7 Year Itch

Today is my second son's birthday; he's 7. He has been so excited all week that sometimes he actually bounces with glee. When this happens, he looks at me and says, "Sorry mom, I'm just sooooo excited" and begins to giggle and jiggle all over again.

This morning, I woke up to the sound of him running around upstairs at 4 something in the morning. By the time I brought him downstairs for breakfast & gifts, I thought his head might just explode. I've got to say, I can't think of any time that I was that excited about anything, especially not getting older.

And now, as my "little guy" stretches taller and leaner, I'm getting the itch for another child. Maybe it's the Saundra Bullock announcement. Maybe it's the fact that my second (and last) child has hit that awkward size when snuggling into your lap becomes more a poking of sharp knees and elbows than a cuddling of rounded baby.

My husband isn't exactly on board with the adoption idea. It isn't that he's cold or uncaring; he's just cheap. Honestly, I don't know what the cost might be but the last time I looked it wasn't pretty. I'm sad and angered by the idea that someone like me -- relatively normal and all -- could long for a child and be deterred by the cost of all things.

Still, this is something I've wanted for a long, long time. Before I was ever married I wanted to adopt a child. Now, with this latest birthday, that longing beat in my heart is picking up speed and impact. I'm not sure what will happen next, but I can say that I've never wanted anything this much and not gotten it. . .

For now, I will focus on the day and the celebration of the beautiful, healthy sons that I have. I will run around like a psycho cleaning only to have the children from the sleepover destroy my efforts in a single night. I will retrieve cupcakes from the local grocery store and deliver them like an angel from sugar heaven to the children in my son's class. But in the recesses of my mind, the wheels are in motion and I can tell you, I feel a plan brewing in the old noggin.

In fitness news,
I struggled this morning in my weight lifting class; the glass of shiraz two nights in a row was ill-advised apparently. Still, 274 calories were knocked out in 55 minutes and I cranked out a set of dead lifts/rows and tricep presses/extensions that I am truly proud of. Oh, and the barbecue chicken sandwiches were a major hit yesterday!

Food for Thought

Well, It's Thursday and I'm off to a good start. I ran/walked my 5K route in 00:46 minutes (that's 3 less than yesterday!) and burned 502 cal. The bonus? By getting my heart rate up to over 10 calories burned per minute for so long, I will burn more calories all day, even if I sit on my fanny. Pretty sweet.

I'm still working on a plan for nutrition. It has to be easy, realistic, yummy and easy. I know I mentioned easy twice, but it's very important. Truth be told, I don't even like fast food, but it's easy so I'm tempted.

So far, my master plan for nutrition is being shaped by two pop culture pillars of wisdom: Anton Ego & Quinn.

One aspect of the new approach will be to channel the voice of my favorite (fictional) food critic --Anton Ego from Ratatouille. There's a point when Linguine asks him how a food critic can be so skinny and he replies that if he doesn't love it, he doesn't swallow. I'm thinking that if I don't love it (and loving it will be based on flavor or benefit) I won't eat it.

The other night on Glee, Quinn had a moment of tenderness with Mercedes and talked about reframing the idea of nutrition. If you can change the way you eat to give a baby what they need, you should be willing to love yourself enough to do the same. The idea of good nutrition being an act of love -- and specifically of self love -- is really resonating in my mind.

Much of this process of reclaiming fitness, reclaiming my body, has been about re-discovering how much I love myself and feeling brave enough to love myself in visable ways. Who would have thought that loving could be so hard? I spent years figuring out how to love my husband, truly. I spent years learning to love my children, consistently and unconditionally. Now the process is coming full circle and I'm learning to love myself in the same ways.


I'm having to love myself despite flaws in the same way I had to learn to love my husband despite his. I'm having to love myself despite the fact that I can thoroughly disappoint and piss myself off at times, just like with my children.


Ah, but baby steps. . .


Today I just need to get through the challenge of healthy food choices!


I have no intention of eating disgusting things, but I do plan to love myself with food rather than pimp smacking myself with unhealthy choices.

To amend the words of the great Anton Ego, If I don't love it-- and it doesn't love me back -- I won't swallow.

