typical evening...

Me: Rambling on about some topic, perhaps reading my blog entry to my husband until, finally -- "Are you EVEN LISTENING TO ME? Did you hear what I SAID?"

Him: Yes. You were talking. About something.

*Sigh*

Do I get to throw one of those temper tantrums now?

Exercise -- it's not for wimps.

Since my husband has been on the "fat bastard" program the Navy runs, I've felt a little guilty. And I've needed an excuse to use my new (nook) toy. So, I've started working out with him. Well, more like parallel to him.

And then came Wednesday.

To be fair, he had warned me about the horror of his Wednesday workout. I thought he was lying. Or maybe exaggerating, just a little (or a lot). He wasn't.

After doing far too many lunges and squats, my legs still haven't recovered. And I've gone out and bought the book that's the female version of his program. Because I don't want to have thighs as big around as my waist. And if I had to endure one more Wednesday workout on his program -- I'd either be dead because I'd cut off my own legs to alleviate the pain or my kids would starve to death because I wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

I'll be writing again soon. Hopefully.

That is, if I'm not dead from trying to get healthier.

Happy Birthday Butterball!!

My baby. My last, sweet, little baby girl is turning one today. Has it already been a year since I was so miserable with pregnancy, unable to move without pain, grateful for the contractions that meant that you were coming? Your birth was so overwhelming that for days, I mistakenly thought you were born on the 28th -- and your Daddy won't let me forget it. But it was so worth it. The past year has been amazing.

My fat little cherub has already blossomed into a bossy, sassy little "monkey" girl. No longer the butterball that she once was. I can't believe how fast the time has gone. She is almost completely weaned, now. Walking, talking a bit. She loves to torture her brother, but mostly they play wonderfully together. Chasing each other around the house, erupting into giggles and squeals. Bath time is her favorite. She comes running to the bathroom anytime she hears the tub going. She knows what she wants, and she can pretty much tell you what it is these days. She's persistent and stubborn. She definitely doesn't like to be told "no." She likes to pretend that she doesn't hear the word half the time. If she hears if often enough, she'll rebel by letting out a rebel war cry, going for the forbidden fun that she's so unfairly being denied.

Her hair is growing in, fine and wavy. She's got the longest lashes I've ever seen (on a girl), and blue-grey eyes. The best part of my day these days is going into her room in the morning, seeing her smiling face standing in her crib waiting for me to get her. Then, when I pick her up, she wraps her arms around my neck, squeezes as hard as she can and gets her fingers all tangled in my hair. Most of the time I don't even mind that she's wiping her snotty nose on my shoulder.

The scowls she gives everyone make me laugh. I don't think anyone escapes the furrowed brow and squinty-eyed once over when they meet her. If she recognizes you, she might skip the scowl, and instead point at you as if to say "HEY! I KNOW YOU! COME HERE AND DO MY BIDDING!" And if you're lucky, you'll get the "AAAAAAHH!!" grunt that actually means she expects you to do her bidding.

I love it when she says "ooooOOOOOO" when she sees something she loves. Namely, bananas, or any kind of sweet treat that she's about to be spoiled with.

We are going to miss the baby that's turned into a toddler who is falling in love with ride-on toys, playing in the mud and wrestling like a big kid. We love you Butterball. Don't grow up too fast.

PrompTuesday, Or Friday

No I didn't forget about it. No, I haven't been ignoring it. Okay, I have been. I just haven't been feeling creative enough to write something, well, creative.



But this week's prompt is something I can handle. PrompTuesday #108









I live in a quiet residential community that happens to back up to a main thoroughfare in my town. The thoroughfare is pretty much the only way to get from the north end to the south end of where I live. And the speed limit is something like 30 or 35 miles per hour. The stop lights are never ending, and the people here in New England really need to revisit that drivers test they should have failed when the turned 16.



There are times during the day when the thoroughfare backs up. And backs up. Like when people are heading home from work. And going to work. And rushing around at lunchtime. I get it. It sucks to be stuck in traffic when you've got somewhere to go. So, you get to thinking, surely there's a way around this major street that is set up to be a minor street. And you make a turn, and another one and you realize that you can cut through this quiet little residential area.



