Think runny noses, gooey hands and all those little germs shared with friends and brought home to Mom and Dad.
Then think about the time suck.
Yes, all that time that you could be working out, making yourself drop-dead gorgeous – or as close as genetically possible – but that is now spent cooking, cleaning, hauling them to appointments, reminding them of homework and extinguishing fights.
And then there is the time when you could be sleeping now spent calming nightmares.
There is no doubt. Kids are hazardous to your health.
And mine both went to bed moaning tonight. Bad belly. Headache. You name it.
“Mom, I’m burning up,” said the littlest one, now nine — a little older than in the picture above. He has been on antibiotics for a week after being diagnosed with strep. The kid didn’t have fever then, and he certainly doesn’t now.
We’ll see how they feel in the morning, but I’m thinking I’ll likely have to spend part of my day in the doctor’s office.
Yet, as crazy-making and unsanitary as they are, I think I want to keep mine.
They are good guys, these two – well, when they are not fighting.
They make me laugh. They think of crazy things I never would have thought of. And, when it comes right down to it, they mostly really try to do what is right. Even if they go about it in the wrong way – like pouring milk over a kid’s head because the kid was picking on a friend. Yeah, my eldest did that the other day.
Now if I can just get rid of the queasiness in my own belly. I wonder where that came from?
I crave a workout I can do with my kids – one that will hold their attention – not leave them rolling on the floor laughing while I contort myself into different shapes, trying to follow the directions on the TV screen.
That scene brings back adolescent nightmares from sharing a household with four brothers. It’s enough to give all but the strongest a fitness phobia.
I’m over it now. Or trying to be. The kids can laugh, but I’d rather have them just get down and join me.
I keep looking for ways to include the kids in my workouts, but gyms just don’t welcome kids, and it’s really cold outside.
So what is there to do?
The Ouellette family and the Obama family – we have something in common. Yup. Both of us got Just Dance 3 for Christmas. (See http://onforb.es/yPKOWI.)
For those of you who live in a cave or in some wonderful, alternate, Wii-free universe, this video has you mimic a dancer on your TV screen as you hold a remote control. It senses your movements through the remote and is supposed to give you points for moving the correct way at the correct time.
The boys were excited to see this under the tree. Previous incarnations of this software were OK by them, but this, the latest version, had Cee Lo Green’s “Forget You” and Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite” among other favorites.
Heck, they’d actually been agitating to get this workout-on-a-disk game.
I was psyched. I liked Just Dance 2. I could get a small workout using it, and it was the one video game at which I was sure to beat my boys nearly every time we played. Score!
Yeah, I’ll admit, with my two left feet, this was not the case at first – not until I realized that those feet don’t really matter. The censor is in the hand. That’s all the game reads. I could be footless for all the Wii really cared.
So in my small little universe, valuing my hand over my foot – I became freaking awesome. The Just Dance Queen of the house.
Then came last night
I figured it was time to get that workout with the kids. I rallied them in front of the TV in our basement, turned on the Wii, and we were off. Everyone happy. Everyone excited.
Then, the game started and the reality of playing this with three people in the confines of our basement, sandwiched between the bar, the futon and the treadmill began. Yeah, we turned into the Three Stooges.
Kurt was too far to the left, and the sensor wasn’t reading his moves. So I backed him up, but that caused a problem because Ben was using all of the lateral space around him, and the two collided in a noisy screaming mess.
We reconfigured, but then, Ben couldn’t see. So we shifted again.
Soon, Ben hit Kurt in the nose. I did something weird to my foot. Kurt wound up crying, and Ben wound up yelling because Kurt was in his way again.
And next thing I know, Kurt is sitting in a chair, waving the remote control from side-to-side to see how many points he can get without doing anything, and Ben is racking up the points as he hogs the dance floor and complains about Kurt who isn’t doing it right, and me? I’m just doing the best I can, losing, until we call it a night, and I vow to rearrange our basement.
Doggone it. So close and yet so far.
Some people search for the fountain of youth. Me? I’m just searching for a peaceful, fun, mid-winter’s workout with my kids.