Why is our 5 year old such a picky eater?

November 15, 2019 littleshoeprincess

It seems like every day we are lamenting another food that our Little Mister declares he no longer will eat that we must bid adieu to.

About a month ago, he let us know that he no longer liked chicken nuggets. CHICKEN NUGGETS, people! The main food group of the under 10 set (and some adults, let’s be honest). We are no longer keeping these dino-shaped jewels in our home.

Don’t get me wrong, our Little Mister still eats a bunch of foods – and enough of them, no issues there – it’s just that our dinner options are rapidly shrinking.

I will admit that I am part of the problem. I have a traditional sense of what “dinner” should be. I grew up in a house where dinner was a warm meal that consisted of a protein, a starch and a vegetable. And while we may have had the same dinners week after week, we ate a different dinner each night within a week. I never had pork chops two days in a row.

But, perhaps I need to think of “dinner” as food in my 5 year old’s stomach. If he wants to eat the same thing 3 nights in a row, who am I to say no? He’s still eating, right? And if I have to accept that a PBJ sandwich is “dinner” – even if it was also lunch – then so be it.

Foods our 5 year old will no longer eat

Things we used to eat as a 3 year old that we no longer eat as a 5 year old:

Butternut squash (“Blecch!”)
Sweet potatoes ((spits them out))
String beans (“too stringy”)
Zucchini (“Yuck”)
Salmon (“I don’t like it.”)
Any meat of any kind ((weird chewing face until he lets it fall off his tongue into the plate))
Meatballs and meatloaf (“Too yucky”)
Macaroni and cheese ((no reason given))
Scrambled eggs (“Too eggy”)

Things our 5 year old WILL eat for dinner:

Noodles (aka: spaghetti with butter and parmesan cheese; though he thinks he doesn’t like butter and doesn’t know I put in the noddles)
Chicken soup (but not from a can; only SOME homemade versions and the one the produce store near us makes)
Pizza
Broccoli
Carrots
Pancakes
BLTs (well, B and T, hold the L)
Hot dogs (super healthy, awesome)
Tacos (don’t get excited here, I introduced tacos as crispy taco shells filled with 3 ingredients I know he likes: shredded cheese, tomatoes and black olives. Baby steps)
Cheese and crackers

We have a carb-loving kid (maybe we all do!) and while I don’t want him to eat noodles 5 days a week (I know what eating pasta 5 days in a row would do to my body!), it just may have to be. And I’ll continue to cook 2 different dinners (except apparently tacos, which we can all enjoy) until he’s 18, give or take.

Planner, Type A

Even Type-A planners like surprises…sort of.

November 14, 2019 littleshoeprincess

If you know me, or have read a few of my blog posts, you likely know that I’m a planner. It’s in my DNA to take charge – either when no one else does, or even sometimes when someone else has taken the reins but is moving a little slowly for my taste – and plan everything down the last detail.

And I plan everything, from big events like family vacations and holidays, to smaller things like playdates and date nights. My brain never shuts off; I’m constantly thinking and making mental lists, even at 5am.

And when I’m NOT planning something, I tend to get a little…antsy. This also applies to surprises. While I love being surprised, I’m not very good at it.

For example, I had no idea that Mr. KK was going to propose on that cold, damp early March night. We were living in Boston, I was at work, and he called to tell me that he was coming into the city for a haircut. This plan seemed a little inconvenient to me (for him), so I started to think of other plans that would be more efficient time-wise for him. He still came into the city, and suggested we meet up outside my work when he was finished. It had started drizzling, but Mr. KK let me know that they were tearing down the roof deck of the building we used to live in. “I ran into the Super,” he told me. “He said we could go up and see it one last time.”

Immediately my body tensed and I went into Annoying Planner Mode. “But it’s raining,” I said to him. “Can we come back when it’s light out so we can actually see from up there?” None of these questions changed Mr. KK’s mind. The Super let us up in the elevator, all the while me complaining about the rain, my frizzy hair, and how I hated my outfit today. Did I mention I was wearing orange knee-high wellies? Super sexy and romantic for a proposal! We got up to the roof and Mr. KK got down on one knee, and you know the rest.

