Monday, January 25, 2016

May on Facebook

Open house at the gym today, tried two new classes. I'll tell you what, old what's-her-bucket who taught HEAT was not messing around. HEAT = Help Everyone's Arse Twitch. If you see me tomorrow and I am rear-endless, it fell off in that class.

I love logging in for my Fitbit on the computer. After I burn my daily calorie goal, every, single time I open it, I get a huge green smiley face, a HOORAY, and a CHAMP! Because getting praise from an inanimate object is pretty much the highlight of my day.

Dear Fitbit,
I want step credit for all 18 miles I biked in spin class today. By my estimation, that's 32,000 steps. I'd settle for 20,000. Because I keep my expectations low.
Your Friend,

Command decision: I am no longer making plans of any kind. Every time I commit to do something or be somewhere, it's just an invitation for someone in our house to get sick.

You know what running the last 100 meters of a 3-mile run at a 10 minute pace feels like when you've run the rest at an 11-minute pace? Freaking Michael Johnson with his gold shoes.

Sometimes, when both of my kids are hanging on my legs and whining, I like to pretend I'm a rockstar and they are just my adoring fans who've somehow slipped my security detail. My security detail sucks, though, because it keeps happening.

Husband: We don't know anyone who plays sports.
Me: We don't play sports.
Husband: I did in high school.
Me: That was twenty years ago.
Husband: I could push you over right now.
Me: Pushing girls over isn't generally considered a sport.

1. Ran a 5K today just to see if I could (it was not fast and I was soooo tired at 2.75 miles, but I never walked!) 2. If there was a competitive run-karaoke, I'd totally win. 3. When my iPod reminds me my battery is low, he uses his sassiest phone-sex voice. 4. The lady next to me did not appreciate my boisterous, "I freaking did it!" (with accompanying fist pump) at the end of my run. 5. I'd like to personally thank Exygon for giving me a towel that smells like smoked meat - it made me run faster in anticipation of a burger at the end (PS There were no burgers at the end - that's something you need to work on next time, gym.)

On my annual reading of Gone With the Wind. Scarlett' s waist is literally as big around as my calves. That's just not right.

Fitbit spotted me 500 calories and 29 steps before I even got out of bed this morning. At this rate, I figure I don't have to do anything the entire rest of the day.

Every time I buy new workout shirts I make a pact with myself that I will regularly soak them in vinegar and baking soda to avoid Texas-sweat-induced-nastiness. And then six months later, I start to smell things at the gym and think, "Good grief, what on earth is that SMELL?!" Oh. That would be me: the girl who forgot the pact she made with herself six months earlier. And then I go to Target and drop good money for a new round of shirts.

Wht can we do to make bedtime a little more Norman Rockwell, a little less Dante's Inferno? Good grief!

The bad news: there were ZERO awesome people at the Public Health Department. The good news: my second stop was at Sam's and that more than made up for it.

I asked The Kid to make a small snack for The Tater. He just walked in with a marshmellow cream-topped charcoal briquet. Both of them were beyond pleased with themselves.

For someone who grew up in a family of pyros, I super suck at starting a fire in the grill. Charcoal, check. Lighter fluid, check. Matches, check. Two tries = two failures. It can't be that hard, right?!

Our ingenious child has somehow managed to line up the opening of the toothpaste tube with the spout of the hand soap and pumped the former full of the latter. And I know this because I just brushed my teeth with the resulting "potion". Outstanding.

Group Power with one swollen, watering eye is much like what I'd assume it's like trying to run in place on a moving roller coaster. The nicest thing i can say about it is that I neither yarked nor fell down (although i did have to do a majority of the class with both eyes closed). Winning!

I have apparently raised a daughter who is deathly afraid of cockroaches and a son who thinks he ALWAYS deserves the last bite of EVERYTHING I eat.

The Kid has goaded her father into taking her to his haircut appointment with him by saying, "Well, I'm rather in need of a haircut myself." Result: an entire hour to read a book all by myself. Winning!

Took The Tater to his pediatrician this morning since he's still not doing well even with the prescribed eye drops. Turns out it is neither allergies nor pink eye, but a virus. In his throat. I am sorry, Urgent Care, but you suck.

I would be a Zumba teacher if: 1. I could actually dance and remember the moves on stage and 2. If I could begin every class by running through a tunnel with a smoke machine like a football player. So, all of those of you who are fighting over hiring me, just keep that in mind.

This Mother's Day: spending time at urgent care with this little dude and his pathetically swollen eyes. PS Is there a section in The Mother's Handbook that says that kids only get go-to-the-doctor-sick on the weekends? It's probably right after the section where kids only puke in the middle of the night.

Husband is working, The Tater is sick, The Kid has built herself a fort out of chairs and blankets. And me? Say Yes to the Dress marathon? Don't mind if I do!

I need your best tips on dealing with little girls. I know they can be emotional, but GOOD GRIEF, there's so much whining and fit throwing going on in this house, locking her in and me out is looking like the best, last, and only option. I've done everything I know how.

I need your best tips on dealing with little girls. I know they can be emotional, but GOOD GRIEF, there's so much whining and fit throwing going on in this house, locking her in and me out is looking like the best, last, and only option. I've done everything I know how.

You know what spin class needs? More cowbell. Also, Pitbull. PS I did 100 more calories today than I did last week (up next, Michelle White DeMosscalorie level). And I only had to rest nine times. Or maybe fifteen. PROGRESS!

My mom and her husband enter the Missionary Training Center this week. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for that.

Derby day! And luckily, it coincides with World Naked Gardening Day! Looks like all we need today is a fabulous hat, the words to My Old Kentucky Home, and a mint julep. Oh, and a gardening trowel. Which we will be using very, VERY carefully.

You know what's awesome? Cleaning throw up off of your sleep-screaming four-year-old at 1 am because she's throwing a fit about you not giving her the dollar bill she'd earned that day. She remembers none of it this morning. I think there's a conspiracy around here - sleep! I need sleep!

Just in case you were wondering, tomorrow is World NAKED Gardening Day. Because nothing sounds more awesome than pulling thistles out of dirt without any clothes on. PS Don't come over between 2-4. That's when I plan to be celebrating this momentous occasion.

Yesterday Husband offered The Kid $1 if she could be quiet for 20 minutes. She's already asked five times today if she can have another go at it.

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