Monthly Archives: August 2012

The Olympians in our Family

Read my cousin’s blog this morning about running a 5k with her daughters. How awesome is that?

Last time I had a push-up contest with one of my children, I almost completed one. (Push-up, not contest.) And yes, since then, I’ve been practicing for a rematch. I’m at ten. Shhh.

Here’s my question: if I continue adding at least one push-up every week, will I be able to do 52 more after one year? I’m intrigued by what the human body is capable of accomplishing, given enough practice.

And alternately, what some of us are incapable of doing, no matter how much we practice.  Or maybe we just think we can’t, so we just never find out? If I ran my 10K just 0.1 mph faster every week, would I be able to break the world record before I’m forty?

No?

Yesterday, I challenged my soon-to-be middle school son to see how many sit-ups he could do in a row.

He got down on the floor. I wandered into the kitchen and began making dinner.

A few minutes later, he came in, sweaty and scowling.

“How many did you do?” I asked.

“Only 36,” he grumbled. “I could have done more, but there was this horrible music playing.”

The source?

His father was singing the Rocky theme song for him.

Ha.

Now every time he tries to do sit-ups, someone sings it for him.

Family solidarity. Brings tears to your eyes, doesn’t it?


Post ATI

Me, walking out of job interview:

Wow. I think that went well. Really well. In fact, I think I rocked that interview. Even if I don’t get the job, it was a good experience. That was a great group of people, and we all talked the same language, and at the very least, I now know that I can hold my own and interact comfortably with a target group of colleagues/supervisors.

Me, an hour after the interview:

Hmm. I wonder if I should have said that.

Me, two hours After The Interview (ATI) and yes, at this point, it has its own acronym:

I definitely shouldn’t have said that. And that last question, I bet you anything that what they really wanted to know is if I was willing to… 

Me, three hours ATI:

I’m such an idiot. Why did I/didn’t I (fill in the blank with the screaming match between the me who said what I said, and the me who is retroactively trying to convince the actual me into saying something different.)

Me, four hours ATI:

Texting grovelling, panicky message to teacher friend: It’s a good thing if they have already called some of my references right? I mean, they wouldn’t have called if they weren’t serious, yes? Please. I can’t breathe. Lie to me, make me feel better. Anything.

Me, circa ATI — TPC (THE Phone Call):

Not someone you want to know.

Writing this post. Proofreading this post. Trying to remember to breathe while reading this post.

Me, proofreading this post, when the phone rings:

Throwing things madly, jumping over furniture, trying to locate a phone. It’s almost 8 o’clock at night, but it could still be the high school. It could happen. Diving over my bed to snatch it up before the answering machine clicks off.

Hello?

Holy Smokes! It’s the whoever-it-is-that-makes-The Call, and whose name I cannot for the life of me remember.

Because I GOT THE JOB!

I. Got. The. Job.

Me.

Job.

Holy. Smokes. I got the job. Sophomore and pre-AP English.

I’m even more terrified now.

BUT I GOT THE JOB!!!!!!!


Exhibit A

I’ve commissioned a set of ceramic dishes by my daughter.

She brought the first saucer home from the kiln today. She freehands these embossed designs with some kind of glaze that is microwave and dishwasher safe:

 

Have I begotten a genius, or what?


Bless My Sole

My youngest keeps telling me he needs new shoes.  I keep telling him to wait until September. He gripes about the gravel.

Today I tossed him an old cereal box. “Hey, look what I found,” I told him. “Now you don’t need new shoes until November.”

He didn’t get it.

I tried to explain the finer points of sole replacement.

He’s still mystified.

Clearly I’ve been a much too indulgent mother. The hole’s not even that big: