...ow...

The hot yoga class was... hot. The yoga itself was hard to keep up with, but I did the best I could to maneuver around my fat, and I don't feel too bad about my efforts, considering how out of shape I am and how much flexibility I've lost over the years. I did, however, feel like I spent half the class just sitting on my mat, trying to make the room come back into focus so I wouldn't throw up or pass out.

But I definitely got more stretch out of my muscles in the heat, and the sweating didn't bother me terribly (except for when it made it hard to hold onto my ankles or the mat) -- and it did fantastic things for my skin. My face feels smoother and softer than it has in years. You heard it here first: A $15 hot yoga class beat out a $60 facial treatment for improving my skin.

The instructor congratulated me on making it all the way through the class -- apparently most first-timers don't. And I really didn't feel wiped out and exhausted for the rest of the day, like I'd expected to, and aside from a slight tightness in my upper thighs, I wasn't aching yesterday, either. (Today, however, is another story. My hamstrings are killing me. Even just sitting still. Ow.)

All in all, it wasn't too bad. I'd consider going back, though I really wish they had a one-hour class (instead of 90 minutes) somewhere closer to either lunchtime or the end of the day, so it could be worked into my schedule a little easier. Between the class itself and the need to shower and change afterward, I was out of the office for well over two hours, smack in the middle of the morning, when I'm usually getting most of my work done.

Hot Hot Hot

I am wavering between I can't believe I'm even going to attempt this! and I hope I love it!

I'm going this morning with Heather (an office friend) to try a session of hot yoga.

Which is to say, it's a relatively normal yoga class -- on the slow side, easy for beginners to follow along -- in a 95-degree room.

The theory is that the heat allows your muscles to stretch further, and the excessive sweating (let us not pretend otherwise) flushes toxins from your body. If nothing else, it should be good for the skin, I suppose. I know, it's weird for me -- I hate the heat, and I especially hate sweating. Thus the I can't believe I'm even going to attempt this! attitude. But I'm hoping that if I'm going into it knowingly, it won't be so bad. Or at least maybe I can bundle up my other frustrations into my dislike of the heat and sweating and leave them behind in the shower.

Heather did a hot yoga session last week, already. She said about five minutes into the 90-minute class, she was wondering what she'd gotten into, and fifteen minutes in, she was swearing she'd never do it again. Halfway through, when they switched from standing to floor poses, she decided it wasn't so bad, and at the very end, when the teacher laid a cold cloth over her face, she decided to go back if only for that perfect moment.

I did love my prenatal yoga class, which was with the same studio. It did amazing things for my chronic feet problems -- even only going to the class once a week, I was walking around barefoot without fear. So I'd really like to like this class.

The time could be a problem, though. The class is an hour and a half in the middle of the morning. Probably two hours, once I've factored in a cool shower and changing clothes afterward. At least it's close to the office, so there's minimal transportation time to consider -- five minutes round-trip, even walking. I'm hoping they'll go back to having a one-hour lunchtime class in the fall. You know, if it turns out that I like it.

---

Alex was up at 5 this morning. I let him talk for ten minutes or so, hoping he'd go back to sleep, but no dice. (I found out why when I picked him up. If I had that much poo in my diaper, I wouldn't sleep, either.)

Thinking about trying to maneuver around my aching boobs in the hot yoga class, I decided I couldn't take it. So I nursed him, after five days dry. There wasn't much there -- he still killed a 6-ounce bottle half an hour later -- but it eased the worst of the pain. I guess that means that he's weaned (he certainly didn't seem bothered by the lack of boobs for those five days) but I'm not.

Mmf, wha?

I went to bed last night feeling pretty good. Alex is weaned, so Matt and I are back to taking turns getting up with the kids. And this morning was Matt's turn. I was happily anticipating being able to stay in bed until the alarm went off at 6. Ahhh.

Except that Penny woke up at 12:45 with a bad dream. And she was up again at 4. And she begged me to stay with her when I tucked her in from that one.

"Just for a minute. ...You need to close your eyes and go back to sleep."

"I can't. When I sleep, I have bad dreams."

"What kind of bad dreams, sweetie?"

"...Daddy was hurting my fingers with his teeth."

Wince. "Oh, sweetie, you know Daddy would never really do that, right? It's just a dream." She nodded, but still was reluctant to close her eyes. "What if I give you a new dream in your ear?"