Aside from the engagement, there was ONE other time when Mr. KK pulled off the greatest surprise of all time. To celebrate my milestone birthday, he planned a trip for us to Mexico. BUT, we had a whole night of regular celebrations that included drinks and dinner and at a fancy schmancy restaurant. On the way home, he handed me an envelop. ‘What’s this?” I asked, holding the legal white envelop in my hand. Inside was my passport and and note that said we were going to Mexico for a week. MEXICO! Through my surprise and elation, I started to freak out. “Are we going now????” I asked him. When would I pack – I hadn’t even brought my summer clothes up from the basement yet – I needed a manicure and pedicure, we had ZERO sunscreen in the house. Who was going to watch the dog? “Relax,” he told me. “Leaving tonight would have been a bad surprise. We’re leaving in a few weeks.” PHEW. Mr. KK had even arranged my time off with my boss, all behind my back, that little sneak.

I think people tend to shy away from trying to surprise Planners. Or to even take the planning away from them. While I relish the control that comes with planning (sorry, but it’s true), I do like to have someone else take over every once in a while. Tell ME where we’re going, what we’re eating or where we’re doing for the weekend. I promise I will smile and keep all commentary to myself. But the big stuff, well, you can leave that planning to me. 🙂

For most other things, you can leave the planning to me.

Now, if everyone could turn to page 13 of their travel agenda…

Christmas, Elf on the Shelf

I can’t wait for the Elf on a Shelf to return.

November 14, 2019 littleshoeprincess

I know some of you will cringe when you read this title; not because it’s about the Elf on a shelf (the creator of whom I’m sure receives hate mail) but because I’m talking about CHRISTMAS before Thanksgiving has even happened.

But I love Christmas. And if I didn’t think my family would boycott, the tree would be up and the house would be decorated before Thanksgiving this year. (Thanksgiving is LATE this year, y’all!)

Last year, I spent time debating whether to Elf or not to Elf, and in the end, decided that I wanted to start the Elf on a Shelf tradition because the Little Mister would get a kick of out if. And, if we’re being honest, I had fun with it, too.

I didn’t do anything too crazy with him – like have him poop Hershey Kisses, or make a snow angel in sugar on the counter (who wants to clean that up?), but our Elf, Jack, had enough antics that made the Little Mister smile every morning.

I commend him on his appreciation for fine bourbon, and for leaving the house just as he found it.

Jack will arrive on the Friday after Thanksgiving, in a big box from the North Pole addressed to the Little Mister, with a Christmas book and Christmas pajamas inside.

Suggestions on what antics Jack the Elf should find himself up to this year?

food, NaBloPoMo

10 foods I could eat forever.

November 13, 2019 littleshoeprincess

I love to eat.

In fact, most of my decisions and plans revolve around food. I have been known to plan an entire vacation around how many restaurants we could eat at during our stay.

I always have food on the brain. When I worked in Boston many moons ago, we would all start talking about lunch around 10am. What should we have? Where would we go? Sebastian’s for salads? Big Al’s for chicken salad sandwiches? Chacarero for those flat sandwiches that were so good? And then halfway through the afternoon, I’d start thinking about what I was going to cook for dinner.

Fast forward a bunch of years, and not much has changed. I still think about what my next meal is going to be, or try and schedule my days around meal times. There is nothing worse than being trapped somewhere during lunchtime without having any access to food. I do my best to avoid hairy situations like this.

Thanks, someecards for capturing it so well.

It goes without saying that the main reason I work out is so that I can still eat and drink whatever I want. (Though that is starting to feel like a losing battle, but I’m trying!) I don’t like to diet, because I hate the thought of giving up things I enjoy eating. (And I’m sorry, spaghetti squash, but you’re just NOT a substitute for real spaghetti. No matter how much parmesan I use.)

Because there are simply some things that I will never stop eating. Even if the doctor suggests I stay away from my favorites, I may try and bargain with him.

10 foods I could eat for the rest of my life.

I tried to list out singular foods – not meals – that I could not live without.