Today, the foods in my home that I love and that love me back are strawberries, chicken, quinoa, lettuce and feta cheese so I'll try to figure out some combination with those in starring roles and others foods playing back up.


I may have to take the dinner scene one day at a time, but for now the plan is to crock pot a little barbecue chicken. Sodium rich, perhaps, but home cooked and you've got to start somewhere!


Until next. . .

Oh, P.S. Here's what I found in the fridge: left over salmon (6 oz, baked), 1/2 a cup of 5 minute couscous with nutmeg (my friends sister in law puts nutmeg on everything and it's actually really good!) and grapes. Total calories: 566.3; 42.2 g protein, 50.2 g carbs and 21.9 g fat. By the way, my goal is to move that fat content down and push the carbs up, but that will have to come in time!

Weigh-in Wednesday: Clearly, I'm Delusional

Well, it's weigh-in Wednesday and boy oh boy have I been hit with a little whammy. It's not so much the scale's report: I'm only 0.4 lbs up from last week and still on track for my long term goal. It's what I learned about my program when I entered my weight that woahed me.

It seems that I am logging an average of 1878 calories a day. Which should be cool (albeit suspicious) given that my goal is 2100 a day.

Let me say at this point that I believe myself to be an honest person with a fairly no-nonsense approach to my weight loss program. After all, what, exactly, would be the point of lying? Who, pretell, would I be lying to that wouldn't discover the ruse upon inspection of my rump?

Ah, but lie I have apparently. My little bodybugg system says that based on my measurements, my actual daily average for caloric intake is 2735.

Como se huh?

Yep, that's right. I am seriously missing something. I read the little tutorial that the bodybugg system cues (probably to avert some sort of anxiety attack) and it explained that there is something called caloric amnesia that results in people not recalling what they've actually consumed.

The top three culprits for my "condition" are: (1) large portion sizes like the burrito I inhaled from Chipotle last week that was the size of small child, (2) portion distortion (believing the portion is okay, when in fact it is not) like the amount of cream I actually put into my coffee each morning or the two pats of butter that I slip onto my Nutrigrain waffles, and (3) forgotten items like the Oreos that I scarffed down on Monday night but didn't make their way onto my food chart.

So, there we have it. I suppose the old nutrition will need a massive overhaul afterall. No worries, as always, I have a plan to make a plan and it will be revealed as soon as I figure out what the heck that plan is!

The nutrition factor has been the dangling participle of my weight loss program for a while now and it's time to get a serious grip. I've heard advice from here, there and everywhere and the truth is, nothing is sprucing the old goose.

Despite the best intentions, the truth is that I am never going to stick with something if I don't like it in my heart. It's like dating a dud; at some point the old eyes are gonna wander, so why even set yourself up?

In other news, I learned several very valuable little tidbits of fitness knowledge on my 5K run today that I would love to share with you:
1. Loose-fitting hip hugger underwear are not a good idea when running.
2. Swiss Beats is a genius and "My Chick Bad" will make you run even if you think you have nothing left (you can find it on I-tunes under Ludacris).
3. When in doubt, the telephone pole game always works to get you motivated. Just run from pole to pole, then rest from pole to pole, then repeat. Today I went two pole lengths running and one pole length walking for the last mile of my run.

Today's final 5K stats: 00:49, 501 calories burned.

There it is folks, fitness gold from the delusional calorie counter.

Until next!

The 5K Journey Begins

So today, it's officially "go time" on my secret master plan (which, by the way, involves me running a 5K). I found my route, laced up my sexy new Ryka shoes (Clemmy still doesn't entirely trust the new shoes), and donned all of my equipment: cell phone & keys in the booty pocket of my pants, bodybugg on left arm, IPOD on right.

I kind of felt like Batman with his utility belts, but I also felt very athletic.

My progress was slow, but respectable. I ran about 35% of the total distance which is waaaaay more than I would have two months ago. I'm not sure if I've mentioned the praises of cross training, but diversifying your fitness activities really makes a difference.

