The Mom Work Out

“Faster, mommy! Faster!” They chant, and plead, and encouragingly discourage all at once as they jump and clap and bounce with energy and smiles. I try to comply but its too fast, already, and I wonder if Marion Jones’ kids do the same thing to her. Its not that I don’t appreciate the cheering, its just that my legs are too short, and I’m simply not a Cheetah, or a race car.

“Awe, man, mom! you are done?!”
“Yes, done,” as I pant and gasp and drip sweat.
“Why are you wet?” he asks.
“Swimmin!” she replies.
“No swimming,” I shake my head.
“Ok, so you are going to bike now?” he asks again.
“No, I just went running, didn’t you see?”
“Well, that wasn’t very long. You should bike too,” he says as I wonder when I birthed such a tough personal trainer.

I climb on the bike, deciding, he’s right, I could use a few more minutes, and they are occupied and enjoying, the baby is asleep, and this much time to work out hardly ever happens. So I pedal and climb and just as I get into my mountain stride, Josie flips the switch with a giggle, and the bike loses power and so do I.

“I like this song, Mom. Is it Sublime?” he comments on Pandora, as I question whether or not I’m impressed or frightened by his song recognition. I lean towards frightened and switch to “Old McDonald.”

“Time for burpies!” he says with conviction. Again, I wonder when and how he became such a demanding meathead. “Ok, let’s do ten!” I muster up the energy. I do one, as they complete three, clapping and jumping better and higher and I notice I’m biting my cheek and grinding my teeth and they are giggling and flailing around continuing to chant their “faster!” mantra.

Their combined age is 5 and they are whooping my bum.

They hang from the pull up bar and she kicks me in the head. I catch her on the floor and decide to lay down, and when I think we are done, I find him sitting on my feet. “Time for sit ups, mom. Ready? Go!”

I’m confused, aren’t I the boss? My quivering core suggests otherwise. He counts as high as he can and I hope that’s all he has on his list. “What’s next, King James?”

“Cookies and Marshmallows!” he exclaims as she cheers in approval.

“Sounds good.”

Happy Hump Day.