Lucy asked me when she would be old enough to wear a bra.
Well sweetie, if age had anything to do with it, then I’m still not old enough to wear one. You need boobies to necessitate a bra.
Fine, I didn’t say that outloud. I kept it within one of the voices in my head. But I did start the speech I’d frantically prepared in that 3 second moment of panic with, “Uh, well, you’re not old enough now. And you need boobies to need a bra, baby.”
I was just about to explain miracle brand how even though two times zero is still zero, when the time is right, I’ll show her the tricks of the trade.And how if my genes have anything to do with it, she’ll get all the downsides of puberty and none of the glory in upgrading to womanhood. Nothing more marvelous than double A’s. I was ready to continue with this chat when Lucy interrupts my mental preparation of this stellar Let’s Get Real Mother_Daughter moment with,
“Mommy, you said BOOBIES! Hey can I get this t_shirt with ponies on it?”
“Yes you can sweetie.”
I’ll save and edit this speech for a bit more positive self_esteem twist on it.
That’s how I roll.
I took Farley to the vet the other day to get his shots updated. He weighed in and atleast one of us has met their goal weight. It’s not me. Farley is down to 98 pounds! If you’ll remember, he’s been on a steady diet for the last year and a half. Me too, and I’m still working on it. I was so excited because really, I worked hard for that dog to lose the weight. I sent MyDaph a note telling her about Farley. “He’s lost more than 25 pounds!”
And she comes back with, “OMG, is he sick?” Uh no!
So, we did a happy dance, got his shots and got out of there.
Farley is getting old. He’s acting it. Just moving slower. He pants more. He looks like kind of a mess right now because the vet shaved this matted hair where the most disgusting sebacious cyst is. We’re having it removed simply for cosmetic purposes. That and because we were snuggling the ol boy on the couch one night and the cyst just burst and it’s gross. So, we’re having it removed. But he’s walking around with this shaved spot to highlight what looks like a small mound of warts. And recently his left eye hasn’t been opening.
From my life experiences, and apparent paranoia meshed with my love for this dog, I was petting him one night and his eye wouldn’t open and I thought, OMG he’s got cancer! Now, I have no basis for my irrationality. But I love this dog and he’s starting to go downhill.
So, I took him back to the vet. We weighed him, he’s maintaining his new svelt figure. And then I showed the nurse what I was talking about with his eye and stuff. I don’t know if it was her tone of pity or what, but after she looked at him and then left me in the little room with Farley to wait on the doctor, I started to freak out a bit.
Farley shivered. He does not like the vet. Well, he’s fine once he’s seen. But apparently the anticipation of “What the hell do you have me back here again? I was all for the car ride but this is a bit extreme, we were just here two weeks ago.” All that makes the dog shiver. So, I pet him and tried to soothe him, and that’s when I got all melodramatic and started thinking, “Oh god, what if it’s really bad?” I mean, what if MyDaph was right and Farley lost all that weight because he’s sick and now his eye is flubbed up!?
I do not want to be the one to have to get my kids through saying goodbye to Farley. Farley has been a force of joy and terror in our lives since the dawn of my and Ricardo’s relationship. Really, before that. But Farley kept us together. Okay, maybe not. Still, he’s been there always. When we got engaged, we took Farley to the park to tell him first. When we got married, I wanted him in the wedding, but Ricardo was concerned Farley would drag our sweet ring bearer down the aisle. Good point. Instead we had a cake topper personally hand crafted with Farley on it. Oh yes we did. And when I was 4 months pregnant, I finally had to explain to Farley when I was four months pregnant that he couldn’t sit in my lap anymore. When my water broke, it was Farley that I sat and deliberated with as to whether that was really my water breaking and should I call the Doctor or Ricardo first. Farley suggested Ricardo, so I did. When we brought those babies home he did not know what the heck was going on. When they learned to crawl over to him, that was almost Farley’s boiling point, but he learned a strategic lick in their faces was a good defense. And when the kids go out to play, Farley watches out the window or front door to make sure they are okay. When a stranger drives or walks by, Farley lets me know.
Now the kids feed him and love on him. They have Farley_isms for him. I catch them petting him and talking to him just like I do. They read to him. I catch them dropping food for him or asking if Farley can help them out with their broccoli. And when we come home and discover Farley has eaten the kids Valentine’s candy they left out, or an empty tupperware container just in case there might have been something in it, the kids defend him, beg me to not yell at him.
