My Visit to the Art Museum (aka "My Kid Could Paint That")

Well, that was a bit of a disappointment. I took a vacation day yesterday to accompany my daughter and her class to the Philadelphia Art Museum for a field trip. My disappointment wasn't in the museum. Nor was it in the kids. It wasn't even in the fact that I had to take a vacation day for something I really had very little interest in doing. My disappointment lies in not having found some great kid-related blog material in the experience.

You figure a field trip is bound to deliver some good stuff. There are children involved, after all, and you know how much I love the little dears. But alas, aside from deafening noise on the bus and interesting lunch bag contents, the kids gave me little to work with. The best quip I overheard came from one of the chaperoning dads who was informing a chaperoning mom about his family's atheist status and efforts to improve the image of atheists as a whole by doing good deeds.

What turned out to be most interesting about the day was the Art Museum itself, and that's what I least expected. See, I'm an art snob. As in "My kid could draw that," not "I believe Picasso did his finest work during the Blue Period." I'm honestly not certain I'd ever been to the Art Museum before. I never had any desire to go, imagining a bunch of paintings that said nothing and meant nothing to me.

And I did see several of those pieces that make you go "hmmm..." While flash photography was not permitted, I was able to snap these beauties with my cell phone camera:

Abby & Michaela reviewing a bunch of colored squares. Abby loved this one.

Seriously? It's white paper with three black lines.

Green Cyclone. My kid could paint that.

1970s KMart wall art?

This crap art was what I expected. Stuff I don't understand. Can't interpret. Prefer to laugh at.

But along with the goofy abstract art, I was surprised to find art I could appreciate. Works of realism agreed with me and I particularly enjoyed the wings filled with pottery, sculpture, coats of armor, religious artifacts, and other "history museum" type pieces. The museum tour guide's interaction with the students was probably as illuminating for me as it was for them.

So now I'm thinking I might like to take an art appreciation class. Who knows, I may even learn to see something in the wacky pieces shown above. In the meantime, let's have some fun with those pieces. In the comment section below, share your critical analysis of one or more of them:

• Give it a title 
• What did the author have in mind? 
• What does it say to you? 
• Would you hang it on your wall?

Look forward to seeing what you have to say!

Awe-Struck

I have never been an athlete. When I was a kid, girls' sports were not nearly as big as they are now. And even if they had been, it's doubtful it would have ever occurred to my parents to involve me in them. After all, I was the girl who required remedial gym classes for hand-eye coordination and balance. My parents encouraged me to sing in the choir and join the yearbook staff rather than embarrass myself as part of a sports team.

While I may never have been an athlete, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate their abilities or enjoy watching sports. On the contrary, compared to most women, I love sports, and I'm delighted that my daughter Abby is already showing great potential as both a soccer and softball player.

Twice in the past week I've had the opportunity to reflect on the special something that is the female athlete. Last Monday was Abby's first ever fast pitch indoor softball practice. Her team of 4th and 5th graders bravely joined a group of older girls who had been practicing for weeks. What I saw in these young ladies was engagement, dedication, hard work, and enthusiasm. They were stepping into new territory and embracing it. I love that through sports, these girls will grow up strong, confident, and knowing they are more than a pretty face or a cute outfit. I felt such immense pride in watching my daughter listen and learn, fail and succeed, and give this her all as she does with everything she takes on. I thought of the woman she's soon to become and was in awe of her potential.

Ivy Classic Champions 2011

Yesterday, I saw the woman Abby will be some day. She and I joined my friend Emily at the University of Pennsylvania where the Quakers gymnastics team was hosting the Ivy League Championship. Emily is a former Penn gymnast, and a remarkably strong, confident, intelligent and accomplished woman. In the stands we were surrounded by her former teammates, and on the floor we watched the young women who now represented the best of Penn.