Sure, the speed limit is only 15, and there are a bazillion stop signs and speed bumps. The stop signs -- the ones with the white rims are optional, right? And those speed bumps? Eh.. As long as my car is big enough I can plow on over it, no harm done. Mythbusters even says the ride is better the faster I go over it. They did, right? Oh well.



Right.

That's all well and good. Except that the stop signs? They are NOT optional. The speed limit is NOT a suggestion. Why are there so many stop signs and speed bumps? Because there are a bazillion kids running around in this neighborhood. There is no public easement between the sidewalk and the street, so if I kid ditches on their bike, they're ditching into the street right in front of the car, YOUR car. Not to mention the streets are curvy, narrow, and this is NOT a public thoroughfare!

I've taken to sitting out front and yelling at the cars that whiz past, missing stop signs and catching air over the speed bumps. As a neighborhood, we've complained and complained to the community managers, called the police, and exhausted ourselves trying to get people to slow down. And, you bet that if you drive by my house, in a company vehicle, I'm calling your boss. Especially if you're a cab driver and when I ask you to slow down (because my kids are running around in the front yard near the road you consider to be a race track) and you FLIP ME OFF. YOU FLIPPED ME OFF! Because YOU were breaking the law and I called you on it. In the vehicle you use for work.

Um, this was supposed to be about etiquette. My tip:

It's extremely rude to drive really fast in a residential neighborhood ignoring speed limits and stop signs because you are using it as a detour, short-cut, or escape route from the local police. Even if you are going to go the speed limit, slamming on the brakes at the last second and slamming on the gas to get to the next stop sign a record 2 seconds faster? That's rude too. Also, driving through with your windows down and radio at full blast. Absolutely asinine. My kids don't need to hear about smackin' yo b!tch up. Really.

So, keep to the speed limit. STOP at the stop signs, slow down for the speed bumps. Save yourself some gas by accelerating decently, and if you have to listen to your music crazy loud, roll up the windows.

He gets it!

So, the other day Little Monster was throwing a fit about not wanting to put his shoes on. Maybe it was about how he didn't want to get into the car, or eat his pop tart, clean up his toys, or do anything either of us wanted him to do. I'm not sure what the tantrum was, exactly.

What I do remember is overhearing my husband say:

"OH NO! If anyone in this family gets to throw a tantrum about having to do things they don't want to do it would be your mom, not you."

Thanks, honey. I love that you get it.

If I tell you -- I have to do it. Right?

Lately, I've been feeling a bit off. Crabby, mean, and just utterly horrid. It's one of the main reasons why I haven't been posting. You know, the whole "If you can't say something nice" saying runs around in my head. Combine the inability to say anything nice about anything and a blog and you end up sounding like some whiny snively spoiled brat. Especially considering that I am positively spoiled beyond belief and have no reason to complain about much of anything.

It isn't anyone else's fault that I've felt this way. It's my own. I get up in the morning, pick up the dirty laundry and throw it in a pile by the laundry room. If I'm lucky I get to wake up the children (rather than the other way around), and get them ready for the day. I send one off to preschool three days a week, two of those three mornings I fill with bible studies (although both have been TERRIBLY neglected lately). Friday mornings are all about me. Or they used to be. But then I decided I should really clean the house on Friday mornings instead. And go to the grocery store so we have food for the weekend.

The afternoons are spent finding activities to keep my busy busy three year old involved in something so that I don't try to strangle him because he seems to be doing everything in his power to wake his little sister up. My evenings are spent, preparing (or more likely driving somewhere and purchasing) dinner, cleaning up from the day, getting kids into bed, arguing with small children about why they need baths and sleep, and finally, FINALLY! quiet time with my husband.

Except that my husband is obese. (well, not really. Not at all, but the military seems to think so.) So he's on the fat boy program and spends his evenings working out in order to keep his job and prove that to be as skinny as they want him he might just wither up and die. So, we watch TV while he works out. And I listen to my one year old, who is in the process of weaning whine and cry 15 minutes at a time while I try to get her to sleep with as little time attached to me as possible.

