One True Bio

My Monday morning was the usual. Breakfast Dodge Ball with Otto (he is messy and creative with his meals), two drop offs, and then I sat at the computer in my jog bra. Again. I have this idea if I put on the boob corset in the morning, I'm one step closer to running when I'm kid-free. But I tweaked one vertebrae before I even left the house. It was one those incredibly athletic moves- talking on the phone. I waited it out and worked on my bio for some poems that are soon to be published in mamazine. I finished and sent it off, just in time to shower for work.

Here's what it should have read:

"Kim is a wanna-be daytime-TV-watching-housewife who should be running with the dog and/or folding laundry but is instead perfecting her three line bio. She pretends to feel guilty about the dog but secretly remembers that her childhood dogs went out back by themselves and were just fine. She also thinks that if she leaves the laundry, maybe her husband will fold it when he gets home. Kim is an expert procrastinator and mediocre cook, but she is a talented midwife and also gives great head. Her poems have appeared in less than 2% of her submissions. She lives in a cluttered house filled with fart jokes and abandoned water glasses with her handsome husband and gorgeous kids. When she's not stalling, she dreams of lounging on lawn furniture from Williams Sonoma while writing brilliant poetry."

Come on now, what's your real bio?

 

Such a Deal!

I have a personal trainer.

Surprisingly, I'm not afraid to admit it. I've always associated having a personal trainer with being perfectionist and foolishly rich. My disdain probably originates from some secret desire to have money to sprinkle here and there- and have the body that only comes from excellent genes or a particular type of perfectionism. I never wanted a trainer like I never wanted an exercise buddy. I don't want someone to see me puffing up a hill or watch them pressing more pounds.

But here I am, ready to cancel my (unused) gym membership.

It all started because Rex wouldn't chill out. As in, "Cut it OUT, REX! Stop (insert: licking, following, nosing, barking, chewing kids toys)!" So I took him to the dog park. He LOVES the dog park. The butt sniffing, the rough play, chase. At the dog park, I sit there watching him burn off all that puppy energy. And I think, here's one more creature to take care of. What about me? MY time? And of course work is more stressful, my PMS started lasting 14 instead of 7 days a month, and those new pants I bought only serve to accentuate my muffin top and make me very gassy.

So Rex and I went running together. And we did it again. And again. And he began to recognize my running shoes and baseball cap and now jumps for joy when he sees me putting them on. And today he encouraged me. He actually turned around and said, "Oh, come on!" when I slowed to a walk. It was a subtle, but certain nod of the head, jig of the front paws. Totally non-judgmental. "Hey could you pick up the pace a little? I know you can do it, and I'd really like to go a little faster. Please"

I intend no offense in comparing Rex to a personal trainer- I can't help but compare him to Otto every day. But there is no doubt in the connection. He is expecting me. He wants more out of me than I think I can give. He is faster and stronger and will always be. But Rex makes it even better: he's free and it's a mutual benefit. Two more reasons to lase up those shoes.

Mom Squad

Surfing, instead of running (although I am fully geared in a jog bra), I found this Mom Squad Makeover Contest. Entered videos are available for inspiration. The more I watch, the better I feel. It IS hard work being a mom. It IS normal to have a jelly belly, sallow skin, and a grumpy outlook. I love these real moms. Some sad, some begging, even. I want to reach out and hug every one, say "I know how you feel, I have dog hair everywhere, too."

I don't need a makeover, I just need to exercise, sleep, eat vegetables instead of cookies, and take a shower every day. I rushed everyone out the door (late, as usual). So I'm signing off and putting on my running shoes. The dog has been waiting long enough. I'm just going to think "makeover, makeover" while I run.

What inspires you to feel better?