A couple days ago, I wrote a lot about saying "no" and feeling there were too many things crowding in. But what about saying yes? What do I say "yes" to?
Writing - yes! I have a few projects that are grabbing me like nothing else. Write, write and write some more.
Cooking - yes! I love cooking for my family and eating together. Healthy stuff, fun food, yummy and delicious food. I cook because I dislike most processed food, and I enjoy it. I enjoy the challenge of making something new and delicious or familiar and nourishing. I also enjoy eating it - that's a side benefit.
Reading - yes! Time to think and and learn and muse and lose myself in a story, then discuss it with my husband later.
Dancing - yes! And the community that surrounds it - yesyesyes!
Conversations and community - yes! Especially getting together with friends for lunch and conversation.
Creating - yes! Making stuff, even if it's totally new. Like that time I knitted mittens for the first time ever as a present simply because it sounded like a great idea. Or making an Advent calendar like the one I grew up with - yes, I am really finishing it this year! Or making up silly sings for my daughter. Or making that Italian-style white-bean soup. Yum!
Being with my child and husband - yes! My two favorite people to hang out with.
Keeping up with my house - yes! Picking up after myself is always an act of self-love, even if I grumble about it sometimes. I am one with the sweeping.
Growing things - yes! I just put some pansies into the ground for Winter color, and neatened up the herbs. The lavender did well this year, and that oregano is getting out of control. The marigolds are still blooming, and the lemon verbena looks insanely happy. The mint is still hanging on. Time to plant new flower bulbs in the side yard soon.
Keeping up with my health - yes! Good food and good mental habits and great exercise and all. Getting good sleep... well, I'm still working on that one!
--
Monday, November 7, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Climbing and Tumbling
My daughter has outgrown her tumbling class. Not that they do anything extraordinarily difficult there, much less real tumbling. Mostly, the children run circuits around the blocks and mats, and practice clambering over, around and under things. But there is an incline to practice rolling or somersaulting, a short wooden bar to hang or swing from, bridges to cross, arches to crawl under. The course is different every time.
In the beginning, her greatest challenge was being around the energetic tumble of other children. She'd startle and cry any time a child pushed past her. She'd spend a long time watching what everyone was doing and where they were. Sometimes she'd watch so long that she'd hardly have time to play before the session was up.
Slowly, slowly, she learned to tolerate being around rambunctious personalities or overly friendly toddlers, and to enjoy the physical challenges and accomplishments that could be had.
She learned to climb up large blocks, step from one to another and leap off onto mat or trampoline. She'd jump on the mini trampolines and hang from the monkey bar, kicking her legs out in front of her. She learned to climb under an arch, or better yet, to scale the side of one, grasping with fingers and digging in toes as if she were a rock climber. And she would heave herself to the curved top, and then stand there balancing with a huge grin, delighted at gaining her perch. I once saw her rock standing on an upside down arch as if it were a surf board!
She's learned to love playing with large balls and parachutes. She's learned that we have to put on socks and shoes before we can pick out a sticker, and how to wash her hands after class. Her successfully stepping backwards off the handwashing stool (instead of falling off sideways trusting me to catch her), was among my proudest satisfactions. She certainly has gained more knowledge and confidence in her physical capabilities.
It's been so fun to see her progress over the last year and a half. In the last month, however, I've seen a shift in her focus.
She used to run up and down "the mountain" or roll down it when she was feeling inspired. But will she try a somersault? Noo. Well, she did once or twice for Daddy. Now she plays she is going to "the beach" and tells me we need to put on sunscreen so she can sit on the sand. She has no further interest in the monkey bar, but she'll steal the pillows from around the base, drag them underneath an arch, and pretend she's sleeping in her "house."
She used to climb into "the doughnut" (two arched mats arranged to make a circle) for the fun of it, to enjoy flopping onto the wall, about chest high, and pushing herself forward and sideways to drop into the hole. Now she imagines the doughnut is the swimming pool, and she wants to "swim" in it or go fishing.
Sometimes a parent or instructor will make discrete pitying noises. "She'll get there," they say. Many other kids her age, after all, have either moved on to the big kids tumbling class or are off to preschool. But where is it exactly she needs to get? As with any other development, she'll do something when she's darn good and ready, and no pressure, er, "helpful encouragement" will sway her if she doesn't want to do something.
We seem to have hit an impasse. Apparently she has mastered the parts that interest her, and has no interest in further complicated maneuvers.
It's not as if she's not capable of being active. In fact, after a tumbling class, she seems eager for more activity, and will literally run laps around the large bathroom before I can persuade her (tackle her) to settle down enough to wash her hands.
And when she goes to the park, she'll clamber up planks and ladders, sliding headfirst down slides, throwing herself across nets and onto complicated courses.
Not to mention the irrepressible running that bursts out any time she gets to any space large enough to jog a stretch. She runs as if she has so much energy, she simply must put it somewhere. But that 'somewhere' doesn't seem to include structured tumbling.
No, right now it's the imagination that is calling her, and she's so fully engrossed in imaginative play that all that lovely apparatus merely stands in as a landscape of possibility.
So I'm thinking we should give tumbling a rest for now, or least after my punch card runs out next month. Maybe a local toddler dance class will be more to her liking. I already have found a possibility nearby. I'm crossing my fingers that it'll be the next fun challenge.
--
In the beginning, her greatest challenge was being around the energetic tumble of other children. She'd startle and cry any time a child pushed past her. She'd spend a long time watching what everyone was doing and where they were. Sometimes she'd watch so long that she'd hardly have time to play before the session was up.
Slowly, slowly, she learned to tolerate being around rambunctious personalities or overly friendly toddlers, and to enjoy the physical challenges and accomplishments that could be had.
She learned to climb up large blocks, step from one to another and leap off onto mat or trampoline. She'd jump on the mini trampolines and hang from the monkey bar, kicking her legs out in front of her. She learned to climb under an arch, or better yet, to scale the side of one, grasping with fingers and digging in toes as if she were a rock climber. And she would heave herself to the curved top, and then stand there balancing with a huge grin, delighted at gaining her perch. I once saw her rock standing on an upside down arch as if it were a surf board!
She's learned to love playing with large balls and parachutes. She's learned that we have to put on socks and shoes before we can pick out a sticker, and how to wash her hands after class. Her successfully stepping backwards off the handwashing stool (instead of falling off sideways trusting me to catch her), was among my proudest satisfactions. She certainly has gained more knowledge and confidence in her physical capabilities.
It's been so fun to see her progress over the last year and a half. In the last month, however, I've seen a shift in her focus.
She used to run up and down "the mountain" or roll down it when she was feeling inspired. But will she try a somersault? Noo. Well, she did once or twice for Daddy. Now she plays she is going to "the beach" and tells me we need to put on sunscreen so she can sit on the sand. She has no further interest in the monkey bar, but she'll steal the pillows from around the base, drag them underneath an arch, and pretend she's sleeping in her "house."
She used to climb into "the doughnut" (two arched mats arranged to make a circle) for the fun of it, to enjoy flopping onto the wall, about chest high, and pushing herself forward and sideways to drop into the hole. Now she imagines the doughnut is the swimming pool, and she wants to "swim" in it or go fishing.
Sometimes a parent or instructor will make discrete pitying noises. "She'll get there," they say. Many other kids her age, after all, have either moved on to the big kids tumbling class or are off to preschool. But where is it exactly she needs to get? As with any other development, she'll do something when she's darn good and ready, and no pressure, er, "helpful encouragement" will sway her if she doesn't want to do something.
We seem to have hit an impasse. Apparently she has mastered the parts that interest her, and has no interest in further complicated maneuvers.
It's not as if she's not capable of being active. In fact, after a tumbling class, she seems eager for more activity, and will literally run laps around the large bathroom before I can persuade her (tackle her) to settle down enough to wash her hands.
And when she goes to the park, she'll clamber up planks and ladders, sliding headfirst down slides, throwing herself across nets and onto complicated courses.
Not to mention the irrepressible running that bursts out any time she gets to any space large enough to jog a stretch. She runs as if she has so much energy, she simply must put it somewhere. But that 'somewhere' doesn't seem to include structured tumbling.
No, right now it's the imagination that is calling her, and she's so fully engrossed in imaginative play that all that lovely apparatus merely stands in as a landscape of possibility.
So I'm thinking we should give tumbling a rest for now, or least after my punch card runs out next month. Maybe a local toddler dance class will be more to her liking. I already have found a possibility nearby. I'm crossing my fingers that it'll be the next fun challenge.