Pimento cheese. If you’ve never had pimento cheese, I suggest you wiggle your way out from under the rock you’ve been living and join the party. Because pimento cheese is the most amazing creation since almost everything. And it’s versatile! While I enjoy eating it cold and straight up on crackers (pita chips, specifically), it’s also delicious warm on baguette slices, spread on a chicken cutlet sandwich, and as a topping on a burger.
Cheese. (I’m noticing a theme here). If I had to pick one specific kind, I’d have to say super sharp aged cheddar. Or the creamy cow’s milk deliciousness of Fromager d’Affinois. Third runner up: Manchego.
Avocados (and, in turn, guacamole). If you put guacamole in front of me, I will eat entire bowl, unapologetically. Bonus points for blue tortilla chips.
Chicken salad. There are many chicken salads out there that should be ashamed of themselves (cranberries do not belong in chicken salad. Neither do grapes). Chicken, mayonnaise, spices and maybe a little celery if you’re feeling frisky, and you have the perfect chicken salad. Pair it with Carr’s water crackers and it’s a meal.
Onion dip (and Ruffles potato chips). Can’t. Stop. Won’t. Stop.
Half sour pickles. Pickles make everything better.
Red wine. Wine is a food group, right? As much as I love beer, there’s something about having a glass of plum-colored greatness after a long day, or on a cold evening, or with an Italian meal.
Ice cream. It just makes everything better. I could never eat a cookie, cake or pastry again and I’d be ok with it. As long as I could have a bowl of ice cream. Peanut butter or Oreo, please.
Steak. A thick-cut rib eye, crispy on the outside, medium rare on the inside. Blue cheese butter on top? Well, if you insist.
Roasted potatoes. They need to be made exactly like my grandmother’s – crispy outside and warm and soft inside. Tossed with olive oil, garlic salt, regular salt and pepper. They’re so good they don’t need ketchup.

If you thought there’d be fruit or something healthy on the list, forget it! The whole point of the favorite foods list is that the items are SO GOOD you can’t imagine living without ever enjoying one of them again.

Now, if we’re talking meals that I could eat for the rest of my life, that’s a whole different story. Then we’re talking about the kk special pizza, tacos, penne vodka…

dogs, NaBloPoMo, Rocco

Getting a dog after losing a dog.

November 12, 2019 littleshoeprincess

Two years ago, we lost our beloved Vito the Wonder Dog. It was a soul-crushing experience, and one that I’m not yet truly over. That dog was woven so tightly into our family unit, that saying goodbye was tougher than saying farewell to some humans.

The Little Mister and Vito, a few months before we said good-bye.

In the weeks and months that followed losing Vito, the hole in our hearts was so big, that I often found myself saying, “I don’t think I could ever have another dog. How could I ever love another dog like I loved Vito?”

A year after we lost Vito, we still never mentioned getting another dog. The Little Mister, who was now 4, would bring him up every once in a while, with heart-wrenching questions such as, “I miss Vito. When is he coming back?” and “Is Vito in heaven? When will he be done up there?”

Our lives had changed a little bit in the year since Vito was gone. I had started a new job that allowed me to work from home. My inlaws also lost their dog, almost a year to the day that we lost Vito. And my father-in-law couldn’t wait to bring another dog into their lives. If there was ever a get a dog, we were approaching it.

Yet, we still didn’t talk about it.

Because as much as we mourned Vito, we had a little bit of a new lease on life. We no longer had to worry about getting home at a certain time to let a dog out. We could go away for the weekend and not have to made doggie arrangements. When one of us was away or working late, the other didn’t have to juggle taking care of a 4 year old and walking and caring for a dog.

But even with all that freedom, I still was in the habit of checking the floor for poop when I came around the corner. Or rushing to pick up a fallen M&M or grape or piece of onion from the floor. We didn’t physically have a dog, but mentally, I still felt like we did.

One cold Friday night, while Mr. KK was playing in his monthly poker night, I started scrolling through petfinder.com. You know, just to see what was in our area. We hadn’t really yet talked about getting another dog, but it had almost been 2 years, and I know at some point we would get one. We knew we’d rescue again, and who knows how long it would take to find the right fit?

On that very first night, I came across Rocco – at that time, named Nikki by the shelter. He was a 3 1/2 month old mix, some combination of chihuahua, dachshund and miniature pinscher. He was in a foster home 2 miles from our house. He had the cutest little face. His ears were so big and alert, he looked like a bat. And the clincher: he was black and tan, and looked a lot like Vito.

I emailed the rescue, and 3 weeks later we brought Rocco – formally known as Nikki – into our house, and our lives.

