Fast Away the Old Year Passes…

In a matter of a few hours this year, 2011, will be in the books. Finished. Kaput. As years go 2011 has been a decent year– I can’t quibble about it. Still, I’m hoping that 2012 is better.

Twenty-eleven is certainly going out in a bad way. I’ve been miserable with a head cold. My right ear is throbbing. I’ve spent a lot of time with a hot water bottle wrapped to my head with a scarf. This only slightly distracts from the many layers I’m swaddled in– slippers, thick socks, leggings, sweats, two shirts, a hoodie, and a scarf for my neck, too. Like an urban bedouin. I stayed in bed for most of the day. I gave Robby a flatscreen TV for Christmas. Today I figured out the remote on it and how to access the OnDemand movies. This led to a trove of cinematic fun. The highlight of the day was an old Judy Garland movie (as opposed to a current Judy Garland movie?)  Me & My Gal… it was smaltzy. And unabashedly intent on getting viewers to either pony up for US War Bonds or join up to fight… Hell. I almost called the local recruiter. The lowlight was when I went off the OnDemand and fell into the brain-cell killing trap of watching Grease. It had been reformatted and modified for television. Grease is really quite a raunchy movie. I’d learned the lyrics to the songs listening to the album on Melle’s record player. We had no idea what we were singing about. There are lyrics that astound me now for their depravity. Half the songs were cut out– leaving some interesting splicing on television. In one song the editors were especially clever in the way they cut out a line here, a line there and still managed to put together a song that didn’t seem to miss much of a beat. My big beef with Grease is that I never liked the way Sandy looked at the end.

Robby came up to check on me at one point. I looked particularly beautiful in a blotchy skin, red nosed, tangled hair, puffy eyed kind of way. He managed to hide his revulsion when I reminded him that he’d married “all this!”

Jack didn’t venture upstairs very often. I think he figured out that laying low downstairs would get him more Wii time with Daddy.

A shower has done me considerable good. At least I’ll enter in to the new year with washed hair. (And a whole new Bedouin ensemble. Thank you, Momma, for the pink socks.)

I’ve been trolling facebook in the last hour– reading the posts of pals that are celebrating New Year’s Eve in varied ways. It’s quite the gamut. Half seem to be staying in. Half seem to be on their way to some fete or gathering. Zukie has a feast planned– crab legs and steak. Mandy’s spent the day in a Harry Potter movie marathon. Ericka has a butter tarts. Jen is disappointed with the lack of entertainment in Ann Arbor. Niece the Older and her boyfriend are watching Big Bang Theory and knitting. Several pals spent the day hiking today. Another came home from hospital with her new daughter in time to ring in the new year with her husband and son.

We’re both bummed not to be in Cincinnati with Chris and Susan and the gang making music and merriment. It had been our intention to hail in 2012 in fine style with friends. Instead Robby and Jack are playing Wii (Jack won’t let Robby scroll through the directions. This has led to some whining from Robby when he loses. It’s a power play that the son has won.). The little black dog is curled up on Robby’s legs. The little gray dog is curled up on mine. Within reach is the iPhone (with some new, downloaded tunes) and the Kindle (with a downloaded book and a season of Arrested Development to watch).

It’s not exactly Times Square around here– but I’ll take it.

Friend Ericka’s fb post said it best:

Here is hoping that 2012 will be the best year you (and we) have ever had but not the best year you (and we) will ever have.

Happy 2012 to us all.

Happy Christmas

Jack Rabbit is beyond excited for Christmas. His body is practically humming. His belief in all the magic of Christmas is at an exquisite peak– each morning he’s hurried to find where Bitte the Elf has landed in the house. At each reprimand he’s asked anxiously, “Mommy? Do you think I’m still on the Nice List?” Today we have, on our list of things to do, a batch of Santa Snickerdoodles to make. (Apparently they’re his favorite cookies. It came in by text.)

I’m pretty awful when it comes to presents. I like presents. I like the agonizing anticipation of which brightly wrapped package under the tree might be mine. But, honestly, the gift this year has been in watching Jack’s joy and wonder at each new yuletide discovery.

Tonight there is church. And lighting a candle on my Dad’s grave. A drive around town to see some of the Christmas lights. Tomorrow Jack will find a small mountain of presents under our tree with his name on them. Robby will be a happy boy, too. We’ll have visits to our parents’ houses and a wealth of good food. My mother will have the Christmas china out. My mother-in-law will have sectioned oranges and serve our drinks in the jingle bell glasses.

