I’ve never run into you at the playground before, but you amaze me with your ability to turn an afternoon with your kids into a workout.
Okay, to be honest, I’m not running at the park, am I? I’m sitting on my butt. As I watched you do power lunges on the park benches and speed walk around the swing sets like some kind of crazed Richard Simmons groupie on crack, pumping your arms and counting laps, I felt compelled to get up and do something. What, I don’t know, but I contemplated doing some jumping jacks or dropping to the ground and doing some push ups. Then I came to my senses and remembered that I use my solo neighborhood walks as a chance to escape the house by myself. Maybe I should have asked you if you needed me to watch your kids while you went for a jog? No, that would have been really crazy.
Please stop making me feel guilty as I take these precious moments of down time to check my cell phone voicemail and watch the girls play as I sit on my ass. I nearly broke a sweat each time you squeezed your glutes and shouted over to your kids on the monkey bars: “Hold on sweeties, mommy’s got one more set of reps!”