At first, I was a wreck inside. Rationally, I wanted Rocco to be part of our family. Emotionally, I felt like I was betraying Vito. On the third night of Rocco being in our home – and me chasing him around to make sure he didn’t pee or poop in the house – I broke down. “What if I can’t love him like I loved Vito?” I asked Mr. KK.

We had never had a true puppy before. We rescued Vito when he was about 8 months old. I was living in Boston, and Vito was with Mr. KK and his parents (before he was Mr. KK as we weren’t married yet) in Connecticut. My father-in-law house trained Vito in about 3 days.

When we picked up Rocco from the foster home, they informed us that he used pee pee pads and tended to just “poop by the back door”. Um, that would not fly in my house. From the minute he came home, I was in full puppy potty training mode. I took him out constantly, monitored his intake – and output, and made sure he was never left unsupervised. It took a bit of time but eventually we were on a schedule and I didn’t feel the need to freak out if he was out of my sight for more than a few minutes.

As the months passed, I began to feel less like Rocco was replacing Vito and more like he was becoming an addition to the family. Little Mister absolutely adored him, and Rocco was so sweet and gentle with him. During Rocco’s teething phase (that felt like it lasted forever), Rocco would chew on our hands but he would only lick Little Mister’s.

It was no surprise that Rocco was attached to me, mostly because we spent so much time together.

He’s my daytime work buddy, who often sleeps on my desk chair, snuggled up behind me. He’s the ultimate cuddler, often making it hard to get out of bed in the morning.

Little Mister enjoying a quiet moment with Rocco.

This little boy wiggled his way into my heart, when I thought I couldn’t love another dog again. I can’t imagine our lives without him.

Uncategorized

Everything hurts and I’m dying.

November 10, 2019 littleshoeprincess

I’m an early riser. As I open my eyes each morning and let them adjust to the darkness in the room, I squeeze my muscles and twist and turn every so slightly to take inventory, and to get an idea of where the pain is going to be when try to make myself vertical.

Waking up hurts.

There was a time in my life, when I could literally hop out of bed and start my day.

Now, I need time to “prepare” to get out of bed: I need to have a plan of attack. Roll to the side, dangle legs push yourself up on your elbow. Or, Sit up first in bed, test out your back, then swing your legs to the side and stand. Neither option is pretty, and not without grunts and groans.

But perhaps the best part of getting out of bed each morning, is that when I finally do achieve a vertical position, I’m half crouched over because I can’t yet stand up straight.

Getting old sucks.

I have always had issues with my lower back. And about twice a year it really acts up, and is so painful, I’ve often told Mr. KK to take me in the back yard and to just shoot me. This past April, my back pain came back after a 9 month hiatus, and was out for revenge.

The pain came quickly, on the week leading up to my birthday (fitting), and ended up preventing me from traveling for work. I have done a fair amount of work travel in my life, and I have NEVER cancelled a trip. But this time, I literally could not stand up, sit down, lie down or walk without excruciating pain. My days consisted of a continuous musical chairs of positions, each one last about 15 minutes until I couldn’t bear it any longer. Someone had to be with me at home to help me perform everyday tasks. Someone had to help with the Little Mister and walk the dog.

Long story short, after a chiropractor (which made it hurt more), muscle relaxers (which did nothing) and Oxycodone (which just made me loopy but didn’t ease the pain), I went to an Orthopedic walk in and was prescribed a steroid. And these magic pills changed my life. Not only did they ease the pain in my back, but all of my other aches and pains (remember my frozen shoulder?) miraculously went away. (For a short time, any way.)

It wasn’t until my back pain had eased that the appointment I had made with the orthopedic surgeon weeks early had arrived (God forbid you’re able to see a doctor when you actually have the pain, instead of describing what the pain was like 15 days earlier).

They took an x-ray of my lower back. And I was diagnosed with Old Age.

(The actual diagnosis was degenerative arthritis in my spine, but tomato tomahto.)

I was told to stretch every day, keep active and work out, and to try and avoid sitting for long periods of time without getting up (ie: working).

Every now and then I feel a twinge of my back pain coming back, but it’s never gotten to the point it was near my birthday. I’ve been working out regularly doing kickboxing, barre and pilates. So now when I wake up and I hurt, I have to categorize the pain as being either “old age aches and pains” and “workout muscle pain”.

