Central Park is so pretty. She's like that girl you love to hate who looks good in any circumstance. She's breathtaking when all dressed up in fall splendor, but still looks mysterious and inviting covered in a layer of mist and fog. She's shiny and resplendent on a sunny day and sultry and quiet after dark. And absolutely stunning covered with snow. I want to be Central Park when I grow up. But seriously, I love it so much.
"What in the world are you doing with all your free time now?" This is what I get asked by well-meaning people on a daily basis. Because, you know, I don't have a "job." In the summertime, I used to daydream about the day when all my kids would be at school, and I pictured myself exploring the lower east side, taking pictures with a fancy camera (which I don't even own), or sitting in a cafe in the West Village drinking hot chocolate while reading a novel of my choice. I even thought it might be fun to pound the pavement with a head shot and resume, in the quest to book a minivan commercial or recurring role on 30 Rock. In my mind's eye, all of these things were done while wearing comfortable yet stylish boots and sometimes a hat.
I now realize that I was suffering from delusions of grandeur because school has been going strong for weeks now and I'm lucky to have time to sit and write this blog post. Yes, it's cliche, we're all busy, I know, but wow. It might have something to do with the fact that I volunteered to be a class parent for two of my kids' classrooms. I also volunteer for recess duty and clean-up and all kinds of school-related activities. I guess the guilt of always using my fallback line: "Sorry, I have twins," has finally caught up with me. Then there's the fact that I just got a new church job planning and holding weekly activities for the 8-11 year old girls. Yes, weekly. They don't mess around in the hood. Oh, and I'm teaching an after school drama class for 9 kids from first to sixth grades. Finally, there's the fact that I still have four kids. Four kids who still need to eat dinner at night and wear freshly laundered clothing and reside in a relatively germ-free, non rodent-infested apartment. They go to school all day, but it's not like they're in college. And so there's your bubble burst about life after kids go to school!
However, I should say that I am able to do all of these things without being accompanied by four short legs and two insatiable appetites. And I am able to exercise. And eat lunch by myself (which I looooooove) and watch my stories without pausing it to go break up a Polly Pocket fight every 5 minutes. So yes, life is good. But no, I am not on a perma-vacation.
Speaking of exercise, I'm in week 3 of an 8 week fitness challenge that wants to kick my bootay, but I'm not going to let it because I'm an over-achieving perfectionist and if someone gives me a report card, then by gum, I'm going to get that gold star! Basically, I can't have any Diet Coke, no desserts or sweets, no eating after 8 PM, I have to exercise 5 times a week for 30 minutes and read my scriptures 15 minutes a day. In addition to those things, there's a different challenge each week such as "eat five servings of vegetables a day" which is the challenge for this week and I'm so sick of spinach smoothies I could scream. I do get one free day a week, where I can drink Diet Coke or eat cupcakes or eat a Diet Coke cupcake, all at 10 PM. I keep hiding treats throughout the week and now I'm worried I won't find them all on my free day tomorrow. Do you know what a life-changing event it is for me to not consume refined sugar? If you know me well at all, then you're already calling BS on this entire paragraph. But I promise you, I'm doing it! And I feel pretty good. And my willpower is a weak little muscle that has NEVER been flexed in my life and now it's getting stronger and stronger and I'm so proud of its growth.
And for the challenge, I've been going to Zumba. And I love it. I feel like I'm a dancer in there. And I'm so not. But my teacher is awesome and says that the weird faces I make in the mirror crack him up. And I tell him that I make the weird faces because we're doing all these sexy moves but when I watch myself trying to do the sexy moves and all I see is a sweaty, dripping, reddened face, I can't take myself seriously. I just can't. And so I pull crazy faces. And Nigel Lythgoe would be ashamed. But I do hit it hard sometimes. And I think NappyTabs would give me props, but then I tweak my back, I hit it so hard, and I regret that in the morning.
I had a dream last night where I was talking to an old friend from high school. I was telling him all about something that's been weighing on my mind the last few days and he just listened and it was nice. This friend shows up in my dreams all the time, I think maybe because my overly sentimental conscious self seeps into my subconsious a lot. It's always nice to talk to someone you feel comfortable with, that won't make any judgements about you or your life decisions. I miss old friends like that. I'm not really friends with that guy any more because we dated and I think that's sad, and also something to file under things-to-warn-my-daughters-about. Or maybe it's just because married women in general don't have friends that are men. Except I do. Is it because I'm a theater person? Another topic for another day.
Well, great. Now it's 11:20 and I've got laundry to do because someone wet the bed (rhymes with "goosy") and a spinach smoothie to make and Revenge isn't going to watch itself.