--
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Busyness and Disorder
As soon as we cleared Halloween, the busyness descended. A party here, a dance there, an appointment, two, three. A workshop, a potluck, a cookout, an obligation and responsibility, two, three, more. And then we'll travel. How much time is there left to breathe?
So I whittle a few things away. I go late to the dance so that I can cook dinner. I skip a party to I can put the long-neglected house to rights and still have enough energy left over to support a friend. I hang the new curtains and fix the chair and throw out old shoes that are cluttering up the place.
The little girl goes to the park with her father, and I take an hour to rip through her room, thinning out Summer or outgrown clothing, and sorting the discards for donation or sale. The piles of unused junk recede considerably - yes! I wash the dishes, start another load of laundry, pick up windblown branches in the yard, take out another load of trash/recycling/donations. I can't think with the household lying about disordered.
I need my social time, of course, but an embarrassment of riches is sometimes overwhelming. I need time to breathe and pick up the inevitable debris left from our passing. Recycle that box, wash that crock, plant that flat of pansies, write that bill, write that post. Sleep.
I frequently remind myself to not let busyness get in the way of taking care of business. Meet a friend for lunch, yes, then don't forget to prep for dinner. Chat with friends on Fac3b00k, and don't forget to talk to your spouse!
Perhaps I am still an introvert at heart. Or perhaps I still allow myself to get caught up in social (or antisocial) distractions to the detriment of my everyday life. Or perhaps I need to reaffirm my "vows" to Flylady to do my daily and weekly tasks despite my distractability.
And what is the point to this post, eh? Well, I'm writing daily this month, and I'm getting my writing done between ripping through my daughter's outworn gear and putting in another load of laundry before makingdinnerchangingclothesleavingforevent before I teachSundayschoolmakelunchbeforetheconcert. Somewhere in there I'll start working on the projects that are due before I leave for family visits. Cue off-screen scream.
* * * * * *
My spouse tells me one should not feel bad about not doing everything. "Own the decision!" he tells me. If you are confident it's the right decision for you (to not undertake xy and z so that you can take care of other things), you will be less likely to waste energy bemoaning the reality of what you really need or want to do. Drop the self-imposed guilt! You deserve to take care of yourself.
Then there is the other-imposed guilt from various insistent requests and demands. Which often leads to another thing I am bad at: saying "no" to other people's expectations. Yes, I did make the decision to pass on that social event. No, I can't help you with that project. I'm sorry to not see you, but I need to take care of some other things. No, that really won't work for me.
The least I can do for myself is to drop the imagined list of demands from other people that augment the actual obligations I've signed on for. One way or another, I know I can't do it all, nor do I want to. Repeat after me please: No, I can't do that. Sorry, no. Uh-uh. No. Or to quote one of my cousins, Don't equivocate. Just say "I don't want that." I say "no" to that so I can say "yes" to this. Yes to family dinners with home-cooked food. Yes to dancing and writing. Yes to real letters and conversation. Yes to exercise and good food. Yes to recharging my energy. Yes to taking time to think and sleep.
Is this going to be one of those posts where I worry about offending people? Repeat after me again: I can't do it all. Sorry, that's not going to work for me right now. Nuh-uh. No.
--
So I whittle a few things away. I go late to the dance so that I can cook dinner. I skip a party to I can put the long-neglected house to rights and still have enough energy left over to support a friend. I hang the new curtains and fix the chair and throw out old shoes that are cluttering up the place.
The little girl goes to the park with her father, and I take an hour to rip through her room, thinning out Summer or outgrown clothing, and sorting the discards for donation or sale. The piles of unused junk recede considerably - yes! I wash the dishes, start another load of laundry, pick up windblown branches in the yard, take out another load of trash/recycling/donations. I can't think with the household lying about disordered.
I need my social time, of course, but an embarrassment of riches is sometimes overwhelming. I need time to breathe and pick up the inevitable debris left from our passing. Recycle that box, wash that crock, plant that flat of pansies, write that bill, write that post. Sleep.
I frequently remind myself to not let busyness get in the way of taking care of business. Meet a friend for lunch, yes, then don't forget to prep for dinner. Chat with friends on Fac3b00k, and don't forget to talk to your spouse!
Perhaps I am still an introvert at heart. Or perhaps I still allow myself to get caught up in social (or antisocial) distractions to the detriment of my everyday life. Or perhaps I need to reaffirm my "vows" to Flylady to do my daily and weekly tasks despite my distractability.
