Time marches, not runs, on...

1. Tendonitis of the right foot

2. Immobilizing back spasm

3. Labral tear of the left hip

4. Strained iliosacral muscle

5. Plantar fasciitis

No, this isn’t the injury list of the Yankee’s DL, it’s list of the “sports injuries” I have incurred over the last eighteen months (except for #3, wassup A-Rod!).  I even had to go to the orthopedist, and twice weekly physical therapy for the last two instead of exercising through the pain like I usually do.  What the hell happened?

I got old.

I am used to the slow, but insistent, signs of aging that have crept over my body and face during the last decade.  My hair color is no longer recreational, and my anti-aging creams are no longer preventative.  But this?  To have my body slowly begin giving out on me?  Was a shock.

And it’s not just me.  When I posted on Facebook, looking for local physical therapist recommendations, I received ten suggestions in as many minutes.  When I went to the therapist in New Town, I expected it to be full of doddering old folks, recovering from hip fractures.  There were a few of those.  Among them, the school crossing guard who had mysteriously disappeared in May.  Thank God, because I was afraid he had died of a sudden heart attack, but was telling the kids maybe he went to go live with his grandchildren in Florida.  The crossing guard version of “we sent the dog to a farm”.  But along with Mr. Stevens, were a huge number of people my age recovering from self-induced recreational injuries. This entire generation, has become obsessed with proving their youth with feats of physical strength and endurance, only to kill ourselves in the process.

Will any of these, Iron Mans, Rugged Maniacs, or Marine Corps Marathons ever stop the march of time? Staying fit will improve your quality of life, and probably prolong it, but it won’t bring back your twenties.  And what’s so wrong with aging, anyway?  Why is younger always better?  Yes, youth is further away from death, but it’s closer to the time when you didn’t know who you were or what the hell you were doing.  We need to accept aging as a natural part of life, with all the changes in appearance* and performance that come along with it.  Wouldn’t it be better to embrace a new age bracket and be the best version of your current self, than pathetically cling to your old demographic?  And that’s not to say you stop working out and, buy elastic waist pants and comfort shoes, but perhaps stop trying so hard.  Like, so hard, you wind up needing hip surgery.**

It’s surprising how aging creeps up on you.  One minute you’re a semi-attractive young, new mom, the next, you’re standing at your youngest child's pre-school pick-up with women young enough to look like your daughter.  Did you really think you'd stay young forever?  You can't and you won't.  Have a drink and accept it.

Even though you can outrun those moms, you can't outrun Father Time.

*See also: Botox and facial fillers

**Which, had physical therapy not worked, would have rendered me unable to even bear weight on the repaired hip for six weeks.  Other than the very real possibility of my being institutionalized not being able to work out some of my manic energy, how would I possibly care for three children?  The smug Physician's Assistant at my, otherwise wonderful, orthopedist's office said, "lean on the good leg while you pack the lunch boxes."  I almost said, "Now I understand why your only a Physician's Assistant."

"Ten more... Stay strong."

I haven't done much writing about Little Man starting kindergarten so far this school year.  Mostly, because it's a cliche - moms  getting all nostalgic when their youngest starts school - but also because with half-day kindergarten, he's actually in school fewer hours than when he was in pre-school.  So I'll save the boo-hoo-ing for when he is gone for more than two and a half hours a day next year.  He and I are getting a lot quality time together, lots of dates at Starbucks, walks in New Town's arboretum, and Hot Wheels races at home, all of which I am seriously loving.

What I am not loving is an unintentional side effect of my intentionally placing him in PM kindergarten.  I thought I was being super smart having him go to school in the afternoon.  The girls could still walk to school together while he and I stayed in our lounging clothes, waving them off each morning.  Many stores are not open before ten o'clock anyway, so I'd kill half my free time waiting if he were gone on the AM hours.  Guess what I forgot about?  My exercise class.

(Sound of record scratching)

I know!  Me, who bitches and moans whenever she has to use a public exercise facility on vacation, has started taking, and loving, an exercise class.

