My husband and I have a new routine, and by “routine” I mean we’ve done the same thing twice. JD takes Moon to school, then we head to the park and walk. Here’s how you know if you’re old – if you consider WALKING exercise, then you are. Period. Face it, walking is only one degree from immobility. There’s standing still, and then there’s moving. But since my last attempt at running ended with me dry heaving and JD yelling, “Stay in the bushes, I’m a sympathetic puker,” I thought we’d lower our standards. On another note, it’s glad to know my husband is a sympathetic something.
Once home, I continued with my other routine of sitting on the couch and staring at my laptop all day until Moon got home. She had a science test and we’re still waiting for the result. I made her study despite the fact that she was all like, “What’s so bad with FAILING?” Seriously. After I explained all of the privileges that would stop with failing grades, I began to wonder, why I had ever bothered with good grades myself. It’s not like my parents could have taken anything away – there were three stations on TV and we did NO extracurricular activities. Geesh, I should have just blown it off worked on my hair more. Although I think the three hours a day was probably sufficient.
Moon has gotten into the routine of school, but for some reason her teacher has moved the desks into groupings of six and Moon is sitting elbow to elbow with five BOYS. And according to her, at least two of them are totally disgusting. One lifted his shirt and she saw his boy boobs. GROSS. I love how she has no interest in boys at all. Not exactly following in her mother’s footsteps. I was engaged in Kindergarten but we broke up because we both wanted to live near our moms. By third grade I had moved on to Jimmy Dishman, a definite bad-boy who called the teacher “woman”. As in, “I’m not reading that, woman!”
Like television and exercise, my options were limited.