I’m at the gym yesterday. I go to the gym all the time. My Lyme doesn’t permit me to work out anymore, but I would never allow a detail like that to keep me from free child care. So I drop off the kids in the nursery and I sit in the sauna and read. It’s exactly like hot yoga, without the hard parts of hot yoga that I resent, like the moving part and the not allowed to read during part. When I come out I am smarter. And warmer. And more peaceful. Actually I think it might be the best thing in the world. And now instead of meeting on the exercise bikes and sitting still and talking, Adrianne and I meet in the sauna and sit still and talk. And when we leave we are so sweaty that we even believe we’ve worked out.
Last week, following a particularly dramatic Mommy Meltdown, I bought some new workout clothes for my sauna exercise regimen.
Let me explain.
Once every week or so I have a breakdown during which I wail to Craig that for various reasons that I am too overwhelmed and despondent and incoherent to discuss in detail, my life is completely unmanageable. We call it a Mommy Meltdown in our home. My friend, Erin, calls it a Caretaker Fatigue Attack. Either way, mine include lots of tears and dramatic phrases thrown around, my favorite of which is: I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.Craig once made the mistake of asking me what specifically the IT is that I am unable to TAKE, and let us just say that he will not make that mistake again.
IT IS LIFE! IT IS LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE FOR GOD’S SAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, whatever. The point is, that as my meltdowns begin to wind down, I usually decide that the only thing that will improve my life is to leave the house ALONE - immediately - and buy lots of crap I cannot afford. I do not know why this is my solution, but when I arrive at whatever crap store my van drives to, there are always many other maniacal looking women also wandering the aisles aimlessly. So I’m convinced I’m not the only one who considers crap buying a viable solution to I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!
Anyway, last week on my crap trip I bought some new workout (sauna) clothes. One piece was a cute yoga top with major pads in the bra. PADS IN THE BRA. The irony of practicing yoga in order to connect with the universe and one’s inner self and find acceptance and self love in a padded bra is not lost on me. As a matter of fact, it is SO ME. So I bought two.
I wore my new boob-y top to the gym yesterday.
I did my time in the sauna, but I wasn’t ready to leave yet, so I went out to walk on the treadmill. I smiled at the lady next to me and noticed that she was sort of staring at me. I assumed what I always assume - that she recognized me from the blog. OR that maybe she was impressed by my huge boobs. I smiled humbly. The lady locked eyes with me and said, “Excuse me, your tag is still on.”
Please understand that for me, this is like someone saying, “Excuse me, do you have the time?” No biggie. I always leave my tags on. Taking them off is just one of those things with which I cannot be bothered. And since I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE quite often, I have a lot of tags.
I thanked the nice woman and then continued walking. Didn’t even look for the tag, didn’t even pretend to. I got 99 problems, lady, and a tag ain’t one.
Half hour later I’m back in the locker room preparing to get in the shower. Yes, I shower at the gym, too. I refuse to pick my children back up until we have reached the FULL TWO HOUR NURSERY MAXIMUM. If I arrive three minutes early, I wait outside the door and stare into space for three minutes.
So I walk past the locker room mirror and do a double take. Here’s the tag. Here’s the tag I was wearing, just like this, for my entire two hours at the very crowded gym.
And there you have it.
You have a brutiful day, Monkees- Old and New. Survive the chronos and carpe kairos.