Ow.

I consider myself to be...well...I guess in relatively decent shape.  At a minimum, for the past six years I trudged up and down several flights of stairs every day to get to my castle in the clouds and therefore should be fairly fit.  And for the last year, I did so armed with about 500 pounds of stuff and a little human being.  So, apart from the usual issues that a body that has had a kid faces, I think I'm in "ok" condition for my age.

For my age.  For my age for someone who isn't chasing a very fast-paced toddler around.  Because, let me tell you, I have never been in so much pain at the end of the day, in my life.  I was an athlete in school and really didn't have too much trouble with physical exertion, so long as it didn't involve a mountain of some sort.  But this?  I feel like I am 90 years old.  The QUEEN looked better than I yesterday.  My back, my arms, my neck--they all feel as though they have reached their capacity at the end of the day.  And they have.  The other day my son and I played "poke mommy with a plastic golf club" because it somewhat resemebled a mediocre massage and I refused to get off the floor.  All I can say, in sum, is "ow."

And the craziest part?  It's only going to get more intense as he gets older.  My new "trainer" is relentless.  Right now he demands being pushed across the room on his scooter.  What happens when the demand is down the block?  Will mommy survive?  I sometimes think the only solution is to ban childbirth in mothers over the age of 15.  I believe we should not only tolerate teen pregnancy, we should require it.  Because they're the only possible people whose bodies can take this on a daily basis. 

I would love to tell you that I'm going to go have a glass of wine and a bath and get over this particular rant.  But we both know I'm going to go bend down to pick up a toy, fall flat on the squishy alphabet playroom floor, and not get up until morning.  So if you happen to stop by, please feel free to wake me.  The plastic golf clubs work nicely.  A little to the left, please.

A Royal Escape

I have found the hoopla surrounding today's royal wedding to be absolutely hilarious.  I am particularly entertained because I, too, have been (I am totally ashamed to say) somewhat caught up in it.  This is largely the fault of Disney TV.  My kid likes to dance to the songs on some of the morning shows, so we usually have Disney on for background noise.  This week, however, has been the "Royal Special Week" (or some similar title-you get the point).  They have been playing some of the favorite Disney movies in which an everyday person falls in love with someone who happens to be royalty (and vice-versa) and naturally lives happily ever after.  As a result, I have been reconnected with my inner hopeless romantic, much against my will.

And speaking of Wills...this has naturally led to an interest in the wedding that took place today.  No, I don't have the "Katherine and William Authorized China."  But admittedly, I did consider the replica sapphire engagement ring.  But I'm cutting myself some slack on this one.  Why not?  Why not get wrapped up in what is a beautiful occasion (weddings, regardless of your opinion on marriage, are beautiful) that is made even more beautiful by massive quantities of money and centuries of tradition?  Why not pretend that this girl is "common," though her parents have more money than the Queen and the Pope combined?  Why not fall in love with the carriages and gowns and glitz and (who knows, it could be true) love?  It's a glimmer of happiness (or at least a great production of it) in times when a lot of people are struggling.  And that, my friends, is awesome.  Too many dreams are on hold right now.  Why not indulge in crazy fantasies of fairy tales for a morning?

Yes, it is possible that I am justifying a horrible obsession with silly notions.  But I say go for it.  If it gives you a bit of "happy ever after"--hell, even if you just do so in order to mock the thing--I say let yourself watch one of the hundreds of re-showings of the royal wedding this weekend.  And when you do, go ahead and fantasize that some foreign prince or princess will whisk you away and you will never again have a single care in the world.  Because if Britney Spears can be considered "talented," it's possible that you can become royalty.  Well, after your divorce and a lot of plastic surgery, of course.  But it's possible.  So enjoy the fantasy as much as I enjoy wandering around my house in a tin foil tiara that a good friend so kindly made for me years ago when I complained that I had never owned one.  Indulge.  And it is my hope that you live happily ever after.

Little Mexico

Likely a Montanan wearing a
sombrero.  This charming article
can be yours at
http://www.go4costumes.com/

I will admit, I have never been a huge fan of Mexican food.  This is sort of odd considering the fact that I have spent a fair amount of time in Phoenix.  This is very odd considering Chicago (according to some sources) has the second-largest Hispanic population outside of L.A.  and some of the best food in the world.  But, still, not so much a fan.  I am, however, a fan of food in general.

When I first arrived in Montana , one of my initial discoveries was the fact that there are many new restaurants.  Many new chain restaurants, that is.  And those that aren't chains are wholly offensive.  For example, there is a restaurant that I passed one day called "Fancy Asian Sushi."  Wow.  That screams awesome food, to me.  It's not just sushi, it's Asian sushi.  And not only that, it's fancy.  Excellent.

