When I was a little girl my mom used to exercise to a television show called Hooked On Aerobics. If you have never seen it – oh man! The leotards and short shorts, the hostess’s ponytail – the 80s in all of their blessed glory! And if, incidentally, you are young enough to have missed the 80s I mourn for your loss for they were, indeed, a time of glory. But I digress. Back to Hooked On Aerobics. May I present as exhibit A and for your viewing pleasure, this video:
I remember sitting in my bedroom, hearing that music and feeling the floor bounce and shake as my mom did the sweet moves. Good times, my friends. Good times.
My sister and I, clever as we were, invented a game we liked to call Hooked On Sister based obviously on the title of Mom’s exercise regimen. Actually, it was probably just me who invented it because while it was fun for me it was less so for my sister as it mostly involved me grabbing onto and hanging off of various bits of her and shouting “hooked on sister!” Imagine how irritating it would be if you were 9 and your stupid 5-year-old sister was hanging off of your leg yelling “hooked on sister! HOOKED ON SISTER!” Yeah. That was me as a child. Irritating as possible. Sometimes the game resulted in injury for one or both of us like the time I did it when we were both roller skating. The wind was knocked out of someone and I’m betting it wasn’t me (if you’re reading this, Michala, I heartily apologize for being Ramona the Pest for pretty much our entire lives).
This week Louisa has decided that she must be in constant contact with me. I’m not sure why – is it an 8 month milestone to cling to your mom, is it a response to teething pain (for the GODDAMN TEETH HAVE FINALLY POPPED THROUGH, Y’ALL), is it because she’s learning to crawl and occasionally needs extra lovin’, or is it simply because she loves me? Or is it the Universe exacting revenge upon me for childhood crimes perpetrated against my sister? I doubt it because she was a turd herself – ask her about ShowBiz Pizza. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining because it’s only bothersome in that I can’t get anything done unless she’s napping (like right now… shhhhh…) but in these past 8 months I have pretty much accepted that I am never going to get anything done because why fight it? I would rather, 10 years from now, look back and remember that I spent a lot of time with my rapidly-growing daughter than that I always had my laundry, dishes and hair done, you know?