It's Not Just Baby Fat Anymore

She's two. I think I am past the point of saying "It's just a little extra baby weight" and being taken seriously. My excuses are expired. How's that for accountability?

Yes, I love my squishy body for all the things it has done these past two years - carried a child, birthed a child and nourished a child. I do. I really love it. But, I most certainly do not like it right now. However, it's not about how I look so much as how I feel. I don't feel great. And, I am quite certain it's not just because I am a Mom.

What I am certain of is that I am not taking care of myself.

Before I became a Mom, I had no problem telling a Mom "You can't take care of other people if you don't take care of yourself." How perfectly naive I was. Humorous now.

I am not eating well. I am not sleeping well. And, I am not consistently exercising for myself. And, all three of these facts, would likely produce a response such as "I don't have time." And, it's true. Time is fleeting and time is sparse - for everyone, not just me. I don't have time. But, it's time to make time.

I'm 35. Not old. But, I feel old. And, I don't like that feeling.

I may never be a swimsuit model. And, I may never be a gym rat (again - been there, done that). And, I may never be the star of my local cross fit. But, never say never, right?

What I don't want: To diet. To starve myself. And, to miss out in one of life's greatest enjoyments - eating. I'm not in this to lose 100 pounds - with that, a diet may be necessary. What I want to be is healthy. And, I want to feel healthy. And, I don't want to guzzle a bottle of pepto every week or two because my insides are feeling yucky.

I want some energy back. I want my skin to be a bit smoother. I want my belly to feel better. And, since I'm sending my wishes out there, I'd love a flatter stomach.

I really want to exercise again. Remembering back to the times when exercise was an important philosophy in my daily life, I absolutely felt better. Add looking better to the list and you had me at hello.

There you have it: I am committing to making small changes in my life that will lead to big differences:

1.  I commit to making sleep a larger priority. 8 hours please. Or maybe 7.

2.  I commit to simply paying attention to what I am eating. It's called awareness and I am sure it exists even when eating. With that, I commit to not eating off my child's plate. It's mindless and not fulfilling and just ends up on my thighs.

3.  I commit to making exercise part of my daily routine again. If I miss a day, who cares, but I commit to not missing enough days in a row to equal a year.

That's it. I am not changing the world here.

Although, I guess my world might change in the process. I'm ready.

This is exactly what working out is like with a toddler, right? Not that mine is climbing on my face or anything....

Abandoned Grocery Carts

I must admit: the title is a little mis-leading.  But, it would be a little too arduous to title it "half a grocery order left on the conveyor belt as screaming toddler and I are stink-eyed out of the grocery store," right?

Never again will I judge that poor woman in the store attempting to contain her melting down child while she does something that has undoubtedly been on her to-do list for way too long: buy groceries for her family. Never again will I judge another mother who happens to have been given the short stick for that very moment.

See, I was her. And, it was not pretty.

AK and I were making a routine trip to the grocery store. It wasn't one of those shops that I dread for days, it was a medium sized shop containing items from our very new Curtis Stone (holy buckets, he's hot, but that's a different story for a different day) repertoire of recipes. A few 'simple' things that husband and I wanted to try out. But, these 'simple' things required some ingredients beyond my usuals.

We started in the produce department as any good healthy person does, right?! Just kidding - I took an immediate detour to the cookie aisle to secure some snacking items for AK and I. It worked if only for a minute. I guess I should have known that it was going to be a tough run when she really did start a progressive melting process just a few minutes into our trip. But, I had less than 25 items on my list, how bad could it be? The answer is very bad. Very bad indeed.

Produce sucked, but we made it out. I then realized I had a limited amount of time remaining, so I did my best to continue to appease her with food items - some healthy, some not so much. But, a kid can only eat so much. And, she got full. Seriously, people, I only had 25 items.

I started half-running through the aisles, extremely aware that I must be missing something - where on earth do they keep the mango chutney sauce? WHERE THE HELL IS IT?!

Somehow, we made it to the check-out line with a bit of sanity remaining. Soon to be completely removed. I couldn't have picked a worst line to join. Isn't that the way it always is? The poor guy at the register looked like a deer in headlights. Like he had been doing this job for about two-and-a-half minutes before I joined his line.

