I became a vegetarian shortly after our son Josh was born and during his formative years I was pretty vigilant about what he ate. (And by "pretty vigilant" I mean "fanatically zealous.")
His first couple of Halloweens were not an issue because he was still little but by the time his third Halloween rolled around, there was a problem. I was strongly against the idea of him gobbling up his weight in sugary junk (as I called candy back in the day), but I didn't want to deny him the fun that comes with dressing up in costume.
"Hmm....How to get around receiving massive amounts of candy without branding my child as a social outcast for life?" That was the question. I mulled it over and over in my mind until I was struck with a brilliant idea! I would go in advance everywhere I would be taking him trick-or-treating and drop off a healthy snack for them to put in his bag. This was creativity at its finest! He'd have all the fun and none of the cavities!
And so it happened. That Halloween and the two that followed it, Josh got tangerines, apples, oranges, bananas, popcorn and even the occasional fruit leather in his trick-or-treat pumpkin. Everyone got to see how adorable he looked in his costumes and he got to see what all the other kids wore, too. He got a kick out of the whole evening and seemed genuinely pleased with his healthy haul. (That's how it looked to me anyway.)
Fast forward to kindergarten. Halloween approached but even then I didn't realize that I hadn't thought this idea through to its logical conclusion. I had totally ignored the friend factor. When Josh found out that all the other kids got candy when they went trick-or-treating, he had a melt down. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were nothing compared to this! Josh was beyond angry. He was livid.
To this very day, if you mention Halloween to him, he will zero in his pre-school years and get annoyed all over again. In his mind, I still owe him about a hundred pounds of nerds, starbursts and skittles.
Sometimes brilliant ideas are best left alone.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Yoga, Revisited
On Tuesday and Thursday mornings I get on an elevator, descend into Hell, meet Satan's Mistress, and pay actual American currency for the privilege of attending her "Deep Stretch Yoga Class."
Deep Stretch Yoga is code for "Yoga for Old Ladies" and it focuses on flexibility and balance. I've never been particularly flexible and not even a stranger would mistake me for someone who was well-balanced, so this class is a good fit for me.
Today when I arrived in the studio, I noticed two chairs sitting sideways against the wall. Miss Mary Ann was feeling particularly feisty and had decided that today was the day we were going to stretch our trapezius muscles, doing a pose called the "fountain of youth."
I'm all for youth -- I even dimly recall being one once -- but had sincere reservations about this Cirque du Soliel move which consisted of suspending oneself with the head wedged between two chairs in what amounted to a headstand in midair.
Although I'm pretty sure that I verbalized my concerns, no one paid much attention to my pitiful whimperings and that is how I found myself in the aforementioned position and then, to add insult to injury, they took pictures of me.
If we're going to continue to do these types of moves - especially if I'm going to be photographed - I'm going to have to insist that we wear glittery outfits made of sequins and feathers, perhaps with the addition of a small, tasteful tutu. In pink or turquoise. Would a tiny tiara be asking too much?
People ask me why I return to yoga week after week when I make no secret of the fact that I don't enjoy this form of exercise one little bit. The answer is simple. I spend a lot of my time hunched over a computer and my neck and shoulders get tight and sore from it.
As much as I hate to admit it, I feel better after I leave yoga class.
Deep Stretch Yoga is code for "Yoga for Old Ladies" and it focuses on flexibility and balance. I've never been particularly flexible and not even a stranger would mistake me for someone who was well-balanced, so this class is a good fit for me.
Today when I arrived in the studio, I noticed two chairs sitting sideways against the wall. Miss Mary Ann was feeling particularly feisty and had decided that today was the day we were going to stretch our trapezius muscles, doing a pose called the "fountain of youth."
I'm all for youth -- I even dimly recall being one once -- but had sincere reservations about this Cirque du Soliel move which consisted of suspending oneself with the head wedged between two chairs in what amounted to a headstand in midair.
Although I'm pretty sure that I verbalized my concerns, no one paid much attention to my pitiful whimperings and that is how I found myself in the aforementioned position and then, to add insult to injury, they took pictures of me.
If we're going to continue to do these types of moves - especially if I'm going to be photographed - I'm going to have to insist that we wear glittery outfits made of sequins and feathers, perhaps with the addition of a small, tasteful tutu. In pink or turquoise. Would a tiny tiara be asking too much?
