These were itty-bitty versions of what I normally make. Dozens and dozens of them. Little army men marching me off the cliff of death by sugar high. And that was only from the occasional finger lick. I didn't even get to enjoy one of them. Ahh, the things we do for our children. The word on the street is they were quite a hit at Kayla's Valentines Day party today. Totally worth it.
So tonight I snuggled Kayla a little bit more than usual before I put her to bed. I changed, stretched, waited a few minutes. Then I made myself go downstairs to do penance for missing last night. I hopped on and started to move, and I stood there looking at the console of the elliptical: my iPod (gotta have tunes), my Blackberry (just in case Shaun needs to get in touch with me), the baby monitor (since I'm on my own if she wakes up)... and it hit me as though I had run right off the machine and into the concrete basement wall. I had actually really started to enjoy this. Not because I like to run; Lord knows that hasn't been the case in over 10 years. Not because I really want to exercise - let's be honest - who really wants to do that? But because those 25 minutes, 3 times a week... those are MY minutes. I go to the basement, crank my music and I don't think about packing lunches or doing laundry or did I return that email or what did I leave sitting on my desk that evening when I finally clocked out? I don't count the days since I last ran the vacuum or scrubbed the toilets. I don't wonder if the humidifier is full or if Kayla is sleeping OK. I don't really think of anything. I just go. And I love that. I love that time when I can shut off my brain and let my muscles take over for a little while.
It's amazing when a small moment of clarity hits you in the midst of the craziness of day to day life and you realize what it's all for.
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