Currently, I'm dancing Zumba for fun and massive calorie burn. I try to get there at least twice a week. I also take yoga twice a week for flexibility, posture, breathing and core strength. Believe it or not, Betty the Meanie (my trainer) "prescribed" yoga and I have been very impressed with the results.

Speaking of Sweaty Betty, I train with her for one hour every two weeks and then one of the work outs she's given me two to three days a week on my own. It works well because one day soon I'll have to cut the cord and apply what I've learned solo!

Every Friday I take a group weight lifting and cardio class that is kind of a fusion between step and circuit training. It's a booty buster!

Sunday's are for Everlast Shadow boxing -- the second highest calorie burner in my week.

For a fun break, there's always Dance Dance Revolution -- a similar calorie burn to jogging or Zumba. This is soooo fun and family friendly because my kids "coach" me as I do it.

I'm not sure why, but cycling (my first love) has fallen by the waste side. I'll probably find my way back, after all, I bought shoes and nothing motivates me like capital outlay.

So back to my 5K training. . . Each of these activities have contributed to my confidence in getting out there on the road. I was out there for about an hour (I never claimed to be fast) and in that time I burned a little over 500 calories and got to listen to a few of my favorite songs.

The best thing? The range of emotion I felt. I was excited, exhausted, terrified (when a guy in a plumbing truck pulled a u-turn next to me -- turned out he missed his street), and complimented (when a few gardners made a comment about the women in rich neighborhoods in Spanish without knowing I understood, yeah Yo intiendo, baby!).

Compared to sitting in a little bubble and eating while I watch television, getting out there and experiencing the gamut of emotion felt absolutely thrilling. I even started thinking about a few characters I'd forgotten I plan to get writing this afternoon.

If you are starting your journey, I'd love to hear from you. If you are further along, I'd love your advice. And if you are taking baby steps with me, holla at ya girl!

Taking Flight

So today, I have a two-for-one scenario going on. I've posted about my moment of awkwardness that wouldn't end fast enough today at the zoo, but I also am thinking about a more graceful moment that, while fleeting, was as wonderful as the lions were mortifying.

Yesterday, I walked into a class with a new yoga instructor -- I'm in the cheese-moving phase of my fitness cycle -- and I felt a little nervous about my ability to keep up with someone I didn't know.

To make matters worse, the yoga instructor joked with the class that a recent sub left her a note to "go easier" on the class because she was "way too hard." She followed this with I laugh that I thought trilled a little into the wicked witch cackle category, but I could have been imagining things.

Despite my trepidation (justified or not), yesterday I felt a surge of energy. Maybe it was the clip I'd viewed recently on a 91 year old yogini (http://money.cnn.com/video/news/2010/04/12/n_cmr_92_year_old_yoga.cnnmoney/index.html). Maybe it was all the Madonna in the air. I'm not sure. I just wanted to bring my A game in this room full of unintentionally intimidating strangers.

As usual, when I feel uncertain yet want to succeed, my drive got the better of me. I found myself pushing each move a little further than I usually do. I kept my planks tight, my up dog solid, my fingers wide in down dog. My chest was lifted with a grace I rarely bring to my usual class as I reversed some pose I can't remember the name of. I even held a Warrior 3 pose that left me dropping beads of sweat on the floor and then looking around for someone to high five, but it turns out that's more a Zumba thing than a yoga thing.

Then it happened -- when I was so caught up in keeping up that I forgot about what I could not do -- the instructor took us from child pose (a little ball of myself) right into crane and I went! Okay, I held the pose for like 3 seconds and my toes aren't pointed and my butt could be lower but all of these things will come in time. Besides, my regular yoga instructor says if you only hold it for a second, it counts. So I'm counting it baby!

Crane was something I was certain I would never be able to do. Never. And I wouldn't feel bad in the least. For me, it's about the flexibility, the breathing, the balance. At least, it was. Now my goals in yoga a changed a little. That door called opportunity cracked open just a little and I've gone and had myself a peek. I want to know what else my body can do and I have a sneeky suspicion that I will truly be amazed by what I find.

Afternoon Delight?

