Feb
14
Four
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Dylan turned four years old on February 4th, and I’ll tell you something about his birthday: I’m secretly glad for its even-numbered ease because whenever I make a pediatrician appointment for either child and I’m asked for their birthdates I have a small horrified moment where I completely blank out. Um, just a sec, I need a calculator, or wait, lemme just surf my blog archives . . .
2/4/08. That’s a good one, Dylan. Much better than your brother’s 8/31/05, not that this is a competition.
At four years old, Dylan is energetic, happy (90% of the time), boisterous, loud, and completely ridiculous. We have this running joke where he’ll come up to me and say, “And how about THIS one?” before bending over and patting one of his butt cheeks, or lifting his shirt to expose his belly. That’s my cue to shriek “Ewwwww!” and he collapses in laughter.
He asks a lot of seemingly inane questions over and over and I have to admit, I was a little worried about it (Dylan: “Is it time to get Riley yet?” Me: “Dylan, it’s only 9 AM. We don’t get Riley until much later today, remember?” Dylan: “Okay! … Is it time to get Riley now?” Me: “Uhhhh, did you by chance hit your head today?”) until I realized he was just messing with me. He is a total punk, a mischievous jokester who I guarantee will be the one to delightedly rubber-band the handle on the kitchen sink sprayer as soon as he figures out how.
He loves to wear his cowboy hat and gallop all over the house with his stick horse, joyously smashing it into various pieces of furniture and scraping up the walls. He makes an enormous mess wherever he goes, trailing crumbs and toys and a seemingly bottomless collection of Matchbox cars.
He still likes horses, although I’d say that particular stage has largely passed.
He is absolutely fearless when it comes to his physical safety, which is cute on the playground, less so in parking lots. Wherever we go, I walk behind him with one hand ready to snatch the hood of his jacket, while I murmur a constant stream of directives: “Dylan, watch where you’re going. Dylan, remember to look both—DYLAN! Dylan, be careful. Dylan, FOCUS.”
He’s relentlessly obnoxious to the cat, who has rewarded him more than once with a swat across the face, not that he’s learned a damn thing from it.
He’s cuddly, chirpy, and funny as hell. He’s suddenly painfully shy of strangers and will hide behind my pantleg when approached. He loves music and has a little repertoire that he sings over and over, including “Six Days on the Road,” and “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” He loves America’s Funniest Home Videos, bullriding shows, anything sweet and carb-y (that’s m’boy!), and playing Richard Scarry Busytown with Riley.
We bought him a balance bike for his birthday, and he rode it for exactly one afternoon before graduating to Riley’s old bike, sans training wheels. Every afternoon, rain or shine, Dylan pedals madly up and down our driveway, around and around. I watch him out the window and I think, Oh, he’s going too fast, I should try and slow him down. But I don’t, of course.
Feb
12
L.A. story
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So there I was in LA doing double-unders next to a giant banana and I thought to myself, self, I have no idea how to write about this event except I should probably open with the giant banana.
Anyway, the jump-roping banana was Bananaman, who is apparently a fairly well-known corporate mascot who I can tell you has very nice calves, can carry out a number of impressive feats of physical fitness while wearing an amusingly-shaped banana costume, and bears more than a passing resemblance to Jeff Spicoli. The event was put on by Jamba Juice, and why I was there in a mix of knowledgeable fitness bloggers is a question we’ll leave for the PR agency (a wonderful group of friendly folks who were tragically misinformed as to my area of expertise).
When they asked me if I’d like to come to L.A. for this fitness event, I thought it sounded like a day of low-key fun. Leisurely check out whatever newest fitness trends they were showing off, maybe sip some smoothies from the sidelines. You know: am v. important web journalist, please pass the mango.
To be sure, smoothies were provided—but I ended up inhaling mine in one giant dehydrated gulp, because 1) this turned out to be a hands-on event, and 2) it turns out the newest fitness trends are all about kicking your ass.
