Deuces

Squat, Lunge, Grunt, Crawl, Jump, Heave, Groan When will I soon decide I won't complain or moan? Spiderman's and Supermans and Arnie's and kicks, Why is this bootcamp instructor such a nobbing prick? Bear crawls, crab walks, robots and flys, I can't seem to love to sweat, how hard I continue to try. Curls, pulls, tossing tires, planks and countless burpees, all designed, I'm pretty sure, to pers-on-al-ly hurt me. Ouch! I'm ready for some abs, like the ones in the 'zines, but why must I crunch so much I can barely even breathe? Protein shakes and low-cal bakes? No. Powdered, coated, vanilla-glazed cakes Yes! Fitness- Memory repression, Couch-sitting obsession, & Late-night snack sessions Keep me coming back... Push, reach, extend, balance, cross, "hustle", "faster", and "keep going", all have me thinking about chocolate chip cookies. Wait, that didn't rhyme. Oops. ...

I speak Toddlerese. Can I add that to my resume? If not, I call foul. Major foul. I am quite proud of my somewhat proficient, bilingual Toddlerese. I know that "ma" means "mas".... ("more" in Spanish") I know that "Mama" means both mama and dada. And I know the difference between "Here You Go...", "Thank You..." and "Peek-a-Boo". ...Others might not. But as a parent you quickly pick up on the nuances of your child's language. And although "Here You Go...", "Thank You..." and "Peek-a-Boo" sound almost identical coming out of my sweet baby's mouth, I know the difference between them. Granted, Context is everything. When Sayler's cheeks become craters and her hands haphazardly cover her eyes I know she is saying "Peek-a-Boo"... And when she is urgently trying to hand me something that I just must have, she is saying"HereyGo". ...

This crazy hair makes me laugh, So loud. This crazy hair confuses me. How did I make a baby with such unruly locks? This crazy hair makes me frantic to find matching hair accessories for her array of outfits. This crazy hair makes me YouTube "how to French braid a girls hair..." so that my girl doesn't look like a ragamuffin on her first day of school in years to come. This crazy hair has me wondering whether I will need to invest in a hair diffuser at some point... This crazy hair has a tendency to get all Rastafarian dreadlocky in the back which requires an industrial strength comb and lots n' lots of conditioner. This crazy hair has a texture that I can only blame... Or bless... Her daddy for. This crazy hair makes daddy think you look like Bill Murray. But... More recently he says "that one guy from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory..." This crazy hair is one of my favorite things about you...

We sat there, Hungry, Desolate, Weary and confused. We had spent the day at the water park with the sunshine ablaze on our too-smug faces. We splashed and whooped and "wheeeeeeeee!!!!"'d down water slides a'plenty. We were having a blast and were remiss not to realize that with each raft carried up the steep stairs to a slippery slide, we wearied ourselves. We were easy prey for the Italians. As we left the water park the effects of the sun's violent rays were realized. My brother, in disillusioned tongue questioned us whether we'd like to get dinner together en route to our homes. We nodded emphatically because words were beyond us by then. And that is how we ended up at the Italian's place. The beautiful waitress with her buxom good looks cast her spell on us. "What can I get you all to eat?" she quizzed, the persuasion in her gaze burning through me. "Pizza? Pasta? Salad? Garlic Bread? A pitcher of draft beer...

I'm not sure what I thought. I mean, You're tough as nails. Full on, balls-to-the-wall, no holds- barred, crazy, insane.... a risk-taker. When your 20 pound frame hits the pavement you will scowl, but not cry.  Up you go, again, running, laughing, with a scrape or cut or two to evidence the fall. You climb, like, everything. Book shelves, Wine racks, Chairs and pub tables and stairs and the couches. But, You're a girl. Much to my dismay your favorite toy of late is my make-up box. It's my "Go-To" box.  It has all my favorite colors and the essentials that I just cannot live without.  (And frankly, the world at large wouldn't want me to do without). Bare-faced Cammy= ick. And you pull out every bit of powder, gel, cream, primer, brush, blush, bronzer, gloss, stain, and shimmer shadow. You deftly turn each lid, fully aware of how to get the contents to come out. Last week, I almost cried. But, it was momentary. I found...

That martial arts guy was super-duper cute. We met while I was at the tender age of 19. It was on the dancefloor of Rox Club in Riverside which means... We must have met on a Wednesday. Steve was half Japanese so it only made sense that he was also avid in martial arts.  I think it was Jiu-Jitsu. Who knows? I just remember having a rare bold moment when I approached him on that too-small dance-floor. We dated for a few weeks. I remember just knowing he was way more than I'd ever be able to handle. He seemed so grown-up at a time when I still felt so incredibly young. And I was hung-up on someone else at the time, so it wasn't like Steve would have had the best of me anyway. But it was Steve that made me look forward to growing up, And making lots of questionable decisions, and dancing the night away with friends on a too-small dance floor and feeling bold enough to approach someone that, quite frankly, I just thought was way out of my league. Tha...

The man sat, weary but content on a chair in the corner counting his money, and as I watched his tired fingers nimbly shifting the bills from hand to hand, I envied him. I remembered when I would organize my own bills, with ones in front and twenties at the back and the fives and tens resting warmly in-between. It drove me crazy when I would become so busy at work that my bills would become unorganized and weren't facing the same direction. Turned upside down with the presidents facing in every direction would slow me down when I needed to quickly make change for an impatient guest. And for the first time, Perhaps, Ever, Since leaving the service industry I missed being a waitress, if only for a few minutes. I missed leaving my work at work. I missed sitting around after-hours with the unforgettable stench of french onion soup on my collar and talking about absolutely nothing with my colleagues as we indulged in shared desserts. I missed feeling so...