Tag: activities

Bringing the Racquet Like Venus and Serena

Awwww, yeah.  The Golden Girls were not ready for me yesterday.  Finally, after the longest week ever, I came off the bench and was ready to play some tennis.  What made my return even sweeter is that for Mother’s Day, DH and the girls got me the racquet that I have been coveting for the past several months .

Say “Hello” to my little friend.  I haven’t had a new racquet since the mid 1990’s and even that was only the second racquet I’ve ever had.  I was long overdue.  This racquet, the Wilson K Factor KBlade is the triple truth!  Combined with the fact that I’m retaining and actually using the pointers I’ve picked up in my lessons, I had those biddies thinking twice about having me run back an forth all over the court.  
One of the ladies, easily in her late 60’s tried to get cute and slam a return of serve right in my face, but I took a slight side step, pronated my wrist and punched the ball back out of her reach down the alley.  I suppose turn about is fair play because she was gunning for me on the next point.  My partner served the ball, the old broad returned it to my partner who does nothing but lob.  She sent it soft, slow and easy over the net where my opponent had enough time to file her nails, re-tie her shoes, and adjust her Depends before smacking the crap out of the ball . . .right. . .at. . .me.  Somehow, she sliced at it, so the ball dropped, but it didn’t lose speed.  Too bad for me, I mis-judged the angle and moved my racquet to the right instead of the left. That joint where your ankle and foot meet?  Yeah, it’s been tattooed with Dunlap 4.  
I keep telling folks, don’t sleep on these older ladies.  They like to play and more importantly, they like to  win. They do what they have to in order to do both.  That’s the last time I buy that, “I just got off my oxygen” bullshiggity!

Continue Reading
IN: ON: May 19, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading

It’s Been Brought’n

DH and I have recently secured our seats on the crazy train by starting the P90X training program.  I know, I know, it’s that incessant infomercial with Tony Horton demanding that you “Bring It!!” in order to get that ridiculously ripped physique you’ve been hiding behind those extra pounds from last years  Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah.
At first I was a huge skeptic.  I mean, I got taken by Billy Blanks and Tae Bo.  I did The Firm — I mean, an alum from my high school was one of the testimonials!  And those things do work. Just not when you’re downing margaritas, grilled ribeye fajitas, and guacamole a couple of times a week — not that I would ever do that (now).  My allegiance has been to the double W and the YMCA.  However, after all of that, I do find that my clothes continue to shrink from non-use.  DH had reached his own max tolerance level and suffice it to say, we’d reached a point where enough was enough. 
My brother, in his infinite wisdom, stared doing P90X without reading the materials. He hooked himself up with a guy at his gym who had read all the stuff and somehow they’ve forged an unlikely alliance where they do the routines. Anyway, by the time we decided to get in on the action, my brother was well into his 90 days.  He thoroughly enjoyed telling us how relentlessly Tony Horton pushes you to “Bring It”,  how your body will sue you for alienation of affection, and how pylometrics is nothing short of walking on broken glass with a hot poker shoved up your kiester.  
There’s a guy who does the jump training video, and he has a prosthetic leg  A prosthetic leg! 
I fully expected to drop dead after the first day. 
Thankfully, my body has responded to the hours I’ve logged in at the Y, in particular at Ginny’s step aerobics class.  I’m not saying that I didn’t break a sweat during that first go round of Chest and Back, but I seriously considered putting my Y membership and my tennis membership on hold until the 90 days was up.  There was no way I could do all that.
DH and I are doing this madness together, which is nice.  We boost each other up, we egg each other on. We tease each other when certain noxious gases rip out during squats and sit-ups.  I had to stop in the midst of the Ab Ripper X routine because every time DH did a sit up, he let out this groan that sounded like a rusty nail being scraped down the side of an aluminum washboard.  My abs were sore from the laughter, not the Mason Twists.  And when the decline pushups smacked me around so that I literally landed on my face,  my arms quivering (I was fully prepared to spend the rest of my life inhaling carpet fibers in exchange for regaining use of my arms), DH was there to gently assist in lifting and lowering me so I could finish the set.  My goal is 5 reps and oh, I loathe each and every friggin’ one. 
Anyway, the one downside I’ve found is the time of day we’ve chosen to do this thing.  In order for us to do this together, we’ve decided to get up at 4:40am and just hit it.  Ugh, it’s ugly.  I’m on autopilot at that ungodly hour.  Somehow, I manage to get a sports bra on the right way, my feet in my cross-trainers and my body down the stairs in one piece.  By the time we’re done, all my pistons are firing, the girls get up and we get our day going. 
By 11am, I’m usually ready to hibernate. 
The other day, I dropped the girls at school and ran some errands.  The sun was shining, the sunroof was open, and I had about 10 minutes of limbo time between the end of one errand and the time I had to scoop up Coever.  I was getting kind of sleepy — all that Vitamin D coming through the windows and all.  I tipped my head back a bit, and few minutes later, I sneak a peek at my watch.  15 minutes had gone by!  I motored in to get Coever, kicking myself for nodding off.
“Hey,” says her teacher, “Did you go tan today?” 
“What?”
“Your face!  It’s so tanned and flushed.  Looks good.”
Uh-oh.  Once, we get back to the car, I sneak a peek in the mirror.  Not quite raccoon-esque, but falling asleep in the sun for even 15 minutes can do a number on your face.  
Note to self: If you’re going to bring it in the morning, make sure you bring the sunscreen for the afternoon car catnap. 