“But he just ate your candy.”
“He’s a good boy, Mom. We left it out. It’s not his fault.”
Great, he teaches the kids consequences now too. Good thing, because so far, I haven’t been able to do it. The dog wins.
All that flashed before my eyes, and Farley’s good eye. And then the Doc walked in. Not a moment too soon. Farley is not dying, he has a very large scrape on his eye. Did you know dogs have 3 eyelids? They do. He’s been prescribed some meds to help with potential infection and he’s okay.
The dog is almost 12 years old. At some point Max read that labs average lifespan is 10-12 years. He cried for two days. Why did I encourage him to read!?
Ever try explaining averages to a devastated 7 year_old? Don’t bother. He won’t believe you. So, instead of trying to explain averages and percentages, I explained it in Farley terms.
“Baby, Farley is far beyond your average dog. Now, who wants cake!?”
Farley does. Me too.
That’s how I roll.
Ever drive down the road and notice a sign that you’ve passed probably hundreds of times?
I was driving Lucy to that ballet class the other night and I see a sign that says:
“Depression is the leading cause of suicide.”
And I said in my head, “No shit, Sherlock.”
Out loud I said, “That’s weird.”
The kids demanded to know what I was talking about, but how do you explain depression, suicide and stupid claims that someone actually paid money to put on a billboard all to 7_year_olds? So, I made something up. I guess it’s okay to lie to your kids.
Today I came up to a bumper sticker that said, “My Border Collie is smarter than your Honors Student.” Oh snap! And then I saw she wasn’t wearing her seat belt. It seems her dog is smarter than her too.
I have developed a knack _ honed a skill, if you will _ of decoding license plates. Here in Nebraska, one of the first things I did to fit in was get a personalized license plate. KICKASSMOM wouldn’t fit. So, I went with a phrase from the Princess Bride. And I spread love and smiles all over Nebraska. I’ve had people stop me in a parking lot to tell me how much they loved it. We’ve had people behind us at a stop light take pictures of it. All with smiles. I spread joy and laughter and fond memories of Andre The Giant throughout Nebraska.
Decoding license plates here has been fun. They are usually an expression of their love for Nebraska Football. The occasional clever ones are fun too. One of my favorites is a guy in my neighborhood who’s license plate is simple and perfect: USE SOAP. The other day I ran across one that said LKY 13. It had a big dent in the back fender. Fantastic. I laughed and explained that one in full detail to the kids.
That’s how I roll on the roads of Omaha.
Unless this doll can cook a gourmet dinner for me, and then do the dishes, I’m not interested.
It started out as a sweet little getting_to_know_you beginning of ballet class. The kids were encouraged to bring their favorite doll (wink_wink) or stuffed animal to watch them dance. Lucy was so excited because she has a ton of favorite stuffed animals. Not so much dolls.
She has dolls. But she’s inherited her mother’s disinterest for them. And let’s get something straight right now, I’ve never pushed Lucy to not like dolls. I’ve bought her dolls. I’ve played with her and the dolls. Every doll she’s ever had she’s simply stripped the clothing off of and then walked away. Redressing the stiff plastic Chucky doll just isn’t as fun and really, way too much work. So, all of her dolls are naked and buried underneath all of her stuffed animals in her fishnet holder thingy in her room. When we go to purge her toys, she’s okay with me tossing dolls, or as we put it, “giving them to a better home to a kid might like to actually play with dolls.” But when we go to purge the stuffed animals, she can’t do it, citing, “Mom, they are my memories!”
I even challenged her one time and picked up each stuffed animal and asked for a memory. She won.
So, the next week, we took her stuffed animal to class as instructed. I was under the impression it was just a one time deal.
The third week, when Lucy was not only the one who didn’t bring a stuffed animal, but the only one who didn’t bring a doll, we both started to notice and ask ourselves, “What the heck is going on here?” I also noticed all the dolls were staring at me, and they were the same size. Why did they all look so similar? Then I turned off my ipod because I’d been drowning out some of the weird ballet mommy talk lately. And I heard weird mommy talk about these dolls. American Dolls.