I chaperoned a zoo field trip for my first grader's class today. We only had about 2 1/2 hours at the zoo, so I asked each child to pick one thing they absolutely had to see.


First picks were the snakes (awesome!) and the komodo dragon (total bust). Then someone said, "The lions!" This was followed by a frenzy of screams for the lions, so after an exciting round of snakes, amphibians and other reptiles, we were off to the lions.


It seemed to take forever as we weaved through rhinos and elephants and other animals that don't do much and smell awful to boot. Then we arrived at the lions who were. . .


wait for it. . .


laying down and yawning.


Nice.


No sooner had I muttered, "What a rip" to myself than I received much, much more than my money's worth. The lioness got up sashayed around and nudged the lion on the rump. Then she walked around and plopped back on the ground.


The lion then stood, stretched, and yawned in that slow long-suffering way that reminded me of an old man listening to his wife's nagging or prattling and he then proceeded to walk over and mount the lioness right there -- in front of God and country, and in front of the little first graders!


I was stunned into stupidity at first, then, my reflex was to avert my eyes -- I mean clearly they needed privacy. But like the lions, I'd forgotten about the children in my awkwardness.


Their confused protests of "What are they doing?" and "Are they fighting?" and "That doesn't look like fighting." shook me out of my temporary loss of mind function.


Think fast.


I announced it was time to get moving -- brilliant, right? Wrong. They protested on the grounds that it took forever just to get here. Umm, umm, I tried to think fast, but I had absolutely nothing.


Then, like a wonderful rainbow in a pragmatic thunderstorm, a single voice rang out.

"They stopped!"


That's right, both lions were now side by side again. The lioness looking unphased, the lion looking bored and moderately put upon.


It was over. The children moved on as they are wont to do. But I, I just felt dirty, and a small part of me spent the rest of the afternoon wishing even now that I could just wash my eyes.

What the ??? Wednesday

Yesterday morning I weighed in and found that I was still dangling around the 10 lb mark rather than the 12 lb mark that I'd hit over the weekend. I was shocked but I couldn't really be appalled given the fact that I'd downed some fairly quality grease, fried, Mexican and fast food combinations. And so I declared today to be What the ??? Wednesday, so named because I would go all out regardless of reason or aching booty and reclaim the two pounds that should have been mine!

I started with a quick 30 minutes of grading essays (only one graded, but I felt like I made a difference). Then I hit the gym for 9:30 Zumba (529 calories burned), followed by half an hour of the 10:30 Yoga class (188 calories burned), and topped off with a delicious 11:30 appointment with Betty the Meanie (228 calories burned).

Needless to say I was delirious by 1 p.m. I worked a "Woo Hoo" scream into conversations with the Blockbuster saleswoman, the delightful Subway sandwich artist and my husband.

By 2:00 I was melting onto the couch with a turkey sub in one hand and a remote in the other watching Glee.

This is when my "What the Heck Are You Thinking Wednesday" went a little south and became a class A "What the French Wednesday".

First, Glee somehow stopped taping before it was over. Grrrr. Then I got a call from a friend asking me if I'd said something. I don't even remember the event, let alone talking about it. But the bigger issue is that this is just such a high school question to ask.

Sure, working out like a psycho to move two pounds in one day is high school.

Working the words "Woo Hoo" into casual conversation is high school.

So is watching Glee I suppose in many ways.

But being asked if I said something? Geez-La-frickin-weez. (Okay, that was a little high school, too).

Truth be told, I don't know if I said something. I doubt it because the issue was news to me. Further, I've been pretty much over gossip since I got a little something called a life about ten years ago. Motherhood, working, finances, dinner, writing, making a marriage work. They all kind of keep me a little preoccupied.

It's hard to remember that I have friends, to remember to say hi and check in given the fact that at times it's been hard to remember to bathe. I can't imagine that I'd use that time to issue a hard diss about someone I love.

So why on earth do I even care? Because I do. Because I am not bigger than stupidity no matter how much I wish I were. Because stupid questions and trivial nonsense still piss me off to no end. And while I acknowledge that it is infinitely better to be pissed off than pissed on, this just kind of put a nappy hump in my otherwise sunny day.

