Three Things I Realized During Gymnastics

Today Uno and Dos took a gymnastics class.  Tres was napping so she stayed home and that meant yours truly had a glorious 45 minutes of uninterrupted time when my only obligation was to smile broadly while my rascals wallowed around on plastic-coated mats.


The sum of life realizations during this time was: three.

(Just so you know, I wrote and re-wrote that sentence several times because I was certain it was supposed to be “were three.” But it’s not because even though “sum” refers to more than one item, it itself is a singular word. Usually I would scrap the whole sentence because if it’s giving me that much trouble it would be easier to say something else, but tonight I’m feeling stubborn. The answer I have come to is: “was three.”)

My Three Realizations:

1. I need Botox. Uno has this strange cyst. At first we thought it was a bug bite but it quickly progressed to a visible growth as large as a quarter on her triceps. We tried natural healing methods, she slept with a cooked onion wrapped around her arm as a poultice, we even spread miracle gel on it… it just didn’t seem to make a difference. So, we made an appointment with a dermatologist.

The gross thing drained on its own a few days before the appointment but we went to the doctor anyway because we wanted to be sure her arm wasn’t rotting off. That could be a deterrent to her future dreams, hopes and ambitions of being an Olympic gymnast.

Good news! Her arm isn’t rotting off. She’s fine.

But apparently I’m not.

Right there, on the wall of the dermatologists’ office, was a poster. It asked if I was a “1”, “2”, or “3”?

Take the test yourself: go to the mirror and make your scowly face, you know, the one you make when you just got cut off in the parking lot and you’re reading the naughty words running like a teleprompter on the inside of your forehead. Yeah, that one.

Now, count the number of lines you see on your forehead. If you only have one line, chances are you’re going to make it. Two lines and your youthful appearance is dangerously compromised. Three lines and you should make an emergency appointment to get Botox before mirrors start to crack when you walk by and small children moan in terror when you say, “Hi.”

I have three lines. Actually, I have four lines if you count the little one running into my left eyebrow. This means I’m a perfect candidate to get my nerves zapped and possibly paralyze my entire face in hope of looking the same age as Tres.

2. Don’t Shun the Meal. Grandma and Grandpa have visited almost every day. They’re trying to give us space since we’re living in and running the business they built, so they use their mobile office (a.k.a. 5th wheel trailer) and scoot when it comes to family meals.

(This decision to avoid breaking bread with us may or may not be influenced by the fact if you stand in one spot and complete a slow 360 degree turn you will have completed the official tour of our home. Our dinner table is wedged beside the sofa and sometimes it’s easier to just eat while sitting on the arm of the couch. Cozy, cozy, cozy.)

Well, Uno is terribly distressed every time they leave without staying for dinner. So much so her face has begun to melt and a wail starts when we mention Grandma and Grandpa are going home.

Rick Warren says eating meals together is very significant… After watching the inner-hurricane take place on a nightly basis, he has a hard-core “AMEN!” coming from our oldest child in response to his belief.

In fact, she just may lay down in front of their car tires or chain herself to their radiator if they leave without eating with her again.

3. You Only Need One Shoe If You’re a Monopod. While I was watching Uno bounce on the trampoline and Dos hang on those wooden rings I had a vivid recollection of Tres.

I know she’s young for it, but she has a shoe fetish. I’m never going to introduce her to expensive, fashionable shoes because it will destroy her life. Or her diet… she really enjoys eating her shoes as well.

Crocs are her favorite, followed closely by the Pedipeds.

Anyway, I looked at her today and she was standing quite strangely, holding on to the shoe rack. She looked like she was constipated or experiencing some category of muscle spasm, I’m not sure which. But it wasn’t pretty.

After an investigation I discovered she’d worked both her feet into one of Lizard’s hiking shoes. Her feet were wedged so far down the toe that the tongue of the shoe was above her shin.

And she was trying to walk.

She’d twitch her body and grunt to move and her feet would come up and down inside the shoe… but nothing would happen. She remained planted in one place, gripping the shoe rack because without its support she was headed toward a one-way ticket to Splats-ville.

Which tells me C.S.Lewis and his Adventures of the Dawn Treader visit to the land of the monopod is really not so far-fetched. You, too, could be a monopod if only you have a large enough shoe.

But you might fall.


It’s been a full day and that’s what I’ve got to show for it. Amen.

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