Continue Reading
IN: ON: April 23, 2010 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading

Wanna Get Together? No, not really.

So, a few weeks ago, I took the girls to the play area at the mallwhere we met this mom and her two girls. Contrary to popular belief, making friends is not something I do with ease. I have serious social ineptitude and would much prefer to jump from “Hi, I’m Hilary with one L” to “Thanks for having us! Let’s get together again soon!”. And if I could have someone perform background checks, plan and execute the playdate, well, shoot, I’d have it made.

Just as with dating, checking out a new mom and her brood can be an overwhelming exercise. You size eachother up. You’re checking her out, she’s checking you out. You scope out her clothes and what kind of stroller she’s rolling and vice versa. She wants to know if you frequent the White Rabbit or strictly mall shop, if your kids take Suzuki violin, and whether or not you summer on the Vineyard or in Corolla. You want to know if she’s got Janie and Jack’s spring catalog on her coffee table, if her au pair is from Brazil or Brussels, and whether or not they belong to the YMCA or One Life Fitness. You casually refer to some celebrity gossip you caught on CNN to feel out whether or not you can admit to being an US Weekly Junkie. She name drops some of the other mom groups to which she has checked out to see where your allegiances lie. You ask her where she went to school. She asks you what your husband does. Back and forth, back and forth. The whole thing is a pre-screen to see if either of you even want to keep talking to each other let alone offer up any other vital stats, like your name.

This woman, let’s call her Pam, and her kids pass another 30 minutes of so with us at the play area before we have to head out. Her two girls are slightly younger than Mo and Co, but all of the girls have gotten along famously. I tell Pam that it had been nice talking with her, round up my girls and am about to head out when she says, “Hey, you seem really normal and cool. I was wondering if I could give you my number so we could get the girls together some time. We’ve been here about 3 years and I haven’t really met anyone that we really would want to hang out with.“

Wow. Normal and cool? She really knows how to flatter a girl.