And what is the point to this post, eh? Well, I'm writing daily this month, and I'm getting my writing done between ripping through my daughter's outworn gear and putting in another load of laundry before makingdinnerchangingclothesleavingforevent before I teachSundayschoolmakelunchbeforetheconcert. Somewhere in there I'll start working on the projects that are due before I leave for family visits. Cue off-screen scream.
* * * * * *
My spouse tells me one should not feel bad about not doing everything. "Own the decision!" he tells me. If you are confident it's the right decision for you (to not undertake xy and z so that you can take care of other things), you will be less likely to waste energy bemoaning the reality of what you really need or want to do. Drop the self-imposed guilt! You deserve to take care of yourself.
Then there is the other-imposed guilt from various insistent requests and demands. Which often leads to another thing I am bad at: saying "no" to other people's expectations. Yes, I did make the decision to pass on that social event. No, I can't help you with that project. I'm sorry to not see you, but I need to take care of some other things. No, that really won't work for me.
The least I can do for myself is to drop the imagined list of demands from other people that augment the actual obligations I've signed on for. One way or another, I know I can't do it all, nor do I want to. Repeat after me please: No, I can't do that. Sorry, no. Uh-uh. No. Or to quote one of my cousins, Don't equivocate. Just say "I don't want that." I say "no" to that so I can say "yes" to this. Yes to family dinners with home-cooked food. Yes to dancing and writing. Yes to real letters and conversation. Yes to exercise and good food. Yes to recharging my energy. Yes to taking time to think and sleep.
Is this going to be one of those posts where I worry about offending people? Repeat after me again: I can't do it all. Sorry, that's not going to work for me right now. Nuh-uh. No.
--
Friday, November 4, 2011
Grey Day, Inside Light
Inside it's cool but warm enough, well-lit, cheerful. Outside it is cold and rainy, grey, windy, dreary.
A sudden whump on the window alerts our attention. I'm quick enough to see a large winged body bouncing off the window. Was that a blinded owl? A hawk plucking a small bird off the eves? I peer outside, but I don't see anything on the ground. A hawk, I decide. Now only if the hawk would take out the groundhog making underground condos in our backyard.
The rain brings down even more loose leaves and plaster them them to the grass.
The cool air brings a distant wind-tunnel hiss of highway traffic.
Inside, the cats snore softly as the curl up on the fleece bed blanket. Cozy, cozy, they have no inclination to move.
--
A sudden whump on the window alerts our attention. I'm quick enough to see a large winged body bouncing off the window. Was that a blinded owl? A hawk plucking a small bird off the eves? I peer outside, but I don't see anything on the ground. A hawk, I decide. Now only if the hawk would take out the groundhog making underground condos in our backyard.
The rain brings down even more loose leaves and plaster them them to the grass.
The cool air brings a distant wind-tunnel hiss of highway traffic.
Inside, the cats snore softly as the curl up on the fleece bed blanket. Cozy, cozy, they have no inclination to move.
--
Thursday, November 3, 2011
This Movement and Sweat
I slap my alarm off and sit up with a sigh. It's not even a matter of debate. I pull on my workout clothes and flex my neck and spine in an attempt to limber up my creaking body. The cats try to sit near and underneath me in hopes of morning snuggles. I give them quick strokes, but I won't linger. I grab my water bottle and go.
I rouse the little girl, hand her a cup of milk, diaper and dress her. I coax tangles out of her hair and hair clips, in, stuff some breakfast into her and myself, and off we go into the admittedly late morning.
I walk into the fitness center just a little late. I have little more than an hour before the nursery closes for break. I wave my membership card at the scanner and wait for the beep before crossing the rest of the lobby with the little girl running along side. She runs as lightly and smoothly as I would wish to. But she is merely two and has loads of energy, while I am *mumble-mumble* and need to heave myself forward in the mornings.
The little girl scampers into the nursery and smiles at a young woman with long dark curly hair, her favorite caretaker. She warily notes other children, then starts forward again to investigate a new toy. I sign her in, plop down her bag, and slide back out the door. "Bye, Sweetie! I'll see you later! Have fun!" On a good day, she doesn't even notice I am leaving.
