Pet Peeve

Treadmill walking/jogging is very boring. S calls it the Dreadmill and I can agree with that, but it sure beats going outside in crappy weather; it's wintertime so there's a bunch of crappy weather going on.
I have to exercise; I cannot function normally without it. However, I have pushed not exercising beyond the point of comfort - I didn't exercise at all for two months from about 2 weeks before The 123 opened until somewhere after the middle of November. Unless you count being on my feet for 18 hours at a time and not sleeping for a couple of days in a row exercise. [My body doesn't think that counts as exercise.] It got to the point that I had a hard time moving when I woke up in the morning - I must've looked about 75 years old hobbling around trying to get moving.
This post is not supposed to be about exercise, but while I'm talking about it I will say I've been very consistent for about 3 weeks and I can move better. Not good, yet, but better. I've been spending time on the treadmill everyday and the only way to make something so mundane bearable is to numb the brain a bit: The TV works well for this.
In the past few months, I've spent even less time watching TV than I have spent exercising. I do that fairly often - just not watch TV. A few years ago I think I must've went about 2 years without seeing anything on the television. Sometimes it makes me look like an idiot when the entire room is discussing a plot or a character from a show that I've never even heard of, but I'm sure that's not the only time I've ever looked like an idiot so I don't let it bother me very much. I remember that length of time because I was in a dentist's office for a check-up and they had the TV going in the waiting room with some afternoon talk show on and I was aghast at the content: the language, the violence -physical and verbal- and the content. This was mid-afternoon in a public place with school age children and the show was not appropriate. I mentioned it to a couple of people and they just laughed, shrugged and blew me off as prudish (or stupid) and naive. The things we can get used to...
Anytime I go a length of time without watching TV I am always re-shocked at some of the crap that is broadcast so nonchalantly. It's getting worse; I don't think this is my imagination.
This time it's the drug commercials.
I have a problem with drug commericials in general. They are very good at telling you that you need this drug because it will make you stop sniffling. They then go on to tell you (because legally they have to) that the side effects could include itchy or watery eyes, stomach cramps, internal bleeding, severe brain damage, and death. And yet, with all those hideous side effects, people go to their doctors and ask for that medication because they have an annoying sniffle. They must or the drug companies wouldn't spend the money on advertising.
I think that's stupid.
I've laughed about the drug commercials for years (since they began to allow them on TV -it was illegal for drug advertisements to be on TV at all up until, what, about 10-12 years ago?), but I'm also shocked by the number of generally healthy adults on a regular regimen of prescription drugs. I'm pretty sure that just about everyone is on something. (That's another scary subject....)
The particular drug commercials that have me shocked this go-round with the TV are the ones for ED: Erectile Dysfunction. I'm not sure I've seen any of these since Bob Dole told us he had that problem. That's been, what, 10 years ago? (Oh, hell, that means my initial guesstimate of 10-15 years for TV drug advertising is woefully short - it must be more like 15-20). Bob Dole was quiet and tactful compared to the ads now. Now they don't leave any room for misunderstanding: the commercials are blatant and outspoken with no room for misunderstanding. Apparently, the ED drug market is burgeoning and competitive.
I haven't seen these commercials with my kids in the room, but if they're watching TV when I'm not there, surely they're seeing them, too. What do they think?
I will have to ask them.

Snow Day II

We did NOT have a repeat of the Treadmill Phenomenon today. I told everyone that it was my workout time and I intended to get in a good workout so, unless someone was bleeding, I didn't want to hear about it. They were kind enough to put in last minute requests before I descended into the basement. (It took me another half an hour to do it all, but it was worth it because I got my hour of quiet. Well, almost quiet; let's classify it as minimal thumping.)
I had to:

• make peanut butter sandwiches.
• find two AA batteries for Grunt's camera.
• fix the printer so Screech could print out some fish pictures to finish off her school project.
• feed the dog.
• unzip a winter coat with a broken zipper.
• give instructions on which household chores needed to be done (haven't I done this about a gazillion times already?).

In the end, I got a great workout.

This afternoon we baked bread as a warm-up prelude to Christmas cookies.

The Treadmill Phenomenon

Today is a SNOW DAY. The kids are ecstatic (and ecstatically fighting) and it's still snowing. Hard.

If you're a parent, you are aware of the Telephone Phenomenon. And for those without children: It's when you get on the telephone and everyone in the house all of a sudden needs something.

