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That One Time I Did Two Hundred Laps Around The Apartment

Once upon a time, at 3:30 in the afternoon (quite beyond a reasonable nap hour), there lived a mother who had been cooped up inside her apartment with two crabby children for at least 3 hours.  One of the two aforementioned children was accustomed to sleep being given to him on a platter (grapes, cheese, palm fronds and all), in the form of a nipple in his mouth. When those privileges were finally revoked, the platter came in the form of a moving stroller ride.  As it turned out, the mother and her two children (along with their father) had recently landed themselves in the middle of a sub-tropical rainy season, in which stroller rides can become quite difficult (and the reason for which this had not yet been done, at such an ungodly napping hour).  After battling the rain for a matter of minutes (at least 6 of them), with the constant whining of children in the background, the mother became desperate.  In she went back into the apartment building, with the least knowledge of how to proceed; what she did know was that said crabby, spoiled, 2 year old HAD to nap.  A few laps around their 13th floor were done before the children began to wonder why they had passed by their neighbors door four times; questions became too infuriating and into the apartment they headed.  It was then that the strangest thing happened.  As they entered the apartment and the stroller stopped rolling, neither of the children tried to escape (though they were both very much still awake).  Upon realizing this, the mother decided that she had no choice but to go back and forth and back and forth, around the apartment, until the cheeky little monsters found their peace.  And so, for what must have been at least 33 minutes and 221 laps, the mother paced, until BOTH (which is an altogether uncommon occurrence) children fell fast asleep.

I won’t say that they lived happily ever after, but I will say that 94 minutes of solitude were very much enjoyed by the mother.

The End.

 

Monday [Mom Uniform] Mug Shot

If I had a mom-uniform, which I’m not saying I do, but if I did, this is what she would currently look like.

Jacket: Athleta, Shock Cord Anorak ($98, but well constructed and will be loved for the next decade)

Leggings/Anywhere-Everywhere Pants: Althleta, Revelation Capri (also not cheap, $79, but SO worth it)

Shoes: Merrell, Bare Access Running Shoes ($90, purchased at REI with my yearly member dividend – super comfy and versatile, I wear them to work-out and to run errands)

iPhone Case: Adopted

Oh, with my hair in a bun and a pair of earings in ears (both CRITICAL elements of unsaid uniform).

This week’s mug shot was one of my more expensive, but also one of my more useful/efficient/quality outfits.  I will wear all of these pieces for years to come.

Brand Spotlight:  Athleta

Although they are owned by Gap and I’m assuming have a less than stellar approach to corporate sustainability issues, they make excellent, quality gear that will last (I’ve worn these leggings through sunshine and rain, for over a year, with VERY little sign of wear).  They also have a bitchin return policy and GREAT overall customer service.  In addition, they sponsor all sorts of events geared toward empowering women to develop healthy lifestyles AND you won’t see their logo plastered all over the asses of women in your yoga class.  Win, win.

 

On Four Year Olds

She’s riding on a furry go-cart.  (By herself.  In the middle of a crowded courtyard.  Dangerous play is one of the perks of living in China.)  Just when I said to myself, she’s totally got this, she’d head straight for a planter box or a waddling baby.

4 is a fun[ny] age.  Just when you think they’ve rounded a corner of maturity, they do something that ensures you that no, toddler-hood is not quite behind them.

Just when you think that you can have a rational conversation, something about a monkey is inserted.

Just when you think that they’re capable of verbally communicating their frustrations, they melt down.

Just when you think they’re able to understand that painting on the walls is forbidden, you find a painted handprint… on the wall.

And yet, I wouldn’t wish for anything but her irrational, not-quite-big-kid, level of development.  Alas, there is PLENTY of time for that in her future.