I pause in the hallway to shed outer layers, clip on my ipod with music cued up, and apply a generous layer of lip balm (to my lips) before heading up to the mezzanine, taking the stairs two at a time.
A wave of white noise hits me as I heft open the heavy door. It's the rattle and hiss of piped-in dance music, the thump of feet on treadmills, and the squeal, beep and clank of machines in action, with the occasional ringing of loose weights being dropped at the far end of the hall. I pause to top off my water bottle, scan the rows of exercise machines and quickly locate one of my two favorite machines. I hop on, place water bottle and towel conveniently, and press a few pad keys to select the preprogrammed workout and time for the day. Sometimes it asks for my age or weight. I don't bother too closely with specifics. I key in the basics with good humor, and I am off and running. Or at least moving, since I don't really run.
Some days I like to do a long program on the treadmill, much of it uphill as if I were carrying a backpack up a steep grade. Lots of good sweat trance there. My mind drifts to epic hikes I've done. Some days I do twenty minutes working up a sweat on the treadmill, then shift to an elliptical machine for some "sport intervals" for a while. Figure skaters practice leaps and glides below, or it's hockey time and young men (or little boys) race and putter around the ice. Some days all I stare at is the advertising on the opposite wall - Even the refs can see this is a good meal deal! - or the lights of the readout telling me beep! It's the next ninety seconds at incline 7.5 !
Recently, I've been doing faux runs on the elliptical. I key in ten minutes of rolling hills at a medium-high resistance and start moving. My heart rate gradually climbs to the target zone and stays there. I love the hand grips that gives me a HR reading in progress. A cool 135 is nice, something in the mid-140s feels good too. Then I switch to twenty minutes of running up and down a tall mountain. My HR climbs and my pace gradually slows, but I'm grooving steadily with another song in my ears. Every so often, I squat as I run for 15 seconds of quad killers. Straightening my legs after a quad killer is a sweet relief to the muscles. Other times, I'll lift my whole foot on the uphills to give my toes a break. I check in with my heart rate every few minutes, sometimes dropping or adding resistance to keep me within sight of an efficient range. Then without pause, I'll add another ten minutes of rolling hills at whatever level of resistance I'm in the mood for, then cool down for a couple, letting my heart rate slow as sweat drips off my hair.
It feels good to get my body moving, to go into an endorphin trance. I'm glad for the tunes in my ears that keep me awake and on pace, although if I haven't gotten much sleep, it's more of a sleep-jog.
I used to feel a little self conscious about going to work out, until my husband reminded me that most people are caught up in their own world and can't be bothered to observe me. I choose to believe that's true, but still, I often go to the front row of machines so I can see the ice skaters instead of being distracted by other people or the silent bank of TVs overhead.
I let the workout summary run as I mop off and pull on the water bottle. I get a kick out of racking up the numbers. 1.6 miles and approximately 192 calories burned. x minutes in my target heart range, and a maximum HR of 210. What?! Well, sometimes the monitor gives me unreasonably high or low readings. I know those are outliers.
I step off, stretch briefly, and retrieve a sani-wipe to wipe down the machine. I could have kept going, but time is a-wasting and the weight machines are calling me.
I was doing long sets of low weight for several months, then I got bored of that, and moved toward shorter sets of higher weights to maximize my time before I'm due to pick up my daughter.
"3" for seat length, "3" for shin cushion angle, and something near "1" for the starting angle. I clank into gear. Two sets of 8 reps at twenty pounds for the quads! Okay! Then the hamstrings! Then go for the squats - better throw in an extra set, there, then my new fav, the abductors and inductors. When I get a chance, I'll hop over to the abdominals and upper body weights. Some guy is tearing through his sets with great grunting and wheezing. A couple of elderly women are being given coaching by a personal trainer, and another couple of people are trading the machines back and forth with me.
I've got a little more time, so now over for some chest presses and killer flys. I throw in a couple sets of incline/decline presses which gets my core muscles involved. Wheee! I rarely have time to do chin ups or the leg press, but it's a nice variation. A small pack of men are making much ado about their workout. But today I am running short, so I skip the lats and go to the upright rower. The seat is still slightly damp from the previous users wipe-down. I take over a mat for a couple of sun salutations, enjoying the feeling of my body doing its thing.
Annnd now it's five til, and I grab my bag and walk the length of the hall in a pleasantly weary forward-motion, past the people still running, walking or cycling. The retired gentleman who I often see there waves as I pass him on the treadmill.
