Family Run to Breakfast. Musing on forced family fun.
I did something that I may later regret.
I signed my two youngest children up for a 5K. Now it is a 5K at Walt Disney World .
Shameless you might say.
Holding a big-eyed happy Mouse out to get your children to run.
I’m not below that.
* * *
Challenge Number 1.
Get Dad to agree to run 5K. Seems he has no problem with thought of sleeping in while I take children to race. So I promised him all sorts of things that will never in his wildest dreams happen (I’m not below that.). He’s in.
Challenge Number 2.
Get children moving. Since Dad’s at home, I had the bright idea that we would all walk/run downtown for breakfast. Our first official training session.
Miraculously, even with a brisk 39 degrees outside, all the affected (or is it infected) parties agreed. Though there was a snag. (Dear Lord above, why is there always a snag?) Eight year old couldn’t find two sneakers in same pair. SERIOUSLY. We searched and searched. So this was perfect time to face…
Challenge Number 3 head-on.
Forget Perfect. If you or I are ever going to get our families to go out and train for a 5K race (this is assuming you are like us, a non-genetically, professional-athlete, freak-of-nature family ), we’ve got to realize that participation is the win.
Determined to make this happen, fortunately the two shoes he did find — although not matching — were both athletic shoes and one right/one left. So after lacing up the left and Velcroing the right — we were off.
Amazing that of all of us, the my husband actually was most put-together exercise wear-wise.
Eight year old in lead, Dad and daughter.
Example of Challenge Number 3.
My beautiful daughter.
I let her dress however she wanted to face the elements. Tights, pajama bottoms, Hot Hands and gloves.
We inched closer.
We finally reached our destination.
The three-quarters of a mile to town really took its toll.
Making her breakfast selection.
Taking a nap before looking at the menu.
We ordered. And then made fun of mom. Which I allowed. Remember Challenge Number 3.
My daughter’s breakfast.
Grits (with salt and butter), eggs, bacon and biscuit.
My son’s choice.
Orange juice, fruit and apple cinnamon muffin.
And mine.
Nectar of the gods.
After fortifying our bodies, we headed back.
All-in-all I think it was a raging success. Only wish our 18 year old would join us.
But at least for the next few months, I can torture him with the threat of having to join us.
Being a mom isn’t easy, but it does have its moments.
