In My Defense, I'm Just Incredibly Lazy

Last night, I woke up in a cold sweat because I realized that it's been over a year since my last post.  And Blogger has a reputation for deleting my blog if I haven't posted in a while... looking at you, tech who deleted "Life Is Nuts" and therefore made it as though 2005-2010 never even happened.

I'm not exactly sure how long Blogger's "Hasn't Posted Shit So Let's Delete" time frame is.  A year?  18 months? So at 3 a.m., I asked myself what I would do if the blog had been deleted? Sue?  Murder?  Curl up into the fetal position under the coffee table and blame the world for my year-long writers block?  Because I'm pretty sure it was spring of 2015 when I last posted.  And how pathetic is that?  What, like NOTHING interesting has happened since then?  Are you kidding me?  I now have a 5 and 6 year old, an elected official for a spouse, have helped launch a new non-profit, am incoming President for the Junior League of Ogden AND have made a resolution to write a book this year.

YEA. A book. Can't find time to write a blog post about The Bean's 5th birthday, but sure... I'm gonna write a book this year.

So, in an effort to make sure the blog doesn't get deleted - and maybe play a little catch-up on my life - here we are.  Mother's Day, 2016.  I'm currently sitting in my favorite coffee shop, drinking my favorite coffee drink which is not really coffee according to most human beings... and borderlines on candy bar status... but you can just go ahead and shove it if you think I care at all what you think about it.

And yes... I'm at the coffee shop sans kids on Mother's Day.  Because that's exactly what I need right now.  Something that's JUST for me.  Not them.  And I'm not going to lie, it's effing glorious.  Second only to a massage... but until Utah gets its shit together and has something open on Sunday besides a coffee shop for us heathens, this will have to do.

Since spring of 2015, a lot has happened.  The Benny was elected to City Council (despite the political liability that is yours truly). Being involved with a campaign is... well, SUPER weird.  You know what I DON'T like?  Seeing our last name all over town.  You know what I dislike even more?  People treating us differently because of our last name now.  You all should know by now that even if he was elected President of the Universe, I'm still the same chick who peed down her leg during the bike portion of a triathlon in St. George... and I'm PROUD of it.  And will TOTALLY bring up uncomfortable topics like that at any time and in any place.  Including a fancy art auction .  So you're probably gonna need to adjust your expectations.

The Bird turned 6 and started Kindergarten.  She was so excited the first day when she put on her uniform and went to class.  And THAT totally got old for her aboooouuutttt day 4.  "You mean I have to wear a uniform EVERY. SINGLE. DAY?"  

I keep waiting for her to figure out that this is like... a  thing.  But here we are.  Two weeks left of school and she STILL hasn't accepted it.  Maybe next year.

One of the things that has been tough for us this year with The Bird is that she already took Kindergarten at a private school last year.  So, she was a bit overqualified for the class and was really bored at the beginning of the year.  But, she was allowed to work at her level and things changed for the better.  Somewhat.  I mean, she lied about not having homework more than once... and seriously? What Kindergartener does that? But despite those little hiccups, I have to give props to the YMCA after school program that she attends, which helps her with her homework so that our evenings when we get home are only filled with fights over what we're serving for dinner ("Chicken nuggets, again???") and whether or not she has to wear her uniform to school tomorrow. 

The Bean entered private Kindergarten this year and OMG, has this kid flourished.  We had to get special permission to put her in the class because she didn't turn 5 until February.  We were never concerned about the academic part of it... rather, we were worried about her maturity and temperment with the older kids.  Turns out?  Not so much of a problem and her maturity has reflected the kids that she is around.  (Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.  Like marriage.)

For being the youngest, she's kicking ass.  She's currently neck and neck with another little girl in class for having read the most books.  And because she's exact opposite of The Bird in every way, she absolutely devours her homework every night.  Where often we would have to take 2-3 days for The Bird to focus enough to do her homework before a butterfly flitted by and SQUIRREL!, The Bean is alllllll about making sure her homework gets done in one night.  And then the next night, she's all:  "But I don't have ANY homework and I WANT more homework!" She's a little sick in the head, but at least she's not lying about having homework.

This year, we also became likely the only parents in the history of AYSO soccer to lie about their kid's age to get her to play up a level with her sister.  Our reasons were fully practical:  10% because she's pretty athletic and 90% because we didn't want to have to go to two soccer practices and two soccer games every Saturday.  Because at the end of the day, it really is just all about us.  And she loves it.  And when her sister isn't scoring all the goals because she's a freakin' gazelle who sometimes gets distracted by SQUIRREL!, she then gets a chance to score some goals and runs down the field like so: 

And no.  We didn't teach her that. 

And no.  We don't encourage that type of behavior.

 But... YAAASSS!!

This year has been rather challenging for me personally.  I often feel as though I'm just barely holding my shit together and life is just going to fast right now.  And it feels like all it takes is one ill-advised comment from someone and I'm going to either murder them outright, or burst into tears.  Luckily, neither has happened... but it's been close a couple of times.

For the most part, I try to stay positive and optimistic when things don't go as expected or shit hits the proverbial fan.  But when your bucket is already empty because you were up until 1 a.m. writing an email to send out to campaign supporters, your travel schedule has you gone almost every-other-week, the kiddos fought over who got more milk in their Cheerios that morning and you've got 3 deadlines in the next 4 days that you're not ready for?  It gets tough.

Parenthood is not for the weak.  And I fail every. single. day.  I actually think that's pretty healthy.  Within reason.  I mean, today I read about a mom who kept her 3 and 4 year-old's chained in the front yard in San Antonio which is off the scale FAIL.

No, my fails are a bit more mild, but nonetheless confidence shaking.  To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, here are a few key talking points from my running list.

JAYNEE'S SAMPLE LIST OF 2015-16 MOMMY FAILS

• When we haven't gone grocery shopping in weeks and all we legit have in the house are Eggos and when we feed your kids Eggos to the point that they don't want Eggos anymore... maybe we've fed them too much Eggos and we should buy some mother-effing meat, fruit and veggies so their bones don't get brittle and break when they play soccer?
• Dropping the F-bomb when I think they're not around.  Here's a secret about having kids that no one ever tells you:  THEY'RE ALWAYS AROUND.
• Yelling at the kids to stop yelling.  Yea... I HEARD IT.
• Taking The Bean up the ski-mountain that she wasn't ready for... and having to ask ski-patrol to take her down in the sled with me following behind.  
• Not insisting at looking at the toe The Bird said was hurting, but wouldn't let me look at... only to wake up a few days later and discover it was infected.  With strep.  In my defense, who knew THAT was a thing?

So, yea... it's been a good year.  And at least I've bought myself another year before I get deleted.  Who knows... maybe this will be the start of continuous blogging.

Not likely, but it's a nice thought.

The B-Word

The Bird recently asked for a Barbie for her upcoming 5th birthday.

First, let me thank all of my friends and the day care for exposing her to the B-Word.  No... not THAT B-Word.  I would prefer that B-Word to the B-A-R-B-I-E-Word.

Back before I had kids,  I swore that Barbie would never enter my home.  I believe that I have referred to it on more than on occasion as "The Eating Disorder Doll"... and vowed never to let it cross the threshold of my house.

But, when your almost-5-year-old looks up at you with wide, innocent eyes and desperately whispers:  "I want a Barbie doll... because I've never had a Barbie doll... and all my friends have Barbie dolls... so can I please have a Barbie?  Please, please, please?"  Well, now you feel like a Grinch.

It's hard balancing feminism with raising a little girl who, if she could, would like to grow up to be a Butterfly Princess that could fly and go to dance class and wear a crown of jewels and have pretty rings and necklaces and pink hair with sparkles AND WEAR HIGH HEELS!!!  (happy screech!!!)

So.  God... she has a sense of humor, no?  

Yep.  I'm a Grinch.  The Grinch Who Stole Barbie.  And yes... I may have gone too far with the No Barbies Rule.  And yes... I may not completely understand The Bird and her need to make everything princess-y.  And honestly?  I need to be better at that.  I need to let her be the little girl she wants to be and not impose my view of the world on her... the one in which I expect her to fly her feminist flag high and question authority and patriarchy.  Because she's just a little kid and she should just be allowed to be in that moment.