"Okay. You have to take the bad dream out first."

So I mimed, fishing around in her ear for the bad dream, and throwing it out the door. "Get out of here, bad dream. Penny doesn't want you! What kind of happy dream would you like?"

"I think eating watermelon for dessert."

"That sounds like fun!"

"Yeah! And Batman will come to visit."

"Okay, I'll give you that dream." I blew on her ear (isn't this how dreams get into everyone's heads?) and kissed her and went back to bed.

But by this point, I'd woken up enough to start my brain moving. I was still mostly awake at 4:30 when Alex started coughing. He'd cough a couple of times and make a little noise, and then go quiet for a few minutes, then do it again. Around 5:15, he started talking in earnest. At 5:20, I nudged Matt, and he got up.

I finally got back to sleep, but it was restless. I dreamed I was in this... reenactment village, or something, trying to find clothes I could wear to work, except I kept getting distracted by the shows. There was more to it, but I won't bore you with it. Suffice to say, it wasn't exactly a restful dream. When the alarm went off at 6, I could barely walk straight to go turn it off.

On the plus side, I got to work early enough this morning that I'm not going to feel guilty for running out at lunch to get pre-approved for a new iPhone.

Home of the Brave

That was a good weekend.

We had our Fourth of July celebration with my parents and my brother. (Sam's in Montana visiting her family, so John was on his own.) BLTs, corn on the cob, and watermelon FTW! I ate obscene amounts of food, though not quite as much as I'd expected to, actually: Two open-faced sandwiches, two cobs of corn, a largish serving of green beans, and a big slice of watermelon. Plus an extra slice or two of tomato and few extra strips of bacon. Mmm, bacon.



Saturday, Matt took Penny to the library to turn in her books and get some new ones, and then in the afternoon, we dropped Alex off with my parents and took her to see WALL-E. She was weirdly reluctant to go, at first, but we lured her in with the promise of popcorn.

We really enjoyed it -- it was cute and funny. Penny didn't talk too much, at least not until near the end, when she was getting restless. And she actually paid attention to the story more than she has in the past -- she spent the rest of the weekend asking me questions about various parts of the movie, instead of just locking in on a particular scene from the beginning.

(Doing her BG check and insulin dose in a dark theater was, on the other hand, not oodles of fun. I'll be glad when she's older and we can dose her before she eats.)

Sunday was a bit calmer; Penny spent most of the afternoon playing with Ray either at our house or at his. It was nice how they're willing to play with each other more than insisting on parental participation. Maybe by next summer, they'll be able to play without immediate parental supervision, too. (Actually, I'd be okay with the kids doing their own thing while they're inside -- I'm still not sold on their safety skills for playing outside solo. But one of Ray's folks always comes with him when he comes over -- he's only just four, so I can't blame them for wanting to keep closer tabs on him. But it means that when Penny goes over to his house, Matt or I go with her just so they don't have to do all the supervision.)

Alex was mildly fussy all day Sunday, and taking lots of naps. We suspect he might be teething again. The timing seems about right; it's been six weeks or so since his first two teeth broke through. Matt tried smearing some Anbesol Jr. on his gums, though, and it didn't seem to help his mood. (We did get some amusement out of the faces he was making, at least.)

Funny Little World

I called the ENT yesterday to make an appointment about getting my ear unstuffed. The earliest appointment I could get? Three weeks from now. Whaddafu?

So if you were, like, an ENT looking for a place to settle down and establish a thriving practice, Williamsburg just might be the place for you. Apparently, we have a shortage.

---

Fourth of July tomorrow, so no post. We'll be going down to my parents' for BLTs. Which reminds me, I need to call and find out what I should be bringing.

I'm looking forward to it immensely. BLTs are one of the few reasons to tolerate summer, as far as I'm concerned, and my family gets very serious about these sandwiches. We only do it once a year, but when the time comes, we do it right. Mom buys tomatoes big enough so that one slice will cover (and I do mean cover) the bread, and she cuts slices thick enough to shame steaks. Dad fries up nearly a pound of bacon per person, and they toast up most of two loaves of bread. A head or two of lettuce and a couple of bottles of Durkee's complete the ensemble. (I think I was in college before I learned that most people just put mayo or mustard on their BLTs.)

