A Family Affair

Last week we finally had a snow day. I had been so burnt out with my work schedule (and also my workout schedule – but shhh – don’t tell my husband!) that I practically got down on my knees the evening before the snow started begging that I would wake up the next morning to big, heaping, debilitating mountains of snow.

Hallelujah. The heavens were on my side, because over night we were hit with over a foot of snow!

Unlike the previous snow day, where I happily volunteered to shovel my sister-in-law’s driveway, I lay like a sloth on the couch with my son. Together we watched Star Wars movies as my hubby shoveled away. Occasionally, he would enter the house like a Wampa, leaving puddles of melting snow in his path.

Eh. I’ll clean it later.

This was how I enjoyed most of the day. In my PJs. Drinking coffee. Tooling the internet. Playing with my son.

The snow day fell on a Wednesday – a day when I usually teach two Zumba classes. That night was actually going to be my last evening class. I dropped it to have more time to train for the half marathon, or to just have the evening to spend with my family if I wanted it.

I didn’t realize how thrilled I was with that decision until I breathed a sigh of relief knowing it was cancelled.


I wonder how many other things in my life fall into some sort of category where I will not admit it is one thing too many on my already full plate...

So, I spent the day mostly as a couch potato. The idea of getting up off the couch to do anything at all didn’t quite appeal to me.

I spent some time studying for my AFAA exam – an aerobic certification exam I decided to get recertified in. I let my certification lapse when I was pregnant, thinking I will never work out again, let alone teach. I was wrong. And now I have to sit through a day long certification and a 100 question test as the consequence.

After studying for an hour, and a hearty lunch of vegan mushroom soup and quinoa (yum!!!, my body started aching to move. It was bound to happen. It is so used to never stopping. At some point my body must have noticed I have ceased being active, and probably started to panic, thinking the rest of me was dead. By 4:00PM, I realized some type of exercise was in order.

It was getting dark. My son was watching his 8th consecutive hour of Star Wars, happily playing with playdoh at his seat. My husband was playing a Star Wars video game (the force is strong in our family.)

The novelty of being stuck in the house was finally wearing off.

I brought my laptop and my P90X DVDs upstairs, and pulled out the arm and shoulders workout. I brought out my dumbbells, and hubby heard a lot of knocking and clumping around as I set up my weights. He came upstairs to see what the commotion was about. When he saw I was doing P90X – a Christmas gift he bought for me, but was secretly checking out every chance he could get, he asked if I wanted to do it together with him!

Before our son, we worked out together all the time. We hiked. We ran. We hit the gym. It was such an instrumental part of our relationship – a foundation that crumbled once we had a baby and had to juggle our schedules around. Weekends are usually spent doing the child handoff as we take turns working out.

So, working out together after almost 4 years has not really been an option for us.

Hubby and I hauled all of our weights into the living room. Our son was intrigued and promptly showed us his push ups. He asked if he could exercise with us too.
Together, we all did the DVD together. Our son, C, used his light sabers as weights. In between sets, he would kiss me and say “Great job, mommy!” – I guess daddy didn’t seem to need the same kind of cheering.

It was so nice being able to exercise and still spend time with my family. This was a once in a blue moon thing.

Or, at least – a once in a snow storm kind of thing!