So...I get that.  I get that I'm 37-years-old and NEED TO DEAL WITH MY SH*T and not force it on my kindergartner.  It's just hard... way harder than I expected it to be.

Luckily, Mattel has found a way to soothe my feminist ire and STILL take money from my grubby hands via their new line: Career Barbie!!  Props to my girlfriend who pointed this out to me when I lamented how I could see the Barbie train coming and was powerless to stop it.

A quick Amazon search of Career Barbie turned up a few gems. You guys.  YOU. GUYS.  I don't know whether to be delighted at the possibilities... or dead inside.  Because while the powers that be have been shamed into trying... they're definitely trying... to step into the modern day, my ears are still bleeding. 

So, seeing that I have nothing better to do, let's discuss the concepts in the Career Barbie line:

1)  Actress Barbie

Do I really need to say anything about this?  Okay, fine.  See, the thing is there are some amazing actresses.  The ones that make you want to go see a film because you know they'll blow your mind.  And the funny thing is, NONE OF THEM LOOK LIKE THIS.   The ones who aren't so amazing... yes, they often look like this.  They're the ones who have to have guardianships placed on them and say they're not a feminist... because they don't hate men.... but women should definitely have social, economic and political equality.  See?  Ears bleeding.

2) Astronaut Barbie

This one... I'm okay with.  Not sure why they have to vomit pink at every turn, but you do you, Mattel.  Good job.

3) Soccer Barbie

So, listen.  I'm an athlete and am a huge advocate of women's athletics and what it means for the development of girls and women.  However, this is just not cutting it.  I mean, despite the fact that this outfit exactly matches The Bird's soccer uniform's color-scheme (not even joking), there are some issues here.

#1 - How many girls do YOU know that wear tight shirts and shorts to play soccer?  None.  That's volleyball.  Get it right. 
#2 -  And how many of them have perfectly coiffed hair?  NONE.  Which leads us to:
#3 - Her teeny-tiny feet that are so small there's no way she can kick a soccer ball effectively, or even be able to stand properly.
#4 -  Of course, since her knees don't bend, this is all a mute point.

Seriously... if we're going to promote sports via a Barbie doll, let's make it realistic.  How about a Million Dollar Baby Barbie Doll?  Looks like crap most of the time, doesn't comb her hair eats leftover food at the diner when no one is looking and hasn't showered in days... but can throw a mean left hook and knock you flat on your ass.  YOU GUYS!!  I would buy that doll in a heartbeat... hell, The Bean could be the model for that doll.

4) Baker Barbie

When I first looked at this one, I got a craving for some Pepto.  But other than that, I wasn't too bothered.  Until I looked at her shoes.  Really?  No.  No career woman I know would wear those kinds of shoes to work.  Well... one career woman, but Mattel hasn't officially created a Stripper  Barbie (although seriously... if they make one, it better come with a pole and I'm totally going to buy it).

But, I digress.  Besides the lack of comfort and impracticality of wearing these things in a kitchen, I'd be willing to bet that Baker Barbie will eventually end up with plantar fasciitis and a neuroma.  Those shoes are NOT her best friend. Why not a Cat Cora/Iron Chef Barbie??  I guarantee she's wearing running shoes.

5) Doctor Barbie

I actually was okay with this one... but then my friend who is an actual doctor pointed out that doctors?  THEY DON'T WEAR SHORT SKIRTS LIKE THAT TO WORK.   I know... I KNOW!  How in the world will we make Doctor Barbie about her looks versus her career if we don't emphasize her legs and the place where her vagina would be if she had one?

6) Nurse Barbie

This is one of the few that I can get behind, as I've actually seen a lot of nurses dressed similarly.  She does look incredibly unsoiled for a nurse, though.  Maybe they should add some vomit to her shoes.  Which by the way, should be Crocs, not heels.

7) Pediatrician Barbie

Again with the shoes.  And also... the tiny wrists that couldn't hold a baby if her life depended on it.  Nevermind giving a screaming baby a shot.  NEXT!!

8) Skier Barbie

I hope she freezes to death with those tight pants and no gloves, hat or goggles.  But... other than that, she's fine.  Except her hair should be in a pony tail and if she's wearing those tight pants, at some point her knees are gonna have to bend, otherwise her dreams of competitive skiing are over.

9) Teacher Barbie

Look how put together Teacher Barbie is?  She obviously teaches young children who are totally paying attention and listening to her at all times. Luckily, it appears that she only has the one student, which is super realistic.  This is her thinking to herself: "I need to figure out how to change out of these God-forsaken tight pants so I can actually move around my classroom and help my one student."  Someone needs to explain to this Barbie about budget cuts and America's educational priorities so that she knows that she's going to be teaching 40 kids in her classroom tomorrow... because they've cut the music and arts programs.

10)  Detective Barbie

THIS IS NOT DETECTIVE OLIVIA BENSON AND I REFUSE TO ACCEPT ANYTHING LESS THAN DETECTIVE OLIVIA BENSON.  By the way, Detective Benson wouldn't be caught dead in tight pants, boots, a walkie-talkie and a side ponytail.

11) Entrepreneur Barbie

So, now that I've offended everyone about Career Barbie - and possibly their professions - let's talk about Entrepreneur Barbie.  Which I think should be re-named to Working Mom Barbie... with a few changes.

1) Long skirt.  Working moms use this trick to cover up the fact that they haven't shaved since 2009.
2) Outfit should be wrinkled... not offensively so, but enough so that you can tell she had to pull them out of the dryer and hope a little Downy Wrinkle Release would do it's job in the five minutes she had before she had to walk out the door.  
3) Overflowing purse that contains all the staples of a Working Mom Barbies life, like:

• 3 tubes of lip balm
• 4 tubes of lip gloss
• a pair of sunglasses for each kid... which they refuse to wear
• one kid sock
• 43 cents in change
• Dora The Explorer goggles... broken
• pebbles that her children stuck in her purse for safe keeping.
• 3 Costco receipts
• 10 dental floss sticks
• sunblock stick
• a swim diaper, despite the fact her kids are way past diapers
• half-eaten granola bar that she never had time to finish
• business cards
• necklaces
• Pez dispenser with no candy
• dried up pens
• hair clips
• pigeon feather that her children stuck in her purse for safe keeping
• hair pick
• an Oregon Ducks whistle... because that makes sense
• sticker earrings... that her children stuck in her purse for safe keeping
• assorted items of useless garbage... that her children stuck in her purse for safe keeping
• this wine cork that she keeps because of OH SO MANY REASONS
  
  

• All of which are covered in melted chocolate from those espresso beans she accidentally spilled in her purse and never got around to finding before they melted in the sun when she left her purse in the car.  Along with her keys.

4)  A suspicious stain on her shirt that she thought about changing before work but decided, HEY!  THIS IS ME AND WE MADE IT THROUGH BREAKFAST WITH JUST A FEW MISHAPS (including this maple syrup/milk/bacon grease stain on my shirt).  Everyone else can just deal!!!

5) Let's be real with the makeup.  Like Working Mom Barbie has time for that? She doesn't.  She had to settle a fight between the kids about where they should wipe the booger they just pulled out of their respective noses, which took up all of the "putting on her face" time she had allotted for herself.

6) Working Mom Barbie should have her sunglasses on her head haphazardly, a coffee in one hand, her purse slung over her arm and one child holding on to the coffee hand's pinkie finger, while holding the other child's hand.  Working Mom Barbie decides who gets to hold her pinkie based on who she thinks is less likely to dart out into traffic that day. 

Look, if Mattel really wanted to inspire girls, they would try to make these career dolls more realistic.  Not just pick a career and then pink it up.  That being said, I recently purchased Entrepreneur Barbie and a Mermaid Barbie because the 5YO... she's allowed to be a kid.  She has her entire life to question what she's being marketed and why.

And I hope she will.  I really hope she will.

Mother's Day 2014

Mother's Day dawned yesterday with cah-rappy weather and grumpy kiddos who had gone to bed too late the night before and who were also all sorts of cabin-fevered.  Initially, we had planned on taking them on a bike ride along the Ogden River during a break in the storm, but it was just too damn cold and the one thing I won't tolerate on Mother's Day is being cold.  So, we ended up taking them over for a play date while my girlfriend and I went to get pedicures and left the kiddos with their dads.  Spending time with the kids on Mother's Day? I mean.. who does THAT?