I’ve heard of these dolls before. I’m not keen on them. I suppose had I stumbled on them myself, I’d have probably been sold. Wait, no, probably not. But it’s the moms that freak me out. I’m reminded of pageant moms or Disney moms at the castle getting their daughters dressed up as a princess by princesses who get a little extra and over_worked up about doing this for their daughter. You look at the daughter and the girl could care less, and where the eff is her crustless pb&j mommy promised? You look at the mother, tears streaming down her face at the ultimate dream for her _ woops _ I mean her daughter.
American Dolls do have a nice concept. They promote cultural diversity come with a book based on the time period of the particular doll. They are also $100. Remember the Cabbage Patch craze? Those dolls were expensive in their time too. A whopping $50. Now they are $25. Still, a Barbie is at most about $20. That’s still about $19 over value in my opinion. But Barbie, as we all know is lame and needs a burger. So, of the three comparable dolls, I really hate them all, but American Girl has a good message, for a ridiculous price. I mean really all that good messages, promoting culture and historical roles of women. For $100 bucks I’d rather take my kid to lunch, go buy her a nice outfit and take her to the effn library for a book on women’s historical roles.
It turns out that Lucy’s ballet teacher is crazy about American Dolls. She also took her 23_year_old daughter to the Hannah Montana concert.
Now the kids are bringing their American Dolls to class EVERY WEEK. I still didn’t see the purpose in it until about Christmas time, her teacher rolls in with tutus she’s made to fit the dolls. She threw them at some of the moms on her way into class, and said, “If you want one, I’m selling them for $20.” Then it was all clear. She was marketing the damned dolls to push her own agenda and merchandise. I was livid. Isn’t that how drug pushers work? The same night, I noted that for 15 minutes of the 45 minute class, they sat and played with their dolls.
I was bothered that they weren’t dancing.
I was bothered by the glazed look of joy that these kids had been suckered into loving these stupid dolls. And I bet that only two of them can read the books or even bother to read the books that come with these dolls. I was also bothered by the look of “look at me I have a doll and you don’t”.
And I was absolutely enamored by Lucy’s unabashed “I don’t give a shit about your doll. Aren’t we here to dance?” attitude. I was thankful the peer pressure of dolls hadn’t gotten to her.
When class was over, all of the kids came out. They’d had fun dancing and the moms were barking orders about taking care of that damned doll. Not get your coat on. Or, did you have a good class. But _ be careful with that precious doll. I was getting more and more livid and had spent the entire class talking myself down from being the mom to put a kibosh on this one. I wanted badly to go talk to the front desk. But I’m saving up to ruin my daughter’s life for something more grandeur than the principal of these dolls and her teacher selling the tutus.
Then Lucy came out and said the following:
“MOM! I. JUST. HAVE. TO. HAVE. AN. AMERICAN. DOLL!”
“You have dolls baby. You never play with them.”
“No! I WANT AN AMERICAN DOLL!” Just like Veruca on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Oh no she did not. Yeah, she did.
Dammit. Hold it together, Les. Just hold it together. I tried to get her out of there as fast as I could so we could talk about it in the car without insulting the other mothers. It’ll be a tough conversation to have so Lucy doesn’t go back to class next week and suggest to the other girls, “My mom thinks your mom’s an enabler and that perhaps she’d rather play with the American Doll more than you.” It was going to be tough. I was ironing out all that in my head with teacher strolls up and tells ME
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you haven’t gotten her an American Doll yet. You just have to get her one!”
What the shit did she just say to me in front of my daughter?
“Uhm, no I don’t. And I won’t. We’re not big fans of dolls at my house.”
Then she grabbed my arm and gently squeezed and said, “But do you really want her to grow up never having an AMERICAN DOLL!”
I made sure she saw me gaze at my daughter, gaze back right into her eyes and then yanked my arm out of my grip and smiled sarcastically. I was pleasant, don’t worry. I got out of that conversation as nicely and quickly as I could.
On our way out, one of the moms who never comes in was literally writing a check while her daughter was having a tantrum for her mom to buy her the tutus.
Lucy and I had a nice long talk on the way home. And I think she really gets it. If she wanted that doll, I mean really wanted it, I told her she could save up for it.
“Well do you know how much they are?”
“Yes, they are $100. I’ll help you save up for it if you want.”
“ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS! WHY!?”
What I wanted to say was, “Because it’s proven that’s what people will pay for it.”
But instead I said, “Greed.”
It was quiet for a while and then, “Mom, I think I’d rather have other things than a doll.”
