Musical Chairs is one of those games that just sucks. Somebody's going to be out, and it's always by the skin of your teeth that your butt misses the invisible line that divides the chair in half, while the other person smugly wiggles just a smudge and you fall off. Then everybody points and laughs, and you have to go stand dejectedly on the sidelines while everybody gleefully rejoices in their chairs, safe for another round. But even if you survived that round, you always have that innate fear, that sneaking thought in your mind: I could be next.
But what if they mixed it up and made it even MORE risky? What if all the players were blindfolded, and after each stop the referees (what else would you call them?) remove MULTIPLE chairs--it could be one, it could be all BUT one. And then they hide the rest. So when the music stops, not only are you worrying about how many of you won't get a seat, but you're also scrambling frantically about the room looking for the chairs, wasting precious time at every corner that turns up blank. So at the end of each round you have people standing, bewildered, in the middle of the room wondering, "Did we miss one? Is there a chair still out there? Do I still have a chance?" while the seated onlookers are taking a deep breath and thinking, "Thank God it's not me."
Well, that's how this week at school has been. We thought they took out three chairs, maybe more--turns out two of the people left standing managed to find chairs in hidden corners. Only one chair got snatched, and it belonged to the person I'm going to miss the most. She's okay with it, though; more okay than I am, probably.
I got a chair, but it's one of those that's made for toddlers. It's a chair, but slightly too small for my rear end and if Bob tried to sit on it with me, it would collapse. (That's a financial metaphor, by the way.) Bob's playing his own game at the moment, and hopefully he'll find one of those big throne-like La-Z-Boys hidden behind a curtain somewhere, one big enough to hold both of us, even if we're a little cramped. Of course, best case scenario is that we each manage to find a chair that is an appropriate size for one person. But nobody knows where those chairs are, or if they even exist right now.
I have had an idea that I think would be quite the viral YouTube sensation: Synchronized Roll-y Chair Dancing. Think of it: Ten people in rolling, spinning office chairs, whirling in and out of one another in a perfectly choreographed routine set to "Pumped Up Kicks." Amazing, right?
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Screwing with the Universe
Ever have those days where you feel like the universe is just playing with you, and you want some way to get back at it? Today was one of those days.
Earlier today at school, I was going through sight words with a kid. I would ask her to tell me the word and she'd say, "I don't know." Now this is her strategy for whenever she doesn't want to work--just say you don't know, and hope they leave you alone. This same child remembered something entirely new we taught her two weeks ago and haven't discussed since. I KNOW she knows more than she lets on, which can be frustrating because she could be advancing so much faster if only she would realize it! But little kids don't think that way.
Anyway, I just got in the, haha, take that! kind of mood a little while ago. So I posted a Facebook status soliciting people to shoot the chickadee outside my window. (If my grandmother were dead, she'd be rolling in her grave, but she's alive and if she checks Facebook, she'll probably scold me. Life goes on--it won't be the first time. I love her dearly, and she's taught me a lot.)
Let's get this straight--I don't like birds. I know that's a blanket statement, and in fact it isn't entirely true. I don't hate ALL birds. I just don't like the boring, annoying ones--the ones that sit outside your window at ridiculous hours of the day and night screeching, who don't do anything cool like hunt small animals and other birds, or who can't be considered for purchase in the poultry aisle at Publix. I do, though, have a vendetta against a particular gaggle of geese that lives in the Inverness area, because they will regularly take up residence in the road and refuse to move even when you nudge them with the bumper of your car. I also have a vendetta against ALL swans--this is another story, though.
So anyway, the point to this post is that today my mission is to stick it to the universe in as many small ways as I can. The first way I chose today is to look up a very specific recipe for chicken, and then purposely get "creative" with it. I don't think it will have a major negative effect--rather than use lemon, for example (because I don't have any, they are expensive, and I don't like them), I sliced some onion and threw some minced garlic in there. I am kind of winging it with the rest of it, but with chicken, potatoes, and green beans in a pan with olive oil, onion, and garlic, it can't be that bad as long as it's all cooked, right?
Way #2 that I am showing the universe who's boss: I'm drinking Pepsi out of a Coke glass. Small, I know, but it's the little things that give you satisfaction.