My former opinion of exercises classes, was below that of public gyms if you can believe it.  Using Jazzercise and Zumba as my narrow-minded examples, I assumed these classes were for the lazy, who wanted to pretend dancing was exercise.  They were for people who didn't have the discipline of self-motivation to workout on their own.  Yes, yes, many people love Zumba, with its fun reputation and "anyone can do it" mantra, and it has helped many sedentary people become active.  But I put those people in the same category those who lose weight after they stop drinking a six pack of soda and eating McDonalds three times a day.  Any change was going to result in weight loss.  I was already in decent shape so I thought an hour wiggling my hips to music was a waste of my time.  Then there was the other extreme - spinning and classes like Cross Fit.  I wasn't crazy enough to do one of those.  They have their own language for Christ's sake.  It's one step away from being a cult - and I'm sure I would wind up dead on the floor after either of them.

So when my friend invited me along for a free trial of the class she was currently taking, I was a little skeptical.  She assured me it wasn't too difficult, and she didn't seem like a member of a secret exercise cult, so I agreed.  Maybe I was drunk, but I now see what I was missing always working out alone.

I used to roll my eyes at the ladies chewing the fat outside the doorway of the step aerobics class at my local gym back in the 90s (while I was on my way to power walk on the treadmill, oh, the 90s).  You're here to work out, not make friends.  Get in, get it done, get out.  But I suppose now that exercise is one of the few things I do solely for myself these days, having a pleasant little chat before and after doing so is an added bonus.  In addition, many of the women on class are moms from the school so it's nice to shoot the shit while the kids aren't harassing us.

This class was hugely different from everything I was doing fitness-wise.  I was moving my body in different ways, using muscles I hadn't used in years.  Every class is a different combination of moves so my body never gets bored and neither do I, so I never get dangerously close to passing out from boredom.  From over-exertion?  Occasionally. This constant changing also prevents injury, which, as I enter my later years is becoming an issue*.  It also forces me to stretch since my instructor peppers the routine liberally with what I used to call "the lazy person's excuse to stop".  Now I know it's how you prevent yourself from being crippled.

Working out in a group setting pushes me like my own inner drive never could.  It's not that I'm competitve, I just don't want to look like a fool.  This class uses a ballet barre and your own body weight for lower body exercises.  Now I know why ballet dancers have legs like they do.  It's seriously friggin' hard.  If I were doing a video this difficult at home, I'd be stopping all the time to give my quads a break, pretending to check on the kids.  Not during this class.  When my legs are shaking like Jello, I keep pulsing.  I'll be damned if I'll be the first to stop.

And the absolute best part of this class is the instructor, Jen.  She pushes and encourages me at all the right times, without constantly speaking in all caps and exclamation points (see the title of this post).  Nothing makes my day like a "Beautiful, Mary!", during a sequence.  I realized, nerd that I am, I have been missing having a teacher to suck up to!  If she gave progress reports I'd be psyched.  She also has awesome taste in music, so it's like having someone make a really great workout playlist for you each week.  Pat Benatar and Salt 'N Pepa in the same class, I tell you!

So, dear readers, I am now officially a convert of group exercise.  Yes, I still need my solo time during my runs, but a few times a week I am a "joiner".  I highly recommend you give it a shot.

I'm still not taking Zumba though.

*I have been diagnosed with a labral tear in my left hip.  The same injury as Alex Rodriguez of the Yankees.  If he can have the same "sports injury" as a 38 year-old mother of three, it validates my opinion that baseball is not really a sport.  Go ahead and hate.  If you can have a huge gut and chew gum while doing it, it's not a sport, it's game of skill.  See also: Bowling and Archery.

Time to walk the walk...

"My kids won't watch TV until they are at least six years old."

"My kids won't eat any packaged or processed foods - ever."

"I won't allow my daughter to play with Barbies."

And on, and on, and on.  Oh, the standards we set for ourselves early on in our parenting careers, before we have even a glimmer of a clue.  We are so high and mighty, up in our ivory tower of new parenthood, we are sure we will never make the compromises we see less committed, lazy parents around us making.

