I missed last Friday, but that’s okay because it was Good Friday. One of my daughters had left on Thursday to St. Lucia for a mission trip and we were spending the Triduum (the three days leading up to Easter) with our other children and getting ready for Easter. Crazy as it seems, blogging was the last thing on my mind last Friday.
I started this post on Friday (yesterday) but ended up getting sidetracked by piles of laundry, errands, cries of “Mommy, I want some juice!” and okay let’s be honest, my current addiction to watching “Breaking Bad” on Netflix. So you are getting this Episode of #7QTF on Saturday. I think you’ll get over it.
I started working out for real again. Understand, please, that this is huge for me. I have been going back and forth starting and stopping workouts for the past few years. I sign up for a race and start running. And I train until the race comes and then I hang up the running shoes…I really do not enjoy it. I have taken Zumba classes and tried different videos and even online programs. But I have decided to get back to what I really love to do and that is lifting free weights. I love the feeling of powering myself through a set with perfect form. I love the rush I get from being more powerful than a weight that had scared me only a month before. Frankly, I love to be strong. But I haven’t taken the time or made myself do it over the past several years. And as I am approaching the big 4-0, I know that it will only get harder for me to maintain muscle mass and bone health, so I want to grab the “bull by the horns” right now and finally achieve some of my fitness goals.
Spring Break. OK, I remember loving Spring Break when I was a teenager. It made for a nice break from routine, and there were even some legendary trips to Panama City Beach involved. But as a parent, I find myself thinking “What kind of sicko decided that it would be a good idea to take the momentum of the school year, which is barreling at locomotive speed toward June, and slam on the breaks, bringing us all to a screeching halt, slamming us passengers into the seats in front of us, only to expect us to find the energy to start up again after this week of ‘Mommy, I’m boooored!’ and ‘But why can’t we go to Paris for he week like the Jonses?’ ” Seriously, I wanna punch that guy in the head.
Birthdays. I do not like the word “suck.” It sounds foul to me. But I will make an exception here. I really suck at birthdays. I always picture myself holding a fabulous party and gushing all over the birthday boy (or girl). I imagine well wishers standing around with smiling faces, cups of punch, and brightly wrapped presents piled on a nearby table as I approach said birthday boy with a beautifully decorated cake. Instead, I am lucky to remember birthdays, even of the people closest to me. What is that about? This has been a New Year’s resolution of mine for many years. And yet, I never seem to get on top of it. And now, with my oldest daughters approaching 18, I am panicking. I need to quit sucking at birthdays. Period.
Hair Anxiety. I have thin hair. I have straight hair. And as I get older, it is getting thinner and straighter. I have allowed it to grow over the past couple of years and it is now longer than it has been since I was a little girl. I love being able to put it up in a pony tail when working out or doing housework, but I hate how it looks when I try to look nice. (Date nights with hubby even end up super stressful because I can’t “do” my hair!) So I am planning to get it cut, but I can’t decide how. I have done the pixie thing before…FAIL. I really like the Victoria Beckham angled bob thing that has been popular for the past few years, but I can’t seem to find a hairdresser who can make it happen on my hair. Soooo, I am stressing and procrastinating getting my hair cut (and I have an event that I want to look nice for in about 2 weeks!)…meanwhile, new gray hairs keep emerging and mocking me with their little games of peek-a-boo. Suggestions are more than welcome.
Yard Work. Now I remember why I loved living in Alaska for 6 years…minimal yard work. Pardon me while I go figure out how to get my 13 year old son to roll out of bed and mow the lawn.
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