By the time I actually get to relax, I'm so wired that it takes me hours to wind down. Maybe I should invest in some good wine? And since I'm so "starved" for "me time" I end up staying up far too late watching crap on TV. And then I go to bed. And stare at the ceiling, thinking about all of the things that we have going on. We are selling our house. We are moving in a few months. But where? And for how long? Are we going to end up overseas? Why is Little Monster SOO naughty and defiant these days? By about 3:00 AM I'm finally in good sleep. I get a couple of hours, if I'm lucky before my husband has to get up to workout before work. He tries so hard to be quiet, and he really is. I just sense the stirring and though I try to remain asleep, sometimes I lay there, awake, but not really. Then, Little Monster comes tearing in at 5:30AM demanding breakfast. Pop Tarts. And toast with white butter. Not Peanut BUTTER! WHITE BUTTER! and WHITE MILK! And PLEAAASE! I need breakfast NOW! After arguing with him until 7 o'clock, I finally get up and feed him breakfast.

And now you may return to the beginning. Typical day. Typical week. Sounds like life. And a housewife who is doing a lot of whining, right?

I'm hoping to change it. I'm going to try to QUIT neglecting my bible studies. Because when I neglect them, I cut myself off from God, and when I do that, things don't go well. I lose faith that someone has control of things. It's something I need to believe in order to exist. This world is so crazy -- and I have no control over anything, so as long as someone has control, and someone has a plan I'm fine. I'm happy to know that the Someone I believe is in control of things is a loving, kind Someone who has my best interest at heart.

I am also going to try to start working out. This says the lady who HATES to exercise. It's boring. I hate sweating. Add the two up, and yeah. If I am going to exercise you have to trick me into it -- make me think it's fun. Or, keep my mind off of the exercise by putting something else in front of it. TV doesn't work. It can't keep my interest (except for last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy -- can you say it! AHHH!).

How then, am I going to get my workout in? Easy. I am going to be super selfish. I am going to -- read books for pleasure while I ride the exercise bike. I recently bought a Nook. One of those e-reader gadgets that Barnes&Noble is selling. It's amazing. I can set it on the front of the bike and just read. No worries about losing a page. No having to hold the book open, no having to hold the book. If the text is to small for me to read while I'm bouncing all over on the bike, no biggie. I'll just make the text bigger. And while I'm reading, I'm pedaling. And pedaling. For an hour or every other day. Or when I want to read. It's amazing.

I started this yesterday. I pedaled for a total of an hour -- two thirty minute sessions. All the while reading the newest fiction, that I bought. From my house. And you know what? That being selfish and demanding that my three year old play quietly in his room -- and that my one year old nap quietly in hers while I read a good book. It felt heavenly. I got to do something totally selfish. And I felt better afterward. And I burned calories. So maybe my clothes will fit better. And maybe I'll start to be happier and quit complaining about the fairy tale life that I lead.

I'm counting on you to keep me accountable. Got it? What do you do that keeps you from going insane?

Morning entertainment.

First thing this morning, in a monotone robot voice (where did he learn that, i wonder):
Inside dis woobot is bumblebee. And inside bumblebee is ocermiss. And inside ocermiss is little monster. We are in dis sceery woobot suit.



The reason why I come to Nebraska without my husband (it's a life preserving tactic for him. He would have died of embarrassment):

The church is silent except for the hymn being sung and the pastor's voice telling each person "this is the body of Christ." The pastor hands me my wafer and skips over Monster in order to give communion to someone else. He will come back with out the wafers to bless the children. And then you hear it:

"HEEEEEeeeey!!!!! I want one!!!!"




As his sister passes by on her way to mischief:

"bye bye alien"

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Who ate the scraps?

As a parent I often wonder how much of what I teach my child sinks in. How much does he remember. Does he really get it?

Today we visited hobby lobby to get a few things. Not to mention I just love walking around and looking at all the neatly organized yarn, paint and craft projects.

As I was loading his sister into the cart Little Monster walked up to a print they had framed near the carts. He stared at it while I nagged at him not to touch it. I looked at it and noticed that it was a print of the Last Supper. Wondering if he remembered anything (since he seems to forget when I ask him to do anything simple like go potty or get dressed) I asked him what he was looking at.

"MOOooom. I was just wooking at Jesus. Our dog Kweenex is wif him. I fink she's under da table. I was just wooking for her."


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