Yet another way my children differ from me, in the same vein as athletic ambition, is their bizarre-o desire to exercise. They think it’s fun. What’s up with that????
Anyway, we were watching my girlfriend Renee’s two sons the other night while she and her husband were at the Bon Jovi concert (yeah, see? Standing on my chair, waving a cigarette lighter in the air, and ogling Ritchie Sambora, that’s my kind of exercise!) and the kids decided they wanted to have an “Exercise Contest”. As long as they didn’t expect ME to take part, I agreed to humor them and serve as the Exercise Judge. I’m still not exactly sure what my duties were, since basically they just jumped around the living room, screaming “Watch me! Watch me!” before colliding with one another and then falling down and laughing hysterically. (Confirms my personal suspicion that endorphins are actually NOT good for you!) But they seemed to have a good time, and anything that has the potential to burn off a little energy before bed is A-ok in my book.
Always remember to stretch out and warm up those muscles, right?
Kendrie and her boyfriend Nicholas have apparently been arm-wrestling at recess (ah, young love) and she is trying to bulk up so she doesn’t lose to him anymore. Obviously, doing reps with your tongue sticking out of your mouth is better for you, so she's well on her way to arm-wrestling glory.
Jumping jacks, now, everyone together!
OK, could my son look any dorkier? Is it even possible? Don’t worry Renee, “total dorkdom” isn’t contagious.
Er, at least I don’t think so.
Well, it’s good to know SOMEONE is making good on my New Years Resolution to exercise more!
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PROOF THAT LIVING WITH CANCER HAS WARPED MY FAMILY:
Brayden was reading her library book to Blaine last night and I was in the same room (cutting out laminated papers for a teacher, imagine that!) while she regaled him with the life story of Babe Ruth. She got to the part about “Babe held the home run record for many years with 60 home runs until Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa broke it...” and I looked over at Blaine, crooked my eyebrow and said, “And hey, Babe Ruth did it without taking steroids.”
The next page of the book stated, “Babe Ruth died in 1948 of cancer…..”
Brayden paused, and then looked at me and said, “Well no wonder he died of cancer, if he wouldn’t take his steroids!”
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