September 25, 2010
September 25, 2010
I entered her room and turned off her nightlight. Her hands lay softly opened, palms up, as if she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a bank robbery. I told her how truly special and important she is – I hope that somehow my nocturnal ramblings will engrave into her psyche and give her an innate sense of confidence.
As I pressed her hands to my lips, she clasped my fingers in a tight clench. What a surprise! I thought those first months of life, when as a baby she’d hold my finger in a firm grip were long gone. Now, age 7, she is knee-deep in the scholarly concepts of scientific method, iCarly, and the indecipherable difference between reality and fantasy.
With each passing year I mark the loss of her important childlike ways. Little by little her mind expands and accumulates information that pushes her toward self -reliance and independence.
I am glad for her progress, but I miss my baby.
I know now though that I can find her inner child in the quietest hour of the night, when her sleep is deep and house is at its stillest. And this makes me happy.
September 19, 2010
A few weeks ago a friend sent me a friendly reminder that Team FootWorks would soon begin its half marathon and full marathon training in September. Like most other things in my life lately, I tossed the idea of training aside — I lack two important assets: motivation and time.
Anyway, I guess on some level I didn’t shelve the idea completely because I kept her reminder in my inbox and every now and then opened it up, checked the schedule, and set it aside.
Last night, on the eve of the first run meet, I decided to do it. I decided to wilfully assault my body with 6 am call times, for runs that eventually will push me to complete 14 mile distances. I’m not a particularly good runner but I tend to commit to a run once I begin it. So, as I joined the ranks of more or less 400 other runners this morning, I felt intimidated but ever so slightly emboldened by the challenge.
It’s been many months since my last “real” run but I thought muscle memory and adrenalin would sustain me for the first 3 miles. It didn’t quite work out that way. By mile 2 I was seriously falling behind from my pace group and questioning the wisdom of my decision while ignoring the desire to vomit and faint. Our group maintained a brisk pace and a casual conversation, but through it all I kept looking up. The sun was rising, there was no imminent danger of a swooping bird, and I knew, sooner or later, this run would end, and I would pick up my broken pieces and drive home.
Eventually the run did end. And I felt that old feeling of fatigued accomplishment. I was a mess but I finished my run. And for today, that was worth a lot more than I can say.
September 19, 2010
An otherwise conservative, preppy and quiet coworker suggested I invest in a stripper pole. She quietly says this after I mentioned how a recent purchase of red pumps left me feeling empowered and feminine. Sometimes people do more than surprise you; they knock you off your feet.
She says: “Get a stripper pole. Your husband won’t know what hit him, even if you don’t know one iota about stripper poles or strip dancing. Trust me. Oh, make sure you have a few drinks before you get started.”
Bear with me on this one. So, it turns out one can buy the aforementioned stripper pole just about anywhere lingerie is sold, including amazon.com! A brief and discreet internet search will confirm this.
I don’t know where to begin. I am definitely not a puritan but while the notion of a stripper pole strikes me as hilarious and absurd; I bet my there are plenty of husbands out there fervently praying their wives will get this absurdly laughable toy for their bedroom.
Here’s the thing, even if the pole doesn’t work out for you, an ambitious husband can reuse it as a pull-up bar — you know, to work on his physique.
September 7, 2010
She wants to dance and so she must. Dance is Sophie and Sophie is dance.
I understand Sophie, you need to dance.
Dance Sophie, dance!
Dance moves through Sophie. We can’t take our eyes off you.
(P.S. Please don’t skip out of class to dance Sophie. Numbers and words share rhythm and musicality too.)
September 1, 2010