She’s never asked me about the dolls again even though she sees them every week. Thank God because it would end up to be a naked $100 at the bottom of her fishnet stuffed animal thingy. The ballet girls continue to bring their dolls when they remember. Lucy is proving to be a beautiful dancer and then some.
That’s how I roll.
I volunteer at the kids’ school. I realize that the word volunteer suggests that I would do whatever they need me to do. However, I figured out quickly that I could help out the teachers without really having contact with all those kids. Kids scare me. I stuff Thursday Folders. I’m going on year three of this time honored volunteer tradition. At the beginning of the year, when I go in to meet the new teacher, I simply announce, “I’m Lucy and Max’s Mom. I stuff folders.” The teachers seem to be fairly impressed with my eagerness to do such a lowly task. I do not read to the kids. I don’t do crafts. Or art. I stuff the folders.
So today, Lucy’s teacher had a substitute. You could tell she was a sub (other from the fact that she was a different person) by the maintenance of indoor recess. The kids like indoor recess and they know exactly where Mrs. Normalteach keeps all the games. So, a bunch of the kids headed there, and Mrs. Sub stopped them and suggested they all play a game together. I’m pretty sure had I not been there, the kids would have tied her to the chair and taken over the class. But since Lucy’s mom was a witness to any potential crimes, they went along with it. She had them play Heads Up Seven Up. And then Mrs. Sub had the audacity to stick to the schedule. Mrs. Normalteach, and all of the other second grade teachers uh, well, they let recess go on a little extra long. But Mrs. Sub wasn’t having any of that. And the kids were depressed.
This is all going on while I stuff the folders, y’all.
So, the kids are mad at Mrs. Sub, but for the sake of not getting a bad report, and thoroughly confused, “Did we really just have a 10 minute recess of her making us play that game?” Mrs. Sub moves on to the next lesson: math. I keep stuffing, and much to my super efficient chagrin, I was almost done. Mrs. Sub then suggests that the kids write their own math riddle, and then she’ll pick a name and they can come up to Lucy’s mom and read their riddle and see if Lucy’s mom can solve the riddle. Oh she did NOT just do that.
Panic. Aside from having to deal with all those little kids, the other reason I stuff folders is so I don’t let on that math confuses me. Even second grade math. I mean really, what’s the difference between vertices and angles anyways? Sigh.
Well now, the kids are going to figure me out. I’m starting to imagine the sub’s report write up: “Bobby ate paper. Susan cut her pinky. And although Lucy seems to excel in all academic arenas, her mother does not.”
Inwardly, I’m in a panic. Outward _ I’m totally cool. The kids were trying to stump me. I made it through. But barely. Little rascals walking up to me to read their math riddles “I have one angle and no edges. What am I?”
“Oh, you are so a CONE! I WIN! One to nuthin! Who’s next!? YEAH!”
Ultimately, I was concerned that I was going to flub up Lucy’s reputation. I can hear it now on the play ground, “Dude, your mom doesn’t know what a CONE is.”
I’m sure Lucy would totally back me up, “Yeah, well she can cook and she’s really really funny.” Well, maybe not. Still, I was concerned that I could ruin her academic reputation.
When I got home she handed me a letter. Max had one too. They’ve been selected for some high ability learning program. Huh? Funny, when I got a note home to my parents, that was never quite the message. I see a cycle breaking right before my eyes.
That’s how I roll.
I’m starting to journal notes about Guitar Hero at my house. Its worthy of publishing. Here you go:
Max just said he was going to play a song for Valentines Day:
“Get it mom, Sunshine of your LOVE! There’s another one on here too, it’s called Talk Dirty to Me.”
“Uh _ well, Oh. Okay. Why is that a love song?”
“Because, well, I’ll play it and you’ll see.”
Maybe it’s the neon sign of a stripper on a pole in the back ground.
Or that time we were in the car on the way home and Max asked me,
“Mom, do you have a small bra you don’t wear any more.”
“Well, no, mommy wears her small bras. And I don’t wear them out really. So…”
Fine, what I really said was,
“Uh no. Why?”
“Well, I was just wondering when we play guitar hero, Lucy could wear one of your bras like the girl on the game.”
“Well, sure Max. But you’ll have to get your head shaved and a few tattoos like the guy on the game too.”
Or what I really said was,
“Uh _ no. You’ll have to play the game fully clothed or not at all.”