This line of thinking reminded me that today is the first truly beautiful day in about a week. Blue skies, sunshine, cool breezes. Everything I love. And I decided to take a walk out in the sunshine so that I could immerse myself in what matters rather than get bogged down by what doesn't.

You see, I've gained more than just 50 lbs since high school in the almost twenty years since high school I've also gained a little something called perspective. I know what matters and what doesn't. Right now, finding Glee online and catching those last 10 minutes matters. Checking in on how my kids day went (after they actually come inside and pay attention to me) matters. Cooking dinner matters. Even writing this blog matters.

But in the grand scheme of my jam-packed day, I am clear that high school comedy is what I crave, not high school drama.

Fun Fitness Find: Ryka running shoes

So I got a freelancing check & ran to my local Academy to spend the money that was burning a hole in my pocket.

The object of today's trip: new running shoes.

My knees have been absolutely killing me, but that's not the only reason. The other reason is that the universe has been double dog daring me to start running again. It's been about 3 years since I ran consistently and I've actually missed it. Besides, my boobs and I weigh less than we have in a decade so I'm thinking now is as good a time as any!

Beyond that, I read a cool new blog today that follows a woman who took on an impossible goal: competing in a triathalon. At the time, she was 50 lbs overweight and couldn't run for longer than a minute. She wasn't much more than a survivalist when it came to swimming and biking was a non-issue.

Still, she did it and got fit in the process! You can read more on her journey at http://sistastritoo.blogspot.com/

I'm not sure if I'm ready for a triathalon, but I'm itching to do something crazy like a 5K.

So that brings me to my fun fitness find for the day, the Ryka running shoe. This is the shoe that Kelly "OMG girl - you are waaaay too skinny" Ripa endorses. I have to say that this was one strike against the shoe. The very idea of drawing up like an athletic crackhead has never sounded like fun. To make matters worse, my tatas have been shrinking at an alarming rate and the last image I needed to associate myself with is Ripa.

To make matters worse, the shoes are orange and yellow. Seriously? Would it kill them to give me a little pink, green or purple? Orange and yellow undermines my entire fitness wardrobe color palette.

However, today was shopping day and when I shop, I honor Stacy & Clinton, the patron saints of shopping, by trying on everything and letting my body decide. Today I tried on 7 pairs of running shoes including no-fail Saucony's, Brooks and sometimes-narrow Nikes and the Ryka Revives were undeniably the best fit. At $54, they were also one of the lowest priced shoes so now, they are mine.

Stay tuned for more adventures from this latest chapter in my fitness journey!

Cents and Sensibility

It is officially the year 2002.

At least, that's the year I've returned to based on the scale. I have erased the effects of the last 8 years and I'm feeling like 1998 is just around the corner!

The idea of erasing years and getting my "sexy" back feels like a form of ammortization. You know, getting back to square one by putting in installments of sweat, tears and fast food denial.

Of course, these days, money and budgeting have become my life. I budget my calories (eaten and burned). I budget the time I spend working. I budget the time I spend writing. I budget the time I spend with each child, with dog, and with my husband (often, sadly, in that order). And of course, I budget the cash flow.

It's no wonder that I have come to see myself as the CEO of Team Slagle and a commodity in and of myself.

Truth be told, I've always been a fairly logic driven person who sees the world through binary lenses like the ones Neo sports in The Matrix trilogy, but here lately, I've been in a slightly new arena: that of perceived human worth.

This brings me to my thought of the day.

Recently, I spoke with two friends -- one female and one male -- on the topic of perceived self worth. My male friend was sick and tired of being undervalued by women who had the unmitigated temerity to leave him feeling unappreciated. I must admit, at the time the quandary left me giggling. I mean, seriously? Feel self-important much?

Then later, I spoke with my female friend who is considering lowering her standards and "casting a wider net" because the old biological clock is ticking and she doesn't want to end up alone. For the record, she's freaking fantabulous and yet this woman sounded as despondent as the man sounded effronted; I couldn't help wondering what was really going on here.