The joys of getting older!

Uncategorized

Death of a monitor.

November 9, 2019 littleshoeprincess

It’s the end of an era.

Our monitor is dead.

I have always been a paranoid person: barricading hotel room doors, triple checking the house locks and obsessively holding the monitor to my ear when Little Mister was a baby to make sure he was breathing.

Out of habit, I’ve kept the monitor. We technically don’t need it – our house is so small I can see Little Mister’s room without getting out of bed. But every night, I turn it on, the blurry image illuminating our room. There’s something comforting about waking up in the middle of the night and looking over and seeing my little man tangled in his blankets under a mountain of stuffed animals.

I knew it was on it’s way out. If the plug wasn’t in just so, it would beep incessantly. You couldn’t touch it or breath on it, and it would work. But, I was still connected to my little boy.

We have always been very lucky that our Little Mister rarely wakes up in the middle of the night (cue the sound of me cursing our lives). I can count on one hand the number of times he’s woken up. And even when he does wake up, he never gets out of bed. He simple SCREAMS at the top of his lungs from his room.

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

Me, jumping out of my skin and a deep sleep.

I open the door to his room. “What’s up, bud?”

“My teddy bear fell on the floor, can you pick it up?”

SERIOUSLY?

I guess I should be glad that as he gets older he still needs me?

Well, this morning, the monitor died. A piece fell out. It’s over.

And even though we probably haven’t needed it for years, I haven’t slept without the buzzing (after a few years, it started making weird sounds).

But I guess this is part of us both growing up.

RIP monitor!

NaBloPoMo, New Haven, pizza

We are pizza snobs. #sorrynotsorry

November 9, 2019 littleshoeprincess

Every state has something they’re known for: BBQ, lobster, cheese, potatoes…

I’m proud to live in the state that is known for having the best pizza on the planet. (It’s Connecticut, btw, NOT New York).

Unless you are gluten free or can’t eat dairy, I feel it’s safe to say you like pizza. And you’re particular about your pizza. Maybe you’re a deep dish lover. A New York-style die hard. Or a Sicilian pie is where it’s at for you. Whatever the case may be, there’s a style of pizza you like and to you, it’s the best there is, and no one is going to tell you differently.

For me, that pizza is New Haven-style pizza, that is only available in New Haven, CT.

What is New Have style pizza? Or should I say, apizza? (pronounced a-beetz).

It’s a thin crust pizza cooked to crispy perfection in a coal-fired oven that’s as hot as the sun.

As for toppings, they can vary. There’s the classic tomato pie with grated cheese, the white clam pie (add bacon and peppers and make it ‘clams casino’) and everything in between.

New Haven is home to the three heavy hitters of the pizza world: Frank Pepe’s, Sally’s and Modern. And if you’re familiar with them, you are loyal to one of them.

For us, we’re a Modern family. Their clams casino pizza (on the left in the photo: white pie, mozzarella, chopped clams and garlic, peppers and bacon – and we add hot cherry peppers – is to die for).

The tricky thing with the New Haven pizza scene is that none of these places deliver. So if you’re not in the mood (or have the time) to drive down to New Haven and stand in line for a table, you have to find other options.

Let me tell you, with a 5 year old, we order pizza a lot. And we’ve have had some BAD pizza trying to find our “local” pizza place.

Our test pizza, the our favorite pizza to order from places that aren’t Modern, is aptly (self) named The KK Special. The KK Special consists of sauce and mozzarella, with sausage, black olives and ricotta. This is an especially difficult pizza to master, as you need to find not only the balance of the toppings, but you must ensure you have a crispy enough crust to hold up to the soft ricotta. (If you deliver a soggy pizza, you are one and done).

It took some time, but we’ve found our neighborhood pizza place. They only do take out – not a table to be found in the place. Only downside: they don’t deliver. But it’s THAT good, that we will throw on a coat and boots and leave the warmth of home to go and pick it up.

Olde World Pizza is amazing. And, it’s consistently amazing, which is a very appealing attribute for a pizza place to have.

Here are tonight’s selections:

For Mr and Mrs KK, the pizza on the left: eggplant and meatball.

And for Little Mister, his favorite: bacon, spinach and black olive. (Pretty impressive for a five year old).