She seemed nice enough, flattered me just the right amount without seeming pushy or stalker-ish. Her girls were cute and played nicely with Mo and Co. While I enjoyed talking with her that morning, I wasn’t really sure that we had a future much beyond the play area. God, that sounds terribly tacky, but c’mon, you know when a potential relationship candidate (male/female/social/business/romantic or otherwise) is not going to work out. I once invited a mom and daughter to our playgroup purely based on the fact that I had enjoyed their company. Long story short, their inclusion in that one get together was a disaster — the daughter was a grabby-non-sharing-whiny-biter and the mom was a one-upping-braggart. Yadda, yadda, yadda, I almost got kicked out of the playgroup for not having not properly vetted them.

Maybe I just don’t know how to say “No”. Maybe I’m a sucker. Maybe I’m too nice (I was never good at giving out fake numbers). Whatever the case, I found myself exchanging information with Pam.

Fast forward two weeks and several exchanges of phone tag. Just when I figure that we’ve both made an effort without any success, I actually answer the phone when she calls asking to get together.

Okay, why not? Well, here’s why — trying to find a mutually agreed upon day, time, and activity is damn near impossible. Her kids nap from 12 to 2p, mine “nap” from 2 to 4p. We live in Norfolk, they live in Chesapeake, about 20 plus minutes away. We hem and haw, we finally pick a date and when it comes to finalizing the particulars, it turns into some serious wheeling and dealing.

I suggest a lunch time playdate. She suggests an after nap playdate. I suggest meeting halfway at the mall for lunch at noon with some time at the play area. She offers up her house, a homemade lunch and some playtime with her girls at 1:30p. My kids get out of school at noon. It takes 20 minutes to get to Chesapeake — what am I going to do for 90 minutes? What else ya got?

Alright, how are we going to make this work? I toss out an afternoon playdate at her house, we’ll bring our own lunch, and we’ll come at 12:30. I need that 2 to 4p window so that I can have some sort of smirk smile on my face when DH comes home. You know, right after I slap on my apron, pearls, lipstick and heels and take the pot roast out of the oven.

I’m really not trying to bend on this one, because I know several moms (none of you, dear readers, of course) that flatly refuse to leave their homes if an excursion falls within the nap time window. When I was a new mom, I definitely fell into that camp and probably would have slapped your face if you said there’d come a time when I’d just toss the girls into the car and say, “Nap time be, doggoned!” I suck when it comes to bluffing and I don’t want to flat out lie in order to make this work in my favor. We all know lies will catch up with you with a quickness — look at the Heene’s.

I’m just not really feeling this woman enough to bend to her rules and evidently the feeling is mutual. Or the lack of feeling is mutual. Or whatever. There’s a playdate on the books, but as the date nears, I’m starting to wonder if this is really going to happen. I mean, if the process of even planning to get together is a drain, how well can the actual experience be?

I think I *koff*koff* feel a cold coming on.

Continue Reading
IN: ON: January 27, 2010 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading

The Boob Tube

So, we have one television. We’ve had only one television for a number of years, actually, and it works for us. We try not to let the girls watch to much TV, but it’s not because we think it rots their brains. It’s more of the house could be falling down around their ears and they would turn up the volume on the set because they couldn’t hear Olivia’s dialogue over the crashing of support beams.


Example A: Morgan is first introduced to TV as something we turn on while I braid her hair. I need for her to sit still, and the glow of the screen entrances her. That makes me a little nervous, but for the 25 minutes her show is on, she no longer looks like zippity-do-dah about the head. She’s not quite 2 yet, but she’s stringing a few words together to make herself understood. She starts asking to watch “a show” and DH and I gently remind her that it’s only for when we do her hair. She asks, “Watch news?”

Did I mention she’s not quite two yet? When did she learn the difference between CNN and Playhouse Disney? When we gently explain to her that isn’t going to happen, she simply turns to DH and preys on his weakness. “Watch Cow-ba-boys?” she asks? Oh, are we in for it.

