Story of my life

Wednesday night I got a black eye, a BAD black eye, courtesy of Little Man's hard head. He was being goofy, I wasn't paying attention (didn't realize I needed to) and his head went - BAM!- into my face. Ouch. It rattled my teeth and I heard a "crack." I'm really not sure where that crack came from, unless he broke one of my facial bones, which is entirely possible, but who knows. Anyway, all is well, I'm a bit sore, I look like I've been in a fight, but in the end Little Man is okay and so am I.

So, less than 24 hours after the head banging incident we get a call from a friend of ours. A professional photographer friend. He hasn't taken pictures of us since The Husband and I were engaged, oh, about 7 years ago. Any-ole-how, he asked if he could do a family photo shoot... for a local magazine...ASAP.

I have an impossible to hide, swollen and red cheekbone and now deep purple (a color I didn't even know existed in nature) eye and I get asked to be a a photo shoot for a magazine. Huh. Go figure.

Story of my life. Can't help but laugh at it.

The good news is, I think our friend can wait a week. Surely the black eye and bruised cheek will have healed by then? I only hope I don't fall down on this ice and bust my lip before then. ;)

Protector

So earlier today, Baby Girl was staging a nap mutiny via screaming, crying, and flinging everything in her crib across the room. After several minutes of this, and many attempts by me to calm her down and get her to sleep, Little Man decides to try. He walks into her room, right up to her crib, and says in his sweet little voice, "I'm going to take a nap now, too. I'll be right next door, and I'll leave my door open so I can protect you and keep you safe. I love you."

Melted my heart.

I love that my kids love each other, and are best friends. It was one of my huge worries when I was expecting Baby Girl. "What if they don't get along, what if Little Man hates being a big brother?" Turns out I needn't have worried at all. He is the best big brother I could have imagined. What a lucky Baby Girl.

Making cookies and freshly vacuumed floors

It's a cold, rainy day around here, so after Baby Girl and I picked up Little Man from school we decided to make cookies to help pass the time. The disasters that followed are worthy of a comedy routine. In fact I'm writing them down so that one day I might sell them to fund my retirement. Here goes...

Little Man cracked the egg, then, due to the slippery nature of a cracked egg, he dropped it onto the counter, where it dripped onto the drawers, cabinet doors, and floor.


Baby Girl knocked over the bowl full of dry ingredients.


Baby Girl was constantly trying to get into the flour, baking soda, honey, and anything else that would make a royal mess.


I substituted honey for maple syrup. The honey taste is overpowering, and the affect is that the cookies taste like a spoonful of honey.


Evidently I sat my bag of chocolate chips too close to the hot stove the last time I used them. Most of the chocolate chips had melted together into one big chocolate mass.


Baby Girl kept reaching for chocolate chips while I was chopping up the big chocolate mass with a huge, sharp knife.


And lastly, as I was putting the cookies into the oven, I tipped the baking sheet a little too much, and all the cookies on that pan slid onto the bottom of the oven, where they immediately melted in a big buttery, chocolately mess. Fantastic.

I said a few choice curse words in front of the kids, including probably the worst curse word you can say in front of a child. Luckily I caught myself just in time and changed the word. Close call.

I slammed the oven door a few times out of frustration.

And then, after all this occurred, I yelled at the kids, as they kept getting too close to the oven while I was doing my best to wipe melted chocolate out of a hot oven. Yelled.

A bright note, after it was all said and done I looked at the kids and sadly said, "I'm so sorry I yelled, I feel like such a bad mommy." And I really, really did feel that way. My sweet Little Man looked at me compassionately and said, "No you're not, Mommy, you're a good mommy." And he came up to me and gave me a hug.

What would I do without those sweet little beings?

Shrinking by the week

So the week before Christmas I joined a boot camp. It's an exercise program taught by an honest to goodness retired drill sergeant. It's also a little different from most boot camps, as it's not a month-long class taught by an exercise enthusiast, but instead it's a year-round, outdoor experience taught by a drill sergeant (who happens to also be an exercise enthusiast!). We are even affectionately called maggots on occasion. :)

I am loving it.