My first step was to covertly hand him the half eaten bag of "cheetos" (I put "cheetos" in quotes simply because it's the last remaining bit of dignity I have concerning this story - they weren't real cheetos, but it's what AK calls them) and ask him to please please please scan this very sensitive item and then immediately bag it. If she catches even a whiff of these goodies, it's all over. So, what did he do? He scanned it, looked blankly at the world in front of him and handed the bag...to her.  "Cheetos!  Cheetos!  CHEETOS!"

The downward spiral was upon us. Standing up in the cart, cheetos thrown on the floor, at a voice level that would most definitely not be considered an "inside voice."

With that, my friend at the cash register had a question about every single item. He needed to look up the code for every single piece of produce. Listen, on any normal day, my patience would have been quite sufficient for this. I understand that not everyone can memorize 367 codes for fruits and vegetables. I get it. But, at this very moment, this was not OK. For me or for AK. I really wanted Dora at the register next to him. She was fast. And, she had checked me out a million times. But, she also had way more people at her line. There's a reason for that, I tell myself now.

This story is painful enough. And, it ended about as bad as one can get in the grocery store.

I left half of my order on the conveyor belt and I did what any parent concerned about others would do - I ran my screaming, cheetos-covered daughter out of the store to more seething, stinky looks than I could even explain. Not one person patted me on the back or even gave me a look of "I understand." And, I got her out before the going got really tough.

As soon as we exited the store, AK calmed down. I apologized profusely to her for putting her through that way too close to her bedtime. I think she forgave me pretty quickly.

Should I have left even earlier and, instead of the conveyor belt, abandoned my cart? Maybe. And, most likely what I will do so next time. Or better yet, maybe grocery shops are just a little too much for AK these days and she will stay home with Daddy.

Mommy's Being Mean

A few days ago I had one of those days. 

Regardless if you stay at home or work full-time, you know the kind of day I am referring to, right?  When nothing goes your way no matter what you do.  When you are tired, the patience is worn thin (or out) and you just need a little space to catch your breath and figure out the next move. When the kids don't behave regardless if you talk in your sweetest, most loving voice or scream at the top of your lungs.  When you also have 15 phone calls to make, several hours of errands to do not humanly possible with two kids in tow, a house to clean and dinner to make.  Let's also throw in a new job to figure out (more on that, later).

By dinner time, I was just exasperated.  Mostly because my three and a half year old and 18 month old would not stop with the fighting over every little toy we own. Which was turning into pushing, shoving, and hair pulling - and that's from EM, the 18 month old! (Side note: I'm thinking this girl is going to be able to hold her own on the playground...)  Who knew that this would even be a problem at these ages?!  Not me. 

Anyway, they were bringing their battle to the kitchen where I was trying to make dinner while simultaneously answering a few emails, return a phone call, and do the dishes.  Screaming and crying ensued over a wooden banana and a wooden steak. 

So what did I do?  The only rational thing of course.  I lost it.  I proceeded to give them a lecture of epic proportions that likely they did not even understand.  I also may have been raising my voice  just a tad.  It wasn't my prettiest moment as a parent but, in retrospect, the entire day was leading up to this and, frankly, I had nothing left. 

CJ, the older, perhaps a little wiser one, responded to my tirade with, "Come on sister. Mommy's being mean. Let's go."  And he took her hand, and walked them out of the room.  They then proceeded to QUIETLY and NICELY play for at least the next 20 minutes.  THEY LEFT ME ALONE.  I literally did not hear another peep.

Moral of the story:  Sometimes it is perfectly OK to get a little fiesty at your kids.  (I'm kidding, kinda.)  They won't like you for it (I promise, that's fleeting) but they may just leave you alone as a result!  And, if they learned even a little something (like, maybe, Mommy is only human, is not a saint, and needs a minute to breathe), it seems like a win-win to me. 

A moment of adoration for big brother.  And it was just that- a moment!

The 10 Most Completely Rational Reasons I Am Over Summer

This is the time of year I wished we lived anywhere other than where we do:  The Desert. 

Yes, we live in Phoenix.  Did you know the only other place on earth with a climate comparable to here is the Sahara Desert?  Yep.

Come December, I'll be bragging to everyone who lives in winter that, hey, its only 65 where I live!  My "winter" jacket is just a hoodie!  But right now, not so much.

And the worst part is, even though it's mid-July, we aren't even half-way through it yet.  In my neck of the woods, we won't even see even the 90's until almost October!  Have I mention I have spent two of my four summers while living in Phoenix pregnant? 

