Move it Move it Move it

It's Tuesday, and Tuesday is my  Train With The Enemy day. Our trainer is a former KGB instructor, I'm sure of it. And I'm a communist wannabe with capitalistic aspirations to be a buffed up spy movie star. Too bad we left California.

Training starts with a combination techno/pop music so quick you can jog right through this class. That is, if you're a high power spy in training. Our friendly KGB instructor has abs of steel,  killer behind and perfectly sculpted arm muscles that are not too masculine, yet perfectly defined. She is wearing  a 'grandpa tank top' and pumping her arms as I pray for help from the Divine.

Our KGB trainer has this eastern European accent, which made me mistake her for the Elderly Yiddish Training Instructor who trained my great aunt Bluma and her 70+ girlfriends in the park.

But no, our trainer is, for sure, no doubt about it, a former KGB personal.
SHTAND SHTREIGHT she yells, and we all grow an inch. My abs are trembling with fear as I SHTRETCH TWO THREE and I'm dreaming of being, maybe, one day, UP TWO THREE Jennifer Garner in some early Alias version.

Indeed I should. Because at the rate we MOVE IT MOVE IT, schlepping body bars and weights atop the big circus balls, using our abs and our breathes, our muscles and strength, I should have been Rocky Balboa by now, or at least Rockova Shtrongova.

Add Some

Monday is my spinning class day. If I start the week with spinning, I have an energized week. Everything is possible after I've survived Monday's spinning.

It starts in the dark. The music is uplifting and loud. So uplifting and so loud my brain stops spinning for a while so my body is left to its own device. As soon as brain attempts to kick in, the fumes of my fellow spinners' efforts take it by surprise, shutting it off completely. Just imagine, a whole hour without brain...

Commo' Commo', our relentless teacher, energizes the group: "COMO' COMO'" she shouts (hence the name) "GIVE IT ALL YOU GOT" I feel my gut spinning too. "ADD SOME" she instructs, "ZONE 4, YOU'RE IN ZONE 4" which means I'm breathless, a quick minute and I'll be spinning to my first and only heart attack.

The long legged thin thighs no stomach girlfriend just next bike is moving in all directions, her long skinny legs aim to fly on their own accord, for sure she just added some, her top-of-the-head pony tail becomes alive and is happily chirping around, synchronizing with the surround sound. She moves to the left, moves to the right, and fights the fat, fight fight fight!

I should do that too, brain attempts to interfere and get me to add some, but the loud music repeats: 'DON'T LET ME GO' and I think of the cookies and cream, the mocha of my dreams, let those thoughts go and spin harder, adding some resistance. If you love someone, set them free, right?

Como' Como' lifts my spirit and gives it one last spin, get up, stay down, "RIDE IT LIKE YOU STOLE IT!"

I've never stole a bike, I was thin back than, didn't need any spining...

Snow, Reading and Videotapes (DVD's, actually)

It's snowing again. Beautifully falling, decorating the trees like a postcard from somewhere far away. My princess calls it 'illustrated': "look at that illustrated stop sign, mommy, look at that illustrated tree!".
She's reading now, spelling the world around her. A simple car ride becomes a spelling bee contest: "what does N-A-I-L-S mean? what does V-E-R-I-Z-O-N spell? Don't look mommy, let me ask you!" Prince Reader and I can't look and are not aloud to say the word before she's done spelling. It's a whole new world out there, and we are about to spell our way through it!

Talking about reading, we watched Freedom Writers together and my son got the book out of the library. The book consist of the actual diaries of the kids the story/movie is based on.
Prince Reader reads fast. 30 pages into the book he asked himself, and us, whether it's appropriate for him. We read a random page, swallowed hard and answered that question to ourselves: no!
Both of us oppose books censorship so we agreed to discuss it with him, main message to be: 'It's not appropriate for you at this age, but if you want to read it you may. The diaries were written in a certain context, by kids with a very different life reality than yours. We'd like to keep discussing any issues that might bother you with this book. Let us know how it progresses'.

Hubby took the book and was racing through it to see what's up next. Seeing that some interesting issues rose by page 45, he discussed it with our charming reader, who, by that time, put the book aside. Of course the discussion got him reading again, and of course he read it faster than both of us so this morning he showed hubby the following sentence on page 150:
"As his pe***s twirled in my mouth, thoughts of the popcorn he promised me ran through my mind"

Yikes.

Now what do we do? How do you explain to your innocent child that such disgusting abusers exist? How do you keep sex and love connected in a good loving way, when reading about these kinds of relationships? and why now? Why does it have to be out there at such young age?
Yes, I know, you might ask: why did you let him read it in the first place?
I have two answers for you:

1. We are a family of readers, this is our world's reality.
2. We have to keep communication open, discuss our way of seeing the world, relationships, love and sex. We can't prevent our kids from reading so to never discuss the subject.

I chickened out. Put it on hubby's bill of education - you raised it, now you explain it.

What would you do? And who would you do it with? (just kidding, couldn't resist)

Weekend Adventure in Grounds for Sculpture

After the big disappointment of getting to the Montclair Museum last Sunday just to find it closed without a warning on the net, yet with a small note on the door, we decided to wear our good-spirits, check on the net and by phone and travel to Grounds for Sculpture. We were up for a treat!
Grounds for Sculpture exhibits an incredible combination of the art of gardening and sculptures. They intertwine,complement and enhance each other in a way that makes you want to sing, dance and stay there forever. A little like the Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson.