relax, rejuvenate and get made all pretty. As a mom of three boys under the age of nine, sometimes this is how you have to get a break in. For some it is a shopping trip alone to the grocery store. You know when buying jar pasta sauce, tuna in a can and peanut butter takes four hours. Yet for you, wandering the aisles meditating to Kraft, Smuckers and Revlon is all it takes to stoke your inner being. I get it, I just prefer to sit and meditate while burning my scalp.
So you can all appreciate by reading my posts and following my blog how wild and crazy Me 4.0 can be at times. If you just ventured here via a Google search gone wrong or a 6.9 second blip across the WordPress topic screen, then stop right here. Read this first, Life In My Fast Lane. So, as you know or can see, if I can get 1.75 hours of chillaxin time humming to the tune of a hairdryer and lots of ladies yapping about nonsense, that to me is the equivalent as consuming a bottle of wine. Plus I do not have a two-day hangover afterwards either. Not that, that ever happens. Like ever. But you get the idea.
So a few days ago was mommy’s big night out. I found a parking spot that did not require a meter donation and ventured into my oasis spot. I chatted with my stylist a bit while she slapped the sticky brown chemicals on my head and then she set the timer of bliss. Now for the next forty-five minutes I can indulge in smut, sip a warm beverage and sit. Just sit. Bethenny Frankel‘s divorce was way too predictable and the fact that a princess is going to be a mama doesn’t really interest me. I’m happy and all for the Royal family and the soon to be little squirt but really, enough is enough. So, I open up my Whole Living Magazine and get caught up on the mind, body and soul connection. I mean it was only the August 2012 Edition. How do you say speed reader? I really should be on June 2013’s edition so I can get a head start on my Independence Day planning. I mean fireworks are nothing if you don’t have chia seed fruit pops in red, white and blue. That is the latest copy I received, right? Really, why do magazines do that?
Never mind. That is not important. What is important is the fact the very loud woman in the swivel chair next to me, caused me much anguish. You see somewhere between reading the ingredients for a Tahini-Mango smoothie to getting down with Deepak Chopra, I had a self-induced anxiety attack. After the ninth foil went into her bleach blonde hair, she proceeded to ask her stylist, “Did you happen to see any bugs?” Suddenly it was as if the power went out because the whole salon/spa became silent with the exception of someone’s eyebrow that just got waxed off. Did you say bugs lady?
Yes, oh yes, she did. She has lice. That is in, the present, right now, currently is with bugs. This is how you lay it down lady? This is how you break the news to your stylist? Because oh cancelling the appointment until you were bug free wouldn’t have been the wiser choice. Instead, this selfish little lady getting her hair all done up, relaxing to no avail with a bug infested head while I am squirming in my chair was the better option, right? But get this. The stylist keeps foiling and color applying. I would have put a bag over her head and escorted her out with some Aveda Comforting Tea.
Now there must be some sort of “never let the client see you sweat” protocol at the salon because I know the stylist was dying. I just do not get why she kept on going. Find a way to get off that head. Instead she brings a senior stylist over to talk product and bug zapper companies that can treat her head and home. That’s right, because white bugs can jump. In fact, they can jump very far. Possibly like right over to where my head, coat and purse were. They also like warm, clean, dim-lit spaces. Yes, well don’t we all after the age of 35? Now please get your head out of here.
I could see this wasn’t happening. I can appreciate the stylist’s professionalism. Even as the sweat beads ran down her forehead and she was basically in plank position applying the color she was all smiles and uh-huhs. Then she finished up and bolted. Great. What about me? That’s right, little miss I do everything for everyone just got selfish. What about me? I don’t want any bugs!
So, I took action. I got up and refilled my Aveda Comforting Tea multiple times, browsed the retail rack and scheduled 18 future appointments with the receptionist. As I watched from afar as she sat there sipping her coffee, getting fifty shades lighter and flipping through the Cosmo pages I couldn’t help but want to throw a bottle of Volumizer at her to go with her already inflated selfish little head. My timer was ticking away and I was loosing my precious mommy night out time to bug girl. Then she had the nerve along with the rest of the salon to look at me as to why I was wandering around aimlessly with my little black cape. So I sit back down. Then I starting thinking about all my friends and family who had lice and what they had to go through. It is unfortunate and I truly wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. But if you know you have an issue, don’t spread it. So I refill my tea for the tenth time and use the restroom for the sixth time.