For dinner that night, I threw on some leftover taco soup.  You know... the one the kids loved on Saturday but suddenly loathe on Sunday?  That one.  Don't like leftovers?  Tough.  It's Mother's Day... and I'm not supposed to do anything on Mother's Day.  I think it's a law or something.  So, taco soup it is!  And also, if there's one day in the year that you DON'T  tell our mom that you "don't wike dat!" while pushing away the homemade food she's lovingly put in front of you, IT'S MOTHER'S DAY.  Brat.

After that epic success, we decided that the only way to salvage the day was a trip to get ice cream at Burch Creek Mercantile.  We didn't tell the kiddos where we were going so that we could surprise them.  Think about that for a minute.  On Mother's Day, we go out of our way to surprise our kids.  And it's not just Mother's Day.  Last year for Father's Day, both girls got new bikes.  We're doing this wrong, I know.  But I'm not sure how we get back on track with this nonsense.

So, yea...we wanted to surprise them.  But it's also true that we kept the surprise from them because we've been to this rodeo before and wanted to make sure we had all the facts before we told them to avoid hysterics and a meltdown.  (And then there was the worry that THEY would be upset.)  But mostly it was to surprise them on my special day.

Of course, the Mercantile was closed.  Because, you know... karma.  For those of you not in the know, a spring Sunday in Utah + kids + raining = misery.  To add to the misery and also get our ice cream, we decided to go to McDonald's.  Which is where a little part of me died.

As we sat in the drive-thru, I thought about what I always envisioned Mother's Day being... and how I never thought it would include a trip to McDonald's for ice cream to quell the beasts (she said lovingly in between refereeing their fighting) in the backseat.  I asked Benny to remind the kiddo's why we were getting ice cream because I may have threatened them with no food for the rest of the night if they didn't eat their dinner.  And yea, they didn't eat their dinner... BUT WHO WANTS ICE CREAM?  

Tiger Mom I am not.  But at least I get ice cream.

Because he's a good man, he reminded them without rolling his eyes.  And did so as as he was being handed their ice cream cones through the service window.

"Alright kids. Do you know why we're getting ice cream?  It's Mother's Day!  It's Mommy's special day so we're getting something special!"

I didn't even have the energy to look horrified as the McDonald's worker raiser her eyebrows and smirked.  I imagine she was thinking:  "Yea, you're one special mama to get McDonald's on your special day.  What are you going to get for your birthday?  A root canal?" 

So, I gave her my best:  "HEY!  THIS WHOLE THING WAS MY IDEA!" look.  And then threw the $4 for my Mother's Day treat at her and had Benny peel out.

While the kids were happily slurping their cone and The Bean was eating the paper with the cone, we headed up to Ogden Valley for a nice family drive.  It's beautiful in Ogden this time of year, but particularly so in Ogden Valley, where everything is green and the surrounding mountains stretch into the sky like they're just waking up from a long nap.  Those mountains... they make me jealous with their long naps.

Everything was going great... both girls were happy from their sugar high and Benny and I were able to have a conversation about the Ogden Marathon that is happening next week, and my one experience in running it many moons ago.

"This spot right here... this is where the wheels fell off."
"Mile 18?  That's pretty early in the race for the wheels to fall off, babe. "
"Yea?  Well, you can just go ahead and suck it."

"Oh... this part is brutal... but not as brutal as this part... or this part."
"You've only pointed out the flat parts of the course.  So, what you're saying is it's only brutal when you're not going downhill?"
"Yes. You don't need to sound so smug, by the way. I know my weaknesses.  Anything not downhill is one of them."

And so on.

And then The Bird threw my bike helmet at The Bean in the backseat and EVERYONE'S LIFE WAS RUINED. It's unfortunate because it was really just a slight misunderstanding... Bird-zo thought it would be funny.  The Beaner didn't.  So, her face melted off and we had to do some quick front-seat parenting.  Which basically means we took the helmet away and threatened to cancel Christmas... and order was restored.

Halfway down the canyon, The Bird started complaining (started?  or continued?  jury is still out... because she's got this thing about complaining... in that she's always. complaining. about something.) that her tummy hurt.  Not to be outdone, The Bean also started complaining that her tummy hurt and she was going to "frow up!".  Which caused The Bird to declare that she was going to "frow up first.  And Mommy... my tummy weally, weally hurts!"

And then Mommy, the voice of reason, declared that frowing up was not a competition and there would be no frowing up because that's just weak... and how disgraceful it is if they can't hold their ice cream.

See... we've also been to this particular rodeo and knew that there were two possibilities:  1) they're faking it because it was too quiet and there was a need to fill the silence or 2) crap. motion sickness.  

As a parent, there's no right way to play this as you're driving down a tight, windy canyon... other than just begging your child to hold on till we got out of the canyon and could pull over.  And, as is the norm for this type of situation, the "frow up" occurred right as we came around the last corner of the canyon.

And that was my Mother's Day.  How was yours?

On Making My Children Miserable

Things I have failed at so far in 2014, according to my children:

1. Didn't let The Bird lick the inside of an egg shell
2. Made The Bean wear a nightgown with 3/4 sleeves.  So they're neither short, nor long.  Maddening for a 2YO.
3. Didn't let The Bird wear a short skirt and a tank top in 20 degree weather.
4. Let The Bird go out in a short skirt and tank to in 20 degree weather and it was too cold and she's fffffff-freezing!
5. Forcefully removed a band-aid from The Bird's arm that was starting to grown into the skin and was causing her pain.
6. Didn't share my coffee with The Bean.
7. Made The Bird wear underwear.
8. Made The Bean wear underwear.
9. Gave The Bird a choice of three different pairs of shoes that are appropriate for snow and ice... flip flops weren't one of the options.
10. Didn't let The Bean unlock the car with her magic key. 
11. The Bird's magic wand isn't letting her fly around like she told it to.  My fault.
12. Didn't let The Bird leave a tack in her bed.
13. Didn't make the pancakes big enough.
14. Didn't give The Bird the small pancake.
15. Let Bonnie poop in the snow. 
16. Didn't put enough syrup on The Bird's pancake.
17. Took away the Costco receipt that both girls were fighting over. 
18. Let The Bird's teacher stop teaching to take care of her family. 
19. Didn't send The Bird to her room when she didn't want to play with The Bean.
20. Didn't send The Bean to her room when she didn't want to play with The Bird. 
21. Didn't give The Bird medicine when her teeth started to fake hurt.
22. Didn't give The Bean medicine when her sister's teeth started to fake hurt.
23. Didn't make The Bean tell The Bird that she liked her hair.
24. Was unable to tell Elmo that The Bean doesn't like Velvet in Elmo's World.
25. Have not yet fixed The Bird's lamp... and I never, ever, ever fix anything of hers.
26. Made dinner that wasn't candy.
27. Didn't let The Bird put on my makeup.
28. Didn't let The Bean play with the butcher knife.
29. Didn't play Let It Go from Frozen for the 51st time in a row.
30. Reminded both girls that Poopy-Face is not an acceptable term of endearment.  Unless you're talking to the dog. And even then.... you have to be a Mommy to be able to say that.
31. Laughed when The Bird got stuck putting on a pair of stockings.
32. Didn't think it was super funny that The Bean kept kicking the back of my seat in the truck.
33. Didn't fast forward through the commercials fast enough.
34. Broke The Bean's sled when we went on an epic ride down the hill. 
35. Didn't let The Bean stand on the door of the dishwasher while I was loading it.
36. Didn't sit in the bathroom captivated and watch The Bean poop.
37. Made The Bean clean up the Cheerios she spilled, instead of letting the dog eat it.
38. Didn't coddle The Bird when she fell off her chair because she wasn't sitting on her bummy.
39. Didn't coddle The Bean when she did the exact same thing 30 seconds later... because she did it on purpose.
40. They couldn't smell the shampoo for some reason... and that's my fault.
41. Didn't stop the snow from melting.
42. These strawberries are cut up... and they wanted them whole.  Fix it, mama.
43.  IT'S NOT CHRISTMAS, ANYMORE!

Things I've done right in 2014, according to me:

1. Loved my girls.
2. Loved their father.
3. Tolerated the dog.
4. Liquor cabinet fully stocked.

In Other Words, It Snowed On Saturday

Today at crossfit, Coach asked me:  "What was your favorite thing about this weekend?"