Again, "awe" was the word that came to mind. It was more than just the gut-wrenching flips and twists and displays of raw athleticism. It was the fact that these young women were the epitome of commitment, perseverance, and courage in an age when that is increasingly rare. I was struck by the level of spirit, teamwork and support they demonstrated, especially given the individual nature of the sport. Add to that the fact that these women are not only athletes but among the brightest students in the country. I thought to myself, that's my Abby in just a few short years (can you tell I think she's something special?).

While I have enjoyed my own accomplishments and feel I present a strong female role model for my daughter, I will always wish I had experienced what it means to compete physically as both an individual and part of a team. My hat goes off to Abby, Emily, the Penn gymnasts, and all those girls, young and old, who demonstrate dedication, teamwork, strength, and competitive spirit on fields, in gyms, and on courts each and every day.  

Now, if you're like me and have never experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat as a competitive athlete, visit Emily's blog, Mothers of Brothers for "A Piece of Me."

The Heartbreak of Psoriasis

Since childhood I have had psoriasis. For those of you not familiar with this skin condition, it basically appears as thick, red skin with flaky, silver-white patches called scales. I imagine it's the stuff that the average leper appeared to have in biblical times. I was going to include a picture from the internet, but frankly when I Googled  psoriasis images they were so disturbing I couldn't bring myself to do that to you. Honestly, there were body parts I couldn't even identify, and some I was rather surprised to see. Who knew you could get it there??

It's not contagious in the least, though many clueless uninformed people have avoided me like the plague when it's flaring up. I believe it's my psoriasis that helped develop my self-deprecating sense of humor. If you make fun of yourself, no one else has to bother.

Since adulthood I have had fewer flareups than I did when I was a kid. Unfortunately, however, some of them have been doozies. For a family trip to Costa Rica several years ago I was covered from head to toe. My face even got into the game which it never had done before. Generally, the facial area is exempt from "the heartbreak of psoriasis." 

After being relatively clear the last couple years, my skin is showing signs of preparing for an all out attack. This is not particularly convenient given my new gym membership. For tang soo do I could hide all my imperfections in long sleeves and pants, but at the gym, I'm going to look pretty silly covered from head to toe and sweating bullets. In addition, I have an April vacation to the Outer Banks with friends, and a trip to Puerto Rico in June for work. Put me in a bathing suit and I feel terribly exposed and rather creepy. Needless to say, it was time for a trip to the dermatologist, and off I went.

What I determined today is that going to the dermatologist is more painful than the psoriasis itself. I had a 9:30 a.m. appointment, and they called three people ahead of me. Either they triple booked 9:30, or were seriously behind schedule. Thirty minutes in the waiting room did nothing to improve my already fairly rotten mood. And then, after they ushered me into the exam room, had me strip down and dress in that open-butt back gown, I waited another 15 minutes or more.

How do doctors stay in business with that kind of customer service? I can't imagine showing up to a meeting or sales call 45 minutes late and getting away with it by simply saying "sorry for the wait." And actually, they rarely say "sorry."  As I sat and stewed and waited, I considered asking one of my doctor friends about this purely medical phenomenon, but then it occurred to me I have no doctor friends. Instead, I'm flush with lawyer friends. And now I'm wondering what that says about me.

So anyway, the dermatologist was a nice, perky young thing who at least had the decency to take her time with me. Looks like we're going to try a new ointment, a treatment that has never actually cured me, probably because I don't have the patience to apply it to each of my individual 100 spots and dots. If that doesn't work, we'll give ultraviolet light treatments a shot, saving self-injectibles as a last resort. Fun stuff.

Still, when you consider all the ailments, conditions, and diseases one could have, I figure I'm getting off easy. And these periodic outbreaks keep my ego in check for those times when I'm turning heads for my stunning beauty. It's okay to laugh now...

Have a good weekend!