Upon passing the shampoo bowl, I wanted to vomit thinking about how many bugs went swimming or will go swimming in there soon. I had to do something big. I only had fourteen minutes left on the ticker and then my mommy night out time would soon be up. No more sitting, sipping and browsing. It will be all over soon. If they weren’t going to move her, then I was going to move. So I venture out into the reception area. The staff at this point probably thought I was bloated with gas problems or going through some kind of substance withdrawal with all my movement, fidgeting and trips to the restroom. Plus I looked like Wonder Woman gone wrong.
Ladies you know what I mean when you get your hair-colored but seriously I look like Medusa in a cape. Scary stuff. Funny as they wouldn’t put an end to bug girl but they asked if I wouldn’t mind going back into the style chair because they prefer no color get on the reception sofa. Oh but lice infesting the joint was A-Okay.
I knew I had to think big and act swiftly. So I gently loosen my smock cape just enough that it would “accidentally” drag on the floor and I refill my tea. Again. As I was proceeding back to the adjustable-height, swivel chair, I “accidentally” tripped over my smock cape and my tea went flying onto my chair, the floor and my station mirror. For all of you that frequent salons, then you know where there’s hair product there’s wire. My intentions were not to cause an electrical shortage. But those sparks registered on the magnitude of a bug zapper hanging from a tree in the night of summer. Several stylists ran over and asked if I was okay and not to worry about it. Then the magic words, “Why don’t you have a seat over here?” Finally. Now with four minutes left to shampoo bowl time, a self-induced anxiety attack and a detox cleanse in motion courtesy of the eight gallons of Aveda Comforting Tea I consumed, this mama is back in business. I refuse to ever be a victim. Ever!
Three days and counting I am still bug free and I am devising a future plan in the event the salon is too tight on customer service to decline a bug head. I really don’t blame them. I shame and blame critter head.
May you all begin your weekend with an itch free head. I’m still scratching mine in awe. Please do not get me wrong. I am not being insensitive or judgemental of the fact that this lady had lice. I could only imagine what she has been going through. The issue here is that she failed to disclose or be sensitive to the salon patrons and for goodness sake her stylist.
So, what would you do? Would you voice your concern or put yourself into cardiac arrest? Is it fair to others to come to a salon when you have lice without consulting with them before services begin? What crazy thing have you done to get out of a bad situation?
Decision, decisons…I know. Seriously I could only dream of Le Tour de France. For now, I will pedal it out on a stationary bike. For my fellow spandex wearing indoor cyclists, you know what this is all about. For those of you who think spinning is something in the Rumpelstilskin fairy tale, you may not be so far off. I guess I can see where you could relate spinning to a fairy tale. As taken from Wikipedia, Rumpelstilzchen in German means literally “little rattle stilt”. (A stilt is a post or pole which provides support for a structure.) I can see the correlation. The stationary bike is the post and the “spinner” is the structure. It is a sure bet, that when you are pedaling like it’s nobody’s business, that stilt better support your behind. Little rattle stilt…I sort of like the ring to that!
Well, I started spinning, the stationary bike kind, on a more regular basis. It is a great workout that can potentially burn 400-700 calories in an hour spin class covering approximately 13-18 miles depending on your pace. I definitely feel I am getting my spin on. Since I consume 64 ounces of H2O in one hour and walk out of class like I just got caught on a golf course when the evening sprinklers cranked on at full blast, I’d say I was working it!
Spin class is a nice balance of cardio and strength and if I was to get on a “real” bike out on the roadways, I am sure I would have a significant amount of improved endurance. Well, we sure would hope so! In my particular spin class they have an overhead fan that could provide enough energy for a nuclear power plant. The instructor is poised on a stage for your maximum viewing pleasure. I sort of feel like they are perched up there higher like a hawk soaring above watching for its next prey.