Let me get the sponsor info out of the way, so you don’t worry I’m going to get to the end of this and try to sell something: this was hosted by Jamba Juice as part of their “Live Fruitfully” campaign, and my trip was paid for by the company. Among other things, Jamba Juice is promoting a new line of Fit n’ Fruitful diet-friendly smoothies, which are marketed, it should be noted, as meal replacements. I tried the strawberry/raspberry/banana flavor and it was pretty good. I’ll be honest though, at 11g of protein and 52g of carbs, this definitely wouldn’t be my personal pick for a meal replacement—the sugar content is too high, and I’d be starving an hour later. But as an occasional treat? Yeah, I’d hit that.
Okay! Back to the crazy fitness stuff. You know how I’ve described (unendingly, droningly, past the point of tedium) about how I’m always terrified of taking new classes at the gym because I’m pathologically worried about being the doofus who can’t master any of the moves and is always facing forward when the rest of the class grapevines backward and eventually everyone just points and does the Nelson laugh in unison and also I’m naked for some reason? Well, this fitness event was like four solid hours of one exotically intimidating class after another, and I’m proud/humiliated to say I gave them all my very best shot.
Which is to say, I was cartoonishly terrible at absolutely everything.
The hardest was a “Juicy Athletic Moves” class taught by a fancy celebrity coach and it involved dancing. Like, a lot of dancing. I am . . . not a dancer. I’m not even sure how to describe what she was asking us to do, but it was like a really fast and sexy music video and I was like the malfunctioning robot in the back of the room who yes, repeatedly was facing the wrong way when everyone whirled around. All I can say is I’m glad the other bloggers were so cool and no one laughed even once, not even when I tripped over the lady dressed as a giant strawberry.
All I knew is that the POUND workout class involved drumsticks and I was like oh, cool, a little arm workout. I can handle that! Then the two lithe and sinewy instructors did painful cruel things to every single part of my body and I almost cried. Damn, POUND girls.
Foxy & Fierce kickboxing was where we used jump ropes and I fervently prayed that 1) I could keep up with the giant banana, and 2) I wouldn’t pee my pants.
I’m sorry to say I don’t have a photo of my performance during the Bollywood workout, but please imagine an extremely fast-faced Bollywood routine—and now imagine that gorgeous girl from Slumdog Millionaire dancing in an absolutely energetic and mesmerizing fashion. That was totally me. Who’s to say otherwise?
Hoopnotica—a workout involving weighted hula hoops—was very fun, and surprisingly taxing. One of the instructors had apparently lost upwards of 70 pounds by standing in front of Oprah every day while hooping. (I don’t think the Oprah part is necessary, FYI.)
Oh, then there was parkour, which involved an instructor leaping effortlessly over various obstacles and making it look so easy, and then I would try it and something would go terribly wrong and the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap. (By the way, if you think I’m exaggerating my ineptitude for the sake of humor, all I’m going to say is GOOD. GO AHEAD AND THINK THAT.)
Do you like how all these bloggers look adorable and fresh-faced and I’m apparently masticating some sort of CUD? Mooooooooo.
What else . . . oh, we were ferried to and fro in a massive Jamba Party bus, which I’m only now noticing has a stripper pole in it?
Strawberry girl never once dropped character all day. She was like the Christian Bale of fruit-shaped corporate mascots.
There was a crazy surf workout that I didn’t get a chance to try, but it looked . . . okay, fine, it looked TOTALLY HORRIFYING, but I’m sure for those with an actual sense of balance it’s super fun.
Also, my hotel bed was perfectly round and I was so excited to see once and for all how sheets work on a round bed and the answer is such a disappointment: they’re just crammed under there, all willy-nilly.
The whole trip was just a great time: friendly people, amazing weather, great food. And truthfully, I sort of loved being pushed outside my comfort zone and into trying a bunch of new things. The fact is no one ever laughs at you in a workout class, no matter how stupid you look or how many people’s feet you accidentally step on. Why do I always convince myself otherwise? I’m glad for the reminder, and for a day’s worth of fun experiences I would have never have had the balls to seek out on my own.
All the workouts I sampled were from L.A.-area classes (although I believe a couple folks offer DVDs), but have you tried anything similar? Hooping, pounding, surfing, Bollywood-ing?
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