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About our Author: Karen Killough is a triathlete, swim and fitness coach, and a first-time mom. Louis was in the front of the store and Penelope was coming in soon, so I decided to take a cigarette break.Maybe, being forced out of the nest and into flight or death, it took a long look at its surroundings and announced: Fuck this. ” Internally, I thanked the gods of benevolent retail fortune for Dan’s presence. You know Christina needs Joe like a Ruskie needs vodka, man. Well, of course he didn’t bag it because she was on birth control for the whole three years they were going out. He didn’t recognize the danger but we were all potential Joes, waiting to be fucked this way to September Tuesday without any protection but our own social savvy and gut instinct. I had to check Elsa’s duties to make sure she completed them before I could dismiss her.

We could mumble to each other about our mutual work affliction like two worn-out Teamsters just out from the loading dock. Still not completely satisfied, I grabbed a hammer. So I finally got up the courage to take a deep breath and move past Elsa, mumbling, “I’m just, uh . Pigeons liked to nest in the roofing shingles that covered the outlet mall.

In our hypothetical dialogue that would never be, we commiserated about pushing the carts back and forth, back and forth every day. I stuffed all three of my newly acquired weapons into the suitcase like a rough-sketch caricature of some B-grade movie. And her Three Hundred Pound Husband would be there at the end of the night to pick her up. Here and there you could see the nests, but you rarely saw the actual birds.

I’ve been teaching fitness classes and coaching triathletes for eight years.

But, I’ve only been at this motherhood thing for four months!

Whether your little ones are 4 months, 4 years or 14 years, they all demand plenty of your time and attention.

Between diaper changes, Gymboree class or swim practice, plus work & home commitments, how do you find time for your own fitness?

Outside, the sun mercilessly penetrated my skin and broiled the parking lot asphalt. Commotion resonated from customers inside, matching the outside heat in some inexplicable manner. They’re notorious for getting shit-drunk and beating the hell out of people.” Penelope asked me what I wanted to do about it. Calling the cops or firing the wife of a Yard Dog, I figured, would not make matters any better for me. .” By the time I finished the greeting, I was already in the back office, staring at the suitcase and wondering if I was being reasonable or just paranoid.

I listened to the monotonous drone of cars entering the Factory and leaving the Factory, the great ebb and flow of commerce at work. “He said that if you give his wife any more trouble, he’ll kill you. When I got home later that night, I grabbed a small suitcase that could double as a briefcase and started looking in the kitchen for viable weapons of defense. I finally unloaded the objects into my drawers for easier access, just in case I needed to pull a split-second Steven Segal judo movement with a flip and—on my ascent upwards—had to reach and grab a butcher knife while simultaneously hurling it into the chest of the Three Hundred Pound Husband.

When I got back inside, Penelope, Louis and Keys all stared at me with a hybrid look of horror and humor. Slowly waking from a long drunken sleep the next morning, I confronted my sense of drama in the mirror, laughed at myself a little, then picked up the suitcase and headed out. They liked to keep to themselves, away from the hustle and commotion, coming out only to retrieve pieces of dropped pretzel or taco to feed their young. Maybe now and then they came down to retrieve a lost shoe string to help build their nests. I saw what had to be the mother pigeon flying overhead, around and around over her baby, who had obviously failed in the first and most pivotal task in life—flying.

I looked down at my clothes for a stain or something hanging from my belt. I walked into the store stealthily, head down and pseudo briefcase full of kitchen utensil weaponry. She circled in panic, horrified, as though trying to spin time backwards, to take it back—to not have cast her young out so soon.

I am still trying to find the answer to that question!