And, at the end of that long day there will be a very, very tired little boy. And two tired parents, as well– making Boxing Day all the better for it’s luxurious anticipated Pajamma Day.

I hope that there is Christmas where you are and that it is what you want it to be.

An Exercise in Exercising

Of the many adventures I’ve had in the last few weeks the most unbelievable is that I had a personal trainer. And that said personal trainer had me running on a treadmill.

I don’t run. Not unless there is either something really, really worth running toward (like, say, a Krispy Kreme doughnut truck tipped over…) or something from which to run (say, perhaps, a scary group of Death Eaters). Treadmills were forever ruined by the tag of the old Jetsons cartoon– poor George left stuck on the increasingly faster track while Astro-the-dog relaxes. “Jane! Stop this crazy thing!!” is forever entwined with the concept of treadmilling.

Still. I’ve been in need of some endorphins lately. Our family still feels a little shy of something. It’s not that JackRabbit isn’t enough– but sometimes it feels like there should be somebody with him. A sibling. A pal. A partner-in-crime. The older we get the less likely it seems to happen (though we still hope for some late season hail Mary pass or something. Or a nice infant left on the doorstep). People who exercise are always nattering on about the endorphins. I’m pretty sure they’re all in some kind of conspiratorial agreement to lie. Exercising makes me want to eat. And not a raw vegetable or lemon water– I want to eat some kind of thick, greasy thing. McDonald’s fries. A thick vanilla shake. The vanilla creme filled doughnuts from Dunkin Donuts.

The university where I work has a class in which the students are required to have a “client” to personally train. A guinea pig. It’s a win-win for everyone– the student gets practice in coaching a stranger (and sluggish, older strangers at that) and we lab rats get a free trainer for 6 weeks. I tried to get in on it last year but the students were already paired with faster responding volunteers. This fall I practically hit reply to the email posting before the poor professor had a chance to click send.

I was paired with the school’s women’s soccer team star. I googled her after we met. Well, actually, first I searched her in the campus directory… and she popped up in a recent article about our highly ranked soccer team. She’s the school’s high scorer.

If I hadn’t met her I’d have sprained an ankle or something out of pure fear. In the articles she was lauded, praised, and extraordinary. Luckily, in person, she was pretty down to earth and laid back. We set my goals– more energy. More activity. It’d be nice to lose some weight. And I wanted to win the Boston Marathon. (Okay– that last one I was kidding about. People poo themselves running marathons. Why would anyone run that long? that far? Shudder.)

Maegan ran a pre-test. The amount of push-ups I could do was nothing short of pathetic. I did better on the crunches. And held my own on the bike stress test. Over the next six weeks she had me doing intervals on the treadmill. The pre-programed courses on the exercise bikes. We walked outside in good weather. When it rained she had me in the university fitness room lifting my tiny weights. (There was a dark, dark day that had me working out at the same time as the school’s baseball team. The comparison between their teenaged bodies/heavy weights and me was ridiculous.) I do okay on the elliptical machine when I keep from cracking up over how much it makes me feel like Pheobe Buffay running.

She’s tortured me with this terrible stand where my dangling body is supported by my forearms. I’m supposed to raise my legs up in a crunch or straight out in front of me. It’s my least favorite thing to do. I think terrible things when I’m not pleading to God to keep me from having a hernia or something.

Seven weeks later and there’s enough of a difference to keep me using my staff pass to the fieldhouse. My BMI is lower. There’s some inches lost here and there. No weight loss– apparently gaining a little muscle will prevent that. I beat Robby at Wii boxing one afternoon– a major accomplishment.

Still no big endorphins. But I’m keeping an eye out for an overturned Krispy Kreme truck…

Done in by the To Dos…

Wow. It’s been a while. Sorry for the sudden drop off the earth.

I’ve been a little overwhelmed lately with Stuff That Needs To Get Done. Christmas isn’t helping. I had hopes this year to have a calm, quiet December– we stayed home on Thanksgiving and thought that would help. Ha.

There’s been a lot of Stuff. Work. Church. Meetings at church. School. PTO stuff at school. Youth Group. Volunteering. Traveling (yeah, we stayed in town to eat turkey but we went to Cincy for a much needed visit with our pals…). Dance recitals.

And yes– I know, you have a long list To Do, too.

I’ll pop up here again in a few days. Promise. Thank you for checking in.