“But Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is on.”
“Max, you knew you were going to miss it today. Please get dressed and meet me in the kitchen.”
“I don’t feel like it.” He’s pouting and whining now.
“Max, please! This is my big day. I need full cooperation. Lock and load, let’s go.” I start pulling his PJs off.
“No! Stop it! Don’t! Hands are not for hitting!” he yells.
“I’m not hitting you. I’m undressing you. Stop fussing around!” I’m inches from losing it. “What is wrong with you?”
And as I say it, I know.
“What did you make yourself for breakfast?”
“Cheez Whiz,” he grumbles.
He’s hungry.
“Buddy, how about you get dressed and I’ll let you have two Pop-Tarts for breakfast. Then you can watch a DVD in the car on the way to the store.”
Threats and bribes are the only two ways I know how to parent. Luckily, this bribe works and before you can say, “Jen’s a crappy mom,” Max and I are in the minivan and speeding downtown to the store.
As we pull into the parking lot, it looks like the circus has come to town. There is a big orange tent where people are gathering. A large blue, orange, and white banner has been hung on the building welcoming everyone to the Governor’s Get Fit Mini Mud Run sponsored by the Fitting Room.
“Max, look at that!” I yell so he can hear me over the headphones. The sight is impressive enough to tear him away from his movie.
“Whoa!” he yells. “Cool.”
And indeed it is cool. Ron’s team has done an amazing job putting together a fierce-but-not-too-fierce obstacle course, which covers half the parking lot and the adjoining field. It takes me a minute to register that, much to my horror, a fire obstacle has been included. They’ve really upped the ante from last year.
There is no room for cars in the lot, so I have to park down the street. Max and I rush back to the parking lot and wend our way through the crowd to where Ron is registering participants and getting liability waivers signed.
“Hey, sorry we’re late.”
“Are you late?” Ron doesn’t even look up. I can tell he is overwhelmed by the turnout. I know it’s a big day for him, but it’s a big one for me, too.
I leave Max to hang with his dad and the rest of the team behind the desk. In the parking lot, I bump into Hunter’s two moms. Kim and Carol are dressed in matching shorts and homemade T-shirts that say “Team Hunter.” I give them both a hug.
“You guys look great!”
“Thanks. I can’t believe that obstacle course!” says Kim or Carol. “I’m a little intimidated.”
“It’s bigger than the one they had last year,” I tell them.
“Did you do it last year?”
“Uh, you could say that.” I really don’t want to relive the shame of last year’s failed attempt. I spot Garth, Nina, and Chyna over by the door to the store and excuse myself.
“How are you feeling?” Garth asks after I hug all of them.
“I’m a little frazzled. I fell back asleep and woke up, like, fifteen minutes ago,” I tell them. “Chyna, sweetie, want to make twenty bucks the hard way?”
She smiles and walks toward the tent where Max is.
“I already told her that’s what she’s here for,” Nina assures me. “How are you and Ron doing?”
“We finally talked about it last night.”
Nina raises her perfect eyebrows. “Boy, when Ron says he needs time and space, he isn’t joking.”
“I know, right?”
“So, are you forgiven?”
“You could say that.” I blush, thinking once again about our makeup sex. “I think he was determined to prove that my reality is better than any fantasy.”
Nina smiles. “Pulled out all the stops, did he?”
I lean in and tell her she’ll get all the details later. Right now I need to focus.
I turn to Garth.
“As soon as I saw the course, my groin started to hurt. Is that normal?”
“You’ll be fine. It’s a great course. I’m looking forward to it.”
“And I’m looking forward to seeing you in action.” Nina gives his arm a squeeze.
“Me, too,” I purr.
“All right. Cut it out right now. Jeez.” Garth is blushing at our now ongoing joke.
Hot Dad Jean-Luc and Kim Fancy are having a tête-à-tête over by the Gatorade stand, which is right in my line of vision. Kim is wearing a long-sleeved black unitard that makes her already thin body seem emaciated. Jean-Luc is looking mighty fine in thigh-length running shorts and a hoodie. I look down at my T-shirt and leggings and realize I should have put a little more thought into my outfit.
I wave to them both and start to walk over. Don Burgess’s baby mama, Ali, falls into step with me; I completely forgot she’d signed up. I wonder if she knows about the texting drama, or if she would care.
“Hey there. Thanks for letting me do this,” she says, panting a little. “My New Year’s resolution was to dump my bad habits and get back into shape. That course looks really scary.”
She stops walking to catch her breath; I wonder how well she’s going to do, given she can’t even keep up a brisk walk without huffing and puffing.
“Did Don come out to watch you?”
“Oh, God, I hope not,” Ali replies, then puts her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was an overshare.”
“Not at all. Do you not like when he watches you do things?”
She shakes her head. “It’s hard to explain.”
I frown to show her I have no idea what she’s talking about, but just as she’s about to continue I see Kim and Jean-Luc coming toward us, so I touch her arm and ask her to hang on.
“Thanks so much for coming!” I enthuse to them. “Kim and Carol are by the tent, so it looks like room 147 is here to represent!”
“I’ll say,” a voice behind me chimes in.
I turn, and of all people in the world, you’ll never guess who’s there. Well, maybe you will, but it shocks the shit out of me.
Miss Ward is standing there in a pink warm-up jacket and shorts. Her blond hair is done in two braids and she’s wearing a white do-rag.
There are cries of “Miss Ward!” and “Peggy!” as everyone in the group greets her in their own way.
“Here to cheer us on?” I ask.
“I’m here to do more than that. I’m going to do the course.”
“Good for you.” Jean-Luc seems disproportionately happy to hear this news. I, however, have gone into silent panic mode. I flash back to when I told Ron I was going to invite some people to do the course. We were in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes.
“Uh, I’m not sure.” He seemed less than thrilled.
“Or maybe I won’t.”
“It’s just that we’ve had a huge response this year. I put a poster up in the store two weeks ago, and I already have a hundred and seventy-five people signed up to participate. I’m just wondering how many can do it in three hours.”
“Well, if they’re anything like I was last year, you can bet on thirty seconds before they collapse in defeat.”
Normally that would have made him smile, but because we were still in the ice age, all I got was the back of his head.
“So you’d rather I didn’t ask anyone?”
“No, you can, but just keep it to five max, okay?”