Let's pump some iron, shall we?

So, it’s been well over a year since I was last within the compounds of a gym. It’s a sad thing, I know. This weekend, I finally convinced myself that I needed to exercise. My theory about working out is that the most challenging part of keeping up with a workout regimen is first getting to the place of workout- which in most cases, is the gym. Once you get there, you have the choice of either sitting around and looking like an idiot, or doing the obvious: moving those limbs! So, that’s exactly what I did this weekend. I made my way to the gym, and I moved those lazy limbs. I really did move them! A normal person with any ounce of common sense would have taken it slow. A normal person would have realized that a year is a long time. A normal person would also have said, 'lets lift the five pound dumbbells today and slowly build my way back up to the 10, the 15, and then the 20-pounders'. Not 'me! As soon as I stepped into the weight room (following my brief stint on the treadmill), I made my way to the weight tree and reached straight for the 20 pound dumbbells (were these always this heavy?). And I thought I looked good with my 20-pounders, until I actually lifted them in an effort to work those non-existent muscles. Ouch! Ahem. I quickly scanned the room to make sure no one had witnessed my failed attempt at what should have been a swift movement of the arm, into a victorious bicep curl! I promptly decided to downgrade to a ten pound pair (yes I know, that’s downgrading by 50%. Shut up). I ended up following the same routine I used to follow a year ago, except- I cut the reps in half, the weights in half, and the movements to quick jerky jolts as opposed to slow and steady, well balanced moves. I know- it's pretty lame.

The result of a day at the gym you ask? My legs ache when I climb up the stairs, my arms scream in agony every time I lift so much as a shoulder bag, and don’t even think about telling me a joke. My stomach muscles are greatly offended every time I laugh. Damn those oblique crunches!

California, Benadryl and Delta (Part one).

All of a sudden I am reminded of a time when my husband went to California for a ten day training. I was left alone with a ten month old who was going through one of the most difficult phases of his life to date: separation anxiety. He was perpetually stuck to me. Since daddy was out of town, he had also decided that he needed to go on some sort of hunger strike to demonstrate his disapproval of his daddy being MIA (missing in action). I was lucky if I could get away for a shower break, or even a bathroom break. He screamed uncontrollably in the most annoying of all manners if I put him down for even a second. And then his baby sitter went on vacation. A sweet friend of mine volunteered to watch him while I went to work. I don’t know how I survived those ten days. They felt like ten years, if not more. In the mornings, I had to trick him into leaving him with my friend. I guess he stopped crying when he realized that mommy was indeed gone, but started crying as soon as he saw me again when I went to pick him up after work. He cried in the car, at home, and before he went to bed. And the shrieking! Oh! The shrieking! And he refused to eat a single bite. We were a picture of disaster. A shrieking baby that whined and cried and refused to eat, and an exhausted mother, worried sick about her child and stopping short of pulling out all her hair.

On the eleventh daddy-less day, I along with my ten month old were to board the wonderful Delta flight that would miraculously transport the suffering mother-son duo to California and into the waiting arms of my dear husband who would rescue both my baby and I from our distress. I had planned on shedding a bucket full of tears upon seeing my husband. I imagined him standing there Zorro-like(our savior), at the airport ready to comfort us both! He would tell us that it was okay. He would take my ten month old from me and give my arms a much needed break. And my ten month old upon seeing his daddy would ask for a giant helping of apple sauce with a side of mashed bananas and start eating again! Sigh. There were still a few hurdles to overcome before I could achieve that blissful arm resting state. My first hurdle came in the form of a bottle of Benadryl (Oh who would have even imagined!). My son’s pediatrician had advised me to give a little dose of the miracle drug to my shrieking ball of crying cuteness. She eyed him varily during the entire hour long (pre California) office visit where my son cried uncontrollably and refused to be touched by anything foreign which included a concerned pediatrician’s hand and a stethoscope. “How long has this been going on"? She asked. “What"? I asked fighting back tears of fatigue and self pity. “The crying and the refusal to eat"? asked the doctor. “Oh- after my husband left for his training...a little more than a week” I replied, willing myself not to cry. “And how are you coping with all of this"? asked the doctor. Shut up! I sighed inwardly. You are not my shrink. Leave me alone! Don’t show me any concern. I don’t do well with concern at delicate moments such as these! Don’t….and then it happened. The tears came tumbling down, in monstrous, foolish gushes. Alas! The bucket full of tears that I had been saving for my husband came out at a very awkward moment indeed! No worries. I was sure there would be plenty more tears for my husband to see! Sheesh!