Oh, and back (way back) to what I was saying about my Facebook post about asking people to shoot the bird? Well, underneath that, I posted a comment about what I'm doing tomorrow--volunteering at the Humane Society. Being hypocritical in a way that doesn't hurt anybody satisfies the rebellious streak in me. Which is good, usually it's asking me for chocolate and caffeine and battling my will for a happy tummy.
Such is life. Sometimes you get along, and sometimes you don't, and either way, it's the little things that matter.
Earlier today at school, I was going through sight words with a kid. I would ask her to tell me the word and she'd say, "I don't know." Now this is her strategy for whenever she doesn't want to work--just say you don't know, and hope they leave you alone. This same child remembered something entirely new we taught her two weeks ago and haven't discussed since. I KNOW she knows more than she lets on, which can be frustrating because she could be advancing so much faster if only she would realize it! But little kids don't think that way.
Anyway, I just got in the, haha, take that! kind of mood a little while ago. So I posted a Facebook status soliciting people to shoot the chickadee outside my window. (If my grandmother were dead, she'd be rolling in her grave, but she's alive and if she checks Facebook, she'll probably scold me. Life goes on--it won't be the first time. I love her dearly, and she's taught me a lot.)
Let's get this straight--I don't like birds. I know that's a blanket statement, and in fact it isn't entirely true. I don't hate ALL birds. I just don't like the boring, annoying ones--the ones that sit outside your window at ridiculous hours of the day and night screeching, who don't do anything cool like hunt small animals and other birds, or who can't be considered for purchase in the poultry aisle at Publix. I do, though, have a vendetta against a particular gaggle of geese that lives in the Inverness area, because they will regularly take up residence in the road and refuse to move even when you nudge them with the bumper of your car. I also have a vendetta against ALL swans--this is another story, though.
So anyway, the point to this post is that today my mission is to stick it to the universe in as many small ways as I can. The first way I chose today is to look up a very specific recipe for chicken, and then purposely get "creative" with it. I don't think it will have a major negative effect--rather than use lemon, for example (because I don't have any, they are expensive, and I don't like them), I sliced some onion and threw some minced garlic in there. I am kind of winging it with the rest of it, but with chicken, potatoes, and green beans in a pan with olive oil, onion, and garlic, it can't be that bad as long as it's all cooked, right?
Way #2 that I am showing the universe who's boss: I'm drinking Pepsi out of a Coke glass. Small, I know, but it's the little things that give you satisfaction.
Oh, and back (way back) to what I was saying about my Facebook post about asking people to shoot the bird? Well, underneath that, I posted a comment about what I'm doing tomorrow--volunteering at the Humane Society. Being hypocritical in a way that doesn't hurt anybody satisfies the rebellious streak in me. Which is good, usually it's asking me for chocolate and caffeine and battling my will for a happy tummy.
Such is life. Sometimes you get along, and sometimes you don't, and either way, it's the little things that matter.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Perspective
I was just perusing Pinterest, and I noticed some goody bags for a kid's party labeled "Thank you!" It got me thinking, when I was a kid, my mom always had me say thank you to the kids who came to my parties, or just came over for a play date. I always thought, in typical selfish-kid fashion, why exactly am I thanking them? I always thanked my friends when they invited ME places--they extended the invitation, after all, they let me play with their toys and make a mess in their house and eat their Fruit by the Foot. That made sense. It didn't make sense to me the other way around: Thanks for coming over and messing up my room, not putting my doll's hair on the right way, and eating those last two cookies I was going to eat after supper tonight? I didn't think that seemed quite right.
Now I see it differently. As an adult, and one who has suffered extreme feelings of loneliness, I understand the reasoning behind thanking friends for spending time with me. Even when it takes a lot of effort on my part, I'm always grateful that someone else thought I was a worthy way to spend part of the day. When you're a kid you don't think much about your value as a person. You're a kid, and your parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles (if you are lucky enough to have them) are always telling you how wonderful you are and everything you do, no matter how crappy, is perfect.
When you're an adult, you start to realize that your worth as a person is measured by more than the opinion of the people who created you (no offense, Mom.) Your worth is measured by the things you do for yourself, for your friends, and for people you don't know--in short, for the world in general. And when other people want to be around you, it's a sign you're either doing something right, or that they put up with your negative qualities so much because there is something lovable about you regardless of whatever you're lacking in personality. No one is entitled to trust, friendship, and respect without first showing some to others, and we're all guilty of betraying at least one of these fundamental principles at one point or another.