And you must have beer with pizza. No arguments.

And if you don’t eat so much pizza that you can’t breathe, you’re not doing it right.

1821, Home renovations, Patio, Uncategorized

The summer of the patio.

November 7, 2019 littleshoeprincess

Summer (and fall) of 2019 will forever be known in the KK house as that time we built a patio.

When we purchased our house (where Mr. KK’s grandmother used to live), there was a concrete “deck” off the back of the kitchen that Mr. KK’s grandfather had built. It was not the prettiest thing, but it allowed us to have our grill close to the kitchen, with enough room for our chiminea, table and chairs, and my potted herbs in the summertime.

Unfortunately, it started cracking and wasn’t in the best shape, so we had to take it down. And with it, went our only outdoor space (that had a floor, anyway) where we could eat outside and hang out.

We knew when we took away the old patio that we would eventually build a new patio off of the new family room. We had beautiful french doors that would be the perfect gateway to our outdoor living paradise.

And this past July, in what will be called the “Summer of the Patio”, Mr. KK spent every waking moment working on this creation with his friend. From drawing the plans, to changing the plans, to picking out the stone (this is where I came in!), to clearing the land and digging in, this project took over our lives.

When we started, it was July and it was HOT. Notice the lush green trees, and my lone lounge chair.

The was was the first thing to get dug and built.

I believe this photo was taken during the hottest day of the summer, it was about 100 degrees and 1,000,000% humidity. But these two soldiered on:

And, oh, all the deliveries! Stone, gravel, sand, more stone, more gravel. Our yard was a disaster:

Check out that wall!

From what I could tell, the wall was the “hard part” and it was finally over!

Next up, digging and clearing where the floor was going to go:

It may be hard to see, but it’s the beginning of fall here. You can see the leaves in the grass in the back of the yard. Summer was over, and we were yet to enjoy our first drink on the new patio.

That rush of laying down the first stones!

Fall meant shorter days, but that didn’t stop these two. They worked well into dark, using the floodlights to see.

And…done!

The patio itself is officially finished, but there’s still a ton of work to do. Besides cleaning up the yard and scraps, there are planters to be filled in, walkways to plan and lighting to think about.

All I know is that I’m going to have a celebratory drink on this thing of beauty, even if I have to wear a parka and boots!

Exercise, kickboxing, Uncategorized, workout

I tried kickboxing, and here’s what happened.

November 7, 2019November 7, 2019 littleshoeprincess

If I had known that my metabolism was going to up and disappear one day without so much as a ‘good-bye’ I would have been nicer to it. Showed it more appreciation. Maybe thanked it more often.

Because, man, do I miss it.

Over the years I’ve found it harder and harder to stick my goals, keep weight off that I’ve lost, and not fall victim to a “I should be able to eat whatever I want because life is short” mindset. (Though, I am a firm believer in said mindset, which is why I will never give up cheese, wine or beer).

Earlier this year, I was pretty committed to a workout routine of barre and pilates reformer classes. I was attending classes 4 (or more) times a week and was eating very healthy (read: no ice cream or alcohol) and I felt really good and even lost about 10 pounds or so. (Of course, Mr. KK was ALSO exercising regularly and eating the same things I was and he lost twice the amount of weight. This, my friends, is why men suck.)

I really enjoy my barre and pilates, and I’ve kept that up. But, as to be expected, life got in the way of me attending classes as much as I would have liked. Mr. KK and I were trying to sync schedules, while also balancing him building a patio in our yard all summer. Workout time became time I needed to spend going to the grocery store, or catching up on work, or watching the Little Mister.

I was also feeling like I needed to find a workout that would make me sweat. I am not one who sweats a lot to begin with (I once ran a 5k and my face was red, but not damp at all), but I tend to equate losing weight with sweating, so I was looking for something to supplement with my current toning and conditioning classes.

Enter: kickboxing.

Targeted digital marketing was doing its thing, and I was seeing sponsored kickboxing posts in my social feeds. My gut instinct was that I would not like it. I had gotten used to very small, intimate barre classes, in a dimly lit studio, in my own zone. Kickboxing was the complete opposite of that: big, bright room, loud music and an instructor with a headset, tons of people around me, and a general feeling of intimidation.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I signed up for a 3-class trial with free boxing gloves. Plus, there was a promotion, so I ended up paying $9.99 for the 3 classes and the gloves. Even if I only go once, it’s a good deal, I told myself. And I never turn down a deal.