On the day of departure, my aunt dropped us off at the airport and the Delta baggage crew swiftly handed me the baggage tags and went about their business. I bent over to pick up my carry-on luggage, with my ten month old still attached to my hip (I might as well have super glued him there), and still crying, as had become the norm at this point. And what did I see as I reached out for my carry-on luggage?! I saw a pink fountain of sticky, gooey substance run down my back, neck, handbag, clothes and also onto my crying ten month old! At that point, my baby started to cry even louder, although I never thought that was even remotely possible. I swung around, furiously searching for the culprit who would dare mess with a woeful mother and her crying baby! Who would play such an evil trick! I was greeted by about 20 pair of disapproving eyes directed towards …ME?! The bottle of Benadryl that I had religiously remembered to pack into my bag, as per the pediatrician’s request had somehow tipped over from over my shoulder bag, and onto me, my baby, and over everything else that I was about to carry onto the plane. A Delta baggage crew member handed me a box of Kleenex, hoping to be quickly rid of the pink, sticky, loud and messy exhibition, so he could focus on the very composed and neatly dressed elderly couple who were next in line.

Once on the plane, I had nothing to soothe my ten month old with. We were both a crazy, sticky mess and there was absolutely NO Benadryl! I also tried my ever so best to keep my sticky self and baby as far away from the poor passenger who had the misfortune to be seated next to us, as possible. And of course my son cried during the entire plane ride. I expected nothing less of him.

I dream of clear glowing skin and the desire to HAVE the desire for wheat germ.

So every now and then, I go through these weird cycles where I make a silent vow to myself that I will eat healthy, exercise and consume my 64 ounces of H2O. I was reading an article about a certain celebrity who is known for her gorgeous skin, sparkling eyes, glossy hair, and abs sharp enough to use as a carving knife. She talked about her diet of goat food(green leaves), combined with a diet of bird food (seeds and such), and lots of water. So, fueled with a burning optimism for an overnight lifestyle overhaul, I stop by at the local grocery store after work, and like a woman fueled by a mission, roll my cart military style, down aisle after aisle of grains and nuts and leaves. I even make a quick stop at 'Wild Oats' to stock up on Biotin, and raw organic oats...AND essential eucalyptus oil to sooth the soul. Because after all, a relaxed mind and meditation go hand in hand with good diet and exercise, right? As soon as I get home, I burn some eucalyptus oil, throw in a soft relaxing CD, and start making a salad. I then sigh, dreamy eyed as the soothing smell of eucalyptus starts to fill the kitchen, and the bowl of salad starts filling up with a bright colorful display of wholesome healthy goodness. 'Yes, lets throw in the walnuts...Omega 3, great! A handful of carrots...carotene, awesome! Spinach...a good source of iron, beautiful!'....and then...I am suddently reverted back to reality as my 2 year old comes into the kitchen shrieking, and making an assortment of demands which I try to meet, but all in vain. As I scoop him up and make my way to the bedroom, I notice a half eaten salad on the kitchen counter! 'There is always tomorrow', I say trying to console myself.

So dear friends...today was a start of a beautiful new day. I woke up early and during my morning commute to work, made a hasty stop at the nearest Starbucks for a Grandé Mocha, and a ginormous slice of chocolate hazelnut cake. That's what I call a healthy lifestyle overhaul, people!

