False advertising

I finished my 90-day workout program, the P90, last week. I only skipped three days, all due to daycare-inflicted illness. I was seeing good results and wanted to find my four missing abs, so I ordered the next series. It’s called the Power Half Hour. Seeing as the P90 routines had averaged 45 minutes, I liked the idea of continuing to exercise but cutting down my time.

The dvd arrived and I perused the workout manual. There’s five routines and multiple suggestions on how to do them during the week. Unfortunately for me, I qualify for the “Last Hurrah” fitness level. It recommends that anyone who’s completed the P90 do two routines each day. Aargh. So much for dialing it down.

High hopes

The children’s book I’ve been working on was making progress but stalling. So this week instead of clouding my mind with talk radio on the way home, I let myself sit in silence and think about the book on the commute. And wouldn’t you know it, I’ve produced more pages in three days than I have in the last three months. What a blessing it is to feel true inspiration and creativity. We’re hoping for great things . . .

Everyone’s a critic

Yard work’s not a top priority at the Moose household. We don’t let the lawn get so bad that Boo could get lost in it, but we often have the longest grass on the block. It didn’t used to be that way. But as the years have progressed, I find myself thinking, “eh, I’ll cut it tomorrow.”

So today Gina had to come home from work to meet a repairman. The spring on our garage door broke. It wouldn’t open or close.

The repairman greeted Gina by saying, “You must want to get your mower out.”

Yeah yeah, I get the message. I’m mowing the lawn . . . tomorrow.

The cure is worse . . .

After staying healthy for a whole month straight, I have succumbed to yet another of Ryan’s day care diseases. I stayed home with him on Monday, and by that night I was coming down with what I’d soon find was strep throat. Actually, the sore throat part wasn’t so bad. But the two-day fever was, making me so loopy that I landed back at the doctor’s. I was prescribed antibiotics for my throat and steroids for the pain.

My first full day of each made me so wired that I barely slept Wednesday night. When Ryan awoke at 4 a.m. I was right there, feeling great. I was woozy for a few minutes at work the next day, but more steroids had me up Thursday night and feeling like king of the world. I came home Friday and started crossing projects off my list. It occurred to me, though, that it probably wasn’t healthy or natural to be up for two days straight with the desire to sleep replaced by the urge to move some heavy furniture. So I skipped my second steroid dose on Friday in the interests of sleep.

My strategy resulted in a full-blown case of hives. Turns out I’m allergic to the antibiotic, not the steroid. And you know how you treat an outburst of hives that’s caused by an allergic reaction?

With steroids.

Aarghhhhhhh . . .

Hello, abs? It’s me, Moose

When it comes to inherited traits, I can thank my dad for my calm demeanor and blame him for my missing abs. All of the Moose boys are plagued with bellies with the consistency of jello, a genetic scourge which has claimed untold pairs of pants and belts, as well as our ability to easily see our feet. As my belly has taken on the same definition as the baby’s, I’ve decided to take action. I am reintroducing myself to the concept of (gulp!) exercise.

This is my fourth week and Gina’s second doing the P90, a series of fitness videos. The idea is that you get a workout in 30 or 40 minutes. But in order to do this, they don’t give you any time to putz around. You move from one exercise to the next in rapid, relentless fashion. This suits me fine, as I want to get the pain over with quick, but clashes with Gina’s legendary technique (at the gym, she was known as The Staller.)

The other idea behind the P90 is that by switching from one muscle group to the next, your muscles won’t have time to plateau so you’ll build them up faster. The P90 marketers call this concept “muscle confusion.” This must be working, because my muscles are positively befuddled. As in, “what are you doing to me?” and “why are we up so early?”

But there’s a line forming in my midsection I’ve never seen before. Out of the shapeless mass that is my belly, a muscle has emerged.

Bye bye `Becca

Today was the last day at work for our friend and Maternal Moose fan `Becca, who’s decided to leave the hazy smog of Northwest Indiana for the bright lights of Indianapolis. She’ll be letting her muse guide her and maybe getting a gig at a bakery. (I would advise against the one Gina worked at. They stirred the frosting vats with their bare arms.)

I missed ‘Becca’s going away lunch since I was back at the doctor’s office, where I was prescribed a chemical cocktail for bronchitis and allergies. But good luck, `Becca! You’ll be missed. We hope your future’s sweet.

Farewell, Mr. C.

At the end of a long week comes news that my lifelong friend and former roommate James lost his father last night.

The three Csonka boys (James’ dad and brothers Dale and Jeff) used to come over to our apartment on Christmas Eve. Usually I was out with my own family, but on one occasion I had the opportunity to hang out with James and his guests. The Csonka men enjoy their beer, and Mr. C. was mildly tipsy ensconced in our recliner, complaining that the music James played didn’t have enough Bing Crosby. After a while he nodded off. Then he snapped awake and, disoriented, blurted “WHAT’S GOING ON?!!” Just as quickly, he’d get his bearings and settle back into the chair. Then a few minutes later, he’d nod off again. Time passed.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?!!”

It’s a silly memory, but one of my fondest of a gruff but lovable guy. Here was a man whose favorite spot was a fishing lodge in Wisconsin, yet whose beautiful backyard garden was probably his truest expression.

Farewell and Godspeed, Mr. C. I’ll think of you each Christmas.

Blessed

Here’s Angie (in purple,) Gina and Amy after the girls made their first communion. They got to present the offertory gifts as part of their special day, and they beamed as they made their sacrament, although they thought the wine was strong.

We’re proud of the girls and the preparations they made, and we’re glad to have shared their journey.

Prize pupils

We’ve been preparing our nieces Angie and Amy to make their first communion. We talked to the pastor at Gina’s parish and got a preparation booklet from him, and spent several weekends working through the exercises with the kids. We thought they were well prepared and they were eager to receive the sacrament, so this morning we went to see the pastor for an interview.

As expected Angie and Amy passed with flying colors. The pastor was clearly impressed, pulling back in his chair several times. Amy even recited the order for the communion procession, down to which color of wood container you place your wine glass in whether it’s clean or used. I’m confident few candidates went into such minute detail, and tomorrow they’ll be taking the gifts up at Mass and receiving their first communion.

Congratulations, Amy and Angie! You’ve made your teachers proud!

Industrious insects

It’s six degrees out and we’re supposed to get a blizzard tomorrow, yet our house has an ant problem. How does that happen? Is their ant hill an igloo? Are they some kind of mutant bugs?

It’s a sad day when an insect handles the winter better than me.