January 19, 2017

I just stepped off the treadmill.  Another three miles on these old bones.  I recently came across the headline of an article titled, "Why You Should Learn to Love the Treadmill."  I smirked at that.  There is nothing in this world like running along outside, fresh air and sunshine galore.

But today as I "treaded" on that machine with the rain drizzling on the big windows next to me, I suddenly realized that I was enjoying myself.  Well, sort of.  I realized I was enjoying the feeling I was experiencing.  My muscles were flexing, my face was sweating, my heart was pounding, and I felt proud of myself for getting on that old treadmill today.  The treadmill has always been quite boring to me.  I've tried watching a movie, but I get too tired to concentrate.  I've tried reading, but I get motion sick trying to focus on the words as I bob up and down.  So I usually just listen to music and stare out the window.  To combat my boredom, I usually bump up the speed.  Kind of like, how fast can we get this done? Pretty soon I'm sprinting and sweating and about to pass out.  Yeah, it's a great workout.  But I get it done.

Here's Owen.  All the little kids love the treadmill...why shouldn't I?

All morning I've been having a deep conversation with myself.  It's something I do a lot.  It's one of the reasons I love mowing the lawn and vacuuming the floor--plenty of time to think to myself.  And even if it's strange, I've always been highly entertained by my own brain.  I write lessons and talks and stories in my mind long before I actually sit down to write them out.  I also analyze and think through relationships and parenting problems, counseling myself as I go.  That's what I've been up to this morning.

Emma and Julia got into a fight last night at bedtime.  Again.  Pretty soon Greg was involved, and then I was involved, and then the whole family was mad.  We've all tried to say sorry this morning, but the feelings in our home are still lingering.  I've been thinking about this for a while, but today I am going to move Emma into her own room.  You would think she would be happy about this, but she's not.  Julia doesn't want to be separated either.  Still, everybody needs some space.  And to me, this just feels like a big fat motherhood failure.

Oh well. Another day, another experience.