Example B: Morgan turns 3 years old and as a birthday treat, I let her watch The Little Mermaid. She was still mastering potty training and realized, at a crucial scene in the movie, she had to go to the bathroom. She calls for me, letting me know, “Mommy, I have to go potty”, to which I reply, “Okay, go to the bathroom.” To her credit, she did make it to the actual bathroom. I’m pretty sure she kept one eye on the TV as she walked over there. After a few minutes, when I didn’t hear the toilet flush, I found her standing in the bathroom, door wide open and her soggy pants down around her ankles. She wasn’t the least bit perturbed. She was looking at something over my shoulder as I peeled off those pee-pee pants. Oh yes, the TV.

In an event, we try to keep the TV to a minimum because the girls have lots of toys, we do arts & craps (when I feel strong enough), we do playdates and basically because I know the TV is my ace-in-the-hole when I need 30 uninterrupted minutes of my own to make a phone call/make dinner/make a mad grab for a cup of coffe with me, myself and I.

Most days, I am the first one up, usually a good hour or so before everyone else. I pull out the laundry and flip on the TV to get caught up on whatever’s in the DVR. Yesterday, was no exception. The day after Christmas means people are going to sleep in, which means, I can still get up early to do some things for me for a little bit. I got up, pounded out 3 miles outside, came in and pulled out the ol‘ laundry buckets. And let me just say for two adults and two children, we produce dirty laundry at an astonishing rate — I’m doing at least 3 loads every other day.

At any rate, the girls come downstairs with their grandma, who sets about getting their breakfast. Santa brought Mo and Co a dollhouse this year, which they busy themselves with in the other room while breakfast is being made. I power on the TV and even over the sound of pots, pans, their Uncle “breathing deeply” on the sofa, Mo is at my side faster than you can say “DVR“.

“Kai washa show? (translation: Can I watch a show?)” she breathes, her eyes affixing themselves to the screen.

“It’s Mommy’s turn to watch a show, and unless you are going to fold some laundry,” I gesture to the two buckets at my feet, “you should go play.”

“Ohhhhhkayyyyy,” she sighs and literally, drops her head to her chest as she trudges out to the room. Walking the green mile back to her toys!

Not even five minutes later, she dashes back into the room, shouting “I have to go potty!” Now the way our family room is set up, the TV is on one wall and the sofa faces the TV set. There is plenty of walking room between the TV and the sofa, as well as behind the sofa. The wall behind the sofa has the door to the laundry room and to the half bath which is where we now find Mo, as she has left the door wide open – again – so that she can keep an eye on the TV.

I am hip to this trick and I turn the TV off, to which her disembodied voice says, “Why did you turn off the TV?”

“So you can use the potty.”

“Mom, I have to tell you something!” Oh boy, this is classic Mo-dizzle stall tactic/pre-face to any defense argument she has ever concocted. “Mom! Mom! Michelle and Karen (her teachers) taught me how to fold laundry in practical life*, so now I can watch TV!”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider handing her the bucket and the remote. Now, if I could just get Co to separate the lights from the darks. . .



*At Mo’s school they do what is called Practical Life activities, which are tasks the child can learn on how to do living activities in a purposeful way. Whenever I ask her what she has done at school on a given day, the top three answers are 1) played, 2) colored and 3) played.
Continue Reading
IN: ON: December 27, 2009 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading

Why Today Could Have Sucked, But Didn’t

When you wake up to howling winds, rain beating down on your roof like it’s the big, bad, wolf, and temperatures hovering in the low 30s, it’s all to easy to just pull the comforter over your head and chalk the day up as a loss before it even starts. And yet, that’s not what happened today. Today could have sucked, but it didn’t.
It’s really a tie for first place for the first thing that happened that was so awesome. I got to sleep in — hello 7:45am — and DH brought me coffee in bed. When your day starts like that, it can only go up from there. I really don’t think I have to go any further, but I will.
I came downstairs to find breakfast made and waiting for me, the girls fresh-faced and well rested, and the Christmas tree lit, shimmering with holiday goodness. We had a leisurely breakfast while the rain steadily fell down, down, down. The girls dropped their dishes in the sink and their pj’s on the floor in favor of dress-up clothes and arts & crafts. I told Mo that I was going to help DH clean up the kitchen and that I wouldn’t be able to help her with arts & crafts. Guess what? She was totally cool with it and she made paper dolls for herself and her sister — BY HERSELF! Will wonders never cease?!
Mo and Co played so nicely downstairs, constructing a mini puppet theatre out of sofa cushions, their anywhere chairs, and an easel. Somehow, the trail of debris wound it’s way upstairs to their room, but guess what? I didn’t care.
At about 10:30, we decided we should probably motivate and hit the Y. Piling into the car, we wound our way through the rainy Norfolk streets, only to realize we should have used an outboard motor instead of the car to get to there. Norfolk was flooded — again. Detour to the Harris Teeter for some groceries because if you can’t work out at the Y and you certainly can’t work out outside, the only thing to do is bake!
DH and I had the kitchen running like a well oiled machine. He decided he want to make Osso Bucco for dinner tonight — I love it when he watches Food Network — and I decided I wanted to make chocolate chip muffins, chocolate & peanut butter chip cookies with walnuts, and cake balls! I think a big part of the reason today could have sucked but didn’t was because I got to say cake balls at least a dozen times.
We decided to order out for lunch since, despite our trip to the grocery, neither one of us wanted to make anything for lunch. We placed our order and were on our way to pick it up when the rains caused the Lafayette River to swell and flood the streets. Our routes to the restaurant were thwarted, so DH called to cancel the order. The restaurant said, “NO! The food is ready! We’ll bring it to you!” Um, have you seen the streets? You? Bring it to us? Doubtful, but we said alright.
Once at home, we pulled out every pot and pan, every mixing bowl and measuring cup. DH got to chopping, I got to stirring. He was sauteeing, I was mixing. We didn’t have any Christmas carols playing in the background; just the sound of the girls playing upstairs. And then the sound of the doorbell. Holy Cake Balls (hee hee)! The delivery guy made it!
Lunch was served, the children were happy, our bellies were full, and even better, the rain stopped. We put the kids down for some quiet time and then took turns heading outside to do some pre–emptive damage control for all of the junk we plan on eating later on.
It was, to quote my grandma, “colder than a witches tit” outside. 3 miles, an excellent Genius mix, and one frozen nose later, the run was done. Success! That run could have totally sucked, but how can you start to walk when “Fire” comes on.
And now the children are watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, the Osso Bucco is simmering nicely in the crockpot, and the cakeballs are resting in the fridge. We’re going to a holiday party tonight and I even know what I’m going to wear and I know that it’s going to fit when I put it on (talk about wonder never ceasing).
Yeah, today could have sucked, but it totally didn’t.
Continue Reading
IN: ON: December 19, 2009 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading

Birthday Party Regulars

The girls have been invited to a slew of birthday parties as of late. They’re invited to parties for children in their respective classes from school and invited to parties from neighborhood kids and other kids we know. We’ve been to parties at Chuck E. Cheese’s and we’ve been to parties at Inflatation Nation, Kangaroo Jacks and The Jumping Monkey. We’ve been to parties at the Botanical Gardens, parties at the Zoo, parties at Tidewater Gymnastics Academy and parties at J.W. Tumbles. And let me just say that this J.W. Tumbles place is pretty popular with the 5 and under set. The girls were invited to two parties at the same J.W. Tumbles on the same day one right after the other. Whew!

In a previous life, I tried my hand at wedding planning and these kiddie parties are starting to make receptions look like Kool-Aid and Chex Mix served on Chinet. One party Mo was invited to was held in an event space that used to be a restaurant. It was a carnival theme party complete with a face painter, a balloon artist, an inflatable jump house, a popcorn machine, a cotton candy machine, and rows of carnival games. There was pizza made to order along with other fair food and an open bar for the parents. And did I mention the birthday boy was turning 5. FIVE.