Despite our faults, most of us still have at least one person who calls you, texts you, eats lunch with you, or at bare minimum comments on your Facebook posts. If you do, be grateful to those people--they've seen the ups and the downs, and they are willing enough to muddle through your downs because they think your ups are worth it. If you don't, maybe you need to reconsider the ways you show trust, friendship, and respect to others. It's important to realize that people perceive things differently based on personality, gender, age, stage in life, and the kind of day they're having. If you're naturally sarcastic, like me, realize that some people don't get that kind of humor and don't appreciate it. Almost all of my friends have at one point or another been offended by something I've said. (I can't count how many times I've probably offended my husband.) But they've all forgiven me, just as I willingly forgive them for accidental insults that are nearly always meant in jest.
I guess what I'm saying in all this rambling is that now that I'm an adult, I appreciate much more that friendship can be a sacrifice. You sacrifice time, energy, calories, and sometimes your own feeling of well-being for your friends. And I love my friends and am eternally grateful for everything they've sacrificed for me.
Now I see it differently. As an adult, and one who has suffered extreme feelings of loneliness, I understand the reasoning behind thanking friends for spending time with me. Even when it takes a lot of effort on my part, I'm always grateful that someone else thought I was a worthy way to spend part of the day. When you're a kid you don't think much about your value as a person. You're a kid, and your parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles (if you are lucky enough to have them) are always telling you how wonderful you are and everything you do, no matter how crappy, is perfect.
When you're an adult, you start to realize that your worth as a person is measured by more than the opinion of the people who created you (no offense, Mom.) Your worth is measured by the things you do for yourself, for your friends, and for people you don't know--in short, for the world in general. And when other people want to be around you, it's a sign you're either doing something right, or that they put up with your negative qualities so much because there is something lovable about you regardless of whatever you're lacking in personality. No one is entitled to trust, friendship, and respect without first showing some to others, and we're all guilty of betraying at least one of these fundamental principles at one point or another.
Despite our faults, most of us still have at least one person who calls you, texts you, eats lunch with you, or at bare minimum comments on your Facebook posts. If you do, be grateful to those people--they've seen the ups and the downs, and they are willing enough to muddle through your downs because they think your ups are worth it. If you don't, maybe you need to reconsider the ways you show trust, friendship, and respect to others. It's important to realize that people perceive things differently based on personality, gender, age, stage in life, and the kind of day they're having. If you're naturally sarcastic, like me, realize that some people don't get that kind of humor and don't appreciate it. Almost all of my friends have at one point or another been offended by something I've said. (I can't count how many times I've probably offended my husband.) But they've all forgiven me, just as I willingly forgive them for accidental insults that are nearly always meant in jest.
I guess what I'm saying in all this rambling is that now that I'm an adult, I appreciate much more that friendship can be a sacrifice. You sacrifice time, energy, calories, and sometimes your own feeling of well-being for your friends. And I love my friends and am eternally grateful for everything they've sacrificed for me.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Bella
Bella.... Oh, Bella. She is, if you'll pardon my vernacular, a mess. One minute Brittany and I are falling out of our chairs laughing at something she's said or done, and the next minute Britt is pretending to strangle herself with her scarf because Bella won't listen.
A little information: Bella is six years old and repeating kindergarten this year; she's skinny because all she eats is peanut butter, cheese puffs, vanilla wafers, goldfish, and gummies, and her gait is more of a skip than a walk, so she burns TONS of energy. She loves to sing and dance, and she likes to make up her own lyrics to tunes she is familiar with. She is obsessed with fairies, particularly Tinkerbell, and she loves Barbie. Every day, usually multiple times, she stops her bouncing long enough to ask, "What color are your eyes?" We answer her every day and usually let her get close enough to see, but still she asks--and I discovered today that she also asks her own dad the same question all the time. Recently she's also had a preoccupation with angels and daisies. When she is focused on one of these things, it's incredibly difficult to get her motivated to do schoolwork; however, she conveniently enough NEVER gets focused on schoolwork.
