My 6-year-old thinks I'm buff
So this morning I'm lying in bed trying to bring my 6-year-old back into consciousness so he can get to school on time. He wakes up and we get in some good cuddle time (especially appreciated because two of my other kids aren't approachable even with a ten-foot pole). He looks up at me and says, "Mom, how did you get to be so buff?" I laughed (and those of you who know me are undoubtedly laughing even harder). My buff days have been over for about 16 years (age of oldest child), when I quickly realized that if I had a few moments for myself during the day they had better be spent in a sanity preserving catnap, not doling out my last drop of energy on a treadmill. (Which was fine, because we've never actually owned a treadmill.) About 20 years ago I did manage to find two hours in the day to work out. Back then it was still all about me. I wasn't responsible for anyone else (or their tightly packed schedules). I could do whatever I wanted with my designated 24 ...