Of course with all of these parties comes the purchasing of a gift for the birthday boy or girl. I have never been good at figuring out what kind of gift to give. I mean, yes, I have children of my own, but their likes and dislikes change from minute to minute. So what do you do for someone else’s child? Do you get something educational like books or other learning “toys” that the child will probably pull out of the wrapping paper and toss over their shoulder while saying, “Next!”
Do you go for a coloring book and crayons? Clothes? Maybe take a cue from the cartoon character on the invitation and go for something from the extensive options that Thomas the Tank Engine/Strawberry Shortcake/Spongebob/Dora/The Disney Princesses or Pirates of the Caribbean have to offer?
Do you go for a gift card to Toys R Us or Target and let the child pick their poison present? Lately, we’ve been giving Coldstone Gift Cards as presents, but sometimes I feel conspicuously empty handed when we arrive at a party and simply hand over a card in the midst of brightly wrapped packages and gift bags. At the last party we went to, the birthday girl and a few of her minions came charging out of the front door when we arrived. Mo handed the birthday girl the envelope with the card and said “Happy Birthday”. Minion #1 said, eyeing the envelope suspiciously, “Wait, where’s the gift? Didn’t you bring a gift?” Minion #2 said, “It’s her birthday, you have to give her a gift!”
Look, we didn’t just get off the Goodship Lollipop; I know how this whole birthday thing works. I don’t do rude and was about to give her lil’ buns a lesson in respect, but DH had a hand on my shoulder to steer me away before it got ugly. Besides, they were like six and seven years old and I wasn’t really trying to bring home a lawsuit in our goody bag.
But back to gift selection. Do you get the child something obnoxious and loud that you would never allow in your own home? DH took Co to a birthday party last week-end and the child opened their presents at the party (not a fan of that, but whatever). So the birthday boy opens some blinking, beeping, whirring and clanging toy, and his mother says –out loud, in front of everyone — “Oh, how nice. I think we’ll give that to the school!”
WOW.
Anyway, we have yet another party to attend today. Somehow I managed to wait until the last minute to get a gift for the party, so I had Mo and Co with me when I went to pick one out for the birthday girl. We’re good friends with the birthday girl and her family, and yet, I couldn’t think of anything that she didn’t already have. I wanted to fall back on my gift card option, but I had mentioned how I’d been using that as my go-to gift when her mom asked me for some ideas when they had a party to attend.
So, we’re wheeling around Target and hit the toy aisles. Mo and Co are begging me to slow down so they can peruse the merchandise and longingly trail their fingers along the shelf’s edge. We pass a Dora the Explorer display and I pick up one of the dolls to examine it. I ask Mo if remembers whether or not the birthday girl likes Dora.
“Oh, yeah. She likes Dora.” Mo volunteers. “She likes Dora as the mermaid!”
From the back of the cart, Co pipes up, “I like Doe-wa. I like Doe-wa.” I seem to remember that the birthday girl does like Dora, but she may have this particular doll already. I explain as much to Mo.
“Well,” she says, “Why don’t you let me hold onto that Dora while you look for something else?” She’s a smart one, that Mo-dizzle.
We look at everything from LeapFrog Learning Pads to The Littlest Pet Shop and everything in between. With every step, I hear “What about this? Why don’t you let me look at it while you keep walking?” from Mo, and “I like Kai-Lan. I like Ponies. I like Abby Cadabby. I like Wonder Pets.” from Co.
Suffice it to say, a gift was purchased, wrapped and ribboned. Mo and Co have totally bypassed Christmas lists and are working on their first drafts of next year’s birthday wish lists. Oh, and they’ve already decided they each want a themed party — Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty Party for Mo (quelle surprise) and Ariel Party for Co. I wonder if I can rent out the Scope.
Continue Reading
IN: ON: December 5, 2009 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
Continue Reading
1 … 4 5 6 7 8 9