Wednesday, November 10, 2010

My theory on running.

Every so often my dear husband will suggest that I get up at the unlawful hour of morning (read before 5:00 AM) and go running with him.

Running, you know that activity that involves moving ones legs rather fast and in a forward motion.

Sadly, my dear husband, even after 16 years of marriage, just doesn't get me. You would think after this many years of wedded bliss he would know.

In high school, I played sports. Softball and volleyball to be specific. Guess what, I was always the slowest runner on the team. That's when I weighed 105 lbs. and had not yet birthed any babies. Now, years later, more poundage and a few births later - I'm still slow.

My theory is, I don't run because I've got my great-grandma's legs. I remember my great-grandma on my momma's side. She always fixed me bacon and pink-eye purple hull peas. I also remember that we called her Big Grandma, one because she was the oldest and to differentiate her from her daughter, whom I affectionately called Little Grandma. And, secondly, well, she was big. I don't mean big as in way overweight big. I mean tall and sturdy big.

Actually one of the main characteristics I remember about her was how 'sturdy' her legs were. I would get a glimpse of said legs occasionally during the winter when she would back up to the fireplace, hike the back side of her dress up and 'warm her buns'. Can I add she was also a character?

That being said, the one trait that I am known to have inherited from her, are her legs. Yep, I have a sturdy understanding as my mom likes to joke. See, Mom can because she got Little Grandma's dainty limbs. You can actually see my mom's ankle bones. And mine? Well, they seemed to have disappeared around 1997.

As a matter of fact, Little Grandma came to my house the other day. She will be 80 years old next week. Arthritis has become an issue for her, it and heart issues have caused her ankles to swell. When she came over the other day she was telling me how painful and swollen her one ankle was. So, I looked at it and agreed that it did indeed look painful and swollen. To which Grandma replied, "Yes, when I saw how swollen it was I thought, 'My ankle may actually be bigger than Michelle's.'" Then she laughed.

Even my own Grandma thinks my legs are fat.

So, with that my theory is my legs were not born to run. And as a word of caution, if you do ever see my running, you might want to start running too. 'Cause I will trip you, to let whatever is chasing me, catch you first.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Reality - Not

The other day, I was channel surfing. It was lunch and I wanted some background noise while I ate. And I landed on a channel that had "The Real Housewives of......" Obviously I was in need of some comic relief, because they were showing was not reality.
When I think of a real housewife, I think about the mommy with 2 toddlers running around and a baby on one hip. Trying desperately to hold on until nap time. Making sure tummies are fed, butts are wiped and boo-boos are kissed.
Knowing that the laundry will wait, but little hearts that need shaping will not.
Or the mom of school aged kids, wanting to serve hot breakfast  and feeling guilty when it's cold cereal instead.
Getting breakfast and lunches made before it's daylight.
Checking homework. Signing the endless stream of papers from school.
Ironing.
Loading the dishwasher.
Scrubbing toilets.
Juggling schedules to make sure everyone gets where they need to be on time.
Buying groceries.
Sweeping.
Mopping.
Unloading the dishwasher.
Putting the second load of laundry on.
Folding clothes.
Loading the dishwasher.
Driving children to appointments.
Cleaning up vomit.
Holding children, whenever they don't feel good.
Listening.
Talking.
Refusing to take 'I don't know,' as an answer to any question.
What I saw on this show was not reality, and maybe that's where the irony is. We watch these shows labeled as reality, but they are so far removed from what reality is that we become mesmerized. Sucked in by their personal chefs. The chauffeurs. Luncheons with girlfriends, and drinking champagne. The nanny's. The fake hair. The surgically enhanced figures. The designer clothes. The glitz, glamour and parties.
Seriously, Bravo, you would do us real housewives a favor if you would drop the "Real" from the title. Maybe you should replace it with "Spoiled" or "Pampered" or "Pretentious".
Anything, but real.....