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Category: Transitions

Going (Health) Clubbing

Before I had children (ah. How many times do parents utter sentences that start with that phrase?) I drove to the gym–I’m sorry, we’re supposed to call it a health club, I think because it offers nutrition advice and pedicures–almost every day after school, and most Saturdays could find me huffing and puffing at a BodyPump or BodyAttack class (do you love how the classes all have “Body” in front of them? I think it’s to scare you into knowing they’re going to kick not just your rear end, but your whole danged self, around the room for 60 minutes). I looked forward to the group classes–the competition to be faster, get stronger, jump higher–and it relieved stress better than a couple of dirty vodka martinis at happy hour. I liked that I could run up the stairs at work without gasping for air at the top. I took some pride in moving heavy boxes around my classroom without having to ask a dude for help. And I didn’t mind that the backs of my arms didn’t do…

Straddling the Line

Okay, so we all know that I when I had Saoirse, I went on a maternity leave that sort of stretched indefinitely into full-on stay-at-homehood.  David and I had always said that if we could do it, it was important to us to have one of us stay home once we had children–it didn’t matter which one of us did it, but since I was the one with the milk-producing boobs and he was the one with the bigger paycheck (did I mention that I was a teacher?), I drew the short straw (or is it long straw?  Whichever one is the awesome pick).  So a few months after our sweet oldest daughter was born, I packed up my binders upon binders of lesson ideas, walked away from my classroom with its incredible views of the Appalachian mountains and solemnly traded my high heels for cute but oh-so-practical Clarks (okay, actually they were Converse back then.  But I’m getting old).   It was a strange, strange transition for me.  I spent that first year at home feeling like I’d left a big ol’ chunk of my…

Attention Whiplash

Saoirse decided to spit out a taco onto our dining room floor this evening.  Wait, that’s not right.  She didn’t so much spit it out as lean over her chair, open her mouth, and let the entire half-chewed black-bean-tortilla-and-cheese contents fall out onto the rug.  Appetizing, right?  Wait, it gets better:  as soon as it happened, I launched into the standard reprimand/discipline routine that was clearly ineffective, because the instant she had my attention, she grabbed a big gulp of milk, looked at me with that defiant look only a child knows how to give, and let it all gush out of her mouth, down her chin and onto her shirt.  And then she asked for a cookie.  It was one of those priceless moments that makes me think that sometimes my life would make an awesome reality show.  Seriously.  I’d call it TrainWreckTV.  But you want to know why she did?  Have you guessed already?  Yep, that’s right:  we were paying too much attention to her little sister.  And by paying too much attention, I mean we spent all of 30 seconds (okay, maybe 45…