I reminded the Kaiser that we had to go pick up his soccer junk today – cleats, shin guards, jersey. His smile turned to a frown.
“Aren’t you excited about soccer?” I smile that big, dumb parent smile.
“Mommy, will I hafta run?”
Aaaaaagh. This only confirms my growing concern about the kid’s epic laziness. Walking to the car from the front door, he asks me to carry him up the hill. My general response is a look of annoyed disbelief and a resounding, “Hell, no.” In all seriousness though, as I watched the kid nosh Cheese Doodles while staring, dead eyed, at his rainy-Friday-night movie, a kernel of dread grew. What if he… what if THIS:
He tends toward non-physical activities — books, puzzles, trains, talking until I want to stab myself in the ear. That’s ok. I, too, would far prefer reading a book to taking a jog. And granted, the kid isn’t even vaguely out of shape. But he is lazy, and I find this a distasteful trait, probably my least favorite human weakness. I will not abide it, and so I’ve devised certain plans/steps to ensure that this does not become the Kaiser’s future. He will thank me later.
1. Cheese Doodles are disgusting — we shall skip the chip aisle altogether upon future trips to Walmart.
2. Television time is limited to one hour a day. Unless I’m writing a blog, in which case all rules are forfeited.
3. Physical activity is necessary to general well-being. I’ll set a better example through yoga and soccer practice time.
4. In the interest of being alive long enough to see my child make the U.S. Olympic team, I’ll stop smoking. Again.
Most of these steps involve a change in me, not in the Kaiser. Isn’t that a bitch? Yes, it is. It’s also how the universe works, I think. While I can’t change his actions, I can change mine and watch those changes ripple into other lives. Thanks, Buddha.