I'm grateful that I am able to enjoy this movement and sweat. And then I go down to hear Mommy! Mommy! I had fun! I had fun too. And now it's time for hand washing. The little girl runs lap after lap around the broad changing room bench, and then dances through the lobby and out through the doors into the day.
--
I rouse the little girl, hand her a cup of milk, diaper and dress her. I coax tangles out of her hair and hair clips, in, stuff some breakfast into her and myself, and off we go into the admittedly late morning.
I walk into the fitness center just a little late. I have little more than an hour before the nursery closes for break. I wave my membership card at the scanner and wait for the beep before crossing the rest of the lobby with the little girl running along side. She runs as lightly and smoothly as I would wish to. But she is merely two and has loads of energy, while I am *mumble-mumble* and need to heave myself forward in the mornings.
The little girl scampers into the nursery and smiles at a young woman with long dark curly hair, her favorite caretaker. She warily notes other children, then starts forward again to investigate a new toy. I sign her in, plop down her bag, and slide back out the door. "Bye, Sweetie! I'll see you later! Have fun!" On a good day, she doesn't even notice I am leaving.
I pause in the hallway to shed outer layers, clip on my ipod with music cued up, and apply a generous layer of lip balm (to my lips) before heading up to the mezzanine, taking the stairs two at a time.
A wave of white noise hits me as I heft open the heavy door. It's the rattle and hiss of piped-in dance music, the thump of feet on treadmills, and the squeal, beep and clank of machines in action, with the occasional ringing of loose weights being dropped at the far end of the hall. I pause to top off my water bottle, scan the rows of exercise machines and quickly locate one of my two favorite machines. I hop on, place water bottle and towel conveniently, and press a few pad keys to select the preprogrammed workout and time for the day. Sometimes it asks for my age or weight. I don't bother too closely with specifics. I key in the basics with good humor, and I am off and running. Or at least moving, since I don't really run.
Some days I like to do a long program on the treadmill, much of it uphill as if I were carrying a backpack up a steep grade. Lots of good sweat trance there. My mind drifts to epic hikes I've done. Some days I do twenty minutes working up a sweat on the treadmill, then shift to an elliptical machine for some "sport intervals" for a while. Figure skaters practice leaps and glides below, or it's hockey time and young men (or little boys) race and putter around the ice. Some days all I stare at is the advertising on the opposite wall - Even the refs can see this is a good meal deal! - or the lights of the readout telling me beep! It's the next ninety seconds at incline 7.5 !
Recently, I've been doing faux runs on the elliptical. I key in ten minutes of rolling hills at a medium-high resistance and start moving. My heart rate gradually climbs to the target zone and stays there. I love the hand grips that gives me a HR reading in progress. A cool 135 is nice, something in the mid-140s feels good too. Then I switch to twenty minutes of running up and down a tall mountain. My HR climbs and my pace gradually slows, but I'm grooving steadily with another song in my ears. Every so often, I squat as I run for 15 seconds of quad killers. Straightening my legs after a quad killer is a sweet relief to the muscles. Other times, I'll lift my whole foot on the uphills to give my toes a break. I check in with my heart rate every few minutes, sometimes dropping or adding resistance to keep me within sight of an efficient range. Then without pause, I'll add another ten minutes of rolling hills at whatever level of resistance I'm in the mood for, then cool down for a couple, letting my heart rate slow as sweat drips off my hair.
It feels good to get my body moving, to go into an endorphin trance. I'm glad for the tunes in my ears that keep me awake and on pace, although if I haven't gotten much sleep, it's more of a sleep-jog.
I used to feel a little self conscious about going to work out, until my husband reminded me that most people are caught up in their own world and can't be bothered to observe me. I choose to believe that's true, but still, I often go to the front row of machines so I can see the ice skaters instead of being distracted by other people or the silent bank of TVs overhead.
I let the workout summary run as I mop off and pull on the water bottle. I get a kick out of racking up the numbers. 1.6 miles and approximately 192 calories burned. x minutes in my target heart range, and a maximum HR of 210. What?! Well, sometimes the monitor gives me unreasonably high or low readings. I know those are outliers.
I step off, stretch briefly, and retrieve a sani-wipe to wipe down the machine. I could have kept going, but time is a-wasting and the weight machines are calling me.