Random Musings, Part 4

While I could tell you about the very large and quite old naked behind I saw in the locker room at the gym the other day, or how I cried my heart out when I told my master instructor I was leaving our martial arts school, I think I'll go with something a little more upbeat. It's time for Random Musings, Part 4: 

1. How exactly does one lose a shoe on the side of the road?    
2. When your child wants to go to a friend's house in the morning before you've showered and dressed, do you change your underwear before you put on clothes, or wait till after you've showered later?
3. At what age does a boy start closing cupboard doors when he's done with the dishes?
4. Does anyone actually follow those Local Traffic Only signs?
5. And speaking of traffic, did you notice you never hit a red light when you're waiting to read or send a quick text?   
6. If I'm not supposed to use a certain pillow for sleeping, what's it doing on my bed? 
7. Just because Ikea sells frozen mashed potatoes doesn't mean you should buy them.
8. And speaking of food, why do I save leftovers that I know we'll never eat?
9. At what age does a boy start throwing out empty boxes of cereal, microwave popcorn, and fruit snacks instead of leaving them in the cupboard?
10. Why do news stations report the ocean temp from December through March? Is someone actually contemplating a swim?
11. Coffee, donuts, muffins. You'd think Dunkin' Donuts would smell like heaven, but it actually smells like hell. What's that about?
12. The college professor rule should apply to waiters/waitresses. If they don't appear within 15 minutes of you receiving and finishing your meal, you can just leave.  
13. Why do some people flush before they use the toilet? Do they think there might be something in there that will reach out and pinch them?
14. At what age do boys start to match their shirt to their pants? 

Finally, I'd like to know why bad things happen to good people. Please pray for Rob's cousin Karen who suffered a mild stroke two days ago. This follows the heartbreak of a lost pregnancy less than two years ago.

And I whine when the funkapotomus comes to visit...

Lonely, Red, and Tempted

As I sit here and eat my Friday morning powdered donut, I thought I'd tell you about my first experience at the Healthplex last evening.

Overall, I'd say it was lonely. One of the very best things about World Class Martial Arts is the camaraderie. We're like one big dysfunctional, but happy family. Well, maybe I was the only dysfunctional one, but you get the idea. We were teammates, comrades, and friends. At the gym, I was a lonely wanderer in a sea of buff bods, self-consciously going from machine to machine with my dorky clipboard of instructions. Not a friendly face to be found.

This is not me on the machine

While my weight training time went smoothly enough (though I'm not as strong as I thought I was), the elliptical machine was another matter. I almost fell off more than once. Now I'm not the most graceful or well-balanced person (in more ways than one), but this was just plain awkward! If you hold the moving handle bars and let one hand go to scratch an itch or turn the page in your magazine, you're completely off kilter. Or, at least I was completely off kilter. I had to remember to first transfer my hands to the stationary bars in order to remain in position if I needed the use of one of my hands.

By the time I had finished my 30 minutes, I'd gone a measly 2 miles and burned a lousy 200+ calories which I then consumed at home in two Snyder's of Hanover sourdough hard pretzels (did you know they are 100 calories each!). When I reached the locker room, I discovered my face was beet red and I looked close to collapse. It's a wonder someone didn't stop and give me chest compressions. Oh, and did I mention I'd been on level 1 the entire time? Clearly this cardio thing is going to be an uphill climb for me.

I think the most interesting part of my first night at the gym came in the locker room, not when I saw my face, but when I saw the vending machine. While the drink choices were standard healthy fare, the snack machine offered Fritos, chips, candy bars, and more! Are you kidding me?? I work like a dog and then you tempt me with my favorite junk food? And next week I'm supposed to talk nutrition with my trainer. Ha!

Overall, I think this whole Healthplex thing is going to take some getting used to. Perhaps if I go with a friend I'll feel more at ease. But then again, I'll probably spend my time comparing myself to that friend and that could work against me. Or our friendship.

My goal for my next visit includes reaching 2.5 miles, burning 300 calories, and navigating safely through the parking garage (I think it's actually more likely I'll be killed in there than on the elliptical machine). Wish me luck!

