Sunday, December 5, 2010
E talks incessantly about the "five-minute handstand" she wants to perfect. It's not clear to me that she knows what a handstand is, exactly, and it's very clear to me that she never stays in one position for five minutes, not even an upright one, but it's what she says she's doing. I am practicing my five-minute handstand. Can you pick up my feet for me? She has, trapped under her, one of those large bouncy balls with the handles, the kind an ordinary child would sit on and use to bounce around the room. She curls he body over it, flipping herself repeatedly. I can't work on my five-minute handstand if you won't pick up my feet! If you don't pick up my feet I just do another somersault and I don't want to somesault because I don't need to practice THAT! I need to work on my five-minute handstand! Undoubtedly there are regulations for how far apart calisthenics appliances should be stationed, and undoubtedly this basement is in violation. Undoubtedly, a handled bouncy-ball isn't a proper spotter, either, but that's immaterial where five-minute handstands are being perfected. Let me not to the marriage of reckless daredevils admit impediments, and all. A mere inches away L sits on the sit-n-spin and sits, and spins. Her feet stick straight out in the air, toes pointed perfectly which might matter if she was a gymnast or a ballerina but she's just a 30-pound hyena drunk on centrifugal force and the attention of her little brother. Her form compromises at the point on each rotation where she verges on kicking the five-minute handstander or the bookcase. The five-minute handstander objects on every single rotation but the baby brother, he crawls in circles, chasing the sitting-n-spinning purple-socked toes. The bouncy-ball rolls and the handstander stands and the sit-n-spinner falls off backwards and the baby brother squeals and claps and the rolling and the spinning and the circular purple-sock chasing-crawling start right again and I'm dizzy just from the watching.