So, in honor of my least favorite season (at least here), I give you the reasons I am ready for what's up next.

1.  I hate sweating. Seriously.  Sweating should be relegated to occurring only when one decides to do some form of moderate or intense physical activity.  And, NOT just when you step foot outdoors.  I cannot remember the last time that I didn't have even a few drops of sweat on me.  Yuck.

2. This time of year the only form of outdoor entertainment for kids must involve water.  Which means I must wear a bathing suit.  Which means I must be bathing suit ready at all times.  Enough said.

3.  Shaving.  Ok, I am not the type that doesn't shave. (No offense intended if that's you! I just prefer to.)  But, let's face it, wearing a bathing suit every single day requires a lady take certain measures.  It just gets old when you have to do that daily.  (See #2)

4.  In order to save on electric and efficiency with our air conditioning, the husband requires that all blinds and curtains remain shut all day.  There's something about living in the semi-dark all day, when it's blue skies and sunny outside, that just doesn't work for me.

5.  The Movies.  Want to know what people do all summer who live in the desert?  They go to the movies.  Think about it- it's the perfect escape.  An ice cold, dark building where you can escape to another reality for two hours.  I would like to go to the movies more and so would 3/4 of my family.  Unfortunately, the 17 month old just can't hack it yet.

6. Yard Work. Do you know what's worse than sweating just from stepping foot outside?  Having to do actual intense activity in that oven.  And, unless you're willing to get up at 4:30 am (seriously, its light out then!) to do the yard work, it's freaking hot by 8 am when you get your act together to do it.

7.  Which reminds me: the rising sun.  Out here the sun is high in the sky by 5 am.  And even with blackout curtains, somehow our kids can sense the sun is up.  So they get up.  Come winter they start sleeping in a bit, thank goodness, I just wish they would extend this year round.

8.   Seat belts.  What's the perfect recipe for a third degree burn?  A seat belt that has been baking in a car parked out in the sun.  I swear the temperature inside our car hits at least 130+ degrees these days.  My youngest mastered the word "hot" before even "Mommy".  The kids cry upon sight of their car seats knowing what's coming.  Those poor little legs.

9.  Haboobs.  Yes, this is a real word. If you know what this word means, your disdain for it probably parallels mine.  Let's just say this is the mother of all dust storms. It's apoplectic, wreaks havoc on the pool, and leaves a nice coating of dust and sand on anything and everything. 

10.  Wearing the same clothes for 7 months gets a little tiresome.  You see, we really only have 2 seasons of clothes here.  Which means our summer clothes must last from April until October.  By that time, I am basically ready to just toss everything we own and start over.        

I guess the only thing left to say is...at least we don't have to shovel any snow.  Suckas! 

BONUS: All that swimming does equal good naps. 

Mommies Can't Get Sick

It's law, right? Mommies can't get sick.

We don't have time. We do so much. We don't have time. The kids always need us. We don't have time.

Last week, I got knocked down. By something ugly. I have no idea where it came from, but it literally caused me to sleep for over 24 hours. In the middle of that, I tried really hard to care for my child. I know I dragged myself from room to room, attempting to cook her healthy and wholesome meals. Attempting to bathe her and brush her teeth, when all I really wanted to do was crawl back into my cocoon and sleep it all away. I felt like I did pretty OK.

But, wouldn't you know it? I show up to school one day in the midst of my physical anguish, to pick her up and her teacher says, "We're not really sure why, but she was a little extra needy and clingy today."

All the bad mother alarms go off in my head. I know exactly why she was clingy and needy - because I have failed miserably at being attentive, loving and playful when I felt like death warmed over. Like ten miles of bad road.

Seriously? I can't even get sick.

Let's take a moment to briefly recount what happens when (most) Daddies get sick. They moan, they whine and they sleep. While we do everything. Moment over. We love Daddies. Just not when they're sick.

I was feeling so terrible, I even went to the doctor, which never happens. Ever. In fact, the last time I went to the doctor was six months ago when the same train wreck happened inside my body. They (the infamous "they." Will we ever figure out who "they" are?) could figure nothing out. Blood work? Fine. Internal organs? Fine. Everything appears to be fine.

Second lesson here: I need to take care of myself. Because, at the end of the day, I can't get sick. There's no time and my kid needs me. When on earth am I going to learn this lesson? Am I going to have to endure this physical torture every six months until I wise up and make little changes in my life to combat this crud before it invades me? I hope not.