I was doing long sets of low weight for several months, then I got bored of that, and moved toward shorter sets of higher weights to maximize my time before I'm due to pick up my daughter.
"3" for seat length, "3" for shin cushion angle, and something near "1" for the starting angle. I clank into gear. Two sets of 8 reps at twenty pounds for the quads! Okay! Then the hamstrings! Then go for the squats - better throw in an extra set, there, then my new fav, the abductors and inductors. When I get a chance, I'll hop over to the abdominals and upper body weights. Some guy is tearing through his sets with great grunting and wheezing. A couple of elderly women are being given coaching by a personal trainer, and another couple of people are trading the machines back and forth with me.
I've got a little more time, so now over for some chest presses and killer flys. I throw in a couple sets of incline/decline presses which gets my core muscles involved. Wheee! I rarely have time to do chin ups or the leg press, but it's a nice variation. A small pack of men are making much ado about their workout. But today I am running short, so I skip the lats and go to the upright rower. The seat is still slightly damp from the previous users wipe-down. I take over a mat for a couple of sun salutations, enjoying the feeling of my body doing its thing.
Annnd now it's five til, and I grab my bag and walk the length of the hall in a pleasantly weary forward-motion, past the people still running, walking or cycling. The retired gentleman who I often see there waves as I pass him on the treadmill.
I'm grateful that I am able to enjoy this movement and sweat. And then I go down to hear Mommy! Mommy! I had fun! I had fun too. And now it's time for hand washing. The little girl runs lap after lap around the broad changing room bench, and then dances through the lobby and out through the doors into the day.
--
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Imagine what you could do with it!
I witness the power and elasticity of imagination daily.
The spent glow stick has been part of a necklace, a fishing pole, a fiddle bow sawing at her arm, a drumstick, a straw for her doll's juice, and more.
The magnetic letters that I spent months tracking down are mostly played as "sandwiches" that the little girl stacks and leaves as offerings around the table. Sometimes she serves her animals at the small table. Mister Fish the bath toy and the tiny glow-in-the-dark ducks become "trout pasta" and "spaghetti" when carried in small cups, and she serves them as well.
Her pile of animals and dolls take on new personalities to act out favorite scenarios from familiar stories. Monkey is now called "Moose" and eats food or visits Beaver in his house. At the playground, one area is always "Beaver's house," and another area is always "Mommy's house." Moose, rabbit and squirrel always visit.
Her doll "Dee" frequently falls to the ground like Little Bear's friend's doll, "breaking her arm," Oh! oh! , necessitating "taping" and snuggles. The "tape" may be an empty spool of thread or a hair clip. Whatever can be made to stand in the dramatization of the moment. And the little girl's toys are all actors on that stage, as beloved as any highly-designed-and-crafted plaything.
Following that thought, I'm realizing that highly realistic toys can be quite cleverly done, but they can end up jumping ahead in the creative process by filling in what could be, would be the child's part in the play. You could make an analogous parallel between reading a story in a book and seeing a story in a movie. The brain is not required to fill in the extra sensory details, so it just ... doesn't. Thus those neural pathways don't get as much of a workout.
So why short-circuit the leap of imagination by filling in all the details? Don't we need to leave something creative for her to, well, create? What's the fun in merely filling in the blanks?
My husband thinks that the more abstract the toy the better. He's disappointed that I found a toy camera at the consignment shop. He's afraid that it will push out the hinged-triangle-shape baby teether that has been her "camera" for years. But I'm not sure we could keep her from leaping ahead of the mere reality in front of her. Even the most mundane and boring/exciting objects are pressed into service of the story at hand. This evening she was "serving" chalk sticks to "Moose." It might have been "Birthday soup."
Meanwhile, back amongst the random bits of junk, I mean, toys on my kitchen floor, I realize, yes, those are not really useless items but the raw materials for all sorts of crazy and amazing toddler stories.
I bought her a children's large magnifying glass in the guise of a snake. It's a cool toy, no doubt, but you know what the little girl calls it? A banjo. That's right - my daughter plays at being a musician. The play kitchen spatula is a trumpet - you knew that, right? But the harmonica? That's just a harmonka. Just call her Short Girl Jones. I'll let you know when she goes on tour.
--
The spent glow stick has been part of a necklace, a fishing pole, a fiddle bow sawing at her arm, a drumstick, a straw for her doll's juice, and more.
