I've noticed that my last few sporadic posts have been in the Debbie Downer category. If I were a stranger reading my blog, I'd probably worry about me. Please don't! Overall, everything's great. I'm really enjoying this new area, my neighbor (whom I'll call Kay) and I have become fast friends, and we've decided that our husbands also have no choice but to become cronies after his fast-approaching return from the sandbox.
Just about every evening for the past few weeks, some combination of Spike, Kay, and myself have played the Wii that my in-laws got us for Christmas. So. Much. Fun. (Though I suspect the dog thinks we're insane). Btw, if anyone has a Wii game recommendation, pass it along.
Anyway, I've been breaking in the Wii Fit for the past few nights. Although it's pretty much "my" toy, I convinced Spike to give Fit a try the other night. Hilarity ensued. First of all, the Wii weighs you, asks your height, and has you do a few balance exercises. Then it gives you your BMI and your "Wii" age. I blithely breezed through this; I apparently have a "normal" BMI, though my initial Wii age was 3 years older than my actual one. (I took the test again and got 5 years younger; go figure.)
Spike, on the other hand, didn't fare so well. He's not overweight by any means (he considers it part of his job description to stay in shape because "I'm an Army officer and I'm not supposed to look sloppy or be weak, etc. etc.), but he does have a good bit of muscle mass. So, as I snickered uncontrollably in the background, the Wii told him that based on his height/weight ratio he was overweight. Then it added a spare tire to his avatar. If the Wii could hear and understand insults, its electronic ears would now be blistered. It then added twisted the knife by telling Spike that his Wii age was 12 years older than the actual one. I found this to be much funnier than Spike did. Supportive spouse award goes to me, obviously!
Next, I picked a yoga exercise for my miffed husband. I chose the half-moon pose, since it doesn't involve balancing on one foot or contorting oneself into an awkward position. Basically, you just put your hands together over your head and lean to one side, then the other. (If, unlike me, you're actually proficient at yoga, please ignore my horrifically simplified description.) Anyway, here are Spike's reactions:
"Wow, this hurts."
"I feel like my ribs are being ripped apart."
"I give up."
So...he's going to stick to his early-morning tough guy workouts, and I'm going to improve my posture and balance with the help of my Wii trainer. As Spike would no doubt point out if he were reading this post, "You don't need to be flexible to jump out of an airplane or to march 12 miles."
...on another note, I saw on my Facebook newsfeed (courtesy of Fort Bragg's page, this time), that Oprah's topic tomorrow will be military families. I've only watched one or two full Oprah shows in my life, and don't have cable now, but I might have to watch some video clips on her website after the fact. I'm curious to see what she focuses on and how she presents military life.