I hesitated because I'm often dubious of these types of questions because, you know... what's your angle, here?  How do you plan to use this information against me during the WOD to make me cry?  How many burpees are you going to throw at me for that margarita?

Honestly, given the way my weekend rolled out, I thought it was a trick question.  Because the weekend?  The weekend was rough.  Like Pull-Out-My-Eyelashes-One-by-One rough.  My favorite thing about the weekend?  I dunno... that I survived it?

But you say that, and people think you're joking.  Or being sarcastic.  They don't realize that saying it out loud is just another form of coping and processing what could only be described as a shit show.  And you know what?  We should be celebrating that survival!  Not sitting back as parents and feeling bad that the only thing to brag about the weekend is that everyone made it out alive.

But, we don't.  Because some scars... they're just too fresh.  The wounds too deep to just get over with high fives, a joke, or a glass of wine shot of tequila with your husband.  

And that's why God invented blogging.  

 So, yea.. we're alive and hey!!  For the first time in months my kitchen and living room floors are cleaned.  I mean, I still wouldn't consider eating off them because it's highly likely that the dog has already dragged her butt on them because that's just what she does whenever she sees a clean floor.  But to the naked eye?  LOOKS DAMN GOOD.

And, of course, the only way the cleaning of the floors was able to happen was because Sunday, I put on my Mean Mommy hat, made both girls play downstairs with their toys (the AUDACITY!) and put the dog outside for two hours so that I could properly muck out the barn.  Because, yes... when I dumped that bucket of mop water, I found hay, oats and a substance that's either pre-chewed hot dog in the corner of the kitchen... or turkey poop.

I thank the Lord for that Sunday and my complete and utter worshiping of the clean floors.  Because Saturday?  Saturday was a lesson in getting my ass handed to me by the tiny humans that I feed and clothe and love with all of my heart.  Don't believe that two grown, educated adults can be brought to their knees by 3-footers who don't know how to spell cat, yet?  Here are a couple of examples of the typical asshatish stunts they pulled all day:

1)  Nostalgia Can Go Ahead And Suck It

After purchasing The Little Mermaid soundtrack, I attempted to relive some of my childhood memories and put it in the CD player for some quality Disney time with the girls.  At which point they both started screaming that they couldn't see it.  Because - and this is not their fault - they don't know the difference between a CD and a DVD.  (Side note: I blame myself, but at the same time, I also give myself a high-five that they are so technologically disadvantaged.  They still live in a 3D world and know what grass and dirt feel like. Point Mommy.) I didn't try to explain the difference, but I did lay it out  that this was just songs.  JUST. SONGS. 

And THAT went over like a fart in church. 

When they finally calmed down enough to "understand" that it was just songs, I had to repeatedly stop the CD because they would not stop asking who was singing.
  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the mermaid?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the witch?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the crab?"

"MOMMY!!! Why are they singing that??" 

"MOMMY!!! Is this the THING THAT'S GOING TO MELT YOUR BRAIN?"

And the answer to that one is: "Yes, okay?  It is!!  It's melting my brain as we speak.  JUST LISTEN TO THE SONGS!!!!"

   

For those of you who are thinking of having kids... seriously, just close your eyes and try to picture how this whole thing went down.  Think about how a 36-year-old woman who will never back down from a fight if she knows she is right... who can, if challenged, walk the ridgepole of a roof a la Anne Shirley... who has jumped off 70-foot cliffs into the ocean into shark infested water because YOLO (before YOLO was a thing).... who once hit 60 mph going down a hill on her road bike (and who, it is increasingly clear, is a bit of a thrill seeker)... who has a successful career and is not cowed by much in her work life... Go ahead and think about what it takes for THAT woman to end  up pulling into the driveway, jumping out of the car and punching the bricks on the house to give her a good reason to scream and cry.  THAT woman is broken for that one moment.  

Her kids were able to accomplish that break in less than 30 minutes.  No one and nothing else has even come close to that feat. But her kids, they drive her bucking fanana's sometimes.  And it's just so hard to love someone so much, but also be incredibly annoyed by them.  It's a disconnect that will drive you absolutely BATTY.

And if you read that and didn't hurry to get yourself some more birth control, it's clear that you, too, are a serious thrill seeker.  And don't mind losing your ever-loving mind. I don't blame you for thinking that it can't be that bad and it's likely more of an outlier, rather than A Day In The Life of every mother, everywhere.  Go ahead and tell yourself that. If I hadn't gone through that bit of madness, I would have no idea how maddening something like that would be.  

After pulling into the driveway with the girls crying because of the Curse of The Disney, Benny had to come out to the car and run interference as The Bird had dropped her fries twice and after I helped her pick them off the wet driveway once and she dropped the whole box AGAIN?  I. Was. Done.  And I needed to hit some more bricks.  This time, with my face.

2)  Shoe Time
The Bean needed new shoes so last week I went to a consignment shop and found two super-cute pairs of size 8 shoes.  I picked size 8 because it seemed about right.  I mean, her toe was literally sticking out of the size 7 I'd had her in all summer.  So, size 8 should work.  Plus, she's only 2... how big can her feet be?  She was pretty excited about the purchase when I brought them home, but I noticed that putting the shoes on was difficult. Of course, try to explain that new shoes might be too small to an opinionated 2-year-old and watch her face melt off.  So, on Saturday, I took both girls to Target and decided we'd just check her sizing there.  When she came back as a size 10.5, I punched myself in the face for being that mom that doesn't track on her youngest child's sizing the way she did with her oldest.  Of course, we needed to purchase her a new pair of shoes right then and there because... I FELT HORRIBLE.  But would The Bird stand for it?  Would The Bird remember that last week, she got two new pairs of shoes that actually fit her so she didn't need another pair of shoes just because The Bean was getting one?  

The short answer is HELL. NO.   The long answer is that I was punching myself in the face for walking into that one like a freakin' rookie.   After which, it's entirely possible that I texted a girlfriend that I was raising a generation of self-entitled a#$holes.  

3) My Daughter, Ladies and Gentlemen

Because Saturday also happened to be Benny's birthday and we were going on a much-needed date, my sis came over to babysit.  After we left, The Bird threw some food on the floor and when she was told to pick it up, she smugly said:  "No... that's what Mommy does."  

EXCUSE ME??  Last week, The Bird was being... well, a 4-year-old... and decided to purposely tilt her pelvis up while peeing on the potty and shoot pee all over the floor.  The bathtub.  And Mommy.   The Bird ended up cleaning up her mess and also ended up with quite the talking to.  And guess who decided to copy her sister 30 seconds later because it seemed like the right thing to do?  Holy geez, I don't have enough toes to stay on all of them all the time.  Something's gotta give here.

Bottom line:  I've had both girls clean up their spills for the last few months. So, I want to know what in the hell THAT comment was all about.  Because there's a serious disconnect and mama's not down with that. 

But did I mention any of this to Coach?  Nope.  Because he was holding his little baby boy and was happy and genuinely wanted to know about the good parts of my weekend.  I could have said that my favorite part of the weekend was 7:30 each night when the kids went to bed, but that seems overly harsh to a somewhat new parent.  And, you know... I tend to complain. A lot.  Even when I'm happy.  I could have mentioned the 25 minutes of clean floors I had before lunch on Sunday.  That made me very happy.  I could have mentioned that I told The Bird that the secret to having super long hair like Rapunzel is that your hair doesn't grow when you suck your thumb... and seriously, that might be the thumb-sucking lie that actually works. 

But instead, I went with: 

"We went to Movie Grille and saw a terrible movie.  But they brought us beer and wine and we had recliners.  It was awesome."

So, all in all?  It was a good weekend.

50 Reasons Why We're Late

Full disclosure, I stole this idea from Suburban Jungle. And also? She's my new hero.

We're late.  A lot.  And although sometimes it's totally my fault, most of the time it's the fault of the Little Dictators to whom we provide food, shelter and unconditional love.  And I can only console myself with the fact that pre-kids, I gave my mommy friends a lot of leeway when showing up late for something... because I had a feeling I would end up in a similar boat and didn't want karma to kick me in the face. Let this be a lesson for all of you Not Yet Parents or Never Want To Be Parents.  Take it easy on us... we have a whole 'notha life going on.

