Just Wondering

I was happily ellipticalling along on the elliptical trainer this morning at the YMCA and almost 60 minutes in I moved from heavy breathing to panting. As I glanced down at the time to see how much more torture I had in store on this contraption, I noticed the fine print. It says, "stop and get medical attention if you experience faintness, exhaustion, or shortness of breath". Huh? Isn't that the point of the machine, to get you feeling exhausted and short of breath? Just wondering.

And while I'm on the topic of the gym. Do you get some super hero extra muscle building power if you grunt while you are lifting weights? Just wondering.

I saw a notice that they were starting Zumba classes at the Y here. I went to sign up but the class was full. I was kind of bummed until I happened to be at the gym the first night of the class. The line looked a lot like a casting call for Richard Simmons "sweatin to the oldies". I would not have been shocked to see Richard Simmons himself jump out of somewhere. Whatever happened to Richard Simmons? Just wondering.

What's the deal with posting feedback about the people you buy crap from over the internet? Is it a competition to see who can get the most stars? I bought a USB piano keyboard for my girls so they can live their garageband dreams and the seller posted feedback that said I was a "brilliant first time trader". What does that mean anyway? Can I put that on my resume when I go back to work early next year? Just wondering.

Does anybody actually read what I write here? Just wondering.

Landmarks

I have three or four different places that I walk to keep me sane. Some are much more visually appealing than others and I definitely have a favorite that I go if the stars all align just the way I need them to. No matter which place I choose, I have landmarks that I watch out for along the way. Some are places I pass and some I hear through the headphones of my iPod.

When I hear Pearl Jam tell me to "Just Breathe", I know I am at the half way point and it is a reminder to do just that, breathe. When I pass the Lotto shop with the big purple sign I know that in about 10 minutes I'll be back to my warm car. I usually think about the times the kids I stop at that shop and get huge scoops of Tip Top ice cream hand dipped in the most divine chocolate. It makes me pick up my pace just enough. I pass the old rusting truck in the middle of the sheep pasture and smile and think about Brandon and know that I'm a fourth of the way home. And when I'm almost home, I laugh at the sign that warns me that I could die. Something about a cable under the river. In a land that throws all caution to the wind, it's funny to see that sign.

The nice thing about landmarks, whether early in the journey or the ones that signal you are near the end, is that you get an idea of where you are. You can gauge how much energy it will take to get you to the end. This journey with Little D is all new to me. There are no landmarks to navigate my path. Does three days in a row with screaming rages lasting three to four hours mean we're a fourth of the way in? When he asks for a hug do I know we're almost there? When he looks me directly in the eye, glaring, and pees and poops all over the floor, does that mean we've taken a step forward or back. There is no gauge to measure how much energy and determination it will take to get us to the end. I don't even know where the end is at this point or what it looks like. All I can do is hope, and muster up the energy and determination for one more step.

Inefficiency

I joined the YMCA because I believed what the Village People said, that "they can help you today", and something about not getting down and getting yourself off the ground and I'm sure they mentioned fun in there somewhere.

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I had a fitness assessment this morning. I didn't want an assessment because that sounds too much like test which might mean criticism, but in order to get the nice boy to show me the exercises that will give me Michelle Obama arms, I had to be assessed. I was thinking, great, I walk everyday, oh and I play the Wii. I thought maybe they would have me hit some baseballs or tennis balls or bowl a few lanes and then tell me my fitness age. I was prepared. I thought.

The very nice lady told me what a beautiful figure I had and then stuck me on a bike and told me to ride. She measured something called my VO2. I don't really know what that is but she explained it is basically measuring stamina. My number was so low it was literally not even on the chart. I must have started looking stunned because she next told me it is not really stamina, but a measure of how efficient my body is at getting oxygen to the cells. I thought for a few seconds and looked at her and said "So you're basically saying that I'm inefficient down to a cellular level." She laughed. I must have looked even worse because she next told me that it's basically 70% genetics. Now we're talking.

I know I'm inefficient. I certainly didn't need to ride her bike to give me that news flash. I have boxes of unfinished projects and a house that is never all clean at one time. I leave the house each morning and without fail have to go back inside at least once to get something I forgot. I don't make one trip to the grocery store a day but three or four because I forgot some key ingredient. Inefficiency is my middle name. I contemplated asking for my $320 back and then something occurred to me. The glorious part about the assessment is, I now know my inefficiency is not my fault. It's my cellular make up. And if that wasn't enough to make my day, it's genetic! Something else that is all my parents fault. I left her office happy to know I now have the perfect excuse. I am inefficient but it's not my fault and because it's genetic, there's nothing I can do about it! I'll spend the day blaming mom and dad and then start apologizing to my girls.