But not only have I recently been singing another tune as to the restaurant scene here, there is one particular genre that has piqued my attention:  Mexican food.  Last night I had what can only be described as some of the best Mexican food I have eaten.  I kid you not.  It's as though a tiny piece of Mexico (minus the strange viruses and drug lords...well, the viruses, anyway) was plunked down just miles from the Canadian border.  The guacamole was heaven, the rice was spicy and (this may have had something to do with it) the margaritas were frosty.  It was really good food.  Ok, again I admit that my palette for Mexican food is a bit underdeveloped.  But nonetheless, I enjoyed my meal.  It was shocking. 

I'm quite certain I will continue to peruse the Red Robins and Applebees of the town.  But I guess the moral of the story is, you never know when the bizarre will pleasantly surprise you.  I don't feel strongly enough about this lesson, however, to try the fancy sushi.  My morals have limits.

My Sister's Husband's Cousin's Girlfriend Heard You Were at Target

One of the funnier aspects of living in a smaller community is how quickly word spreads about...well, everything.  This has been a bit unnerving for me, as I have become a very private person.  Yes, I spill my guts to you all here, but no matter how awesome your comments are, if they have "real" names in them, I'm afraid I axe them before they're public.  And I am adamant about people not posting photos of my kid on social media sites.  So on the whole, I get (irrationally, I will admit) freaked out by people knowing my "stuff."

Yeah, well, good luck to me on that one.  I've been here a short time and already I have been "spotted" around the city by various people.  Story number one:  a good friend of mine who knew there was a good chance I would be here emailed to say (and I'm only slightly paraphrasing here) that her husband's mother's boyfriend saw me at the golf course so she knew I had arrived.  CRACKED ME UP.  This guy is totally nice, and I should have recognized him when I was there for lunch, but I didn't.  He had met me (as far as I can remember) once.  But I was with my dad who people know so logically it was "me."  But how funny is that?  It's like a Ferris Bueller story.  Not nearly as funny, however, as the second story.

I had dinner with my Godparents' son (I never know--does that make him my Godbrother?).  He was a few years ahead of me and went to another of the high schools here.  He mentioned that a friend of his from high school (who I hadn't seen in literally 20 years) called to say he had seen me in Target.  I kid you not.  Don't get me wrong--I was thrilled that he would know who I am.  He is hot.  Well, he was hot 20 years ago, anyway.  But the point is that EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYTHING.

Me while gardening.

Maybe I should get a disguise.  Maybe I shouldn't leave my house.  I highly suspect, though, that there would still be chatter about how I never leave my house and for some reason am wearing a Wonder Woman costume in my backyard.  Maybe I should just suck it up and enjoy knowing everything about everyone else.  I'm quite certain I am far less interesting than some of the stuff that goes on here.  Yeah, let's try that.

Putting the "Fun" in Dysfunctional

An acquaintance recently commented that she thought my child would certainly be "screwed up" as a result of my "dysfunctional" family.  It may have something to do with the fact that I couldn't care less what this obnoxious person thinks, but I find her comment to be hilarious.

Don't get me wrong--she's not mistaken when it comes to describing my family as "off."  There are aspects of it that are...non-traditional...to say the least.  For example, my parents are divorced, but are still the best of friends and to this day have the greatest marriage I have ever seen.  By further example, as you know I am a broke, single, parent.  Not exactly screaming "success" here.  And by further example, my grandmother (my child's great-grandmother) has never seen my kid.  Not for any particular reason other than she hasn't been bothered.  As I said, not exactly what the experts call "normal."  And finally, I consider my friends--those in Chicago, those here, and those scattered about the country--to be my family, end of story.  They are my loved ones no matter where I am or where they are or what insane things either of us does.  Extended, wonderful, zany, but not typical.

But here is the thing.  On the whole, we are a success story.  Both of my parents love me and love my kid, without question and without reservation.  My friends and other family members make an incredible extension of this love and fill in any "gaps" our hearts may need.  And I worship my kid and would (clearly) do anything in the world to make him happy.  And although things have been extremely difficult lately, and although we have lost family members due to life and to death, we are overall so incredibly blessed it's scary.  And we laugh.  Even when mocking stupid people (well, particularly when mocking stupid people), we laugh.  So I guess call us whatever you would like.  I wouldn't trade my dysfunctional family for the world.  And I'll take my chances on screwing up my kid.  Because, trust me, I'll have plenty of chances for that, without involving the rest of my family.