Maybe we should get a more kid friendly version. I just didn’t want them to learn stupid Disney songs. Is that so wrong? We picked this particular Guitar Hero version for the rockesque songs. Is it bad that I’m impressed he can rock out Devil Went Down to Georgia? I doubted him. And he can do it.
That’s how I roll.
A few months ago, my computer crashed. Again. I did what I always do: handed it to Ricardo. I heard him say, “Okay, I’m going to try something.” And then about an hour later I heard some heavy sighing followed by an “Uh_Oh” and maybe a few other words of creativity. Ricardo can fix anything. The guy really does make everything better. So, my goofy expression of acceptance and trust that indeed, he was fixing it, was later brought to my attention as a false assumption. Soon he was apologettically explaining that he was pretty sure MacGruber wasn’t going to fix this one. And also, I’d lost everything. EVERYTHING. My life flashed before my eyes. Not the one with the kids and all that, but the one with all of my classes I was in the middle of teaching, all of my writings, this awesome blog, and oh my gravy _ all of my music. Gone. All gone.
All I could think of was getting a Mac. Because another huge purchase would make it all better right? I swore the last time I had all of these problems that I would go Mac if it ever happened again. And here we are.
The thing I love about Ricardo is if I can even remotely plead my case to dip into the budget when I have a big idea _ and let’s be real _ I have some crazy and big ideas _ he humors me. Since I couldn’t get the consensus from my esteemed panel of FaceBookers _ all 400 of my closest friends _ I went to the next best resource: the women’s lockerroom. It just might be the land with all the answers. And behold, while brushing my teeth, getting my hair into a ponytail, and squeezing into my favorite sports bra, I got the inside scoop on where to go for a MacBook _ The Mart, y’all.
Within a few hours, we were on our way to liberate my teaching and writing experience. I was so excited. Ricardo was nervous because he’s a PC guy. Still, he was just as unimpressed as I was with our pc’s and knew it was time to check out this whole Mac gig. As with any trip to the Mart, I made sure to prep the kids. This time, with an extension on the disclaimer:
“Okay guys, we are going to stay close. No bouncing or stepping on any of the furniture. Please do not climb into any of the appliances. No Running. Mommy and Daddy are going to look at Macs and we do not know what the hell we are doing so we have lots of questions we need to ask. And it’s important that we get the answers, hear them, without being interrupted…what? Yes, we’ll take you to Burger King…now remember no interruptin….what? Yes, we’ll go to Burger King BEFORE we go to the Macs…..What? Yes…you can get a kids meal.”
So, we go in, get the monsters fed, and head over to the Macs with our super onion ring breath. Must have been great. We asked all of our questions. The guy was very helpful. And strangely enough, I was never interrupted. We get our order, get all set up. And do we want to buy the classes that go with it? I wanted them. Ricardo did not. I was leary. Ricardo stood strong. I relented because I was getting a MacBook a few weeks before Christmas. One year, my dad put a down payment on my wedding dress on Christmas Eve. Oh my God, I am a spoiled brat.
So, I’m still nervous about my new laptop and no classes on how to use it when I realize the kids have been mysteriously quiet for like, an hour. Oh my God, who took my babies? Where are they? I found both of them had helped themselves each to their very own display MacBook. Lucy had taken pictures of herself and made an entire scrapbook with distorted photos. “Mom look, I titled it Funny Lucy.” Meanwhile, Max made a video of himself riding a roller coaster. A VIDEO. Of him riding a rollercoaster. The kids are more comfortable with Macs than we are. They use Macs at school. We skipped the classes _ turns out the kids can just teach us.
That’s how I roll.
Meet the new Goldilocks. I feel like her when I shower at my gym.
Some moms join mommy groups, some join social elite clubs. I’m not allowed in either of those, so my social network is my gym. And really, I’ve probably violated some code with that as well. I love the gym. I love everything my gym is. It’s got everything I need. And in recent months, my luxury needs have been compromised. It started with a couple of uh, interactions about getting a lane in the pool to swim in. And really, it’s not that I MUST have a lane, I’m just desperate to get into the water because I’m standing there in my swimsuit, and the pool windows into the cafe. People are trying to eat. And my pasty white and dimply thunder thighs are greeting them. Gross. Then my beloved steam room was under repair for almost a month _ in the dead of winter, y’all. And then, the showers are starting to get to me. If I wanted bizarre water pressure, heat, or even working at all problems with my shower, I’d go home to shower. After a good work out, less my steam, cuz that’s broke, my only solace is a nice hot shower. Instead, I feel like naked Goldilocks cutting in and out of each shower stall : this ones too hot. this one’s too cold. this one’s juuuuussstt right…nope, wait, that stings _ the water pressure hurts me.
