It’s Saturday night. I’m in a strange bed. My hubby is next to me. My boys are in another bed, passed out cuddled up into each other, wiped from a day at the Zoo and running around. I’m bloated and my jeans have left bruises on my hips (literally) from the tightness from all of this week’s eating, but I’m as happy as a clam. Because at the end of the day, for me, family is what it’s all about.
We decided to visit Toronto for the weekend to see family and friends and to take the boys to the Hockey Hall of Fame. They have been off from school all week, so besides a day trip to the US on Wednesday and the weekend in Toronto, I did my best to keep them occupied and happy. I must say, mission accomplished.
After pounding the crap out of a mannequin at a kick-boxing class this morning, I felt great. Ready to take on Toronto. There I was, sweating my ass off, music BLASTING, boxing gloves, punching this dummy in the chest, in the face, and laughing. I looked like the biggest rookie… everyone was concentrating, working, punching, and there I was, perma-smile, cuz the instructor was again BLASTING my favorite music (This is how we do it, I got the power, etc…), and I looked too happy to be beating the crap out of a rubber guy staring so seriously back at me. But I felt free. And really, at the end of the day, life’s about freedom and doing the things you love to do. I must tell my gym in Montreal to buy some of these dummies for kick-boxing classes. They rock!