So, in Suburban Jungle style, here is a list of reasons of why our little family is late all the live long day.  I want to be clear that each of these things has happened at some point... some have happened at the same time because if we're going to be late, let's really make it worth our while.  As twisted as my mind is, even I couldn't make up some of the ridiculousness that is listed below.

So here they are, in no particular order:

50 Reasons Why We're Late
1 - The Bean can't find her tie shoes.  Because Mommy threw them away.

2 - There wasn't enough milk put into the Cheerios.  Hostages were taken.

3 - The Bird's socks weren't smiling at her.

4 - It's not Tumblebus day at school, so we have no incentive to get moving.

5 - The kids made me drink and I had to sober up.  Which is why we just decided to walk, mkay?

6 - Bonnie chewed on the corner of The Bean's blanket.  Causing The Bean's face to melt off.

7 - We're not going to make it to Second Breakfast at school anyway, so who cares?

8 - I had to wrestle a badger.  Which is to say I had to clip The Bird's talons toenails .

9 - The Little Dictators wanted more bacon.

10 - The Little Dictators insisted on toenail polish because I had new polish on my toes.

11 - I lost track of time because I was hiding in the closet, eating the one slice of bacon left... and painting my toenails.

12 - The Bird's leotard is making her bummy itch.

13 - The Bird wants the leotard that The Bean is wearing.

14 - The Bean has taken off all of her clothes to go potty.

15 - The Bird tried to put The Bean's leotard on and got stuck.

16 - The Bean refused to let me help her put on underwear.  And then got stuck in said underwear.

17 - The Bird discovered that The Bean was wearing her underwear and "She's already pooped in three pairs of my undies, Mama!!"

18 - While spinning around in circles, The Bean managed to run into the fridge eyeball first.

19 - The Bird had an imaginary owie that needed three bandaids.

20 - We couldn't find The Bean's Cat In The Hat socks.

21 - The Bird couldn't decide which baby she should take for Show&Share.

22 - The Bean had to go to timeout because she couldn't remember not to hit Mommy when she didn't get her way.

23 - The Bean had to go to timeout because the words "poopy butt" were banned after she said it to a little old lady at the store.  And they certainly are banned at the breakfast table.

24 - The Bird called the The Bean "Earwax" and Mommy had to go into timeout so they didn't see her laugh hysterically, lest they decide that calling someone Earwax is encouraged in our family.

25 - Mommy can't find her phone.

26 - Mommy can't find her keys.

27 - Daddy has Mommy's keys.  But left his phone home.  So Mommy is keyless and upset.

28 - On the way out of the door, it comes to Mommy's attention that wait... WHY DID YOU TAKE YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS OFF???

29 - The Bird decided that shorts go much better with her winter coat than long pants.

30 - The braid in The Birds hair isn't quite perfect.  START AGAIN, MOMMY.

31 - "We've only had 3 bran muffins each.  We need 16."

32 - The Bean needs to poop.

33 - The Bird needs to poop.

34 - The Bird does not like the jacket she's supposed to wear. 

35 - "But I wanna watch Super Why!!  I never get to watch Super Why!" This, after two episodes of Super Why that morning.

36 - Mommy had to run in and get the vitamins she forgot to give them over breakfast.  Because without them, both may end up with scurvy due to a lack of nutritional elements that chicken nuggets and peas don't provide.

37 - "It snowed!!  DID YOU SEE IT SNOWED?  WOOK AT DAT!  IT SNOWED, MAMA!  Wookit!  Wookit!  WOOKIT, MAMA!  YOU ARE NOT WOOKING!!!"

38 - Time to eat snow.

39 - The dog got on top of the table and started eating the bran muffins the kids had left while taking their shoes off.  So... we need more muffins!

40 - The Little Dictators found out that where we're going?  Doesn't have cookies.

41 - "But whhhyyyyyy do I have to wear pants?"

42 - The Bird had a meltdown because I used The Bean's flyswatter to kill the moth, instead of her flyswatter.

43 - The girls got in a knock-down fight over who got to climb in the car first.

44 - The girls want to see the video Mommy just took of them fighting over who got to climb in the car first.

45 - The Bean needs a tissue for her nose.  NOT THE TOILET PAPER YOU BROUGHT HER.  Heads will roll.

46 - Desperately needed to read Go, Dog, Go!  For the 32nd time.

47 - The Bean decided to wash her cup in the toilet.

48 - The Bean decided that her walls needed a splash of Crayon color.

49 - "I wanna do it!" is the refrain heard from both girls for everything from buckling their car seats to getting out of the car. 

50 - Both girls were downstairs playing quietly and Mommy decided she was actually going to enjoy a cup of coffee, because that moment has been 4 years in the making.  Fine.  This one's on me.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

"This shit is hard."

This - the final sentence in an email from a fellow working mama of two the other day - was in response to my describing my absolute failures as a mother that morning. 

It had been a good morning, until it was time to put on our shoes.  And by "our", I mean the almost 4-year-old who has suddenly decided she's the Anna Wintour of toddler hand-me-downs... with a special penchant for shoes and socks.  Socks, which, btw... we haven't worn in over four months because it's summer and Mommy refuses to deal with socks in the summer.  It's a standing rule in the house.  Which is why none of the socks in the drawer are matched...  and likely won't be until the first snow flies.  Which means that when someone decides they must have the pink and white socks and wants Mommy to find the match to the one she's clutching so excitedly in her little hand, but Mommy is running SUPER late for work and it's still freaking 90 degrees out.... well, you can do the math. 

I won't get into all the deets of the massive meltdown that proceeded me carrying her kicking and screaming... and shoeless... out to the car that morning.  But refrains of the Louis CK standup about his 4-year-old daughter that wouldn't put on her shoes were ringing in my head the entire time.

"Put your shoes on.  Put your shoes on. Put your shoes on.  How many times can you say that to someone before you want to kick them right in the face?  Seriously.  If you're with a group of people who want to go somewhere and you can't go because  a member of your party just REFUSES to put their shoes on?  That person is a f*$%@# asshole."

I remember laughing at that bit.

Before I had kids.

Because back then, the bit was just a bit.  And it was funny.  I laugh at it now.  But now... now it's just so damn true that when I laugh about it, it's only in a attempt not to cry at the honesty and truth that people without kids don't get.  And won't get.  And they shouldn't have to get.  Until they have a 4-year-old sharing a house with them.

Parenting is hard, there's no other way to look at it.  And it's like you have 99 fails a day... and maybe one success.  And in my case, sometimes the only success I have that day is not eating both girls whole to just make the noise and the fighting and the "Why?" stop... which I'm convinced is why so many animals eat their young.  THEY'VE. JUST. FREAKIN'. HAD. IT.

Other days, my parenting success is getting the laundry out of the wash before it starts to mold and has to be washed again.  Tonight, it happened to be noticing that the washer wasn't working because I had too many items in the wash and it was unbalanced.  I try to do all of the laundry in one load... because sorting is for sissys.  But, seriously... if I hadn't been at the top of my very short game, I would have had zero underwear for tomorrow.

Sometimes my only success is using what a friend of mine calls Mommy Jedi Ninja Skills to proactively avoid an argument between the girls or with the girls.  Which is downright exhausting.  And means that the pink plate that they both want has to conveniently disappear for a few weeks just so our morning muffins aren't spoiled with tears over who got the pink plate that day.

It means that instead of having one of the girls let the dog out of her kennel in the morning or when we get home for the day, I have to do it just to avoid the absolute devastation one of them will feel if she doesn't get to let the dog out.

It means that instead of the one fly-swatter I need to deal with a moth/fly problem in the house (which, I'm starting to maybe feel like I'm oversharing exactly what a bad housekeeper I am, but it's not like I have dignity these days, so whaddaygonnado?) I have to buy two.  And I have to write their names on each of them.  And then I have to lie to them when I use one to kill a fly because if one asks you whose swatter I used and I tell them it was her sissy's?  END. OF. DAYS.  So, I'm constantly lying about whose swatter got the kill.  And seriously... I mean, I know I'm competitive, but these girls put me to shame.

It means that I have to actually sneak Millie fiber gummy bears when Hazel is out of the room because she'll want some.  And Hazel does NOT need any more fiber in her diet.  So say I.  So say her teachers.  She's GOOD.

It means that in every single situation in which the girls are present or could possibly become present, I have to determine what will cause a fight 5 minutes from now, and remove that from the equation.  This is called putting out fires before they are fires.

And then... yes, it must be said... adding a full-time career to the mix certainly doesn't help the feelings of inadequacy or guilt that comes with the above list actually being something that you brag about to your husband at night.

"Hey... how were the girls tonight?"
"Oh... they were good.  I threw Millie's blanket into the garbage because it was either that or eat her when she hit me... and she cried for 3 hours.  I should probably get that out and wash it."
"Nice."
"Yea... I also told Hazel she was acting like a child.  So.... I win all parenting competitions."

And that right there?  That's my day in a nutshell with the girls. Tonight, I actually took a 5-minute video of the nonsense going on with a 3-year-old trying to be good, but getting teased mercilessly by both her 2-year-old sissy and the damn dog.  The damn dog, btw, is about to be shipped off to a farm.  She ate Millie's Fiber One bar this morning and it only takes one of those things for me to get the squirts, so tonight should be awesome.  And then during tubby time, my Ninja sense told me to go check in the kitchen because it was too damn quiet.  That's when I found her STANDING ON THE TABLE, muzzle deep in the pot roast the girls hadn't eaten off their plates (because, apparently, they only eat grapes on Tuesdays).  

But, I digress.  The video tonight was just constant loop of what our lives are right now.  Hazel trying to be a big girl and do something on her own, Millie stomping all over that something... like Godzilla. Hazel freaking out.  Millie laughing about it.  Bonnie trying to snatch a latent crumb off of Hazel's upper lip. Hazel freaking out.  Millie laughing about it.  Me yelling at Bonnie.  Millie messing with Hazel's project again.  Hazel freaking out.  Hazel scratching/hitting/pushing Millie because she won't leave her alone and is ruining EVERYTHING.  Millie crying.  Mommy telling Millie that maybe she should have respected Hazel's words.  Millie quickly recovering.  Millie going over and messing with Hazel AGAIN.

Lather.

Rinse.

Repeat.

All night long.  

And, I mean... who knows what the right play is here as the parent??  I'm fairly certain I shouldn't be laughing at Millie when she's crying from her make-believe but totally deserved injury.  And I'm 80% certain that I shouldn't allow Hazel to hit/scratch/push anyone. But... I just can't. I don't see the girls all day and then when I do see them, I'm constantly playing referee or end up in a fight with one of them.  And that's in between all the "Why?" nonsense.  Swear to God, I had to institute a rule that if I tell the girls to do or not to do something and their response is "Why?", they have to go in timeout.  The problem with THAT little ditty is Millie actually likes to sit in timeout.  FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, I HAD TO REMOVE THE TIMEOUT CHAIR BECAUSE SHE WAS PURPOSELY TRYING TO GET SENT TO TIMEOUT SO SHE COULD SIT IN IT.

This is what I'm working with.   

Seriously.  This shit IS hard. 

Parents Suck. The End.

It's nearly midnight, and I can't sleep.  I know what's keeping me up, and I know that I won't sleep until I purge my system, so to speak... therefore, I write.

Disclaimer:  This is going to come off sounding like I'm holier than thou, and I really don't care.  It's going to come off sounding like I'm complaining, and I really don't care.  I know it's neither.  I'm getting this off my chest because what happened today was insanity.  And by the way, I'm a fierce competitor.  And my girls will be, too.  But seriously?  This was just too much.

Today, Benny and I took the girls to an Easter Egg Hunt.  And there's your first clue as to what the coming vent will entail.

We had gone to the South Ogden hunt last year and had a wonderful experience.  My plan was that we would take them again this year, but we got a late start on the morning and before we knew it, it was too late to make it.  So, we decided just to hit the hunt at the Dinosaur Park.  We took the kiddos and let them play on playground while they set up each age groups hunt.  The hunt was supposed to start at 10:30, and at about 10:15, they opened up the gates for all of the 1-4-year-olds to stand around the outside of the small field and stare at the hundreds of eggs just waiting for them.  Unfortunately, there was some miscommunication somewhere down the line as to start-time, and we stood there staring at the eggs for 30 minutes.

With kids from age 1-4, you can imagine that after a while, some of them just couldn't take it.  There were sobs, screams and tantrums galore.  But not my girls.  They stood their quietly watching the eggs... I like to think they were planning their attack.  I imagine that Hazel's attack plan went a little like this:

"I'm gonna get THAT pink one, and then THAT pink one, then THAT pink one, and then THAT pink one!"

While Millie's was more:

"I'm gonna stay by sissy and do what she does, mkay?"

And had I known what was about to happen, I would have pulled them aside and said:  "Look kiddos, what I'm gonna need you to do is run to the middle of the field and start picking up eggs."  Yea, that would have been the way to do it.

It's midnight and I still can't believe what happened.  I'm still disheartened by the insensitivity of parents.  I'm still aghast at just... everything.

There are no words to describe how my heart broke when those two little girls - who stood waiting patiently, without crying or screaming, for 30 minutes staring at a field of plastic eggs - did not get a SINGLE egg because the parents of the other children there swarmed on the field like locusts helping their children pick up the eggs.

This, after the management repeatedly asked parents to stay back and only let children on the field.  It was announced repeatedly prior to the hunt and I was all:  WE KNOW ALREADY!  LET'S GET GOING!

I think that Benny and I were the only ones there that got it, because when they finally let the kids go, the rest of the parents pushed and shoved their way to the front of the swarm and helped their kiddos pick up the eggs.  Some even doing it on hands and knees, effectively blocking any forward progress for anyone behind them.

After staring at them patiently all morning, suddenly, my girls couldn't see the eggs.  Shoot, I couldn't see the eggs.  Their view was blocked by the legs of all of the parents in front of them.  Benny and I stood back and watched it happen.  Because at that point, there was no way we could have done anything to help.  We were just as shut out as the girls were.  I kept scanning the ground behind the mass to see if maybe someone had overlooked one or two eggs... but nothing.  I'm not sure the hunt even lasted a minute... and the eggs were all gone.  Every single one of them.  Our girls were in the middle of the field emptyhanded.... watching kids with buckets absolutely brimming with eggs running around excitedly. Seriously? You helped your kid get THAT many eggs and didn't think that maybe it was too much?  Or that maybe they didn't need your help and you should have stepped back?

To their credit, neither cried.  Hazel was sad, though.  She just held on to Benny's leg and looked around with a question on her face.  She didn't really understand what had happened.  Millie was fine... because she's still to young to understand that adults are super stupid sometimes and also... that she'd gotten screwed.

Mommy, though... Mommy was near tears.  Because I could only think about Hazel's excitement as she held on to her basket and waited for the signal to go... her excitement at seeing all those eggs... her pure joy when we told her she was going to get to hunt for Easter Eggs that morning.  And then to end up with nothing? Thank goodness for big sunglasses.  Sure, it was nice when one of the mothers who walked by and saw the empty baskets had her son give the girls eight from his stash of about 30.   I had to bite my tongue and actually thank this woman... who was part of the problem.  I had to THANK her.  I couldn't say to her in that moment that it wasn't the number of eggs that was the problem... it was the "hunt" that had been spoiled.  The sheer excitement of finding an egg, claiming it as your own, putting it in your basket and then running on to the next one. Our kids, if they'd had access to the eggs, probably would have ended up with maybe five each.  And they would have found those on their own... and would have been absolutely proud of those five eggs... and it would have been a great memory.

This parenting stuff is madness sometimes and there are times that yes... you do the wrong thing.  And I get it.  I do.  But to see how every parent today behaved?  As though their child was the only one there?  And who cares what the rules are and how many people you hurt to get them what you think they deserve simply because they're your child?  How can they sleep at night?  What did they teach their child today? 

It's MIDNIGHT and I'm still shocked by it.  Years ago, a friend of mine told me that she doesn't take her kids to public Easter Egg Hunts because of the parents.  And when she told me, I won't lie... I thought maybe she was being overly protective or dramatic.  Now I know... she was spot on.

And that's why I'm joining the ranks of parents who will never take her kids to a public Easter Egg Hunt again.

