Posts Tagged ‘YMCA’

How in the world do mothers of Olympians do it?  Standing on the sidelines, hearts in their throats, watching their precious children chase dreams, wanting more than anything (anything at all) for them to succeed and, if they fail, wanting even more desperately to take their disappointment and sadness away.  And, if they do succeed.  My goodness.  The tears.  The joy.  The pride.

In a little 8-child weekly Rock Climbing class at the YMCA today.  The fourth week of class.  The fourth of week of “do you really think I can do it, Mommy?  Really?”  The fourth week of “Yes.  You can.  I know you can.”

Well, today.  He did.  Big Brother rang the bell.

And, I was a hooting, hollering lunatic behind the rock wall chains.  I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was over and suddenly the area around me was, well, not filled with the sound of me yelling anymore.  If he was any older he would have been so completely mortified by my behavior.

Instead, he’s just so proud of himself he could burst.    And he can’t wait for Dad to come home so he can bask in sharing his big news.

Way to go, sweetie.  The first of many big things.

Here’s hoping your ole Mom’s heart can take it.

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Don’t Blink…

Because one minute they’re propped up on your couch in a strawberry hat…

And the next minute, you’re holding your breath trying to act like it’s really no big deal at all that they’re doing this.

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Late last week, I decided to take my boys to “Open Gym” at our local YMCA.  We’ve done this a few times before and it always took place in the Y’s Main Gymnasium.  The room is loaded with stuff — trampoline tracks that lead to a big pit of foam blocks, balance beams, giant foam building blocks, a rope swing and the entire floor is covered by mats.  Plenty of easy entertainment for a couple of boys.  I can let them run wild together and know they’re safe while I play on my iPhone watch them lovingly.

But, the other day, we excitedly arrived at the gym and found it was full of (gasp!) gymnasts!  Twirling, swirling, leaping little girls in leotards.  Hmmm…did I have the time wrong?   Turns out that Open Gym that day was to be held in another gym.  One room down.  A real, shiny wooden floor, bleachers, basketball hoop and soccer goals type of gym.   The Y had made a small attempt at improving this new version of “Open Gym” by throwing in a few foam building blocks, one balance beam and a few random balls.

I looked at my guys.

“What do you think?  Is this kind of lame?  You wanna just go home?”

Because to me, it looked awful.  No real entertainment. Nothing new or different than what you’d usually find in, well, a gym.

Big Brother looked at Little Brother.  “You want to play Freeze Tag!?


And off they went.  Racing around, chasing and laughing and throwing balls around and just completely, gleefully entertained for nearly forty-five minutes before they collapsed down next to me ready to go home for a snack and a nap.

Apparently anything that can be done at maximum speed suits them just fine.  Lesson learned.

Big Brother in foreground (like I said…fast).
Little Brother in background.

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…to get with the program again after two long weeks of not Watching my Weight. This includes but is not limited to refusing any and all invitations from my sweet children to “have some, Mommy?” when the item in question comes from the frozen foods section or comes with a packet of bright orange powder.

…to get out all of my thank-you notes all my non-family thank-you notes by the end of this week. Firstly, this includes the friends who love me best and do not give my children presents with 750-easy to assemble pieces or anything with sand, doh or marbles in the packaging. Secondly, I suppose, it will also include the friends who my children love best because they didn’t give a damn what I thought about the mess their awesome gifts would create. To those devil woman friends of mine who fall in the latter category…just wait ’til next year when your kid gets a drum set from Aunt Swooper.
…to hug more, yell less. There were many, many crazy moments over the last two weeks in which my boys were racing around the house like whirling dervishes, chanting synchronized nonsense at the top of their lungs together. Together. And, much of the time I was shushing them or telling them to stop touching each other. Touching each other. And when it got really “bad”, I was even threatening time-outs to separate them. Separate them?   No.  Perspective.  Deep breaths.  Perspective.
…to wear lingerie, matching, prettier under garments.  ‘Nuff said.
…to do something other than home chores on my child-free Tuesday and Thursday morning. Ideally, something at the gym that involves sweat, my iPod and sneakers. Where are those things, anyway?
…to host a party little get together.  Because we owe people and because I’m social. Best start working on Husband now about that. (see resolution listed two up from here)
…to forgive. And realize that people are rarely capable of dramatic personality change (particularly those of an older generation). Faced with too many untimely deaths of late, it’s time I get a clue and take the hint. It may not be the conventional relationship but he loves me. He does. And, I him.
…to stop giving a hoot about Facebook, Farmville, Fish World and Cafe World and pretending that Big Brother is the one most interested in them.  “Hey, Big Brother!  It’s almost bedtime!  Have you harvested the watermelons?!”   Really, Swooper?

