Wednesday, February 23, 2011


I am injured!  Oh woe is me! 

I am secretly delighted.

I write to you from MY BED.  It is the middle of the afternoon and I AM IN BED! OH blessed, blessed day!  I am exeedingly grateful!  For when I try to get up I cry out in agony! 

"I am sorry mommy is hurt," I say.  "I simply cannot clean after you.  I cannot make dinner.  I cannot fold and put away laundry.  I cannot collect children from all over the neighborhood to fill my home, play with you, eat everything in sight and destroy my spotless house... So sorry....".

To myself I say, "I cannot apply make-up or blow dry my hair.  I cannot run 6 miles.  I cannot wear 4 inch heels to the grocery store.  So sorry...".

To my husband I say,  "Vigorous activity is not condusive to a back injury.  So sorry...".

But I am NOT sorry.  I LIE.  Bold faced.  I am pleased beyond measure.

And so I lay in my bed with a book and some tea and toast.  I sigh and wiggle my toes.  I look forward to American Idol tonight.  I paint my nails and dream about wild ponies and Chanel handbags...

How did it happen, you ask?  Perhaps you too might like to develop a rest inducing injury?

Monday morn found me at the gym.  I wore my THUG tank and a red bandana so I might be taken seriously by the masses of sweaty, plate-pushing gorillas in my midst. 

Monday is always LEG DAY.  Squats.  Walking barbell lunges.  Leg extension.  Dead lift. 


Leg Press: It's like giving birth.

The leg press is an invaluable booty shaping machine.    I can't do without it, however, when I climb in and place my feet high above my head I am humbled.  It is a precarious position in which to find one's self.

I lower the weight toward my person until my legs touch my chest.  FREEZE FRAME.  Not flattering. 

I then PUUUSSSHHH with all my might.  I grit my teeth, scrunch my face, squeeze my muscles and try not to grunt aloud.  Sexy, I know.

I push almost 400 lbs on that blessed contraption (eight plates total, for those of you who speak Meathead).  I tell you this as a means of bragging and also that you might understand how I came to injure myself.

You know how people are always saying,

"Lift with your back!  Don't lift with your LEGS!"  ?

They are wrong.

I was rockin out to Eminem's ASS LIKE THAT, which always inspires me on Leg Day.  I was so excited by the lyrics and images of a perfectly shaped backside, my form must have suffered.

Blessings come in all shapes and sizes.

A back injury for me means milking my family without shame.

They have brought me food, water, diet coke, fashion mags and PEACE.  Ahhhhh.

"Please shut my door as you leave," I croak.

Then I smile broadly and take a nap.

PS  Sucks when I gotta go potty though...