Today I moved, I really moved for one of the first times in 4 months. Magoo was at preschool a 20-minute walk from our house and there was a smattering of sun peeking through the clouds.
I was out of breath in less than a block, surprised at how weak and puny and scrawny and pathetic and other words generally used to describe nerdy 7th grade boys I was. But I made it to preschool, sure that Magoo would be enraged when he found he’d need to walk home.
You see, my lay-about lifestyle has become the family lay-about lifestyle and my kids, especially Magoo, are sadly out of shape. Actually, even when I was fit, the kids weren’t all that fit. We’ve spent most of the winter inside and although I’d been going frequently to the gym before the sickness, Magoo doesn’t get much opportunity to get his body moving. I need to be more proactive about it. I didn’t have the pregnancy excuse all winter long but I’m happy to use it now.
He wasn’t that resistant to walking home, until we’d traveled about 50 feet, at which point he asked that we walk home in the car next time. But we pushed forward with little to no choice, up the high hills and even made it to the park for 20 minutes before we had to walk to the bus stop to pick up Laylee.
When I got home, I found I had used every speck of strength and energy I had in my body. I fell asleep, impervious to the mounting disaster that is my home.
I was awakened by the sound of my kids opening the door to one of my dinner co-op buddies. She’s a new co-op buddy and this is only the second time she’s been in my house. The dining room table had dinner dishes from last night stuck to it. The sink was full of filthy dishes, every counter was covered in filth and Magoo led her happily into the kitchen to bring our dinner. But she couldn’t find anywhere to set it down so she stepped over the caked-on spaghetti sauce on the floor and placed our dinner on the cold stove, the only clear place in the room.
I wandered downstairs in a post-nap haze and promised her that although my house had looked like a condemned building the only two times she’d visited, it was the exception, not the norm. (Maybe it’s the norm these last few months but over the course of my lifetime, on average, this is definitely a freakish level of filth that I am in no way comfortable with.) She hugged me and said it didn’t matter and when she left I held back my tears while I read Flylady.com for an hour and then scrubbed the everliving cheese out of my kitchen.
It looks good. And the laundry’s done. For just 30 seconds I considered calling up my friend at 10pm and asking her if she wanted to come over and share some jellybeans… in the kitchen. That seemed like a stupid plan but, unsure of what my house will look like next Wednesday night, I went to get my camera so I could email her a picture of my great feat of progress.
I somehow stopped myself… barely. My kitchen may be clean but that doesn’t make me unpathetic.