Sometimes it takes a flip of the coin to see both sides. When my male friend was waxing on and on (and on) about how he was underappreciated, I was mostly just amused. When my female friend admitted to lowering her standards, I was mostly appalled.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that the motivation for my reaction in both cases was that I was appraising the fair market value of each as though they were properties for sale on one of those shows on HGTV. You know the ones where they flip the houses and then put it on the market?

Sometimes they price their property just right and make a quick sale and sometimes they take a look around and decide to ask for waaaaaaaaaaaaay more than they should. In these instances I yell and gesture at the television beside my amused husband questioning their sanity and their ability to walk with cajones so grande.

When I'm watching the shows, I think to myself (and shout out loud) that value is determined by the market -- not your imagination or personal perception. It's quantifiable and objective, not subjective.

But then it happens. The ringer. The person who goes balls to the wall with a 50K overshot, gets an offer and makes the sale.

You see, there's a little something called the X Factor. That little something called swagger that separates the Trumps from the rest of us. Those with a go big or go home mentality, Castanza-ing their way through life regardless of receeding hairlines, paunch-bellies and underwhelming job prospects.

When they make it -- and they do make it -- we are mystified and (secretly) encouraged to dream and to soar, to hell with logic and history.

Then there are the rest of the populus, the sensible few who live within the boundaries of precedence. Who do what they think makes sense and get what others would tell them they deserve.

I can't quite say who it is I'd rather be.

In my case, I was delusional enough to dream way off the charts and then determined that I'd get what I wanted if that meant dragging the world behind me like road kill on my personal path. My biggest strength (and flaw) is my decisiveness and my willingness to apply it without taking any prisoners. God love my husband for standing by me, right in the eye of Hurricane Kimberlyn.

Some have called me a steam roller, psycho, control freak (these are actual quotes). I prefer to go with driven. Either way, when it comes to perceived self worth, there is at least one part rational thinker and two parts fool inside of me.

In the end, I wouldn't trade what I have now for a fair amount of money (start throwing billions my way and I might have to make some tough decisions), but I wonder about the other two groups.

I suppose in the end, spending month after month on the market feels the same no matter why your still listed.

Back on the Saddle

This morning was the start of my official return to the saddle.


After being sidelined by one heck of an icky bout of strep throat, I feel like I am back to ninety five percent, give or take 5 percent. Either way, it's an A so I'll take it.


I started by suggesting I walk to school with my sons. They countered with a suggestion that they ride their skateboards. This meant taking a slight uphill turn followed by a steep decline that both sons took like rockstars, without pads and without fear. They didn't need any because I was scared enough for us all. As a result, I spent the first part of my day transforming gasping and praying into a form of athleticism.


I took the long way home and ended up with 4,710 steps on the old odometer before 8:30 AM. Sweet.


Next up. A little cleaning. My favorite! Anesthetized by a phone conversation with my friend, Tracy, I braved the upstairs bedrooms, the living room & dining room. Then knocked out a little laundry. I've been dumping it onto the bed to be folded later while I watch New Moon. Again. Anything to numb the pain since I can't drink.

Of course, I may have to drink if I plan on taking on the bathrooms. I'm just not sure I feel brave enough.


You see, for whatever reason, both of my sons can fearlessly hurl themselves down a hill rolling at least 20 miles an hour, but they can't seem to find the strength to actually pee inside the toilet bowl. I am truly mystified.


Once I finish this blog, I'll be cleaning my carpets. Apparently my bulldog Clemmie 'just won't go' outside for anyone but me. And here I thought she loved the outdoors. Sun in her face and all that.

Interesting.


I'm sure you can imagine what a full week of my daring to sleep has done to the floor.


Sometimes (like now) I wonder how it all ended up coming to this: me knee-deep in urine management. I mean, yeah, I always felt like I was destined to manage something -- boss someone around or be some sort of expert. But urine? Really?


If you know me, or even feel like you do, you should know that housework symbolizes all that is evil and wrong in the world -- or perhaps, all that is evil and wrong in an otherwise delightful lifestyle. I would like to demand the aid of my elves, my laundry fairies and (perhaps most of all) my kitchen gnomes at this time. Sadly, they are all otherwise engaged.