Halloween

So it's getting close to that time of the year again- the time where I run around at the very last minute (like a chicken with the head cut off), looking for a halloween costume for my little munchkin AND buy candy for the cutsie wootsie other little munchkins that show up trick or treatin' at the door. Can there be ONE Halloween where I have the outfit and candy purchased on time....before the markup on the crazy costumes is so bizarre that you would rather spend that dough on a new tile job in the guest bathroom (so I stretch the truth sometimes, by just a little bit)???

headline news! old folder leads to shocking discovery. (not really)

I was cleaning out an old folder the other day and came across a tattered old notebook full of poems and sketches. I should mention that back in the day, I thought I was quite the the poet. I should also mention this, that we are talking about a time span when I was around 11 or so. Imagine, as an 11 year old, I was convinced that I would someday be a poet, or a writer....or an artist. Well I guess that dream of someday becoming a poet or a writer or an artist never materialized. As a 29 year old, I still do not know what I want to be when I grow up. Ha!

Back to the notebook full of poems. It amazes me how I even came up with half the stuff that I wrote about. Most of it does not make much sense to me now. Perhaps it made sense to an 11 year old at the time, who had high aspirations. Hmm.. to have aspirations, to believe in yourself to the point that you feel as though the sky is the limit, and you can be who you want to be, or do what you want to do. Unfortunately, I don't remember what that feels like!(I'm obviously talking about a world void of all corporate glass ceilings!). I really need to search for that 11 year old again... The magnitute of the faith that I once had in myself has been reduced to a mere flicker (as far as aspirations go).

So poetry of an 11 year old. Here is a poem that specifically caught my attention and somehow, got stuck in a certain folder, tucked away in that one corner of my brain (yes, that one!), that decides to save certain snippets of my life in files that tend to self refresh, periodically (I know, makes absolutely NO sense):

Darkness surrounds me
No light to be seen
Perched up on a large rock
My mood, is set to grim
Looking up at the sky
I see a star gleam
Just like a jeweled pendant
As if by fire lit
Staring at it now and then
Do I see it wink?
So bright is its shine
That no one can call it dim
Oh, I pray lord
What is it?

Hmm...rocks, stars, winking stars?? The mind of an 11 year old!

Fried eggs

I know I know....it is supposed to be a cardinal sin against the proprietaries of blogosphere to go through a list of your breakfast menu. If I knew any better, I really WOULD stay away from it. But you see, I'm sure I can create an exception here. The thing about Ramadan is...you have breakfast (at 5:00 am), but you wish you did not have to eat it. But if you actually didn't eat it, then everything and everyone starts to look dangerously delicious before the day reaches its half way mark- especially cute little pink toddler toes! So here I am, blogging away in the early hours of the am, when I should actually be asleep, because it IS Saturday morning afterall, and isn't that supposed to be the only holy of all holy days for lazy folks like me who love to sleep in till noon, until an exasperated husband or a toddler for that matter, pulls the sheets off of your curled up, limp form, AND turns the fan on in early winter/late fall and leave you cursing under your breath which forces you to fiiiinally roll off on to the floor with a thud. But, wait- I have a feeling that I've gone off on a tangent here. Back to Saturday mornings and the fact that I should be snuggled up in a warm bed, with a warm blanket, and against a nice warm someone... But hey, I already tried doing that. It really does not work too well to go to sleep right after having a paratha packed with butter and drizzled with still MORE butter- especially when your dinner from the night before is still hopping around in the tummy tum tum. I think I need a TUMS.

An awkward situation- EEK!

So what happens when lets assume for the sake of conversation (or a blog post), that you are divided into groups in a big conference hall(seating around 300 people) and supposedly involved in a discussion, and when the note taker in your group is asked to stand up and voice the group's so called opinions, he/she keeps sitting, crosses arms around waist, and refuses to get up, while everyone else stares back in awkward silence?
Do you:
A. Make a dash for the restroom and stay there and wait for the world to come to an end?
B. Slowly stand up and walk away and pretend you were never a part of the group?
C. Do nothing and wish you could have been the note taker instead?

To blog or not to blog? That is the question!

I've been mulling this over for a while now and have finally decided to take the plunge into the deep waves of blogsville. Let the journey begin!