"In the country" is a fairly grand way, believe it or not, to describe where my mother lives. Basically, you turn left once you get to BFE then take two rights once you turn off the paved road. Once you think you've completely left civilization, you find their place. And that's not too much of an exaggeration.
I woke up this morning with the grand idea of doing some sort of exercise to burn off the corndog and, uh, cotton candy and, um, funnel cake I had at the fair over the weekend. There is a trail that runs behind the house so I figured we'd hit that . . . a little bit of a "hike" to burn some calories.
The best laid plans . . .
For starters, even though I brought at least half a dozen of my cute Breast Cancer Awareness socks with the little pink ribbons on the side of them I completely forgot to bring these little things called tennis shoes. That's what I get for being proud of myself for packing only three pairs of tootsie-covers . . .
My shoe options were limited to two pairs of Old Navy flip flops and a funky pair of heels. I slipped on a pair of flippers (the 2 for $5 variety, at that), strapped the baby to my chest, and put the big boy on a leash. Yes, I'm that mother. However, given the fact that he has adapted this new 'no hol' han', Mommy' policy along with I wasn't sure what kind of wild animals would be lurking on the trail that he would want to sprint after, a leash seemed like a good idea.
We sat on our walk and about, oh, a whole five feet in I realized this is a bad idea. We saw at least two ant hills that were larger than my head. To say the grass was overgrown would be an understatement. And I was so busy looking out for snakes and wildabeasts (do wildabeasts roam the wilds of central Arkansas?) that I did not realize there were mosquitos the size of pteradactyles until I had about three bites/ welps swell up. Effin' lovely.
Back to the house for us. And I've come to the realization that I need concrete in order to properly exercise. Some people just aren't made for hiking!
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