Just Stop

As soon as the kids stepped foot on the bus, I ran -- literally ran -- up to my bedroom to change into exercise clothes so I could make it to the 8:30 pilates class.

Rummaged through my drawer, but couldn't find any long workout pants, only shorts. {I knew before I even opened the drawer that that's all I would find, but I guess part of me was hoping the laundry fairy would have washed, dried, and put away a nice warm pair of fleece sweatpants and they would appear, like magic, in front of me.}

It's 3 degrees outside. Without the wind chill. Yes, I know all you people in Wisconsin, Minnesota, etc., have it worse (I've heard -40 degrees in some parts). But 3 is pretty bad, too, don't you think?

So as I pulled out the comfiest workout shorts I could find, I pictured myself outside in those shorts, sitting on my frigid car seat in those shorts, not ever warming up in those shorts.

So I chucked the whole idea and took a shower instead. A hot, hot, hot shower. Probably used the entire volume of the hot water tank. (But I don't regret it.) Nearly sweated. Aaaaah, now that's more like it.

I hate the cold. I mean, I like it when it's not too cold, and when it's accompanied by the fun stuff: snow! I like skiing, I like building snowmen, I like a beautiful snowfall. But if there's no snow (there isn't any here, not like what you guys in the northeast have received lately), what's the point? There's no fun in being so cold that it hurts to breathe. So cold that, even when you're bundled in three layers, plus the warmest coat and gloves you own, plus boots and a scarf and a hat, you still get numb fingers after just a few minutes and you swear you can feel that "breeze" go right through those layers, straight to your bones.

But I digress...

The real point is that sometimes we need to just stop.

Working out makes me feel good, and I have a plan I'm trying to follow. But really, my body won't fall apart if I miss that 4th workout this week. I worked really hard the other 3 times.

I'm a stay-at-home mom, but I've been at home probably less than 5% of my week so far (the time when the kids are at school and my husband is at work, that is). I've been busy and on-task the entire week, but can't find time to get the at-home stuff done. E-mails have gone unreplied-to, phone calls have gone unreturned, the laundry has piled up again, dishes are still in the sink, that tissue the dog found in the trash is still strewn in pieces on the family room floor.

Today, the plan was to do the pilates class and then have the rest of the day, until the kids come home at 3:15, to catch up on all that stuff. But my son had to go and lose his retainer (2nd time in a month, and no, he doesn't seem to care in the least that it's missing and that his teeth will migrate back to their prior-to-the-$2000-braces state without that retainer). So in a little while I'll go pick him up from school, get him to his orthodontist appointment, and return him to school. I'll get some of my to-do items done, but not as much as was planned.

But that's OK. Really OK.

I've decided I'm allowed to just stop for a while. There will always be laundry, appointments, work, carpooling, errands.

Right now, I'm going to get some thoughts down on virtual paper. This "paper."

If I had more time (and maybe more skill), I'd write a draft, ponder it, revise it, then post it as one coherent thought. Not today. I'm just going to write. Then post. Then write again. Then post. So there will be several entries today, reflecting myriad events and thoughts that have affected my life in the past two weeks.

This is my way of stopping. I've got to do it in order to go again.

And I will go again.