Thankfully, the prayer rather than the nightmare came to fruition. She has long legs, long arms and the metabolism of a hummingbird. As I am at the other end of that spectrum, it's a daily struggle not to smack her in the face.
Not really. We invested heavily in orthodontia, and I'm not one to waste money. But add killer smile and naturally curly, red-gold hair to that list of physical attributes and you'll see why I should win Mother of the Year for my soft and gentle approach to parenthood.
Why she keeps trying to kill ME, I'll never understand. Her latest attempt was cleverly disguised in a bid to get me to stop complaining about my weight.
"Come swimming with me, Mom," she said. "It'll be good for you."Ali joined the Herron High School swim team last year and she's back at it again. She's doing well this season, beating her times and having fun, to boot. She practices every stinking day of the school week (she gets Thursday and Friday off this week) and swims laps that total out in the thousands of meters. Thousands. Every day. And she's 16.
Last year when I fell for her "Let's do it together; it'll be fun!" lines, I was left nearly dead at the side of the Jordan YMCA, panting like a beached whale.
This year, we're at LA Fitness and somehow I haven't drowned or beached myself. In a post-swim delirium, I did walk into the men's locker room instead of the women's. Twice, actually, but who's counting. (In my defense, they are very close together and I don't wear my contacts in the pool. Thank God the row of urinals is hard to miss even if it's a blur of white.)
Today was rough, but I pushed through. I stumbled home to find her on the couch.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"I almost threw up," I said, truthfully.
"Awesome!" she said. "I'm proud of you."
She's a killer, I tell you.
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