He got off the bus a couple of days later beaming with pride. He got in the car and told me he had the best idea at school and had solved the potential big tummy problem without having to say a word about it. I was almost afraid to ask. As it turns out, Connor's new plan included stalking those particular children on the playground at recess and enticing them to chase him around therefore getting some exercise and improving their health.
What the what?
After letting this master plan marinate in my brain for a couple of minutes, I sought further clarification. "So, let me get this straight. You run around these children on the playground yelling, 'Hey, so and so come chase me! Come on chase me!'" He nodded excitedly. "Because you want them to get exercise and are trying to trick them into it? " More nodding. "And how exactly is that working out for all the parties involved?" "Well, actually I'm getting a lot of exercise, but they don't really seem to want to run after me. They think I'm being kind of weird. But I'm going to keep trying." Hmm. No kidding. I put an end to that little bit of madness and told him from now on he should just concern himself with the well being of the people living in his house, because lord knows we have enough weird already working against us, we don't need to add involuntary fitness instructor to the list.
After a few days of relative peace and quiet, the healthy living project again reared it's ugly head. Every afternoon Hudson and I wait to meet Connor's bus. As it stops, Hudson climbs aboard, hugs the driver, hugs his brother and then runs down the aisle high fiving all the other passengers. It's kind of his thing. This particular afternoon after they both disembarked, Connor bent down and told his brother, "Guess what Hudson? I bought you a surprise at school today!" To which Hudson immediately responded by shutting his eyes, holding out his hands and screaming, "A 'pise? OMG, a pise for me? Tell me when I can open my eyes Connor!" Grinning from ear to ear, Connor ever so gently and lovingly placed a blue pedometer into his brothers waiting hands. Yes, a pedometer. This might be the right time to add as a side note that Connor wears a pedometer just about every single day of his life. Does that really surprise you? It shouldn't. But back to the story, Hudson was delighted and had absolutely no idea what it was. Connor told him excitedly that it was a machine that would count his steps and help him get exercise so he could lose his "big tummy so you won't get sick and die." Well that was all Hudson needed to hear. He was in it to win it. I should probably also add that Hudson does not, in fact, have a big tummy. Granted he is almost five years old and still looks like a toddler, so he has retained a little bit of a baby belly, but he is in no way overweight. In fact, we are hoping that he can make it to the 25th percentile in weight at his next check up, but I won't be holding my breath. But Connor, in his quest for healthy living for all, had officially diagnosed his brother with a weight problem. Honestly, this really shouldn't have surprised me because I had noticed him giving his little brother's belly the stank eye ever since that stupid healthy living unit started. But you know what, if those two want to spend their evenings power walking the non existent pounds off, fine by me.
The next day, I sent Hudson's teacher an email about something stupid (which sum up about 96% of all emails I send to my children's teachers) and at the end of her reply she added, "Oh and by the way, Hudson has taken 476 steps on his pedometer today, he wants me to check it every time we come back in the classroom. He's so cute!"
Shut. The. Front. Door.
Now, I knew for a fact that stupid blue pedometer was on the dresser when I did a pedometer check (what, you don't have those at your house) that morning because Connor and I specifically discussed that Hudson would not be wearing it to school and I knew that Hudson was incapable of working the clip mechanism required to attach said pedometer to himself. Not like we don't already have a reputation for oddity at school, now I had to explain to Hudson's teacher that we don't have him on some kind of step count program. Again with the forced fitness!
Speaking of programs, I think Connor needs one of the twelve step variety. He is about two sweat bands away from his own infomercial. I'm expecting a phone call from Michelle Obama any day now.