But, if you're a Mommy, you should know this, too.  You can't get sick. There's no time for that garbage.

Refusing To Participate In The Terrible Twos

I can hear you laughing at me.  "How naïve she is," you're saying. Well, hush.

I get this drive to have it all together from my Mother. Thanks, Mom. When I graduated high school, my 'Senior Superlative' as written by my friends was "most likely to become her Mom."  I hated them for that back then and now realize that they could not have been more accurate.  I like to be the ring leader in my own circus.

So. AK is now closer to two than she is to one. If there is such thing as a perfect newborn, infant, baby and early toddler, she's it. She has given me so little trouble, headache, heartache, you name it. She's just a good freakin' kid. Case in point was last weekend. She laughs until my own cheeks hurt and I feel like my heart sings when I am with her.

But, holy crap. She kinda acted two last weekend. It came from left field. I wasn't expecting it. Suddenly, she's throwing a mini-tantrum at the plant nursery because she wants to ride in the dilapidated mini red coupe car sitting in the sand. She didn't want her raspberries and how dare me for offering them to her, so she deliberately stuck her finger so hard into each one of them that it not only squirted red raspberry juice on my shirt, but it pitifully smushed it onto her tray so she could, with one swoop of her hand, throw it onto the wall. Yelling "NO" in the process. WTH? Where's my angel baby?

You do understand that you ARE going to get me what I want out of that cupboard, yes?

She's almost two. That's where she is.

Hold up. I'm not participating in the Terrible Twos. Just not. I haven't had the heart to tell her yet, but we're getting there. I will gently and kindly explain to her that the behavior that often accompanies two-year-olds will not be welcome in our house. And, I am sure she will listen. (Insert sarcastic laugh here).

So much of life is about the attitude we have when dealing with the things that enter our journey, isn't it? So, can I attempt to maintain an attitude that encourages my little two-year-old to still experience the fun in life while being that ever elusive good kid? I think so.

I don't want to over-parent her, whatever that is. I don't want to helicopter. But, I do want her to learn to respect boundaries and most of all, know that I am her Momma. I am in charge. I'm a really fun Momma (to her, anyway) and I play like I'm two. But, I'm the boss.

At the end of the day, she sat in her rocking chair, quietly reading a book. When she saw me, she patted the spot next to her and said, "Sit, Momma." I melted.

And, then I sat.

My Little Tornado, aka My Daughter

Holy moly, is a 15 month old busy!  Where in the world do they get this energy from?  I may not take a nap every day and sleep 12 hours a night (frankly, ridiculously less lately due to that same 15 month old waking every day at 4:45 am, thankyouverymuch. And remember, I am currently laid-off, therefore not needing to wake so early), but I still can't figure out where the reserves for this level of activeness come from.  Although EM is my second baby, I guess I forgot about this part.  

Toys are inconsequential, many days food is too. The only thing of interest is getting those little hands on anything and everything that has not been locked up or tied down and throwing it in her wake.

When do they stop being little tornados?

Frankly, there are days that I could do without that tornado that tears through my house multiple times per day.  I don't even know where all this stuff comes from - most of our cupboards are child-proofed but not everything we own is able to be either.  I know you may say, just leave the mess until the end of the day.  I do.  I clean it all up at the end of the day after bed time, except that which creates a tripping hazard through my kitchen.  Is it wrong to want just a wee bit of order even throughout the day?

I know this is a phase and it too shall pass.  And, as my husband reminded me this morning, when EM is 15 years old and being difficult as only a teenage girl can be, we will fondly look back on her tornado days with a tear in our eye at the preciousness of it all.  I do not disagree. Yet, part of me cannot wait to be through this particular phase.  Does that make me a terrible mom? 

This age is truly adorable and enjoyable for so many other reasons.  EM is starting to talk, developing such a wonderful personality, and a real relationship with her brother, and watching her figure out the world around her is an amazing experience as her parent.  She is a light and a joy to our family.  She laughs louder and harder and we all follow suite.  We marvel at her silliness.

Yet, this tornado part of being a 15 month old is getting just a bit exhausting for this mommy.  Can't we just sit and play nicely (and maybe quietly) with a few toys?  Nope, there she goes again.  Off to go rescue her brother's beloved trucks before he notices.