To make it the quintessential summer meal, we'd have a dozen or so cobs of sweet corn, and a big ol' watermelon for dessert. My mouth is watering, just thinking about it.

We may eat more on BLT day than we do at Thanksgiving, to be perfectly honest. But let's face it: turkey and mashed potatoes taste the same year-round. Tomatoes and corn are indisputably and indescribably better in the summer.

---

Yesterday, I came downstairs in the morning to find that Penny had -- for reasons unknown -- wrapped a satin and rhinestone toy dog collar around her Batman action figure and left him on my purse.



I don't know what she was thinking when she did it. What I thought was, Huhn. Well, it's not all that surprising that Bruce would be a little kinky. Or that he'd be the Sub.

Silence

I've said for years that if it came down to a choice between losing my hearing or losing my vision, I'd rather keep my vision.

It's not the choice everyone would make, I'm aware, but I've always been very visual. My hobbies are visual -- even my social life is 90% online, conversations read rather than spoken.

Still, I've been almost entirely deaf in my left ear for over a week now, and it's getting to be irritating. I'm almost done with the run of antibiotics my doctor gave me for the ear infection, but it still feels like my ear is full of cotton, or (probably more accurately) water.

Our usual seating arrangement in the living room puts Matt at my left. He's getting tired of having to repeat himself, but more than ever, he sounds like a Charlie Brown teacher. Wah-wa, wah wah wa wahwawa.

Dealing with more than one person at a time is a bit frustrating, too -- especially if someone in the group is soft-spoken. I spent a lot of Book Club last week trying to read lips and missing probably a quarter of what was being said.

I'm beginning to wonder if my ear is ever going to clear. Did the eardrum blow out entirely? I expect it has more to do with the notorious kink in my ear canal that makes it difficult for pressure to equalize. (You know that trick for airplanes where you hold your nose and blow to clear your ears? Has never worked for me. Not once. Occasionally it results in agonizing pain, but that's about it.)

So I'm beginning to suspect that more drastic measures will be needed. I'll be calling the ENT (ear/nose/throat) doctor today to make an appointment, and see what he can see.

Because yes, I'd take my vision over my hearing. But I'd much rather have both.

Meds

So, yeah, Penny's doctor appointment collided with her field trip, but it worked out -- the appointment was toward the end of the field trip anyway, so I just picked her up from the park where they were playing (which is closer to my office and the doctor's than her school anyway) and she didn't miss more than maybe half an hour of running around being crazy.

The doctor told us we had an ear infection in her left ear, and that's why her eyes were getting goopy, so he wrote us a stack of prescriptions, gave her a sticker, and turned us loose. Of course, that was after we'd spent most of an hour in the waiting room and another half hour in the examining room, so there wasn't much point in my taking her back to school, so we went home and I managed to do a little work while she was watching Sesame Street and Dora.

I swear, the child has more meds right now than an old lady. From the end of dinner until we tucked her into bed last night was one long string of medications. Insulin and then eye drops and an antibiotic and cough medicine and another kind of insulin and stuff for her wart. It's incredible.

The weirdest part of the whole thing was that, while Penny and I were sitting in the doctor's office, I recognized -- and was recognized by -- someone I haven't seen for something like twelve or thirteen years.

I knew Rob back in college. He was a friend of Paul's, one of a trio with Carl and Rick, until he seduced Rick's on-again-off-again girlfriend of several years and they stopped talking to him. That happened after I'd more or less lost touch with them, anyway (which happened almost immediately after I'd broken up with Paul, until Carl resurfaced several years later as Colleen's boyfriend) -- I heard about it later through a third (or possibly fourth) party.

Weirdly, I'd actually seen Rob last week -- I'd recognized him as I was coming out of my chiropractor's office, but I thought I was seeing things. But he said no, he really does work in that building and I must have seen him heading out for lunch. He's still married to the girl he "stole" from Rick, so I guess that was a good move, in the long run. (She was there, too, but I'd only met her a handful of times, and barely recognized her.) They have three daughters; the one they had with them at the doctor's office was quite adorable, and the pictures she showed me of her sisters were just as cute.

It was weird, in the way those things are, like going back to your hometown after college and finding that buildings have gone up or been torn down and everything's the same except that it's completely different.