Then our baby gets older and and we have more kids, and we realize we had no idea what the hell we were talking about.  We see how strategically-used, limited TV watching makes everyone lives run a little smoother, allowing us to cook dinner and fold laundry in peace.  We realize, once in a while, a packet of Goldfish is all that stands between you and finishing your shopping trip for Girl Scout sashes.  And through no doing of our own, a daughter can pine for a doll she has literally never seen before with such feverish intensity you think she is going to have a seizure in the aisle of Target.

For those of you who stuck to you guns, I applaud you.  I'm sure your children will be accepted at the Ivy League University of their choosing.

Over my ten years of parenting, I have had to radically alter some of my preconceived notions of how I would parent, and some I haven't.  For example, there is now a video game system in my home, however, those Bratz dolls are still considered the work of Satan.  Up until this point, my children happily went along with whatever rules and regulations I put into effect, being either too young to care or too afraid to complain.  But now with #1 entering tween-hood*, she is not always willing to be a loyal subject in this well-oiled monarchy and I am having to deal with some minor unrest.

The biggest difference between my parenting decisions then and now is that they are no longer made in a vacuum.  Now a sinister force beyond my control has entered the equation.  The powerful energy of What Everyone Else is Doing.  When my eldest was tiny, if I wanted to feed her nothing but organic. sprouted grains and have her wear hemp clothing, she didn't know the difference.  Now she is old enough to notice the ways her peers are parented and voice her observations to me.  Now when faced with a difficult parenting decision, I not only have to worry about what is best for her, but also walk the tricky tightrope of her "fitting in".  Just like in her early years, I am finding walking the walk to be a lot harder than expected.  I already got my feet wet with the Great Uggs Debate, and I relented this fall and got her the trendy school bag of her choice, but now more serious decisions are needing to be made.

Take, for instance, the constant spectre of the cell phone.  #1 knows this is not even a possibility until next year when she begins middle school, and then that's only because she will be walking alone to meet me at the elementary school after dismissal.  A few of her friends have phones because both parents work, a situation I find totally understandable having been a latch-key child myself, but then a few not in that situation have some sort of application on their iTouches** that allows them to text.  So now I am hearing stories of how "So-and-so texted So-and-so about The Voice last night..."  To her credit, my eldest does not complain one iota, but it is me feeling the pressure.  Is she missing out?  Am I making her life awkward socially?

Remember all my grand-standing about not over-scheduling my kids?  #1 is intent on trying to erode my resolve club by club and class by class.  Last year she had her one dance class and, seasonally, maybe a sports practice, during the week.  After informing me that her posse each take four dance classes, I relented and allowed her to take two.  Then there was the yoga class they were all going to take, which would only be for six weeks, so I figured, why not?  Then her soccer coach threw in a weekday practice that is on the same day as the yoga class.  "Too much", I thought, ready to pull her out of yoga, until I was faced with a child tearful at the thought of missing the fun with her pals.  I agreed to keep her in the class, but the moment her school work suffered, it was done.

Who is this mad-woman allowing all of this activity?  And that's not all.  #1 also signed up to be on the Safety Patrol before and after school every day, helping little ones in and out of their cars at drop-off and pick-up.  How could I say no to her voluntarily taking on such a position of responsibility?  Then there's Early Morning Chorus.  How bad could that be?  It's before school once a week.  Next came the school clubs - Math Club, Environmental Club and Art Club**.  They're only twenty minute meetings, once a month, after school and "all my friends are doing it".  Shortly after that, a plan developed for the group to walk across the street after school to the library to do homework before four-thirty dance class twice a week and that sounded productive enough.  I turned around and my eldest is only home for about three hours a day before she goes to bed.


Well, all of this didn't happen overnight.  I labored over each and every one of these decisions.  Calculating how much time would she be spending out of the house, how much time she would have for schoolwork, how much time to spend with her siblings, what was the benefit of all of these activities, and of course... What Everyone Else is Doing.  Again, I didn't want her to miss out, as friendships are built through shared experiences, like singing "High Hopes" at seven forty-five in the morning and getting shushed by the librarian.