…to be more grateful for the life I’ve been given.  To look my husband in the eye every day more often and let him know how much I love being a stay at home Mom and how much I appreciate how hard he works to make this life for us.   To look at my boys and really see them.  Their innocent faces, their tiny hands, their boundless energy and their completely distinct and loving, little personalities.   To embrace them longer, close my eyes and really feel them in my arms.   It won’t be long before they decide I’m totally so uncool.

Happy 2010, everyone.   I wish you all the best.

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So, it’s become clear to me that yes, I am, in fact, a screamer. I’ve become one of those Moms that I never really thought I’d be or at least I hoped I wouldn’t be. But, nonetheless, the fact is that, when push comes to shove and the rubber hits the road and all hell is breaking loose (look at that, three coloquialisms in a row) I am…in fact…a screamer.

And, apparently you know you have entered the inner sanctum of my life when I allow you to witness the full mental breakdown that leads to the event of my banshee-esque screaming. Today, for example…
My beloved almost-five-year old (he long ago stopped calling himself four) had been out of the house almost literally all day long. School, extended for lunch and play with a new “girlfriend” (she’s from Norway and Big Brother apparently takes after his father), no afternoon nap, home for about 20 minutes then off to a swimming playdate at the Y and dinner with his best friend, C. And C’s nanny who is a-w-e-s-o-m-e. I adore her. And I have total envy of my new and wonderful friend M., who employs said Nanny’s services and, therefore, exposes her children to DELIGHTFUL play on a regular basis. (As an example, Big Brother made a pickle pizza last time he was at C’s house. How cool is that?)
Anyway, Nanny is kind enough to allow the ours to be family #2 and she helps us out as much as she can. We do regular play-dates at the park. My boys love her and can’t wait for the next time we go out but they hope we DONT go out with C’s Mommy and Daddy because that means they can’t have Nanny all to themselves.
Now, fast forward to 6:45 this evening when Big Brother arrives home. I haven’t seen the kid in what seems like weeks and, as I rush to the door to greet him with visions of hugs and kisses, I realize quickly that he could, clearly, care less. Instead, he saunters past me on his way to, no doubt, ensure that his pesky little brother hasn’t had any fun while he was gone and to make DAMN sure that said fun stops…now. Up the stairs goes Big Brother. I greet Nanny who wants to discuss (god bless her) when she can take him off my hands YET AGAIN for a sleepover with C.
30 seconds go by. Max. Little Brother wails loudly from upstairs.
Me (medium voice): Hey guys? Play nice, ok?
Conversation continues with Nanny.
10 seconds later.
Big Brother: NO, Little Brother, that’s my Bakugan!
Little Brother wails yet again. I picture the hands on the shoulders shake Big is undoubtedly giving Little.
F-ing Bakugans.
Me: Big Brother! Stop!

Smile at Nanny. “Sorry.” She understands, of course.

12 seconds? Maybe?

More cries. Louder now. Conversation with Nanny is drawing to a close. But not before she hears the quiet fraying sound of…what was that? Oh yes, my last nerve.
Me: Big Brother, I swear if you don’t keep your hands to yourself this second I’m going to come up there and you. will. be. SORRY!

Nanny: Ok, well let’s chat tomorrow.

Sometimes I wonder what differentiates the good Moms from the bad. I sure as hell hope it isn’t volume.

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