My New Workout, or Why the Polka Could Be The New Tai Bo

Last night was a rousing success. Well, it was as much of a success as one can hope for anyway. The kids had fun, and that's all I was shooting for.

We arrived at music night, where the Princess took the stage and I perused the playlist, a habit hard learned from years of attending the hometown talent shows (if you do a quick count, you know how many more acts you have to live through, thus helping resist the urge to throw yourself on your sword when there are only two more squarely mediocre singing and dancing acts to go, and yes, if you're prepared then you brought your sword). I saw about six songs, figured I could keep the Moose still for that long. I began to assess how many other parents were alone and having to deal with a toddler-type sibling, hoping to maybe get an idea of how I would play it.

Just me, huh? Very well then.

We listened to three classes of first graders sing a callback type song, suprisingly on key, and then we sang back. I overcame my normal discomfort at singing in public and belted the tune back so my little girl would hear me, no small task for one as self-conscious as myself (I honestly don't sing for anyone but the Moose, and only do that because I know he won't judge me, or at least lacks the articulation to do so verbally). Then they announced the rest of the night would be the kids teaching us dances, I looked at the Moose, barely sitting still on my lap, and I knew what I had to do.

The only problem was that yesterday I made a normally good decision that turned out to be a bad decision. I decided that I would workout despite really not wanting to. At lunch, I went down to our little gym at work, and I lifted weights. At no point during that process did I stop to think to myself, "Hey, I wonder if during the Princess's music night I'm going to end up carrying a thirty pound toddler in one arm while prancing about an elementary school cafeteria".

Sometimes, I forget the most obvious questions to ask.

I knew that my little girl's happiness was at stake, and so I forced myself, through shaking arms and at times excruciating pain, to smile and sing and dance about. The Moose acted like the whole thing was for him, so he enjoyed it as well. In the end, I came away with two happy kids. Well, two happy kids, the inability to raise my arms above my waist, and a stitch in my left side that won't seem to go away.

Overall, I would call that a profitable exchange.