solo mama entendre

It has been several months since I blogged – back when we were in the throes of camping adventures and expenses. Since then, my brain has been cluttered with experiences, organized into clip art-like images and quips as the days fly by. My son loves first grade and his new school. Every day he leaps out of the car and races across the school lot to the front door where the principal is usually standing, holding the front door open and giving high fives to all the kids as they enter the building. I usually walk him across the street, while my daughter remains in the back seat of the car, her face barely visible, peeking out over the top of the door as she looks out the window sadly. When I return to the car, she always sighs and says, “I miss my brother.” We then head over to her school, where she attends Pre-K. From what I hear, she continues to be the best helper, the sweetest student, a lovely listener, and a smarty pants. As soon as I pick her up from class in the evening and close the car door, she transforms into a gnarly troll.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to be more active. This includes ensuring that my kids stay active and trying to capitalize on their exercise by watching their activities from the sidelines. My eyeballs will definitely be in beach shape by next summer. Since I failed once again to register at our rec center when registration first opened at 7 o’clock on a random Wednesday morning, we were wait-listed for the gymnastics classes that my kids wanted to join this fall. Instead, we decided to try some fancy activity called Parkour. Derived from the French, “le parcours,” is an “obstacle course method of military training” and in more recent philosophy, “a means of reclaiming what it means to be a human being…teaching us to touch the world and interact with it, instead of being sheltered by it” (Wikipedia, the source of all knowledge).

From what I can tell, it involves falling, rolling, leaping over obstacles, jumping off of tall structures, and skillfully maneuvering a balance beam. Perfect for 6-year old boys. The gym is owned and operated by a former “American Ninja Warrior” which I guess is a popular TV show. We are not easily impressed, but I was so jazzed after being a bench warmer during the class my son tried for free that I enrolled him for a month of classes and me and my daughter for a one-time, one-hour class. Upon expressing my interest in the “parent-tot” class, the coach gave me a once over and asked if I knew that the parent would be expected to be active during the class. I guess I must have looked more like a slob than I thought. “Well, yes. Of course,” I said, and gave him the once over back. Tall, skinny physique capped with a head of floppy hair that he manages by removing and replacing his hat several times throughout the class, sporting a wristwatch with a too-small face that is probably custom made for scaling tall buildings with his bare hands. Little did he know that I performed a perfect cartwheel this past summer at the park and wow’ed my kids. They talked about it for days…and I heard about it for weeks from my chiropractor.

When I’m not involved in fancy French sports, you can find me at 24-Hour Fitness, fighting with weight machines, plodding along on a treadmill and listening to Drake on my free Spotify account. Lame. Last month I even got hit on. By an 80-year old man carrying a portable oxygen tank who tried to persuade me to vote for Donald Trump. I swear people, this was not my life 10 years ago. Things have changed. Mentally and spiritually for the better. Physically, not so much.