Stop running jumping wrestling yelling slamming bouncing thumping stomping talking....MOVING.
I say these words, and variations of these words, all the time. I mean it. Ad nauseum. Yes. I want to throw up a little bit every time one of these words exits my mouth and hits that brick wall.
But you know something? I'm a hypocrite. I may not be doing these actual movements (I wish I had the energy to though- I'd follow them around for a week doing exactly what they do and see if my ass tightens up this way) but I also never stop moving. And yes, those unlucky enough to be around me much would say that I also talk too much. It makes me wonder if those people are hearing the Charlie Brown Teacher Noise when I'm talking, like I sometimes do with my girls. Hmm. I think I'll give little tests after I've imparted my wisdom onto my friends and family folks. Just to see if they paid any attention to me.
"So, Laurie, did I drink red or white while watching Eclipse last night?
"Pam, so, does Marin like Gale? Or is it Carson?"
But back to the moving (sure, you're thinking the girls inherited diarrhea mouth disease from me, I know). I can't relax. I don't know if I don't know how to sit still or if I forgot. A big test for me is to see if I can make it through an entire movie- I mean from opening credits to closing credits- without doing anything but watching the movie. Ok, sipping my wine and refilling my wine is acceptable as is monching on chips. Nothing else though.
It can't be done. Let's see. Mama's got a full time job halfway across the continent (sure feels this way most days), daddy's got a full time job that actually does take him out of the state quite often and there are 3 precious wittle munchkins- 11, 8, 5- with a helluva busier social calendar than mama. So the movie gets rolling. I sit on the couch. I feel a tic. A nervous twitch of my eye. Than my mouth. My legs are shaking so hard that P can feel the spasms on the other couch. That's it! I grab the 3 loads of laundry that need folded, throw'em on the floor and I've lost the test before the first scene even starts. But hold up. There's a load in the washer that needs to be dumped into the dryer before they get stanky.
You'd think P would pause the movie but neither of us bother. It's pointless. We know I'm also going to windex some kitchen wall pretty soon. And when I do sit down- sip sip- and start to chill...why are the girls' boots sticking out of the closet? Damn it all to hell. Because now I'm reorganizing the whole freakin' closet while peering around the wall to catch a glimpse of whatever movie we started.