It can take this little stinker upwards of an hour to sort 35 bears into 5 plastic cups based on color--and this lengthy time frame has NOTHING whatsoever to do with her low vision. She's just that stubborn. She sees colors very well and she's pretty smart; she has an incredible vocabulary, which is unsurprising considering so much of her information is probably based on sound.
Since Bella is completely blind in one eye and has very low vision in her other eye, it has been determined that it will be in her best interest to learn Braille and cane skills, so that if her vision fails completely she will already be much more adaptable. Since I am with Bella for about 30+ hours a week, I get to learn these things too. We had our first big breakthrough in Braille practice today--Bella wrote her name in Braille all by herself with no more than motivational support!
This is a HUGE DEAL. She hasn't been working on this for very long, and just yesterday it took her about 15 minutes to just write her name once--today she did it THREE TIMES in LESS THAN TEN MINUTES. Note: When I say she's learning Braille, it isn't the way you picture it. As she is so young and still working on dexterity, she uses tennis balls in a muffin tin to represent the six dots that form the basis for the language. We read books aloud to her and let her run her hands along the dots on the page, but she doesn't comprehend those at all yet. It's a long process, and she has a hard time sitting still for even five minutes.
But we're learning.
Eventually I'll post more information on Braille and sighted guide (when a seeing person leads a blind person), but for now, I'll leave you with this little scene from today....
Me (to Britt): Did you know Bella can speak with a British accent?
Britt: NO WAY. Are you serious?!
Me: Bella, do you know how English people talk?
Bella: No.
Britt: Do you know what language we speak in America?
Bella: I speak....BONJOUR!
And then we died laughing.
A little information: Bella is six years old and repeating kindergarten this year; she's skinny because all she eats is peanut butter, cheese puffs, vanilla wafers, goldfish, and gummies, and her gait is more of a skip than a walk, so she burns TONS of energy. She loves to sing and dance, and she likes to make up her own lyrics to tunes she is familiar with. She is obsessed with fairies, particularly Tinkerbell, and she loves Barbie. Every day, usually multiple times, she stops her bouncing long enough to ask, "What color are your eyes?" We answer her every day and usually let her get close enough to see, but still she asks--and I discovered today that she also asks her own dad the same question all the time. Recently she's also had a preoccupation with angels and daisies. When she is focused on one of these things, it's incredibly difficult to get her motivated to do schoolwork; however, she conveniently enough NEVER gets focused on schoolwork.
It can take this little stinker upwards of an hour to sort 35 bears into 5 plastic cups based on color--and this lengthy time frame has NOTHING whatsoever to do with her low vision. She's just that stubborn. She sees colors very well and she's pretty smart; she has an incredible vocabulary, which is unsurprising considering so much of her information is probably based on sound.
Since Bella is completely blind in one eye and has very low vision in her other eye, it has been determined that it will be in her best interest to learn Braille and cane skills, so that if her vision fails completely she will already be much more adaptable. Since I am with Bella for about 30+ hours a week, I get to learn these things too. We had our first big breakthrough in Braille practice today--Bella wrote her name in Braille all by herself with no more than motivational support!
This is a HUGE DEAL. She hasn't been working on this for very long, and just yesterday it took her about 15 minutes to just write her name once--today she did it THREE TIMES in LESS THAN TEN MINUTES. Note: When I say she's learning Braille, it isn't the way you picture it. As she is so young and still working on dexterity, she uses tennis balls in a muffin tin to represent the six dots that form the basis for the language. We read books aloud to her and let her run her hands along the dots on the page, but she doesn't comprehend those at all yet. It's a long process, and she has a hard time sitting still for even five minutes.
But we're learning.
Eventually I'll post more information on Braille and sighted guide (when a seeing person leads a blind person), but for now, I'll leave you with this little scene from today....
Me (to Britt): Did you know Bella can speak with a British accent?
Britt: NO WAY. Are you serious?!
Me: Bella, do you know how English people talk?
Bella: No.
Britt: Do you know what language we speak in America?
Bella: I speak....BONJOUR!
And then we died laughing.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
You know you're married when....
I had a married moment today. Bob was getting out of the shower and getting dressed, and I was getting ready to take laundry to my parents' house since we don't have a washer and dryer at our apartment. So as he opened the door I threw out my hand and said, "Give me your underwear."