Busy Knees

I've been so bad about writing lately.  Things have just been so incredibly busy.  And I know I used to say before I had kids that I was super busy... what with all my eating and sleeping and such.  And I just had no time to blog because when I wasn't sleeping or eating or riding my bike  - btw, not sure I know how to ride a bike anymore -  I was busy watching TV.  Specifically, I was busy rushing home to catch the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother.

Because that's what my busy was back in the day.  Slap Bet, Slapsgiving, yellow umbrella... I hardly had time to get my weekly massage and mani/pedi.  People, you should see what my toes look like these days.  It's not pretty.  But it's nothing compared to my legs, because et's be honest... if my legs actually saw a razor at this point of my life, they'd spontaneously start to bleed in anticipation. 

These days, my "busy" is legit.  Legit as in go, go, go from the moment I wake up in the morning to the second I actually fall face first into the bliss of a cool pillow on my bed at night.  And none of it is about me.  God... remember when things were about ME?  When was that?  2008?  Remember when I didn't worry about having food in the house because I could pretty much scrape by on marshmallows and mustard? With a toddler and a baby, you don't get to have the luxury of not having food in the house.  OMG!  Remember when not having food in the house was a luxury because it meant that you could just run out to a burger joint and grab something really quick?  GEEZ!!  Remember when the term "really quick" was a part of my vocabulary when talking about doing something?

Enter the toddler who actually needs some type of nutrition 25/7  And no.... that 25 is not a typo.  With a toddler, every day is longer than it should be.  (But, on a positive note, when The Toddler is happy, you wish the day was 30 hours long!) And you have to make sure she has access to some type of food item all 25 of those hours.  And that "luxury" of having no food in the house?  Now it's THE END OF THE WORLD.  It's not like I can throw her a chicken bone to gnaw on because I haven't had time to grocery shop (in, I dunno.... 3 weeks?) which means we have ZERO food in the house.  (And that's including food that one might classify as edible food-like substances)(like, perhaps the Velveeta Shells and Cheese that I just ate because I've apparently thrown the towel in on nutrition today.)( trust me... that's NOT food.) (and i still have no idea what i had been smoking when i decided to purchase that crap a year ago.)  Not that I haven't thought about the chicken bone once or twice... especially this morning for breakfast when all she wanted was "boshe" (toast).  And I was all... Mommy hasn't had time to grocery shop SINCE YOU WERE BORN, so there's no toast today.

These things... they don't go over so well with The Toddler.  And I don't blame her.  I mean, she's not asking for prime rib at 7 a.m.  She's not demanding chocolate cake. Hell... she not even asking for cereal (today)  And, she's not asking me to try to explain to her why it is that I'm thinking of going blonde just to distance myself from all those crazy conservative brunette female "politicians" currently yelling nonsense into the nearest megaphone.  She just wants a piece of freakin' toast.

Seriously... I gotta go grocery shopping.

But when you have kids, and you work full-time and the only time you have to yourself during the weekday is lunch hour which you have decided will be your workout time JUST TO SAVE YOUR SANITY... when are you supposed to go grocery shopping?  I've seen those women who do it with their kiddos and yes, even made that mistake once myself (NEVER AGAIN).  I'm one of those women that likes to shop sans the screaming toddler who is more than a little bored of riding up and down the aisles.  It's like being on vacation... going to the grocery store and taking my time up and down each aisle. When you are by yourself, you get to actually test the  avacadoes to determine if they are ripe, rather than just grabbing the first few you see because The Toddler has somehow managed to pull the very bottom cucumber (you know, the one holding the whole pile up?) out and send the rest of them spilling everywhere.  Which means now you have to make a mad dash for the exit... lest you be banned from THIS store, too.

Anyway, it looks like we won't be having toast for breakfast tomorrow, either.  Cuz  Benny's doing work with the GOAL Foundation today.  Otherwise, we actually would take the girls to the store and tag team a grocery order. At Costco. Because they have samples... and shoving a sample in her mouth keeps The Toddler happy.  And serves as her snack for the day.  Two birds, one stone.  Word.

But... I digress.  I've been busy.  But the other day I had some time to myself and happened to read an old blog that I ran with a friend.  We would post our IM chats that we had which, I still believe, were comic genius.  Anyway, going through those and reading them was so much fun because we talked about things that had been happening in our lives that honestly, I had completely forgotten about and it just made me all sorts of sentimental about the memories.

And about my 20's.

So, without further ado... an update as to what's been going on the last few weeks.  And a promise to myself to be better about updating.  I have no excuse since I've got both kiddos going to bed no later than 7:30 every night. 

A couple of months ago, I started working out at Crossfit Ogden. I'd pretty much ruled out crossfit for years because it seemed too trendy.  Look at me.  The triathlete.  Writing something off as too trendy. Self-aware, much?  Anyway, I was neck-deep in triathlon training and, you know... why would anyone lift weights... voluntarily??  Fast forward to 2011 and I had at least three chins and multiple back rolls of fat.  I wouldn't go out and run by myself because.... blah.  I don't want to run.  Besides, it hurts to run.  My knee hurts when I run... blah, blah, blah.  My achilles hurt when I run... blah, blah, blah.  So, I decided to try crossfit and immediately fell in love with it.  That is until after the second week, until my left knee blew up to the size of an elephant.  Not the size of an elephants knee, mind you.  THE ACTUAL ELEPHANT. 

Dr. Benny referred me to a doctor friend of his, who then referred me to an orthopedic surgeon... because I had a torn meniscus.  No big deal for the surgeon who obviously wanted to get in there and fix it. Cuz that's how he be paid.  But after he explained that if it was one type of tear, it was only about a week of recovery, but if it was another type of tear, it was about 6 months and they wouldn't know until they went in... I told them (kindly)(so as not to piss off the surgeon with the scalpel) that they could take their surgery and shove it.  How in the world was I going to voluntarily roll the dice that may result in crutches for 6 weeks when I've got a 21 month old and a 5 month old to take care of.

Not fair to them.

Not fair to Benny.

Not fair to ME!

So, instead I just had the good doctor remove all of the excess fluid and told him I would see how I felt and go from there.  I felt pretty good until a few weeks ago when I noticed it starting to swell a little... and hurt a lot. I've modified my training so that the knee is protected from certain lifts.  But, I have not managed to modify my gardening and a couple of weeks ago, I was in an argument with the crab grass in the front garden and while crawling from one patch of grass to be pulled to another I heard a distinct crunch in my knee.  To which the crab grass laughed heartily.  In other news, I have decided the the only way to deal with said grass at this point is to go nuclear and this fall will be tearing out the entire garden, spraying it to kill everything and starting over again next year.  Benny... please make a note as this directly affects you and your workload.  You're welcome.

*Ahem*

So, I went back in to beg the doc for an MRI so I could know what I was facing (he agreed).  While I was there, I asked him to look at my other knee because I'd been having some IT band problems.  Yea.... no.  Another torn meniscus.  Oh, and btw... can you also look at my achilles tendons?  I have these big bumps on both of them.  Tendonosis?  What's that? WHAT DO YOU  MEAN PARTIAL TEARS?

So, that visit to the doc was productive.  Yay, me.  To be honest, what's really bothering me lately is my left achilles.  Nothing that a shot won't supposedly help... but since I'm the chick that needs gas just to make it through a tooth cleaning....  Holy crap, can you imagine how bad a shot in the achilles is gonna hurt? 

Of course, everyone around me jumps on crossfit being bad for me.  (This includes the first doc).  But, I ultimately have to correct them.  Crossfit didn't jack up my knees.  My knees have hurt for years but I ignored them. I blamed part of it on college basketball.  I've already had two surgeries on my left knee for overuse due to sports.  The right knee... well, it was just a matter of time.  Peeps bag on crossfit when they find out I'm injured.  But, I've been injured doing triathlon (hello, sunburn and twisted ankles from running), playing volleyball (hello, sprained ankle!) playing basketball (hello, jacked up back!), riding my bike (hello, road rash and sore tush!), swimming (hello, flip turns at the wall that I am still unable to do without drowning!).  So I think I can safely put to rest the myth that crossfit hurt my knee.  Ultimately,  I think the problem is that I have a medium frame, which couldn't support the fat that I gained during pregnancy.  And, let's face it... I was 20 pounds overweight when I first got prego.  So, it wasn't just the 40-50 pounds I gained during the pregnancy.  It was a total of about 60-70 pounds extra that my body was having to handle every day.

