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I am a very lucky woman with a husband and son who are smart, witty and entertaining. Our son, B, attended public school for two years, and then we embarked on a new adventure in the Fall of 2010 - homeschooling. We don't have all the answers, but we know B and this has been the best thing for him. I blog to preserve our stories and our memories, share recipes, vent and ramble on about our crazy, yet blessed, life. Would you care to follow along?

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Day 2 of Exercise or Why I Will Never Do Jumping Jacks Again Without a Sports Bra or Duct Tape On.

I came downstairs yesterday morning and realized I should do my "exercises" before I ate breakfast.  Yes, I just put the word exercise in quotes because, let's be honest, what I'm doing at this point cannot qualify as real exercise.  But I'm moving, and as small of a movement as this is, I wold normally still blow it off, so I'm just glad I am making it a habit.  Anywho, I looked up day 2's requirement on the list: 35 jumping jacks and 15 crunches.

On Monday, day 1, I "exercised" between breakfast and lunch, after showering and dressing, so I had a bra on.  Yesterday morning under my PJs I had on....how can I describe it, because it cannot be considered a bra.  A bra must have support, lift.  The thing I wear to bed is kinda sorta shaped like a bra, but it's a pull over and barely maintaining any elasticity.  What do you call something when it's purpose is, basically, just to sit between my boobs and my stomach?  Cuz that's what I wear to bed each night.  It's basically a layer of material that allows me to avoid the sticky, sweatiness of having my boobs sit on my upper stomach.  I wonder if it falls more in the "bro" or "manssiere" category (Seinfeld reference.  If you don't know what it means, most likely you're too young to be a fan of the show.  Go watch "The Doorman" episode from season 6.  Trust me, my use of the words "bro" and "massiere" will not only mean something to you after watching the episode, but it will also make you laugh.  And, you'll be able to throw it out at the appropriate moment in a conversation with older people and get a great laugh from us.  Now, back to my garment...)  See, moobs (man boobs) are not muscular nor perky.  They are flabby and sit on the upper stomach.  So, yeah, I had on my "bro" yesterday morning.  (Kramer and Mr. Costanza argue throughout the episode about the name - bro or manssiere.  I actually prefer the manssiere, but since bro is shorter to type, I'm going with that.  I'm giggling at the keyboard thinking of that episode.  Please go watch it if you haven't already.  It will make your life better.  You can pull the memory out when you are stuck in traffic or up all night with a sick child and it will make you smile.)  So, I debated going back upstairs and putting on a real bra or, better yet, a sports bra because I know my bro will not contain the girls when I start jumping those jacks.  But I didn't.  Cuz I'm lazy.  And I paid for that laziness.  I walked out to the living room, stood with my feet together and hands by my side.  35 jumping jacks. How hard could it be? We can do this, girls; we've been through worse.  Right?  WRONG.

I jumped up in the air, my legs parted, my arms went out and over my head.  My body reached the pinnacle of it's ascent and started back towards the ground.  The girls, however, did not.  "A body in motion stays in motion."  Remember learning that in physics?  The girls, do.  And the bigger or heavier an object is, is takes more force to stop it or reverse its direction.  It was like that moment when the roller coaster goes over the top of that first hill and you experience weightlessness.  My girls were in Heaven.  Like your average 8 month pregnant woman is when she gets in a pool.  My girls were shooting for the stars.  They could taste freedom; it was within their grasp.  But then my feet hit the ground and my girls can only stretch so far.  Like the yank behind Harry Potter's bellybutton going through a port key, the girls were wrenched back from "the light" and slammed against my chest with the force of The Hulk jumping off the top of a high-rise.  The force was so great, it literally knocked the wind out of my lungs.  "HUH!"  They hit so hard the air in my lungs actually flew out on that guttural sound.  Every. Single. Time. I landed.  By jumping jack #7, B came running into the room. "Are you OK, Mom?!" The look on his face went from concern to alarm to WTF and then pure, boy fascination at what my boobs were doing.  As humiliated as I was, and in as much pain as I was, I knew if I stopped before I reached 35, I'd never start again.  "I'm HUH! fineHUH! Go HUH! back HUH! to HUH! watch HUH! ing HUH! your HUH! show.  HUH!"

Shear force of I-am-woman-hear-me-roar will made me finish the 35 jumping jacks and then immediately do the 15 crunches before I could stop and think.  Or cry.  When I was done with the crunches, I just lay there on the floor with one arm flung over my eyes.  Cursing my laziness.  Why didn't I just go up and change my damn bro?!  Then I started laughing.  Someone once told me, "What are you gonna do?  It's laugh or cry."  And I cry enough at movies and commercials and books.

1 comment:

  1. Lmao!! As a woman with cleavage so ample that I once found a French fry in there...hours after we'd eaten...as a woman who has attempted exercising without ace bandages cinched around my twin peaks and nearly gave herself two black eyes bouncing around without support on that one very lazy occasion...THANK YOU for writing this, lol, some topics MUST be approached with humor and this is one of them :)

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