The class participants come in all shapes, sizes and athletic ability. You have your quiet, conservative spinsters who won’t dare break a bead of sweat and then there is your Rah-Rah Shish Koom Ba all pumped up participants. There are plenty of people who wish they took a restorative yoga class instead of strapping themselves into the stir-ups for an hour ride too. Then there are those outside cyclists who take the art of spinning to a whole ‘nother level.
Then there is me. A little athleticism and a lot of endurance who definitely wants to maximize a workout with a ton of potential to be the next cyclist at Le Tour De France. Yet, until yesterday, I was lacking the whole imagery thing. So, as you know, there is this mega fan to part aid in the cooling feature but also to possible simulate like you are riding into the wind. The instructors always dedicate “the ride” to a location. Some locations include but are not limited to Hawaii, Nashville, Italy and the streets of New York City.
So here’s me getting frustrated that I can’t imagine we are riding down Haleakala clinging to our handle bars with white knuckles in fear of going over into the Pacific. Until yesterday, I just never understood why we can’t just pedal to the metal with some great music and call it quits in an hour. I didn’t get what the whole imagery thing had to do with working out.
Then somewhere along mile 6, right about where my instructor started to resemble Captain Dan in the Forrest Gump Storm Scene (go ahead youtube it you – you know you want to), I found my imagery on a stationary bike. We were beginning our mountain climb and turning up our resistance to hill number three. Then it happened. I began envisioning myself climbing up the Jura Mountains north of the Alps between the Rhone and Rhine Rivers. The wind (aka big metal fan breeze) pushing against me. I had to get past the other cyclists and the climb was getting harder and then I found my rhythm and spun like Rumplelstiltskin did for the young women on the third night of her deadline. In the fairy tale and my reality, that was pretty darn fast.
I can’t really explain it but I get it now. The whole sensory imagery thing. It is okay to pretend and let go. Nobody knows what you are thinking. Just like nobody knows where your resistance level is set. You know what I mean spinners. We have all cheated our way through a workout.
So, in fairy tale fashion, the moral is make your spin class your ride. If you have never ventured into a “spin room,” venture in, saddle up, strap in and enjoy the ride. Afterall, it is your ride, your imagery and your workout. I have compiled a “must do” list when attending a spin class to help you in your efforts. Don’t be shy, go for it!
The Must Do’s for your Spin Woos (Disclosure: Please contact a professional spin instructor on how to achieve the best spin experience)
1. You best get your jug on. That’s right, at least a minimum of 32 ounces of water. You want to be H2O plentiful!
2. Saddle up! You will be sitting, also known as “in the saddle”, running, sprinting, jumping and climbing all on a stationary bike for 45 minutes to an hour. Tweek those bike settings to the most comfortable and safe positions as you can. Please note, it will take you a few classes to find your right adjustment. Write your settings down for easy remembrance.
3. Strap In. If you lose yourself on a stationary bike, you want to have those foot stir-ups nice and tight. That’s right. You don’t want to be pedaling like a you know what and your feet lose grip. That will be a hurtful casuality.
4. Have your duo-dry sweat wicker at close range. If you are working out to your full potential (it is okay to push yourself too) then you will want to mop it up. We can’t have any blurred vision from sweat drips or slipped grips on the handle bars.
5. Pedal to the music. Assuming your instructor is tempo literate, listen to the beats and pedal to the tune. There is nothing worse than pedaling off beat.
6. “Really” use the resistance knob. You’ll see what this is all about when you get going. You can turn it up and then back it down with a flick of the wrist. Don’t back down unless instructed to. Set the pace that works for you but don’t cheat yourself.
7. Enjoy the ride. Whether you can visualize the Alps or feel like you are venturing to H-E double hockey sticks, embrace the ride.
So, I hope you all get out there and maximize your ride or venture to try it out. Let go of your thoughts, your lists of things to do and set out on your journey to reach your destination. You get “there” by doing. So strap in, pedal to the tune and set your mind free. You will get to that place you desire to be!
I want to leave you with one final thought taken right out of a spin class.
“Push yourself. Make it happen. Don’t hold back! If you have that being punched in the stomach feeling, then you are in the right place!”