Are we really surprised that the cartilage in my knees couldn't take it?

It's a working theory, but a theory nonetheless.

I get the MRI for both knees on Tuesday and then on Wednesday, we'll know how to proceed.  If it's the 6-month recovery tear, I'll be suffering with the pain for another couple of years and just keep losing weight, hoping that will help.  I'm also going to start re-taking glucosomine and fish oil.  I had been taking those when I initially found out the diagnosis... but I think somehow it was bothering Millie so decided to go off of them until I was done nursing.

Speaking of which... Monday is Millie's last day of nursing.  I made it to 6 months... woo-hoo!  I just don't think it's a good idea to be on the medication I'm on just to have milk much longer.  I've already been on it 4 months longer than they recommend.  Plus... that sucker costs me $40 a week!!!  AND I have to somehow get to the other side of town to pick it up!  LIKE I HAVE THAT KIND OF DOUGH OR TIME! 

Since starting crossfit, I've lost about 30 pounds.  I only need to lose 40 more.  Which should not be easy since I'm going to stop nursing on Monday.  I should gain about 15 pounds by Friday.

Because that's how I roll at 34.  Dramatically different than 24.

But, even with the knee issue and the weight issue?  Being 34 is so incredibly better than being 24.  I wouldn't trade it for brand new knees.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some spare time and I think I might go grocery shopping.

On The Bi-Polarness of Toddlerhood

One of the very first things I had to learn as a Mommy was patience. 

As in:

Just be patient... She probably WON'T scream all night.  Just most of it.
Just be patient...  She'll eventually stop moving long enough for you to change her diaper.  Maybe just in time to potty train.
Just be patient...  She'll grow out of it.  No.  She won't.
Just be patient...  And give her some goddamned Tylenol, already!

Patience is a virtue that honestly, I have to learn and re-learn every single day.  Especially when we're living the movie/documentary of Toddlerhood: The Bi-Polar Years.

I remember, before I had a toddler, thinking to myself:  "Seriously... I survived the first three months of parenthood... having a toddler should be a piece of cake.  It can't possibly be as bad as I've heard."

Fast forward 17 months later and OMG... those people - the people that people quote as "they"... as in "they say that the toddler years will make you want rip off your own arm and beat the next stranger that passes by with it.."... THEY WERE RIGHT.

Honestly, we hardly have a day where there's not some kind of a dramatic scene the likes of Grey's Anatomy - or, I dunno, American Idol, maybe? - have never seen.  Not that we actually watch these shows anymore... because we're often in the middle of a full-on meltdown.  Usually caused by Mommy or Daddy not doing exactly what The Toddler wants.  Be it holding her, not holding her, not cutting her grapes/bananas/insert other choking hazard here fast enough, feeding her, not letting her play with matches, not letting her drink bleach... you know, things that you start to wonder "Is the fit really worth it?  I mean, how harmful can bleach really be?"

And I'm tired of it.  I'm tired of being patient, when all I want to do is rationally explain to The Toddler that it's not okay to hit Mommy in the face because you didn't want peas tonight.  Why can't you, a thriving - albeit verbally-challenged - 20 month old understand the concept of ONE. MOOD?  Mommy's not down with the Happy-One-Second, Deranged-The-Next Personality Disorder of The Terrible 16 Months and Up. 

That's right... Terrible Twos?  Please.  I would give my pregnancy-induced cavity-filled teeth for this crap to have started when she was 24 months.

I cannot keep up with the I want up, I want down, I want peas, THE PEAS ARE TRYING TO KILL ME, MOMMY!  WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?, I love you, I hate you, I want my dolly, DON'T TOUCH MY DOLLY!, I want your phone, Your phone is my phone, My phone is my phone... the rest of you can go screw yourself... And if you ever even think about taking my phone (your phone) away from me, the eruption that will take place will make Vesuvius look like a mere pimple bursting.... mentality of The Toddler Years.

Honestly... can't. keep. up. 


"They" keep saying that one day we'll look back at this period in our lives with melancholy about how easy life was... and how fleeting these times are. 

I suspect I'll look back on these days and think... I cannot believe they made it out alive. 

Because, honestly?  "These days" are the reasons that some animals eat their young.

Quick... Before I Forget How To Type

I'm losing my mind.  Seriously.  I have the brain power of... I dunno. What's something that has a tiny brain?  That white thing with feathers that tastes so good next to mashed potatoes?

See what I mean?  It's getting ridiculous.  It's getting beyond ridiculous.

Exhibit A:
Twice in the last month, I've locked the keys in the car and my understanding and never-exasperated-at-my-forgetfulness husband has had to drive from the other side of town to rescue me. 

The first time, it was a little inconvenient, as it was at day care and the girls and I had to wait for Benny to get there and save us.  This consisted of Millie snoozing in the car seat, while I attempted to prevent Hazel from eating ants and pulling out all of the pansies along the walkway. 

The second time was yesterday and was kind of... a pain in the rear.  We were closing on the refinance on the house at 3 p.m.. At exactly 2:36, I packed up my stuff (breast pump, cooler, lunch containers, phone, water bottle, ice pack.... kitchen sink) and realized that I didn't have my keys with me.

And then I remembered why.

I had worked out at lunch and had to run home quickly to shower, lest the one time someone comes to the office is the day I am looking like I got beat down with the Crossfit Stick.  Even uglier than the Ugly Stick.  For sure smells worse. 

Anyway, as I was driving away from the house, I got a call from Benny telling me to bring my checkbook to the closing.  Which was in the house.  No problem... I needed to grab an ice pack for my knee anyway, so I turned the car around,  ran back in, grabbed the checkbook (and a hard boiled egg from the fridge... random) and headed back to the car.  Once in the car, I remembered the ice pack.  So, back in I went.  Where I proceeded to pour myself a glass of ice tea and head back to the car.  Again, realizing I had forgotten the ice pack, I ran back in and... grabbed my cell (which, oh yea!! need that!) and another hard boiled egg (ps... I make the worlds best hard boiled eggs... truth) AND CAME BACK OUT TO THE CAR SANS THE STUPID ICE PACK. 

So, that's what?  Four attempts?

So, when I finally got back to work, I was so flustered (and, quite frankly, amazed that I had remembered the way back to the office and didn't have to call for directions) that I grabbed my ice tea, the two eggs, the ice pack and my cell phone, stashed my wallet in my purse... and for some unknown reasons, threw it in the back seat, locked the doors on the car and headed into the office with my hands completely full. 

Because purses and bags are for wimps. And I've never been chic enough to pick out a cool bag/purse that doesn't look like something I bought at the market cuz it was on sale for $5.  Let's face it... I actually did buy it at the market for $5.

Oh, right... and along with my wallet, I threw the keys in the purse.  So that puts them.... in the backseat. 

Awesome.

But that's nothing compared to my inability to retain even the simplest information or instructions.  At Crossfit, I have to have the instructor demonstrate and explain to me at least 5 times what a thruster is.  It's a move I never learned back in the day, so it's not ingrained into my psyche like squats and hang cleans are, but it's actually a very easy lift once you get the technique down... but can I remember the technique and put it all together?  Nope.  It's been WEEKS and I still can't remember it. 

And work is the worst.  I can read something and think to myself that I need to communicate this to certain people and can nod in agreement or disagreement with an idea that is being floated around nationally and I'll think to myself:  "Self, this is important stuff.  You need to be on top of this one.  Cuz if you're not.... oooo, look!  A butterfly!"

But as soon as I turn the page, I completely forget what I just read.  And I'll have to go back and go through the same thought process... agree/disagree... stay on top of this one... blah, blah, blah.  Turn the page.  WHAT DID I JUST READ?

Try repeating that 10 times and not feeling like you're a complete idiot.

Have you ever seen a bird fly into a window in your house?  It's like that with my brain right now.  The bird is the information that I am consuming and it's flying directly into the metaphorical window protecting my brain from retaining anything other than my name, phone number and address.  And even then, I'm not always sure.  So, here's this information hitting this window... feathers flying everywhere... and I'm sitting around all glassy-eyed going:  "What was that sound?"

That sound?  That's the sound of your career imploding.  That's the sound of silence when your husband has to provide you with a word that you can't just seem to think of. 

That word being... chair.