Hazy Shade of Winter

I'm preparing for the texts and calls so I thought it best to just answer them proactively and a little more publicly:

• Yes, the windchill is 28 degrees and my son is in shorts and a sweatshirt. 
• Yes, I let him out of the house like that.  
• Yes, he will probably be dressed like that through the winter.

Much to my grandmother's chagrin, this didn't start as Middle School rebellion.

The Arch Nemesis Rises

My 2nd Bike Ride

Once upon a (very brief period of) time...  I loved cardio... or at least the sanity that cardio brought.  I've already admitted that the baby stage of parenting was not my shining moment; To try to get out of that funk, we joined the most glorious gym ever.  It was elite and expensive (my DH tells a funny / humbling story about being locker neighbors with Bo Jackson).  Walking in felt like arriving at The Promised Land; One could almost hear the chorus of angels... mostly do to the fact that they had free childcare.

It had tunnels and slides better than any McDonalds' playland, a child size basketball court, outdoor park, computer section, life-size TV with groups of kids pretending to be marching with Dora, toys to ride, craft corners, new friends to make, and toddler sized potties and sinks.  My kids would run in, physically embracing the supervision, who where mostly peppy high school and college kids who wanted nothing more than to entertain hordes of squirrelly kids (when they weren't harmlessly flirting with each other).  My children begged to go to the gym, and my DH and I rushed over after work (often I got a head-start with a rowing machine and Audible).  We procured two side by side ellipticals and talked about our days until we couldn't.  On my particularly bad days, he played basketball, while I sat in the sauna or hot-tub, or got a haircut in the spa, or a coffee in the cafe, all while I escaped in a book...