I've discovered that my attitude is in direct correlation to my activity level. Sedentary = crabby. Active = happy. For the most part. Exceptions do occur, such as being sedentary at the beach. Vacation is a whole different mindset.
I discovered this today, when my plans for a grand "Tour de Chattahoochee River Area Parks" with the lil' guy were washed away by drizzle, wind and cooler than predicted temps; unfortunately, weather.com got it wrong again. So, the toddler and I stayed home. ALL. DAY. LONG. I was okay when we were doing activities like reading, or playing trains, or constructing a NASCAR-esque race track for Matchbox cars out of a hula hoop, and when I was busy cooking or cleaning up. During the lulls, like when said toddler refused to take a nap and I allowed him to watch Thomas and Berenstein Bears instead, I was bored outta my skull and grumpy. When I decided on an impromptu game of "Hot Potato" using first a balled up sock, then a bouncy ball, then an actual potato (not hot, mind you), and we really got into it, running around the living room and tossing the objects back and forth, I was happy as a clam. See? Physical activity = one happy mollusk mama!
All day I was looking forward to Zumba tonight as an excuse to get me out of the house and burn off some pent up energy (and calories). Oh yeah, and as an excuse to dance. Barely 30 minutes into class, one of the staff members from the Playcenter at the Y came to get me and said the lil' guy was really upset. I found him red faced with huge tears streaming down his cheeks, and he ran to me and clung to my leg. Let me tell you that this NEVER happens. In fact I don't think it has EVER happened, not even when he was much younger. Turns out he was okay, just wanted his Mama for some unknown reason, but who can argue with that, right? Nonetheless, I had to stop mid-merengue, put my mommy game face back on and walk out of there, dripping ponytail and all, carrying my 30-something pound mama's boy. I was NOT happy.
So, my mood having turned from euphoric to bitter, I went home, performed the required amount of snuggling and put the lil' guy to bed. Then I sat down with a glass of water and a catalog and tried to relax. Nothin' doin'. It didn't work. I was angry, frustrated, and just generally PO'd that my precious hour of endorphin releasing cardio had been taken away from me. STOLEN. So, I got in the car, made the 5 minute drive (I may have run there if it weren't dark!) and marched my still slightly sweaty booty back into the Y.
After an hour and a half of weights, the medicine ball, a pilates ring (thank you, Lord, for that brilliant invention), some quality stretching and a few yoga poses, I was back to my old happy, bouncy, nothing-can-phase-me self. Mission accomplished. And realization discovered. I. Need. Activity. Unless I'm sleeping, or unless my toes are dug deep into the sand.