Ladies, this is your life as a wife: washing your husband's dirty underwear and being glad to do it, because that way you know that at least he HAS clean underwear, and you also know when he needs a new pair because the old ones have holes bigger than the waistband.
This is not to say that Bob doesn't ever do anything to help out--today, for example, he put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and fixed dinner. Last week he did the laundry because I was out of town, and most weekends we do the laundry together and share the folding and putting-away. Our marriage is very much a partnership and every day we learn about one more thing that annoys the other person and one more thing that makes them happy.
This is also not to say that every woman enjoys domesticity: I know several women who hate either cooking, or cleaning, or laundry, or all of it. My own mother is not a fan of cooking, but it made her happy to give my sister, my dad, and me a reasonably clean home, clean clothes, and healthy meals (when we would eat them.)(I say reasonably clean not because she was not a good housekeeper, but because with two children, two dogs, two cats and numerous friends and neighbors tromping through the house every day it's a wonder the house is still standing at all.) I have several friends who would rather express a dog's anal glands than vacuum. And that's fine. Everybody has different preferences, strengths, and ideas about who should do what in the house.
All this is to make the point that while demanding that a person hand over his dirty underwear is not something I'd choose as a career, it makes me happy that I can do certain things to take care of my husband, even when he's perfectly capable of doing them himself.
Ladies, this is your life as a wife: washing your husband's dirty underwear and being glad to do it, because that way you know that at least he HAS clean underwear, and you also know when he needs a new pair because the old ones have holes bigger than the waistband.
This is not to say that Bob doesn't ever do anything to help out--today, for example, he put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and fixed dinner. Last week he did the laundry because I was out of town, and most weekends we do the laundry together and share the folding and putting-away. Our marriage is very much a partnership and every day we learn about one more thing that annoys the other person and one more thing that makes them happy.
This is also not to say that every woman enjoys domesticity: I know several women who hate either cooking, or cleaning, or laundry, or all of it. My own mother is not a fan of cooking, but it made her happy to give my sister, my dad, and me a reasonably clean home, clean clothes, and healthy meals (when we would eat them.)(I say reasonably clean not because she was not a good housekeeper, but because with two children, two dogs, two cats and numerous friends and neighbors tromping through the house every day it's a wonder the house is still standing at all.) I have several friends who would rather express a dog's anal glands than vacuum. And that's fine. Everybody has different preferences, strengths, and ideas about who should do what in the house.
All this is to make the point that while demanding that a person hand over his dirty underwear is not something I'd choose as a career, it makes me happy that I can do certain things to take care of my husband, even when he's perfectly capable of doing them himself.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Mawwiage
We have now been married for a little over three weeks, closing in on four. In one way it is still new and exciting and I feel almost like we are just playing house. In another way, though, most of the time it seems like life has always been this way. It feels exactly like it did when I would go visit Bob in Auburn for a weekend, only it's one fabulous weekend that never ends. It's like life was always meant to be this way--it just feels so perfectly right.
I actually cook dinner most nights--I'm trying to keep up with planning meals two weeks in advance to limit last-minute grocery trips, and having expensive vegetables go bad before I use them all, and forgetting that there is a carton of sour cream in the fridge that has been expired for two weeks (yes, sour cream CAN AND WILL EXPIRE.) Some dinners have worked out well; others have left something to be desired. Bob has never told me anything is bad, though--he always says it's at least "edible," and I'm usually my own worst critic. He never complains when something happens and he has to fend for himself or when we have a last-minute change of plans and just have to have frozen pizza or spaghetti.
Our biggest adjustment in life has not actually been living together--it's been the change in our schedules. Since I got hired at Pleasant Grove Elementary as a special ed aide and he started class instead of work, I have to get up at a painfully dark hour and he doesn't get home until after 6. That means I stay up later to hang out with him, and he gets woken up at 5:30 when I get up to go to work. As a result, we're both thoroughly exhausted. I do get home around 4, though, and that gives me time to work on dinner and have it on the table before 7:30 pm.
That's all I'm going to write for now; I could go on for awhile, but I'll stop for now. Future posting topics will include Bella, my charge at school who is almost totally blind; the reason I spend hours on Pinterest each day but don't have the energy to clean; and why sex is worth waiting for. (The sex post will NOT include inappropriate personal details, disgusting euphemisms, or judgement about anyone's personal choices--merely reasons why, if you're on the fence, I recommend waiting.) I apologize for the lack of humor lately. It's all I can do right now to keep posting with some honesty and regularity. Hopefully future posts will be funnier--anything to do with Bella will probably be pretty good. She's a handful!