My Cinderella Story

New Zealand doesn't have much to offer where fashion is concerned. When I hit the continent, I felt like I moved 18 hours ahead while warping 15 years behind. Mullets and mohawks are the norm and it is nice to live someplace that no matter what your size, leggings are it. The one exception to the fashion time warp is the shoes. I have never considered myself a "shoe girl". Comfort always takes precedence for me, but the shoes here are ogle worthy. They are also expensive and so I have only been an admirer from afar. That is until last week when walking by a store window on Esk street, these boots spoke my name. Not just a whisper in passing but a make you stop dead in your tracks kind of speaking. I knew instantly they were to be mine. Sole mates, love at first sight, instant attraction, whatever you call it, I experienced it on the sidewalk. I tried them on and all was right with the world. The only thing that would have made it better is a chocolate bar in hand. We were shopping for shoes for Izzy and Ava who were wearing shoes whose soles were literally full of holes and falling off, and we left $268 later with patten leather red boots for me. And when I wear them, happily ever after seems entirely possible.

Ava's shoes that still need replacing!

Someone Else' Child

About a year ago, the Reynolds five somehow became the Reynolds six. I'm not really sure how it happened, although I am fully aware of where babies come from, and I am even less certain how long it will last. Little D made his first appearance last August. He is the son of Big Daddy's brother and has had a tough three years, to say the least. It's a strange feeling when to have responsibility for a stranger's child. A child you are completely unsure of the history or the future. A child who has the ability to melt your heart and make you think you are truly insane all in the same 24 hour period. You learn a lot about yourself, most of it not pleasant and you get a clear picture of who you really are, most of the time not the person you thought you were or want to be. You also learn a lot about the power of "mom and dad", for good or bad.

How is it that long before we make our appearance into the world, two people are able to screw us up. And when we do make our appearance, that power to wreak havoc grows exponentially. The best part by far is that once the havoc is there, it is almost inevitable that the havoc spreads wherever the child goes.

Whatever the reason, right now I am "Mom" to a three year old. An adorable three year old with chocolate button eyes. A three year old I did not grow or deliver, but who was delivered to me.

A three year old who has experienced hurt, more hurt than most will experience in their lifetime.

A three year old who cannot say that he is hungry or tired or cold, he has no idea those are things you don’t have to feel.

A three year old who has no idea what it feels like to have a “go to man”, someone who has your back no matter what. And because of the power of "mom and dad", he is unable to let me be that man.

A three year old who manipulates and controls at all cost, there is no cost too high. He has lost everything already.

A three year old who cannot look me in the eye without trembling and sobbing at the very request. I might see his fear and hurt and he, he might see my love.

A three year old who has no trouble looking me in the eye to lie. Who stares at me with cold dark eyes full of hatred and contempt. And when I see the intensity there I am relieved he can’t find the words to express what he feels. And I dread the day he does.

A three year old I am struggling to like. A three year old I fiercely love, and wish with all my heart that love would heal his.

Shopping for a New Mom

Little D does this thing when we go out in public where he shops for a new mom. A mom who will be more like his vision of “the perfect mom”. At the supermarket on Monday, he found two possible candidates and later that evening when Big Daddy invited one of the medical students over for dinner, Little D was sure he had found “the one”. Seconds after she walked in the door, he announced “I love her”. Signed, sealed and delivered!

The thought of being replaced used to have me running scared, but Monday as we walked through the market collecting the staples, like Oreo cookies, Ice cream and Diet Coke, I decided this idea of shopping for a “mom” might not be such a bad idea. A “mom” right here in New Zealand might be just what Little D and I both need. So up and down the aisles, amid the canned goods and bakery offerings, I shopped too.

I’m not sure how Little D makes his picks, what kind of selection process he goes through, but I started my search with the contents of their trolley. If they didn’t have a trolley, they were automatically eliminated based on the assumption that the pantry would resemble the contents of the trolley and without one I couldn’t tell. If the items in the trolley passed the test and included, the basic necessities and then some treats thrown in, I looked at the shopper themselves. The too old and too young were quickly eliminated and then I was left to watch how they shopped. Lose the “mom”’s who use a list, and gone were the chicks who couldn’t decide. I looked for a smile or “that certain look” in their eye. You know “the look”, the one that tells you she will listen patiently when you need it and tell you to stop whining when that is what is called for. The mom who will fill your freezer full of ready meals and drive your kids around in your convertible VW beetle for a week while you soak up the sun with your husband on a tropical island far away. The mom who shows she cares with phone calls and packages and forwarding of clever emails. A mom who has a candy cupboard and white bread when you go to visit. A mom who is always up for a “project” no matter how big (helping you move across the world) or small (finishing the easter dresses where all you had left do was hem them).

Vinny and I left the supermarket with only the food staples we had come for (and an extra treat or two) and when we got back to the house and I looked forward to my planned skype later that afternoon with the chick I knew was perfect for the “mom” job. She never leaves the market without a full trolley and she has exactly “the look” I was searching for. As it turns out, she doesn’t live in New Zealand, but half way across the world. And that will have to be good enough for now.

Overjoyed

I went for the most fabulous walk/run yesterday. The sun was shining through cotton candy clouds and the sky was the most amazing shade of blue. It was another true "pinch me" moment where I felt extremely grateful. Grateful to be here in New Zealand. Grateful to experience the people, the culture and the incredible beauty that is in every direction. Like one of my favorite songs, I was struck how,

“All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light you could find is inside, under
All of the noise, and here’s your chance to be overjoyed?”
-Christine Kane, Overjoyed

And with the noise gone, surrounded by a world designed to remind me, for those 45 minutes I truly felt OVERJOYED!