I had forgotten, until today, that this attention-hoarding behavior also applies to the treadmill.

Today's Treadmill Phenomenon movie: Child#2 (Screech) thumps down the stairs from her room and across the floor above my head. She thumps down the basement stairs and begins to scream, "Mom! Mom!" While she is in the process of telling me her room is flooded, Child#3 (Dozer) thumps across my head in hot pursuit. He doesn't even wait until he's downstairs before he's screaming, "I did not! I did not!"

At about this time, two smaller elfin children clop down the stairs carrying between them what is left of an air rocket launcher. (J--- and L---. These two children are neighbors. They are very small and quiet compared to my screaming heathens. They are welcome here at anytime, mainly because they give me hope of a quieter, calmer, saner universe.) There is a long clear tube with a round accordion type bellows that is supposed to be stepped on in order to push air through the tube and into the rocket launching pad which is a flat plastic platform with a hollow, rigid plastic tube that points straight up into the air. A styrofoam rocket sits on top of this and can be launched into the air about 50 feet if a child jumps onto the accordion. Or at least it would launch if the dog hadn't eaten the rocket last week.

I am just now feeling nice and warm and moving easily. I'm watching the little stick man on the treadmill display run around the imaginary track at an amazing speed (alright, amazing might be stretching the truth a little bit). Over top of two screaming, arguing children I hear an elephant coming down the stairs and the house shakes (I'm not kidding about the house shaking). Child#1 (Grunt) stumble/thump/bang/wallop/whacks his way into the basement in the teenage sprawling way he has of taking over the entire house and comes to stand behind the four younger children. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he looks bored. (How the hell can you look bored when the decibel level is enough to break eardrums and the small people are jumping around like a herd of kangaroos?)

"Mom, can I go over to S---'s house?" Grunt asks. He can't be serious, can he? Dozer now has hold of the rocket launcher by the hose and begins to whip it around. The children scatter and Grunt ducks. Screech moves in closer to shove a wet monkey (evidence) in Grunt's face and he pushes her back. She stumbles and falls against J--- and L--- and tumbles these two small children like bowling pins. More screeching ensues.

I push the red 'Stop' button.

I calmly inform everyone that I am in the middle of my workout and they cannot -must not- interrupt me.

"Go clean it up," I say to the girls.

"Leave that here," I say to the rocket launcher.

"What are you going to do at S---'s?" I ask Grunt who towers above the younger children and parts them like the Red Sea as they scuttle back towards the stairs.

"Sled," is the one word answer. It sounds rather like a 'grunt.'

I push the green button and begin to walk, slowly moving back up to speed.

"Wait until I'm done and we'll talk about it," I answer. He grunts in reply and shuffles away.

*** Okay- here's the reality: 1. I might not have been quite as calm as this account makes me appear to be and 2. the last time Grunt went sledding over at S---'s house (February 2007), he broke his arm.

Really, I was not calm at all. At all. I yelled something like, "Why is it that as soon as I get on the treadmill everyone needs something?" And I yelled the "Go clean it up" line, too. "Leave that here" was somewhat quieter, but they were already scuttling by that time.

"Wait until I'm done..." was spoken in a quiet, calm voice. And he didn't argue (write that on the calendar).

Last year, in February, Grunt asked me to take him over to S---'s to go sledding. He and all his friends are HUGE. Nearly full-grown, but they still play like a rolling, tumbling pack of puppies. In other words: They are Dangerous. So, I agreed to drive him over there, but I requested that he find his wrist protectors to wear underneath his gloves. I believe his response was something like, "That's stupid. Nobody has to wear wrist protection for sledding. That's stupid. What? Do you think I'm gonna break my arm? That's stupid. I'm not gonna break my arm. What? I could slip and fall just walking out the back door. Do you think I should wear them all the time? That's stupid."

Note the abundance of, "That's stupid." The previous winter he'd gone snowboarding in Colorado and broke his arm on his first run. He was not wearing wrist protection.

So, last winter, I agreed to let him go if he had his wrist protection on. Assuring me that it was very stupid, I dropped him off and came back home (it's about two miles over there). Ten minutes (yes, just ten minutes) after I got back, the phone rang. It was Grunt telling me that he hurt his arm and it was bad enough that I should come and get him.

How stupid am I?