People ask me why I return to yoga week after week when I make no secret of the fact that I don't enjoy this form of exercise one little bit. The answer is simple. I spend a lot of my time hunched over a computer and my neck and shoulders get tight and sore from it.
As much as I hate to admit it, I feel better after I leave yoga class.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Thieving scoundrel!
Help! We've been robbed!!
I know that the thief was either a pudgy woman or a gay man because the only thing she (or he) took was my black yoga pants with pink and blue hearts on the hiney.
Why anyone would want these pants is beyond me. Who understands the criminal mind?
I know that the thief was either a pudgy woman or a gay man because the only thing she (or he) took was my black yoga pants with pink and blue hearts on the hiney.
Why anyone would want these pants is beyond me. Who understands the criminal mind?
Friday, October 12, 2012
A Scary October Story
Don't read this post if you frighten easily...
Last week Jessica was visiting and as we stepped outside onto our front porch she screamed one of those screams of sheer terror that I, personally, reserve for snakes. I screamed too as I jumped back and grabbed her, which did nothing to allay her fear I might add. I had to laugh when she pointed out what we were screaming about - a tiny chameleon on our railing. Turns out that lizards -- really just miniature snakes with tiny feet when you think about it -- don't bother me at all. Good to know.
Yesterday I decided to clean the basement and stuck the Swiffer behind my piano. I captured a whole bunch of pill bugs in various stages of life and was so grossed out by this catch that I put my telescoping feather duster under there. When I pulled it out again, a big, brown spider was attached to it. A slender spider, it was easy to identify: brown recluse. The very name sends shivers of horror up and down my spine!
Either of these events could have sent me -- a card carrying phobic -- over the edge, but together they multiplied my angst exponentially. I had difficulty sleeping last night. My entire body was tingling and I was certain that I was in the beginning stages of paralysis.
When I awoke this morning apparently perfectly fine - except emotionally, of course - no one was more surprised than I was. Emotionally though, I'm a wreck! Where there's one spider, there's a potential for many more, right?
My kids had an audio of Charlotte's Web (read by the author) that we listened to endlessly while they were growing up. You may recall that Charlotte gave birth to countless baby spiders by the tale's end. Who knows the sex of the spider I threw outside yesterday? I was in a panic but even if I hadn't been, truthfully I don't know how to tell a spider's gender anyway. Chances are that even if I did, in the heat of the moment I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to check.
Today I'm going to buy an industrial can of Home Defense and have Jerry spray it this weekend. I can't do it myself because insecticide creeps me out, but that would be belaboring the obvious now, wouldn't it?
Last week Jessica was visiting and as we stepped outside onto our front porch she screamed one of those screams of sheer terror that I, personally, reserve for snakes. I screamed too as I jumped back and grabbed her, which did nothing to allay her fear I might add. I had to laugh when she pointed out what we were screaming about - a tiny chameleon on our railing. Turns out that lizards -- really just miniature snakes with tiny feet when you think about it -- don't bother me at all. Good to know.
Yesterday I decided to clean the basement and stuck the Swiffer behind my piano. I captured a whole bunch of pill bugs in various stages of life and was so grossed out by this catch that I put my telescoping feather duster under there. When I pulled it out again, a big, brown spider was attached to it. A slender spider, it was easy to identify: brown recluse. The very name sends shivers of horror up and down my spine!
Either of these events could have sent me -- a card carrying phobic -- over the edge, but together they multiplied my angst exponentially. I had difficulty sleeping last night. My entire body was tingling and I was certain that I was in the beginning stages of paralysis.
When I awoke this morning apparently perfectly fine - except emotionally, of course - no one was more surprised than I was. Emotionally though, I'm a wreck! Where there's one spider, there's a potential for many more, right?
My kids had an audio of Charlotte's Web (read by the author) that we listened to endlessly while they were growing up. You may recall that Charlotte gave birth to countless baby spiders by the tale's end. Who knows the sex of the spider I threw outside yesterday? I was in a panic but even if I hadn't been, truthfully I don't know how to tell a spider's gender anyway. Chances are that even if I did, in the heat of the moment I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to check.
Today I'm going to buy an industrial can of Home Defense and have Jerry spray it this weekend. I can't do it myself because insecticide creeps me out, but that would be belaboring the obvious now, wouldn't it?
Thursday, October 4, 2012
The Funny One
Every single member of my family secretly thinks that they are the funniest one in our group. They're all wrong. It's me. I'm the funny one.
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