It was only a matter of time. If the marked irritability, caffeine withdrawal shaking, and lethargy were not indicative enough, waking up this morning passed out on my computer—I was using it as a pillow—drives home the point that I was tired.
Last thing I remember, I was working on my assignment, I’d put in my eye drops, and said I’ll let them sit for five minutes, finish my school work, take a 2-hour nap, and then go to the store. What happened was that I started this last post, when my eyes started hurting, so I put in my eye drops and well, the rest went like this:
It was all really dreamlike. And came to me as a train of thought.
PJs on. Leave your mom alone. I ate spaghetti. Mommy I have to potty! Get out of there. Where is Caden’s shirt? Mommy you still sleep? Mom I’m getting my pajamas. Shh, mom’s sleep. You hungry?. Turn your ringer off. I closed the garage. You know your computer’s on? Get back in the bed! Nite, nite babe.
I know that doesn’t make sense, but that is exactly as I remember it. What it means is that the world didn’t end because I wasn’t functional, and someone else handled things while I rested. Sure the dirty clothes ended up in the clean hamper, the dishes are STILL in the sink, and toys litter the family room. But the life went on—imagine that!
Now to tackle this kitchen…
I am not as young as I used to be. I remember staying up all night in college and running the entire next day. I also remember being able to consume ungodly amounts of spirits and still being able to function the next day. Alas, after 30 that all changes. Now, I wouldn’t know if I could consume that amount of liquor, because I wouldn’t even try (thank God for maturity). Unfortunately, I do know that I cannot pull all-nighters anymore. I learned that lesson the hard way after 30-mins of sleep, four Cokes, and a bag a Jelly Beans later — yes you read that right. I am appalled to even write it, but it’s true. That is what my yesterday consisted of. Yet somehow I had my wits about me enough to resist the kids trying to slip McDonald’s in (I’ve effectively banned it from the house, and their bodies). The little sharks sensed blood in the water, and thought I would slip in my sleepless state (I conceded to Wendy’s since cooking was out of the question)
Still, I was going on fumes this morning as I did the school drops, and planned to take the grocery store trip that didn’t happen this weekend. Even as I look around the house I’m horrified—dishes in the sink, recycling bin overflowing, the partial grocery list still on the table where I started it Saturday morning—all the things left undone. Even as I write this, the words are moving across the screen.
But I’ll get it done, because I always do. No matter the sheer quantity of everything that has piled up with school assignments, work assignments, and did I mention that dishes are STILL in the sink (I know, I didn’t make the store so there is no dishwasher soap, but WHY does hand washing the dishes only occur to me?). Anyway, just another task to add to the list of things to do.
Maybe I’ll get a nap in before the kids get home from school…I can always dream about sleep.
For three weeks I have been in pain. PAIN! It hurt to go to the bathroom (those dang squats! But more one that later). Let me explain. I made a decision—one probably a decade in the making—to get healthy and physical. A variety of things contributed to that—being pregnant and having a baby, watching one of the parental units almost die as a result of diabetes…
For years (YEARS!), people have tried to help me battle the bulge. I remember giving my mother hell because she registered me for a weight loss class at her job, when I was in high school. I didn’t understand what her deal was. Wasn’t I pretty? Wasn’t I outgoing? Wasn’t I talented and involved in everything from church, school to even career-related pursuits? Didn’t I have boyfriends and go out on dates? For a 16-year-old, that was enough right? I didn’t get pregnant, got decent grades and people constantly wanted to know how my parents raised such wonderful kids! What else did she want?!
What I can humbly acknowledge now is that my mother was concerned about my health, but my personality and the guilt trip I put on her was no match for her concern. I won that battle. But she should’ve made me stay and see it through. It took me to be a real adult and now parent to really get it. Get why what she was trying to do then was important. Hindsight is 20/20 and it would’ve been SO much easier to have gone through this process with no bills, no baby, no responsibilities and the promise that they would’ve bought me whole new wardrobe when I reached my goal. No haps. It’s all on me now.
But it hurts. Physically, I AM IN PAIN and it’s all because of Crossfit Pulse. I’ve never been a fitness girl. I don’t want to work out at Bally’s with the model/video girl-types and their poom-poom shorts. I got turned on to CrossFit by a girl at work. She did an article on this new fitness craze and after watching her (she happens to be a bit of a fitness queen herself) call out of work after doing a class, my curiosity was peaked. She said it hurt to get up. She said it hurt to even think about moving.
Yeah, I was curious, curious and scared. I get the concept of working muscles previously under used muscles causing discomfort, but all out pain? Hmmm. So I shared the CrossFit info with a friend and she found a CrossFit gym in our neighborhood and so the journey began.
Fast forward three weeks and here I am—in pain. The initial pain of the first workout went away after about a week (it really did hurt to sit on the toilet…I abused my bladder by forcing it to hold ungodly amounts of liquid, just so I wouldn’t have to sit (and get up from) the commode). But the thing with CrossFit is that it works something new (or in a different way) every time so you never plateau—and as a result, something is ALWAYS sore. This week it’s my calves and my biceps. Despite the pain (it really isn’t that bad) I can’t stop going. I wake up at 4:15 a.m. three times a week, to go and “get it in.” I get it in so my baby doesn’t ever have to walk in and find me hovering on death’s doorsteps from a preventable disease. I get it in because I have dreams of rocking my own pair of poom-poom shorts to the gym one day (actually, if I can get them on and look how I imagine I will, I will rock them to the grocery store, church*, hell, I’ll rock them to take out the trash!). I get it in because I owe my mother, for making it so hard for her when she tried to help me get it done all those years ago. I get it in because I want to be a good steward of the body and good health I’ve been blessed with. I get it in because it is the right thing to do. Get yours!
* Just kidding about rocking them to church…at least not in the sanctuary anyway.