Hey folks, sorry! I promised some of you this entry last week and I didn't realize it didn't post when I scheduled it to. Oooops.
Also? There may or may not be a video of Ethan's intro to hip-hop. I tried to upload it to blogger several times and failed, I think, each time. So either, I'm sorry, or please enjoy the video 4-5x in a row.
I may have mentioned that we joined a pool and that we've been lounging poolside for massive chunks of time this summer. Its blissful. Ethan's a good enough swimmer that I can sit in a chair by the shallow end and play words with friends watch him frolic until I'm ready to get in and frolic to a much lesser degree (insert jaded youth's wasted on the young and all that comments here). We go back and forth between the big pool and the hot tub and during adult swim times, Ethan sneaks into the kiddie pool for 15 minutes. Technically he's not supposed to be in it because its for the 5 and under set, but given his size, he always managed to elude the age-assessing gaze of the lifeguard. Shhhhh, don't tell.
Oh Vitamin D, we love you so.
What I didn't realize about this health & pool club until we'd joined is that they offer a full range of parent and child exercise classes. Things like Family Zumba and Kids Yoga. And Family Hip Hop. Oh yes. Hip Hop. Which is right up my kid's alley, as he fancies himself a "break dancer." Really he's more of"throw himself to the floor and wiggle around a little bit on his hands and feet" dancer. But I'm not going to be the one to tell him that. I did however, tell him about the hip hop class. And on Wednesday we took it together.
Oh, the humanity.
First of all, let me start by saying I didn't realize it was going to be a legit aerobic work out class. So I didn't really pack my apres-swim clothing bag appropriately. See those flip flops I'm wearing in that last picture? Yeah, I went ahead and wore those to the class. Because we went to the class right after 3 hours of pool frolicking and general sunny merriment. And I also didn't bother with a sports bra. Because I don't wear a sports bra when I go dancing. Right?
Sweet Jesus, what a hot mess I was. Ethan, Mr Rhythm and "break dancer extraordinaire" fit in perfectly, even though he was wearing croc flip flops, followed along to all the moves presented by the full-on perky aerobics instructor and held his own for the 45 minute class, even managing to sing along to the words to Call Me, Maybe and the FloRida song (clearly we value high quality musical entertainment in our home).
I was less successful, what with my feet slipping out of the Target flip flops and sadly, my inadequately controlled chestal region allowing gravity to work its horrible injustice to all women magic. What is it about breasts that make them travel at a slower rate than the rest of your body? I'm right and they're still left. I go left, they're still right. The all-glass exercise room is the work of the devil, I tell you.
I also happened to be wearing a pair of linen pants (what? You don't attend exercise classes in linen pants? What's wrong with you? They're incredibly comfortable) and they happen to be about a size and a half too big because in general I loathe feeling any kind of waist band around my waist. So not only were my feet slipping out of my wildly inappropriate footwear and my my breasts were doing a dance routine all their own, my pants were also falling down.
Not all the way to the ground, but enough that while everyone else was waving their hands up in the air like they just didn't care, I was holding on to my linen "work out" pants to keep from flashing my underwear in front of a class of 5-10 year olds.
For the love.
Not my finest hour. Or rather, not my finest 45 minutes.
As we were leaving, I complimented Ethan on his fantastic hipping and hopping and asked him if he had a good time. He replied, "Yeah, it was really really fun." And after a pause, asked, "Can I do it again next week? But alone."
So there it is, folks. The age at which I officially started embarrassing my child = 6. I thought that wouldn't happen until he hit the 'tween years. But apparently I am just truly that embarrassing.
I also happened to be wearing a pair of linen pants (what? You don't attend exercise classes in linen pants? What's wrong with you? They're incredibly comfortable) and they happen to be about a size and a half too big because in general I loathe feeling any kind of waist band around my waist. So not only were my feet slipping out of my wildly inappropriate footwear and my my breasts were doing a dance routine all their own, my pants were also falling down.
Not all the way to the ground, but enough that while everyone else was waving their hands up in the air like they just didn't care, I was holding on to my linen "work out" pants to keep from flashing my underwear in front of a class of 5-10 year olds.
For the love.
Not my finest hour. Or rather, not my finest 45 minutes.
As we were leaving, I complimented Ethan on his fantastic hipping and hopping and asked him if he had a good time. He replied, "Yeah, it was really really fun." And after a pause, asked, "Can I do it again next week? But alone."
2 comments:
OMG that is awesome. "inadequately controlled chestal region" was my absolute favorite. Man have I been there!! It was like a science experiment every time I got on the elliptical after Charlie was born. Galileo would have been fascinated.
This cracked me up. I LOVE the picture of Ethan totally dancing with his Croc flops. I also love that he wants to do the next class alone-- so, so funny. AND, I would have never done it in the first place because I am a total clod, so go you!
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