In those moments, when my resolve is wearing thin and I wonder if it wouldn't just be easier to give her the phone and let her do all these fun things she wants to do.  It would probably boost her social standing.  But is that what I'm trying to teach her?  Is the whole point to produce a fun, popular kid?  I say no to the phone and to some of the activities because there has to be some time each day for her to be alone and to be with us.  What I am trying to teach her is to be herself, and home is where you and your family nurture and care for that budding self.  Friends are great, but family is first.

It is so difficult trying to do what I know is right for my family when faced with a world that has different priorities.***  One could argue to ignore what the rest of the world thinks entirely,  a valid point, yet your child has to live and, hopefully, thrive, in this world.  Raising them as if they live in a vacuum is not reality.  It's like constantly trying to swim upstream.  Harder than limiting their TV time or trying to make them eat fruit for snack at school when everyone else has Doritos.  But I wil fight for what I know is right for my kids, even when the world makes me think I'm nuts.

Dear readers, I long for the days when my biggest parenting dilemma involved high fructose corn syrup.

*Defined as the period of preadolescence from ages 10-12, also known as When the World Tries to Turn Your Little Girl into a Skank.
**I told her the only thing she's getting with an "i" in front of it is an eye patch if she keeps asking me.
***"No kidding", says every strictly religious, vegan parent ever. 

Religion and Politics

What are the two things you never discuss at a dinner party?  Religion and politics. 

Well, I suppose that used to be the case. I was watching an episode of NBC’s The New Normal* recently, the gay main character's were hosting a dinner party, and the out of control, racist, homophobe grandmother goes on an anti-Obama rant after the other Democratic dinner guests harangue her about health care, gay marriage and a woman’s right to choose.  This was not a civilized debate, nor was this reality, but it made me ask myself, when did political proselytizing become acceptable?

I am all for a lively discussion where parties of differing opinions can share their views and maybe learn something from each other, but it seems in all political discourse these days there is an undertone of “you are an moron for having the views you have and I must change you” coming from each side.   I find it juvenile and offensive that many (most?) people can not respect views that differ from their own.  Isn’t that kind of the point of a democracy?  Going back to the adage about politics and religion, would you malign a Muslim, Jew or Christian for having beliefs different from yours?  Would you tell a Muslim he’s a dope for think Mohammed was actually God's messenger, a Jew she’s a really gone off the deep end for not eating pork, or a Christian that he’s deluding himself for thinking Jesus was anything other than a regular guy?  Never in a million years.  You might think it, but you’d never say it.  Sure, religious beliefs hold a more sacred place in most people’s lives, but politics are a close second in determining how we conduct ourselves, so why the judgement?

And as with religion, you can't tell what someone's beliefs are simply by looking at them.  Or by what records or movies they like.  I'm look at you Facebook Friend from the Gym.**  We may be "friends" and enjoy some of the same things, like using the treadmill in front fo the fan, but we don't actually know all that much about each other. So how can you assume I'm going to love the anti-Obama article you linked to from The Weekly Standard?  When it comes to politics, are we too comfortable making bold, public statements.

With the debate coming up on Wednesday, I'm sure Facebook, Twitter and every other outlet for thoughtless proclamation will be en fuego with rants and opines.  But let's try to use our best judgment and keep a cool head.  Yes, choosing the leader of our country is huge decision, one to be passionate about, but please, don't interrupt my enjoying the video of my friend's baby pooping on the potty, or looking at photos of animals with ironic captions.  That's what social media is really for.

*A series surrounding a gay couple and the woman they hire as a surrogate.  Truly hilarious and friggin' Nene from The Real Housewives of Atlanta is actually good.  Well, she plays herself, even I could do that.
** No, I haven't joined a gym yet.  I'm still just fantasizing about the day when my workout can take place during daylight hours