On the upside, all of this work is burning calories like you can't imagine so there is a silver lining on this cloud of doom.


Until next, I remain. Kimberlyn, goddess of urine-pierced carpets and urine-assaulted grout.

No (April) Foolin'

You know that Ice Cube song, "Today Was a Good Day"?

If you are cool (like me) you do and you should play the beat as the internal soundtrack to this blog.

If you are not cool, but you are industrious (also like me) you can simply open a second box and stealthily you tube that sucker for pop culture reference purposes.

First, a disclaimer. If you are watching (or remembering) the video, I need to say upfront that I didn't do any gambling, weed smoking, six-fo' driving, or bedding of a random chick in an anonymous hotel. I can assure you that it most certainly was not that kind of party. But today was with out question one heck of a good day.

Let me walk you through the highlights.

After days of feeling like walking death, I awoke to a new day of almost no pain. Then, my son who got the strep throat cooties from me, is officially done with the strain without so much as ever even feeling an itch in his throat. Next, I heard that my older son has been spotted slipping "inappropriate language" while at school through two different branches of a pretty solid grape vine.

Okay, so you may think that last one isn't so great, but wait for it. . .

I had the presence of mind to ask a series of open ended questions (not the usual hysterical interrogational battery I usually spew) and he actually confessed to a whole cornucopia of offenses. Ha!!! I say to the parenting fates. Ha!!! and again Ha!!!I actually played a hand smoothly and got more scoop than I bargained for.

If you are a parent or actually if you've ever found yourself in the position of intelligence gathering and discovered that you were actually guilty of of shrieking and screaming with little or no response from the shell-shocked detainee, you will understand my joy at staying cool.

I was a parenting goddess for crying outloud. I actually wish I'd taped it -- I could play it back when company came over and say, "See, I got it right once. The evidence is right here."

In a different, but slightly related note, I attended a meeting that was largely centered on explaining to me why I should not freak out that my son was moving from one school to the next. That freaking out was possibly, the worst thing I could do. Instead, I should have a game plan that starts immediately at best, summer at the latest, and that this plan should be subtle, intentional, overt, honest, calm, collected, routine, a change and perfectly natural.

In short, impossible.

This delightful message was then followed up with a list of all the things (other than myself of course) that will probably freak my kid out, although I must not, under any circumstance, be freaked out or show the slightest indication of freakedoutedness. Apparently kids sense this and they freak out in response. Got it.

The good part? I listened to it all and did not throw up. Not once. Not even at my car or at home. I felt good, giddy. Some might say hysterically so. Naysayers. Screw 'em. I have a plan. I have a series of frantically scribbled notes with arrows and stars that will get me through. First on the agenda, I'll have the hubby build a mock locker at home & we'll do drills every Saturday after TAKS testing passes. I'm sure that's totally what they meant by remaining rational. . .

If you are worried, don't. I am seriously calm and relaxed. I find it funny and ironic and amusing. This is so not me. Which makes it a good day -- see?

I think the stimulus behind all of this warm fuzziness is the fact that I feel so much good energy today. I had a friend show me love yesterday. And I had a friend give thanks for the love today. I had a friend make a difficult decision and tell me something that wasn't easy -- but was needed.

I watched as a friend tugged on to the rope of patience despite the fact that there were only two little pathetic fibers left in that sucker and found more love to extend to her son.

I saw the cutest button of child demand independence. Saw the best mommy ever grant it in return. And my eyes watered at the significance of both actions.

The world of love is bigger than our singular experience. On the contrary, it is the intersection of our strengths and vulnerabilities that reveal the beauty of our lives. Today, my awareness of that fact was piqued.

There is a fullness that only the warm embrace of community can bring. And although April Fools is notoriously associated with news that is given and then taken away. I don't think that it's possible in this case.

Afterall, the imprint of love is indelible. If it means that we have hard times or disappointments or even frustrations, it's okay. I think love makes even those days, good days.

So I say, because of the bumps and the surprises and the ridiculously unattainable tasks, because I get to share all of these with those I love, today was a good day.