Sorry, justyne (and everyone else that has chastised me for abandoning the blog)!

My goodness, time does zip on by! In a funny way, both very little and so much has happened since the last blog entry (was it really in OCTOBER?). "Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up." (This last stolen shamelessly from The Princess Bride).
Over the course of the end of October, through...well, today, we have followed a kind-of pattern every day, broken up by major events. First, the pattern:
After the normal morning preparations (see earlier entry), Andee goes to work, and I go to work out. Because that's the kind of guy I am. A workout guy.
OK, stop laughing. I'm serious.
About mid-October I joined a health club around the corner from our piso. Its a small gym, with good exercise equipment, aerobics-etc. studios, jacuzzis, personal trainers (fort extra hire), ultra-modern chic decor, clean changing rooms, and about a zillion aerobic, pilates, yoga, and cross training classes every day.
Oh, and a sauna.
So every day, off I go with my very un-chic LL Bean backpack gym bag and my equally un-chic workout clothes, and head all of 30 seconds down the street to my sauna-with-attached-gym. Because anyone who knows me, knows that THAT is why I joined a health club. Not that I don't take advantage of the other things that they offer. I really am exercising, its just that although the workouts vary day by day, the sauna doesn't. So for 60 Euros a month, I get to have a sauna EVERY WEEKDAY, and its a hot sauna at that. "Siekman-hot" (for those of you that know what that means). And that's not all. Like I said, I really do work out first. On Mondays and Wednesdays I go to pilates class, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I have yoga. On Fridays I go to a high-energy aerobics class called "Body Attack" that basically kills me for the weekend. In addition, I do other weight and stretching workouts, and every hour on the half-hour a ten minute mini-masochistic exercise is offered that the really, really, extremely good looking workout assistants call abdominales. Apparently abdominales is Spanish for "I hate myself and I want to hurt all around my midsection, so please torture me."
Oh, and also, apparently Spanish men do NOT do group workouts. All of the 50 year old women with whom I exercise think that its just "sooo cute" that I do pilates and yoga. My back, however, has not felt this good in years, and I have thus far avoided all of the cold and flu epidemics typical of schools. "So I've got that going for me. Which is nice." (Caddyshack)

ALSO, we now have a weekend activity. Because abdominales isn't enough fun. Now, on Saturdays, we pack up a snack, get up too early, and head off to the traditional initiation event for parents of 10 year old boys: The 5-on-5 short-field soccer game. the parents of Ben's team are really super people, and some of them bring coffee and cake every Saturday for the fans (ourselves). Those of you reading this who don't have children at this age pretty much cannot understand the stress involved in watching your child compete. We all love that our kids are playing soccer on asphalt on a Saturday morning, but rather than experiencing the joy of watching our progeny run, twist, kick, celebrate, and generally frolic with their friends, most of us are focused of on a few, desperate mantra: PLEASE don't let him fall on the asphalt, please don't let him miss the ball when its kicked to him, PLEASE don't let him cry when the other team scores. To his great credit and my pride, Ben is a wonderful person. He is playing on a team with other 10-year olds that began playing soccer in utero, and he keeps trying. And he's still positive. And...he's getting better. He can't kick as hard as them, and he can't pass the ball sideways while running the other way, but he does know how to close passing lanes and to mark up on throw-ins and corner kicks. The rest will come. But in the meantime, PLEEEEASE........

Coming soon: Thanksgiving for 90!