If I Join this Gym, Can I Still Eat Cheesesteaks and Drink Beer?

There was no denying it any longer. The passion was gone. It had been months since I felt the desire that once stirred within me. I knew a change was needed, and today, I took the leap.

I joined a gym.

For the past eight years, my fitness efforts have been centered around one man and one school. Master Aaron and World Class Martial Arts. Master Aaron has been very good to me and for me. He recognizes and knows how to respond to my dangerously unstable quirky emotional state. He's been a pro at motivating me. He's become a friend. Without him I would not be a second degree black belt today. But over the past several months I've become unfocused, disengaged, and overwhelmed. I've reached a point in my training where I no longer feel I can reach the next level of performance. Quite possibly I've maxed out on my potential as a martial artist. I know Master Aaron will disagree with me, but my decision is made and I have the pricey contract to prove it.

My decision to join the Healthplex in Springfield was not easily made. When joining a fitness center there's much to take into consideration:

• Monthly expense (we know I'm cheap frugal)
• Proximity to home
• Available equipment and classes
• Timing of classes
• The clientele

Let's be honest, the folks you'll be working out with are an extremely important factor in the decision-making process. Fitness centers vary tremendously in whom they attract. In fact, the Planet Fitness chain has a successful ad campaign based on exactly this. In addition to the muscle-heads, as a rule I also want to avoid:

• The beautiful people whose workout clothes are cuter than my "going out" clothes
• The young, bubbly, and impossibly thin crowd
• The health nuts who drink carrot juice while standing around talking about the hottest new vegan restaurant
• Anyone who is my age or older but looks way better than me

Clearly, I am never going to find such a place, so the Healthplex seemed as good a place as any. It's close to home. It's got a zillion classes to choose from (I'm a class kind of person. I get motivated by having people around me who might judge me if I don't put in real effort). And Rob is already a member so I didn't have to pay the obscene initiation fee.

So we'll see how this turns out. I've got my first appointment with a trainer tonight and I'm prepared with my answers when she asks what my goals are:

• To lose the stuffing that's been hiding all my buff muscles
• To fit more comfortably in my current wardrobe
• To be able to continue to eat whatever the hell I want

Not too much to ask, is it? 

For the Romantically Challenged on Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day. I'm thinking I should write something about love. Or romance. Or the Hallmark conglomerate. But I feel so unqualified to write on these topics. The thing is, I'm not the lovey-dovey or romantic type. And it's not just because I'm busy working, raising children, feeding our four-legged friends, taking care of a home, and trying to avoid outgrowing another pair of jeans. I think I've always been romance-averse. For example:

• I recall no childhood fondness for Disney princesses and princes on white steeds. I guess I never felt the need to be rescued.
• In high school, if the boy I liked sent me a love letter and it had any misspellings, the romance was over before it started. I think I may have circled the errors in red pen and returned to sender.
• As a young girl, I never fantasized about my wedding day which books, movies, and reality-based wedding shows would have you believe every girl grows up dreaming of.
• I don't love chocolate.
• Or champagne.
• I don't see the point of negligees. 
• Or decorative pillows on the bed.
• I don't need to snuggle afterward.
• I don't like to cook for my man. Or my kids, for that matter.
• I think greeting cards are stupidly expensive and I only buy them for my husband because he buys them for me.
• I once threatened to beat my husband if he ever bought me ridiculously over-priced roses on Valentine's Day.

Dear Lord, I'm like the Grinch who stole Valentine's Day!

I guess my only saving grace is that Rob and the kids know I love them because:

1. We tell each other "I love you" everyday.
2. We occasionally slow dance in the kitchen.
3. I regularly do the laundry and clean the house.
4. We're good huggers.

And, really, my husband gets off easy because I'm so low maintenance (at least where affection and romance are concerned).

For those of you who are making your loved one tiramisu, writing him or her a poem, or producing a special video love note, I salute you. May everyday be Valentine's Day in the rose-colored world you live in!