Friday I'm in Love 3

So this is not going to be my usual list. There's just one thing I want to love on this week. But first you need some back story. 

In 7th grade gym, we did aerobics one quarter. It was 1983 or 84, so this must have seemed like a good idea. One of our assignments was to pair up and do some aerobics together - in front of the group. I can't imagine what the educational purpose of this was, except being able to survive humiliation. 

I did not have a lot of friends in seventh grade. 

That was my favorite shirt. You can't tell, but the writing is neon, as are my braces. 

Luckily, one of the friends I did have was in my gym class. We decided to work on our aerobics together. Unlike other people, who had the self-confidence to make something up that day, we practiced our routine after school. More than once. 

I think it might have been to "Girls Just Want to Have Fun", because it was 1984 and we weren't dumb enough to choose "Like a Virgin". 

Anyway, my aerobics partner and I remained friends throughout high school. We sort of lost touch afterwards, but, like everyone else in the world, reconnected on Facebook. Other than our undoubtedly fabulous aerobics dance (what? There's no video to prove that it wasn't fabulous), I don't remember her being much of a performer in school. She wasn't in a band, or the band, much as she loved music. 

But she has started a band. At the age of 42 (not that it matters, but she's six months older than I am - I am still a spry 41). I think this is the coolest thing ever. She has kids and a job and all that and she just started a band. 

Another woman I've known since 7th grade just moved from an urban environment on one coast to a small town environment on the other. Total lifestyle change. 

I guess my point is. . .I love the idea that things can change. That I can still change. I've been in a rut for such a long time. I'm not yet sure how I'm going to get out of the rut, but I've grown more confident that I can. 

Maybe I should go choreograph a dance or something. 

Haiku Friday - Sometimes The Only Word Is, "Douchebag"

Invisible me

seventh grade over again

at the library

This can't be seventh grade, though. My weight has doubled (in my defense, I was pretty tiny in seventh grade) and I have wrinkles. Not to mention children. But seventh grade is what I've relived twice now at Ironflower's weekly story time. This session of story time is for 3 to 5 year olds. They go up to the story/craft room with the librarian and the parents (and younger siblings) wait in the children's room downstairs. Ironflower loves it and Lovebug enjoys the one on one mommy time.

If it was the moms from the last story time session I went to, I would enjoy it too. Those moms were sweet. And actually, the other moms at this session seem perfectly nice when I talk to them briefly before HE gets there. HE is the star of the town's stay-at-home parents brigade. HE, apparently, has deemed me uncool.

And just like the Queen Bee who considered me uncool in seventh grade (thus forcing me to make real friends with kids from other elementaries), HE will not speak to me. Or move out of my way. Or acknowledge that I exist at all while he regales the newest mom in town with stories of his publishing feats (eg, he sold a novel and as it was about to be published, the publisher went bankrupt and today's special: he brought in an advance copy of the local - free- parent paper because he graces the cover and has an article inside). I know all the details of his life because in the last two story times, he has given them to newest mom.

When the town librarian introduced my kids to his kids last week, he didn't even encourage his kids to say hello. He does not speak to me or to the grandpa that brings his grandson to story time or to the mom whose first language is Spanish, but he is all over the other two moms. He has a British accent that reminds me of Madonna's.

Much like in seventh grade, it's not like I WANT to be friends with - or an acquaintance of - this guy. But unlike in seventh grade, I don't have a hundred alternatives to him and his clique. His son and Ironflower are the same age - and this is a small town. There will be soccer games and kindergarten and more story times. And also unlike seventh grade, I don't know any nasty secrets that I could spill about this guy to get him to at least be polite in public. So, any suggestions?