Trust me, if there were any better way that I could handle stress than heading to the YMCA I would. But the exercise and the endorphins take away stress.
Last night we had Kari and her family, affectionately, ok, not affectionately but sarcastically known as the Coffees, over for dinner. We have very few friends that aren't parishioners, and so sometimes we feel a little too free in our conversation. An example would be last night's conversation about their son, Venti (OH my it almost killed me to type that code name) who has had girls autographing his bed. At that point we discovered that Mercedes (our daughter, not a code name) had also signed his bed.
She confessed to having written a message, and Jimmy, often confused by language, said, "you mean, like a sermon?" Of course that wasn't far enough. Someone, who will remain anonymous (and who is NOT my holy and appropriate husband, had to call it the "sermon on the mount."
I laughed until I snorted several times last night and that laughter is good for stress. But the endorphins still beat out. Which is why I had to go to the Y.
This morning my alarm didn't wake up and I was five minutes late waking up so in a hurry. I glanced in the boys room and saw Dominyk fully showered and dressed, including socks and shoes. He woke me up 3 times last night to tell me he couldn't sleep and the final time he told me he was going to take a shower. I guess he just figured he'd save some time by getting dressed for summer at 12:45 a.m. On my way out I looked to see if Wilson and his friend who were spending the night were still on the couches, but they were nowhere to be found (I just called Bart and found out they were in his top bunk, both pretty small so it's easy for the to hide). And Mike had something blaring in the basement -- either a live concert or a movie -- and it was so loud I could hear it clearly in the kitchen.
All of that is just unsettling. And so I felt unsettled until I finished my workout.
Can't there just be an endorphin pill? Do I really have to sweat and pant and move and embarrass myself at the Y?
(Rhetorical, folks, rhetorical).