Tight PantsPosted: February 27, 2013
Our weekends are seriously busy. We haven’t had Aiden signed up for anything since soccer three years ago, so I guess we’re making up for lost time. If he would just play the damn national sport we wouldn’t have to do anything; really, it is all that kids here play. (I will say, however, it is a testament to Aiden’s creativity and leadership skills that he can manage to get a group of boys to stop playing soccer at recess and join him in animal-super-power-hide and seek- tag). So, while we are no tiger parents, we felt like we should at least get him to try out some new things. Sam, who by default gets to go too, is one seriously booked up 3-year-old. They have Spanish, swimming, horseback riding and tennis. Fancy, no?
Saturday is swimming and horseback riding day, and also when the tight pants come out. The internet once led me to this video of Will Ferrell and Jimmy Fallon singing about their tight pants: The song has lodged itself in my brain and I can’t help but sing it when the riding apparel comes out.
Here’s Andrew decked out and one step closer to his dream of becoming an Argentine polo player.
Everyone loves the horses. Aiden is too freaked out to ride his bike on the hills of Medellin, but he is fearless on the horse.
Tennis lessons have not gone as well. The boys are actually pretty good at it, so it’s a bummer they have no interest. Aiden says he hates it. The lessons are really far away and take about 3 hours out of Sunday, so I’m happy to let those go.
My tight pants make an appearance 2 to 3 times a week for Zumba. Yes, Zumba, which I think is the closest I’ll get to taking Latin dance. I’m not that good at it, but it’s better than going to a gym. (Haven’t actually gone to a real gym here, but from what I hear they are full of surgically enhanced people who don’t sweat). I should also stress that it’s a gringa Zumba class, which means I’m not the whitest or least rhythmic person there, taught by a woman from Philly. Now that I live so close by I couldn’t come up with any more excuses not to go. I walk to the class with a friend who lives at the end of my street. The 3/4 mile trudge up the side of a mountain is probably the best part of the workout. I hope to one day be able to walk up the hill and have a conversation without wheezing.
Zumba looks like a great workout for the instructor. She knows all the moves and her energy level is HIGH. I tried to explain to Andrew how chipper this woman is and I couldn’t even imitate her level of perkiness. It’s intense. The salsa/rumba/cumbia footwork eludes me, but I’m trying. I imagine myself to be like the person in the exercise video whose purpose is to demonstrate the less challenging version of the routines, i.e. “if you are injured or 9 months pregnant, please follow Megan, who will be demonstrating the low-impact, slow motion version of the program.” After the class we sit outside at the cafe next door and have cappuccinos, which is obviously the reason I’m there.