My Kid Is Turning Into His Parents

Last year we discovered that our son needed glasses.  We'd had no idea there was a problem, but he complained of headaches.  I took him to the pediatrician with the expectations that it would be allergies, but Zane failed the vision screening.   He didn't even make it past the second line!  Off to the pediatric ophthalmologist we went, and soon Zane had his first pair of glasses. 

He did not like them, of course.  No kid does.  But once he realized that he could actually SEE the board in the classroom, I think he figured out that he needed them.  His grades started coming up.  And he started reading better.  So much better, in fact, that he started reading all of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books. By himself.  I didn't actually think that he was reading, because the books have tons of pictures, and he is eight.  But he passed an AR test, so he had indeed read the book. 

And it's not just that he wants to read.  He also wants to carry ALL of his books around with him at all times.  I've noticed that his backpack has been astonishingly heavy on several occasions, and I've had to limit him to a single book.  Zane will comply, but then he will come home with seven or eight large tomes acquired from his school library.  It hit me one day that I used to behave similarly as a kid.  I still hoard books. I used to carry around a book or two, just in case I ended up in a line somewhere with nothing to do.  These days I have my phone to distract me, along with the Kindle App. 

Zane has also become proficient in technology with his tablet.  He spends an inordinate amount of time on his tablet, watching movies, playing games, etc.  My son sees me on my laptop often, but he also sees his father on HIS tablet, playing games, watching videos, and reading.  Lately Zane doesn't want to do much running about or playing; he wants to sit on the couch and play on his tablet or read a book. 

Just like his mom and dad. 

I don't want my son to be an introverted couch potato like his parents.  I want him to continue to be an extroverted, active boy.  This means that I will have to start modeling the appropriate behavior. I'm still recovering from surgery(that open wound is healing soooooo slowly!), but I can walk.  I really have no excuse, except that I'm feeling a little lazy right now, at the end of the school year. 

But once school is out, Zane and I are going to have an active summer.  We'll get up early and walk the dog, when it's cooler outside.  We'll go downtown and check out the Alamo and the different museums in town.  We'll go exploring.  We have passes to SeaWorld, so we can spend time there, as well.

Goodness--after all that activity, I may need a nap.  Or two.   And better walking shoes!

Walking Feet

I am not known for my athleticism.  My brother was the Athlete, and I was the Brain in the family, and I took that description to heart. I'm just as likely to fall down as I am to remain upright. My aches and pains have aches and pains.  And since I have exercise-induced asthma, I get all huffy and puffy before I make it to the end of my driveway. 

But I love to go walking. 

When we lived in Germany, my parents signed us all up for Volksmarches, which were 10k walks through various parts of the area.  When you made it to the end, you were given a medal.  Not a cheap, dime store medal, either.  No, these medals were made of pewter, and looked very fine pinned to an eight year old's coat. That is likely where my love of walking began.

Walking doesn't hurt.  That's important to someone like me.  I tend to get discouraged easily when I find that I can no longer do all the things that I used to do.  Most activities make my knees ache, but not walking.  I can often go at my own pace without any pain at all.  I have exercise-induced asthma, but I can still walk.  If I start to lose my breath, I can slow down, or even stop. 

Walking doesn't cost a thing.  I don't have to pay for a membership to walk.  I don't have to buy a special walking outfit with the cutesy headband so that everyone can see how cute I am.  I can wear whatever outfit I happen to have in my closet, and my old tennis shoes will work just as fine as the 300$ pair that some people have to have.

Walking takes you places.  Point A to Point B starts with that first step, one foot in front of the other, following whatever road you like.  If you decide that you don't like the path you're on, you can turn around and head back the way you came.  If I was out with friends as a teenager, and I didn't like what they were doing, I would just walk home.  Car breaks down?  You can still walk. There's no have to about walking, but it takes me where I want to go.

Some of my very best adventures have happened while I was walking.  I don't wear headphones or talk on the phone.  I smile and I look around at the world, up, down, left, and right.  I carry a stick just in case I run into a pack of unruly dogs or something, and I explore the world.   I've been caught in a storm,  slid down a muddy hill, and found a rainbow. I discovered a lake that I never even knew existed not a mile from my house. I've photographed wildflowers along the side of the road. I've seen deer, rabbits, cranes, at least one coral snake, hawks, buzzards, and more possums than I'd care to count.  I've found wild strawberries, blackberries, and mulberries.  I've even found wild onions on the side of the road.

No wonder I love walking.

1.) Your favorite kind of exercise.

The Plank

There was a time when I was quite a bit more active. I lifted weights. I did Jazzercise. I walked the park with my neighbor. I did Curves. I had to quit all that when I was pregnant because it was an extremely high risk pregnancy and my team of doctors told me to limit my activities. I really never got back into the exercise routine, and so I would describe myself as sedentary.

Some of the people in my office are not sedentary. Their "chocolate to workout ratio"(1 piece of chocolate for every fifteen minutes of exercise) is much more healthy than mine. I often buy extra chocolate to compensate for this.

The lady in the cubicle next to mine, Kim, was talking about doing the "Plank", and how it was very good for your abdominal muscles. That got my attention; I had to jump over the cubicle wall to hear all about it. Actually, I sighed heavily, pushed myself out of my chair and walked around the cubicle wall so I could give proper eye contact. But jumping over the cubicle wall sounded pretty awesome in my head, and that thought was more exercise than I usually get.

Anyway, THIS is the Plank. Go look at that picture; I'll wait. (You have to click on the link because I haven't figured out how to get the picture to show up over here. Sorry!)

You are supposed to be able to hold that position for 30 seconds.

More of our coworkers showed up to talk, one thing led to another(it usually does that) and then suddenly we ALL had to try it. This sort of competition is usually observed in the males of our species when beer is present, and I wondered briefly why we needed to do this. In the inevitable flow of peer pressure, however, I had to agree to try it. Yet I will admit that inside my head I was cringing in a corner.

The first person, who is only a few years younger than me, was able to do it.

The next person, who is a few years older than me, was able to do it.

The only guy in our office, of course, had NO DIFFICULTY.

One by one, the other five were able to pull it off.

I hated them all at that moment, but it was a hatred born of fear. The only strength exercise I had been doing was picking up my son. Would I be able to do this? Would my arms fail me?

I got down on the floor and 'assumed the position'.

"Okay, start timing," I said.

"Your butt is sticking up," Kim helpfully pointed out.

"Yeah," another coworker seconded. "Your body needs to form a straight line."

"I am straight," I said. "Start timing."

"Really," Kim said again. "Your butt is sticking up."

She meant well; good form and alignment is important in these situations. Except for the fact that I have a larger than average sized butt.

My arms were burning like they were on fire.

"My butt is sticking up because it is a BIG butt," I growled through clenched teeth. "Now. Start. Timing."

I know that I had been holding that position for WAY longer than thirty seconds, and I was ready to punch someone right in the face. Too many timekeepers spoil the Plank competition. As soon as my time was up, I let my knees hit the floor. It was a few seconds before my arms unclenched enough for me to use them to get up and hobble back to my cubicle.

And people wonder why I am so cranky at work.