Zumbastic

First of all, the Peanut and The Pumpkin Man were in the playroom at the Y and the pman had to go to the bathroom. He wouldn't go with the woman there. Only mommy or daddy. Or, his sister. Despite her diminutive stature, she lifted him up--they weigh about the same--onto the toilet seat, and then helped him get down and get dressed.  I am so proud of both of them. This show of sibling love and independence can only mean one thing: it's a matter of time now until my wife and I can leave them alone long enough for a date night. Tomorrow maybe? Next week? We'll see.

Second, I tried Zumba tonight. Me and My wife. The Latin based dancercise craze that has swept all of America except for the fat parts.  I won't say I was great at it, I will only say that if you can picture a short, bewhiskered, uncoordinated Jew, still pudgy with holiday overindulgence, trying his damndest to mimic merengue flavored exercise moves while shvitzing like Brett Ratner at a Pflag meeting well, you're picturing Heaven.

I was the only guy in the entire class. So I was obviously able to keep a low profile. With the fluidity of a stone golem and the audible grunting of a young Jerry Lewis, I embodied the term "smooth."

For her part, my wife did much better that she thinks she did. as is usually the way. We're going to try it again this week. It was fun, if only because we got the chance to say "Zumba." I'm confident going forward. I'm sure if I keep at it, in no time I'll be moving like Fred Astaire. The current version. But still.

HM