There's just something about getting up at 5:10 to go workout in a parking lot, in the cold, and be done before the sun rises. Camaraderie abounds.

If I tried to do these workouts by myself at home, or even in a gym, I would quit halfway through. They're hard. However, when doing it with 30 or so other people, who are grimacing and grunting their way through it just as you are, it becomes easier. And the hour flies by.

It's also so very nice that I get home and at the very least I am wide awake and out of bed before the kids wake up. My kids are demanding when they wake up. Milk - now, breakfast - now, cartoons - now. No time to change the pull-up, warm them up with socks and a sweat shirt, or even for Mommy to go potty or make coffee. Now, now, now! Sometimes after boot camp I'm even able to take a shower, get dressed, and make a pot of coffee before the little monsters, er... sweethearts, wake up. Heaven.

And the icing on the cake, oops I mean healthy, all natural, low fat snack, is that I've lost about four pounds. Now I know some people might not dance a jig over four little pounds, but that comes out to a healthy average of losing one pound a week, lost over the holidays, from someone who is only about 15 pounds overweight. Seems pretty good to me! Let's also not forget the fact that I've gained a lot of muscle. Heavy muscle. My legs and arms already look more muscular. No jiggle - anywhere. Even at rest. My behind and belly are not quite there, but they're closer. There is definition in my abs. Yes, my "15 pounds overweight I've had two children abs" have some definition.

And it's only week four!!

Whoo hoo! God willing and the creek don't rise I see a bikini in my summer future! :)

Busy

It is 1:17 pm. So far today I have completed an intense, one-hour workout, thoroughly dusted the entire downstairs, finished the laundry, baked two loaves of from scratch bread (no bread maker here!), made homemade, from scratch soft pretzels for a healthy snack, cleaned the kitchen (no small task after all the baking), fed two kids lunch, put them in their beds for a nap, picked up so I can vacuum, soothed a sickly baby girl, and purchased a new dresser.

This mama is plum wore out!

The OCD Wagon

This self-professed OCD clean/neat freak has fallen off the wagon.

My house is a disaster. All the time.

Why clean when the little munchkins destroy it faster than I can work?

Seriously, I take time to clean the kitchen, and in the meantime they've pulled every toy out of the toy closet. So I put the toy closet back together and they've gone upstairs and dumped all the cars, dinosaurs, etc. out onto the floor. I can have them help me clean up, and I do, but that takes
f o r e v e r .

I'll go on and say that it's not lack of time that keeps me from cleaning, it totally isn't. If I stayed off facebook, and stopped reading blogs, and turned off the tv I could get a lot done. Maybe. Some days I DO turn off the computer and tv and still not much gets done.

Thankfully The Husband doesn't mind, or really notice, for that matter. He could live in a hovel, and as long as he had ramen noodles in the pantry and clean boxers he could go on unaffected.

I've just lost my motivation. Really. Why bust my behind when by bedtime it's a disaster all over again. Toys everywhere, yogurt/applesauce/take your pick smeared all over the kitchen counters/chairs/floor/cabinets/table/take your pick.

We've discussed hiring some help, but that seems silly. I am a stay-at-home-mom, after all. Plus it's not that the house is impossible to clean, it just doesn't stay clean. It literally makes me think, "Ahh, bleecch," when it's time to clean.

Well, Little Man starts going to school five days a week next year (sob!!), maybe my house will be clean then.

Or not.

Balance

It's so hard to find balance.

It seems that we have kid-centric days where we have a lot of fun, but nothing else gets done, or I plop the kids down in front of the tv all day and I get to knock off my to-do list.

Of course, I know that my kids are always most important. More important than a clean house, or a delicious meal, or whatever else...but still.

Hmmm, will to work on that.