I actually cook dinner most nights--I'm trying to keep up with planning meals two weeks in advance to limit last-minute grocery trips, and having expensive vegetables go bad before I use them all, and forgetting that there is a carton of sour cream in the fridge that has been expired for two weeks (yes, sour cream CAN AND WILL EXPIRE.) Some dinners have worked out well; others have left something to be desired. Bob has never told me anything is bad, though--he always says it's at least "edible," and I'm usually my own worst critic. He never complains when something happens and he has to fend for himself or when we have a last-minute change of plans and just have to have frozen pizza or spaghetti.
Our biggest adjustment in life has not actually been living together--it's been the change in our schedules. Since I got hired at Pleasant Grove Elementary as a special ed aide and he started class instead of work, I have to get up at a painfully dark hour and he doesn't get home until after 6. That means I stay up later to hang out with him, and he gets woken up at 5:30 when I get up to go to work. As a result, we're both thoroughly exhausted. I do get home around 4, though, and that gives me time to work on dinner and have it on the table before 7:30 pm.
That's all I'm going to write for now; I could go on for awhile, but I'll stop for now. Future posting topics will include Bella, my charge at school who is almost totally blind; the reason I spend hours on Pinterest each day but don't have the energy to clean; and why sex is worth waiting for. (The sex post will NOT include inappropriate personal details, disgusting euphemisms, or judgement about anyone's personal choices--merely reasons why, if you're on the fence, I recommend waiting.) I apologize for the lack of humor lately. It's all I can do right now to keep posting with some honesty and regularity. Hopefully future posts will be funnier--anything to do with Bella will probably be pretty good. She's a handful!
Sunday, January 1, 2012
New Year = New Resolutions to Break
Hello friends, it's January 1, and we know what that means--time to make New Year's Resolutions! Now we all know that NYRs typically follow the same patterns with everybody: a resolution to eat healthier and to exercise, usually followed by a resolution to lose X pounds; one to stay/get more organized; one to spend more time with loved ones; one to pick up a new hobby, learn a new skill, take a class, or complete X number of projects....
These are the standards. And usually another standard is to break your resolutions by mid-February at the latest. So I figured I might as well choose resolutions I have little to no control over, and that way I can avoid any guilt whatsoever if I don't succeed, and I get to feel fabulously superior if I do. So here are my resolutions for 2012:
1. Get bigger boobs
2. Have a 92% good-hair-day rate
3. Improve contact prescription (under 14 would be great)
4. Go 6 months without a sinus infection
Now I think these are great resolutions to have. There are other things I want to do this year, too, to improve myself, my life, and my marriage, but rather than call them "goals" or "resolutions" (which allow for failure if you fail to meet them) I'll just call them "things I want to do." Maybe if I am less stressed by the idea of failure, I'll do better at these things.
1. Keep our home in a state of "20 minutes to clean enough to entertain."
2. Bake or cook new recipes frequently--one to three a month at least
3. Walk more often, work up to running a couple of miles without stopping
Now, how about you guys? What are some things you want to start doing, or do better at, this year?
These are the standards. And usually another standard is to break your resolutions by mid-February at the latest. So I figured I might as well choose resolutions I have little to no control over, and that way I can avoid any guilt whatsoever if I don't succeed, and I get to feel fabulously superior if I do. So here are my resolutions for 2012:
1. Get bigger boobs
2. Have a 92% good-hair-day rate
3. Improve contact prescription (under 14 would be great)
4. Go 6 months without a sinus infection
Now I think these are great resolutions to have. There are other things I want to do this year, too, to improve myself, my life, and my marriage, but rather than call them "goals" or "resolutions" (which allow for failure if you fail to meet them) I'll just call them "things I want to do." Maybe if I am less stressed by the idea of failure, I'll do better at these things.
1. Keep our home in a state of "20 minutes to clean enough to entertain."
2. Bake or cook new recipes frequently--one to three a month at least
3. Walk more often, work up to running a couple of miles without stopping
Now, how about you guys? What are some things you want to start doing, or do better at, this year?
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