The magnetic letters that I spent months tracking down are mostly played as "sandwiches" that the little girl stacks and leaves as offerings around the table. Sometimes she serves her animals at the small table. Mister Fish the bath toy and the tiny glow-in-the-dark ducks become "trout pasta" and "spaghetti" when carried in small cups, and she serves them as well.
Her pile of animals and dolls take on new personalities to act out favorite scenarios from familiar stories. Monkey is now called "Moose" and eats food or visits Beaver in his house. At the playground, one area is always "Beaver's house," and another area is always "Mommy's house." Moose, rabbit and squirrel always visit.
Her doll "Dee" frequently falls to the ground like Little Bear's friend's doll, "breaking her arm," Oh! oh! , necessitating "taping" and snuggles. The "tape" may be an empty spool of thread or a hair clip. Whatever can be made to stand in the dramatization of the moment. And the little girl's toys are all actors on that stage, as beloved as any highly-designed-and-crafted plaything.
Following that thought, I'm realizing that highly realistic toys can be quite cleverly done, but they can end up jumping ahead in the creative process by filling in what could be, would be the child's part in the play. You could make an analogous parallel between reading a story in a book and seeing a story in a movie. The brain is not required to fill in the extra sensory details, so it just ... doesn't. Thus those neural pathways don't get as much of a workout.
So why short-circuit the leap of imagination by filling in all the details? Don't we need to leave something creative for her to, well, create? What's the fun in merely filling in the blanks?
My husband thinks that the more abstract the toy the better. He's disappointed that I found a toy camera at the consignment shop. He's afraid that it will push out the hinged-triangle-shape baby teether that has been her "camera" for years. But I'm not sure we could keep her from leaping ahead of the mere reality in front of her. Even the most mundane and boring/exciting objects are pressed into service of the story at hand. This evening she was "serving" chalk sticks to "Moose." It might have been "Birthday soup."
Meanwhile, back amongst the random bits of junk, I mean, toys on my kitchen floor, I realize, yes, those are not really useless items but the raw materials for all sorts of crazy and amazing toddler stories.
I bought her a children's large magnifying glass in the guise of a snake. It's a cool toy, no doubt, but you know what the little girl calls it? A banjo. That's right - my daughter plays at being a musician. The play kitchen spatula is a trumpet - you knew that, right? But the harmonica? That's just a harmonka. Just call her Short Girl Jones. I'll let you know when she goes on tour.
--
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Pulling Back & Rushing Forward - NaBloPoMo 2011
Life has been pulling me away from the digital world these last few months.
An artist I know once ended a post on Facebook by exclaiming impatiently: "I'm wasting time here. I should be working on my art." She's too busy with doing to spend much time on observing or being entertained.
These last few months, I've been focusing on the "doing" of my life and letting the swirl of the digital world sink back out of focus. I've been wanting to focus on the doing without bothering to document it.
Adding to the complexity of digital balance is the new presence of Google+ and learning to negotiate the tangle of my online identities and projects. I still haven't figured out how to log into this blog without logging out from the other account.
But this being NaBloPoMo month, I'm drawn back. Of course, I have to post! At least as long as I have internet access.
Some goals and ideas:
Steady work on a separate writing project.
Documenting more of the things my daughter says and does. It's an endless stream of real life entertainment.
Finishing overhauling my masthead.
Any questions? I'll take any questions as blog fodder, so now's your chance.
Onward to November and daily writing!
--
An artist I know once ended a post on Facebook by exclaiming impatiently: "I'm wasting time here. I should be working on my art." She's too busy with doing to spend much time on observing or being entertained.
These last few months, I've been focusing on the "doing" of my life and letting the swirl of the digital world sink back out of focus. I've been wanting to focus on the doing without bothering to document it.
Adding to the complexity of digital balance is the new presence of Google+ and learning to negotiate the tangle of my online identities and projects. I still haven't figured out how to log into this blog without logging out from the other account.
But this being NaBloPoMo month, I'm drawn back. Of course, I have to post! At least as long as I have internet access.
Some goals and ideas:
Steady work on a separate writing project.
Documenting more of the things my daughter says and does. It's an endless stream of real life entertainment.
Finishing overhauling my masthead.
Any questions? I'll take any questions as blog fodder, so now's your chance.
Onward to November and daily writing!
--
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