I knew I was in trouble when they called me to pick a day for my class. I liked to plan my workouts privately. “Can I sign up online?” I asked, hopeful. I was told that I couldn’t because I needed to have a mini orientation before my first class. There went my plan to sneak into a class, hide in the back and go un-noticed. Reluctantly I scheduled my first class and the dread set in.

On the day of my first class, my enthusiasm was around 10%. Don’t get me wrong, everyone I had been in contact with was very friendly and helpful. I was the issue, not the outgoing, super energized skinny kickboxing instructors. People who know me may describe me as outgoing, which I am, in certain situations. But when it comes to participating in large group activities where I don’t know anyone, I’m not in my comfort zone. I much prefer to be alone.

I wasn’t sure what to expect the other class attendees to be like. Would they all be svelte kick boxing pros? Would they make fun of my pathetic right hook? Would the class be filled with men who actually knew how to box? (None of this was accurate. The class was a mix of all women from early twenties to mid-fifties, all fitness levels, who only paid attention to their own workout.)

In regards to the actual class, a friend had told me about a grueling warm up, followed by the actual class, and some sort of partner drills at the end. From that description, I was hoping to stay out of the way and finish the class.

Here’s what the kickboxing class was like:

The warm up. It’s a HIIT-style warm up that lasts about 15 horrific minutes. It starts with jogging around the room, transitions into a million burpees, and then morphs into some combination of jump squats, push ups, planks and surrenders. And then more burpees. Thank god there aren’t any mirrors, because if I saw what I looked like doing a burpee, I would never return to class. I can safely say it’s the hardest 15 minutes of the class.

Stretching. Who doesn’t love stretching?! Especially if it means the burpees are over! My favorite line from this portion of the class, said breezily and all NBD by the instructor, “And whenever you’re ready, you can slide into that full split.” (Honey, this body hasn’t been in a split in 25 years.)

The kick boxing. This was my favorite part of the class, which consisted of six 3-minute rounds of punches and kicks to the bag. These mini routines focus on skills and form, and generally make class go by quickly. My arms got tired and I was sweating, so I felt good. Plus, there is something about hearing the satisfying whap! of your shin connecting with the bag with a solid roundhouse kick.

Partner drills. (Ugh, shoot me.) “Find a partner!” the instructor commanded, and I was immediately taken back to middle school gym class when we used to pick people for teams. I was the newbie, so I didn’t have kickboxing friends to gravitate towards. But I found a partner, and I wasn’t the odd woman out who had to spar with the instructor, either.

Cool down. More stretching, some instructor announcements and a fit tip of the day. The second best part of class! Except for the ceremonial hand drumroll on the mat, two slaps and a loud WOOOO! that is required of class members. I don’t do group WOO-ing.

The vibe. If I can get past this part of the kickboxing experience, I may be able to hang in there. The instructors are very good at keeping the energy level up, and encouraging class members throughout the routine. However, there’s lots of group chanting and answer-backs…which is not my style. Things like, the instructor yelling, “LAST ROUND!” and the class shouting back, “BEST ROUND!” Or the occasional ask of how everyone’s feeling, only to be answered with WOO-HOO and general hollering. (See note above about group WOO-ing).

The class photo. After every class, the instructor asks to take a picture of everyone, that they will use on social media, etc. I never participate in these photos. I don’t know why I run away and hide in the locker room, but I do.

I’ve been taking classes for about a month and a half now. I try and average about 2 classes a week, more if my schedule allows it.

Here are the pros and cons:

Pros:

I feel good after a class. I sweat and know I got a workout.
The hour goes by quickly.
I have a decent roundhouse.

Cons:

The warm up. I literally DREAD those first 15 minutes. They don’t make me feel good, they make me feel out of shape. And slow. And old.
Class participation in the forms of woo-ing, shouting, hell ya-ing, etc.
Post class photos. No thank you.

I haven’t seen any “results” yet. But I assume that takes time. Honestly, if I burn enough calories to still enjoy a frosty beer with Mr. KK each night, it’s worth it.