I put up with it for a while. And then a friend mentioned her new gym. This gym is uh, huge, and beautiful. And word on the streets was that all the showers worked. It’s a new gym, and our gym took a fairly good hit, losing many to the newer and bigger bad boy known as Lifetime. I’d put off going to Lifetime for well over a year because I do like my gym, I feel the need to be loyal to it, and I knew I’d be suckered right into their sales pitch.
So, we went on a tour and they gave us the pitch and a seven_day pass. Ricardo and I worked out there one day and made our decision. Still, I took notes.
1. The steam room is twice the size of my gym’s. Still a steam room is a steam room. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who steams at Lifetime because it’s intense and there’s very few things I’m really good at. Outlasting anyone in a steam room is one of them.
Pro _ It seems very well taken care of and brighter and bigger.
Con _ It’s bigger which allows more people to infringe on my steam _ increasing the potential for more weird steam room encounters.
Con _ It’s brighter. I’m not used to that.
2. Who put Great Wolf Lodge in Omaha? Lifetime, that’s who! It’s indoor and outdoor, and the kids would have a blast here.
Pro _ a bit more for the kids to do in the pool.
Con _ the kids were not impressed. I don’t know why but I suppose I’ve ruined them with vacations to waterparks.
Con _ there’s very strict hours on when you can play in the pool. Parents are restricted too.
3. The showers are pretty and consistently work. Because I checked every stall that was vacant. Consistent pressure and heat. Marble floors!
Pro _ They are cleaner and bigger and have doors instead of curtains. I don’t know why but that just seems better. I’m starting to get swayed into the luxury of this place. I take an extra 20 minutes and try to use all the hot water for the entire facility, but eventually relent and get out.
Pro _ there is an attendant at all times cleaning the vacant showers.
Con _ there is an attendant at all times cleaning the vacant showers.
Con _ I slipped and almost busted my ass on the beautiful marble floors.
4. There is a separate pool for lap lanes. It’s separate from the recreational swimming. Which should help preserve my very own lap lane I please.
Pro _ I don’t have to fight kids’ swim lessons and other swim classes.
Con _ There’s three lap lanes. I’m used to fighting over whether we’re cut down to two or three lanes anyway.
5. The kids room is fantastic. They have a McD’s play_place_like area, a sports court and computer section.
Pro: It accommodates my kids age a little better.
Con: In order to put the very cool kids area in the gym with the Great Wolf Lodge and the lap lanes and the marble floored locker room, we’re adding up some serious square footage. And we haven’t actually even gotten upstairs to the actual workout facility. The only two times I walked to the kids room to check it out, all I could think of is, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”
6. In the locker room, there’s cool, hip music playing. It’s like I’m at the Gap or Express or something. I like it. It’s upbeat and fun. And yet, no one looks happy in here. Interesting.
7. The workout facility is huge. There’s no track, only treadmills. The spinning room, also huge. It’s like a warehouse store for workout. And you know how you need to just run in and for a quick grab to get a fifty_pound bag of potatoes, but you have to walk allllllllll the way to the back, and then carry the fifty_pound bag of potatoes back up to the register? It’s the same for this gym. You can’t just run in for a quick workout. It takes you an hour just to get to your destination.
Pro: There’s plenty of room. No one gets in your way.
Con: There’s too much room. If you were looking for someone, you’ll never find them.
Con: Ricardo and I like to run on our indoor track.
But what the deciding vote was, had nothing to do with what each gym has to physically offer. After being wooed by kids computers, a frikkin waterpark in the gym, a play place and a sport court, Lucy summed it up: “I like our gym. We have friends there. Everyone knows us there and they care about us.”
So, we will stay at our gym. Because we are taken care of there. And because Lucy and Max said so. It’s one thing to know that your kids are taken care of when you hand them off to go have some personal time all just for you. It’s another that my kids understand that too. So, Thank you Prairie Life. You’re stuck with us for a long while.
That’s how I roll.