is not what I had for breakfast. I withstood the warm cinnamony goodness despite it's delicious aroma wafting through the air this morning. I knew that I would be going to gym today and really didn't want to spoil my work out by making it about punishing myself for what I had eaten.
Anyway, the rest of my day was interesting...took some sweet pictures of some adorable little boys...went to the dentist for a check up...did a little laundry...went to the bank...embarrassed myself at how sad I was when someone posted that Bon Jovi had died and then was further embarrassed at how happy I was to hear that it was just some kind of twisted hoax. Oh, and I found out my smoke detectors don't work.
How do I know they don't work?
Well, Emily pulled the corn muffins out of the oven and placed them on the stove top. Right on the burner that Abby had accidentally turned on. So the rice wasn't cooking but the muffins were getting quite well done. So well done that the acrid smell of smoke and burnt corn muffins totally obliterated the earlier smell of gooey cinnamon rolls. So well done that windows were thrown open, doors were slung wide and the smoking pan was removed from the premises.
Did you know that the smell of flaming corn muffins very quickly seeps into your hair and clothing so that even when you vacate the building you carry that odor with you?
To the point that when you pick up your work out buddies and they get into the car they wonder if you have started smoking.
But we made it to the gym and tonight my friend and I, along with her daughter who is home from college, went to the yoga class.
Two words for you.
It was like giving birth all over but without getting a sweet wrinkly baby to love and hold.
I was a dolphin, an up dog and a down dog. I did a puppy pose, a half spinal twist and the warrior three pose. I'm pretty sure I was the only one who could not place my feet firmly on the ground and touch the floor with both hands while keeping my legs straight. And there was absolutely no walking of the feet up to the hands or quick little hops or lunges.
Please picture with me if you will a still slightly overweight almost forty-one year old non-nimble woman in a dimly lit room facing a giant floor to ceiling mirror desperately trying to keep her balance on one foot. All I could think of as I stood there with ankle wobbling worse than a baby learning to stand for the first time, trying to align my body parallel to the floor was that I had become Po, the Kung Fu Panda. Except by the time she came around later to push on my hips while we were doing some weird penguin pose or something I sounded a lot more like Bon Qui Qui when she was waving her finger and saying, "Girl, I will cut you." I just about fell out laughing when she said something about a particular pose being the precursor to the head stand pose. Uhm, I don't think so you curly headed flat tummied limber freak of nature.
See? I shouldn't do yoga...it brings out the worst in me. Besides the whole time we were moving and stretching and unclogging our chakras I'd get this whiff of burnt corn muffins.
Yeah, it wasn't pretty. And even though the stretching did feel good I'm not sure yoga is for me. At least not in public.
But on Wednesday afternoon?
We're trying step aerobics!