I did Kickboxing 4 hours ago and I'm still unable to catch my breath. I mean, I breathe in and I then hack because my breath comes short. Then my throat closes up and I hack again. Then my hiney hurts because I think I pulled something in it. The class literally kicked my hiney. In fact, I got in the car with the boys afterwards and said aloud:
Oh boy kiddos, that kickboxing class sure did kick my hiney! Your mama is strong boys! Supa-strong!
To which my eldest son replied:
I thought you said on the fridge this morning that you were going to do kickstands?!?
As way of explanation, I checked my workout schedule on my refrigerator this morning as the boys were eating breakfast and said aloud:
You know, I think I'll try Kickboxing this morning to change things up a bit.
You can see where he thought I said I was going to try kickstands. Whatever that means. I feel certain he thinks I rode a motorcycle for an hour and stopped and put the kickstand down. Because the only reference he has to kickstands is his toy motorcycle his Nana gave him for Christmas. Toy, mind you, not an actual ridable motorcycle!
And to continue this thought, after I said I was supa-strong. And then explained I took kickboxing not kickstands. I then asked Jackson who was stronger, me or Daddy. He said I was. You are correct! Then I asked him who was stronger, him or Daddy. He said he was. Correct again! And then finally I asked him who was stronger, Daddy or Holden. He said Daddy was. At least Shawn gets props for being stronger than a 19 pound toddler.
I should also add that I think my husband's muscles are supa-sexy and that they are probably the 3rd thing that attracted me to him, behind his cute hiney and his wit with regards to "White Russian" beverages. Ah, that is a story for another day.