Greg’s family will be visiting us for Thanksgiving. In preparation for their arrival, including the arrival of our 2-year-old nephew, we asked our neighbors if we could borrow some toys. Our neighbor welcomed us and showed us a big bin of toys she had put together for us. Sadly, her son, who is a little shy of 2, also saw the bin — and started sobbing.
I should point out that this little guy (his parents nicknamed him Peanut) is in the running for world’s cutest toddler. He has really held onto that chubby-cheeked baby look. And he was wearing a super-cuddly white pajama romper. Fortunately, the romper didn’t have the little feet. Because if had those little footies, well, that would have put us over the edge, and we would have been forced to leave him with all the toys.
As Peanut reached for the toy bin and wailed “Cars, caaaars,” I gave Greg a worried look. “We are the worst people in the world! We steal toys from children,” I said glumly.
As we walked out the door, I turned and promised Peanut we would bring back the toys. Peanut’s dad smiled at us and said with a chuckle, “You guys are the anti-Santa. You take away toys.”
I guess Greg and I know what we’ll be getting in our stockings this year.
Greg has been taking yoga classes at work for several months now. I’ve always wanted to try yoga, so when I learned that a co-worker of mine teaches classes, I took it as a sign. I attended my first yoga class last week, and I went again last night. This time, Greg wanted to come along. We rolled out our yoga mats in front of the mirror and class began.
As soon as we stretched into our first downward dog I remembered that Greg has a broken thumb. I don’t know how I had forgotten, given the metal brace he’s wearing. The downward dog pose requires that you put most of your weight on your hands. Greg awkwardly balanced his weight on his right hand. I could see his face turning tomato colored, his forehead wrinkled in distress.
I knew the yoga class Greg normally took was slow-paced, whereas this would be quick — and with many, many stretches involving the hands.
Greg survived, and afterward I asked him how it compared to his other class.
“Well, in our other class we hold the poses longer,” Greg said.
“Yeah, I figured that,” I said.
“And this class had a lot more downward dogs,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I figured that out from all your grunting and groaning.”
“What are you talking about?” Greg said, sounding stunned.
“After the first twenty minutes of class, I started hearing you making all these groaning sounds as you tried to do the poses. It was pretty distracting.”
“There wasn’t any grunting and groaning,” Greg said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It must have been my imagination. Surely a black belt in tae kwon do wouldn’t be groaning over a silly little yoga class.
I know some of you were concerned earlier this week when you read about Greg’s pitiful camera. Fear not! He purchased a new camera. He spent this whole weekend stalking Abe, Winston, and I. And I do mean stalking. Every time I turned a corner, he was lurking in the shadows like a member of the paparazzi. He’s going for candids, which means he’s shooting pictures when I least expect it — after I’ve woken from a nap, while I’m eating a snack, as I’m cleaning the toilet — times when I’m at my best and looking absolutely fabulous. OK, he didn’t shoot any of me cleaning the toilet. But he would have if I had cleaned the bathroom this weekend. So that’s why our bathroom is still dirty. No way I’m having him document my cleaning of the bathroom.
As you can see, I’m becoming downright hostile. Watch out, Greg!
