I am a yogi

The definition of yogi is "one who practices yoga".  Or, in other circles, "An American baseball player, born 1925".  Today, I'm writing about the former.  I'll most likely never write about the latter (no offense, Yogi).

Obviously, there is a lot of information out there about yoga.  And I'm sure most of it is true.  Even if it is on the Internet.  I believe yoga is whatever you want it to be.  For me, it's a way to challenge myself physically, while helping me find ways to reduce my stress level.  While I understand there's an "awareness of your inner self" component, I had never, um, been aware.

I've been practicing yoga religiously since that first class I took 2 years ago.   I can now say with conviction that yoga is my thing.  It's challenging and relaxing at the same time.  It's exactly what someone like me needs. 

While I practice regularly at home, I like to take classes.  About a year ago, I found a yoga studio I truly love.  I go with friends, I go alone.  I just go.  I go to class with a few friends every Saturday morning.  It's early, but that's what's so great about it.  We come, we see, we conquer.  And then go for Starbucks after.  Bliss. 

Anyway, my studio partnered with some others in the area to put on this free yoga event last night.  So, my SIL and I decided we'd go.  Along with several hundreds of our closest yogi friends.  When would we have the chance again to practice outside the Rock Hall for free?

It was everything I had hoped for.  I know I'm totally drinking the Kool-Aid here, but I don't care.  We started out in shavasana, looking up at the stars.  My SIL and I were all, "Yeah, this is the coolest."  I closed my eyes and listened to the world around me.  I heard crickets and traffic and the wind blowing.  I got the goosebumps.  I was aware.

At one point in the evening, our instructor referred to us as yogis.  Before this night, I just thought of myself as someone who practices yoga.  But something switched on inside me (again, the Kool-Aid) and I agreed with her.  I am a yogi.

The rest of the class was similar to what we do.  Aside from me taking pictures of the crowd while in downward dog.  Details.  It was an event I'll have a hard time forgetting.  Even with my terrible memory.

I am a yogi.              

How I spent my summer vacation

I just had to tell my 8-year-old niece to be aware of her lady bits.  At.  All.  Times.

What is this world coming to?

And so marks the end of another fun summer!  School starts in 2 days, which means we have 2 days to cram as much fun into their little systems as can be allowed without a search warrant.

First stop?  The dentist!  Yaaaaaay!!

Okay, this was probably the crappiest thing I could've done to my boys this summer.  But, they'll thank me for it someday. 

The other night, I synced my phone to the computer, moving about 300 pictures from my phone to the computer.  And then I looked at the pictures.

You know what?  It was a pretty fun summer.  Go me!

I mean, yeah, we had some crappy weather and some lazy days, but we did do stuff.  I have pictures of the kids:

at the zoo
at the beach
at the pool
in DC 
on a scavenger hunt at the nature center
at the beach (again)
on a hike, feeding ducks
at the water park
putt-putting
running through Target like crazy people
at the zoo (again) (and again)
on the slip-n-slide
eating ice cream
on a day trip to Put-in-Bay (an island on Lake Erie about 3 miles off the mainland)
an African safari!

It was a fun summer.  They might not remember it, but I sure will.  It will keep me warm on those cold lonely nights at the old folks' home.

But now we must look ahead.  School supplies have been bought (and are sitting in a pile on my dining room table).  The 5-year-old has Kindergarten orientation Wednesday, but school technically starts for him on Friday.

Sigh.  I'm going to have a hard time letting go of that one.  He's my youngest.  And, to me, he's still a baby.  It probably has to do with the fact that he can't say his Rs properly and would still prefer I wipe his ass (let's face it, I'm better at it).  And while he has a great Kindergarten teacher, she's. not. me.

So, yeah.  This sucks.

But?  I am looking forward to my Twilight marathon!    

Coolest Mom in the World!

Remember when I told you about my history with Super Mario Bros?  Well, the Coolest Mom in the World strikes again!

Picture it: 
It is morning.  Our Wednesday visitor shows up before my children wake.  We chat for about a half hour (he's a talker, that one; cracks me up).  I ask if he wants to play Wii.

Turns out the kids' new (old) game to play is Super Mario Bros (again).  Yay!  I know this game!

We turn it on.  He plays a round.  I tell him my history with the game.  How I've beaten the game.

Him (wide eyed):  You've beaten this game??
Me (solemnly):  Yes.  Yes, I did.
Him:  Whoa!

Yes, that's right.  I'm amazing because I've beaten a Nintendo game.  I can die happy now.

Then I play a round for him.  I'm dodging mushroom guys left and right!  I'm getting extra lives he doesn't know exist!  I'm getting 5,000 points just by jumping the flag correctly! 

I.  Rock.  It. 

The kid is enthralled.  I love this kid.  My kids don't think I'm nearly as cool.  They usually roll their eyes any time I try to show off my awesomeness.  Not this kid.  He is immensely impressed. 

I think I'd like to keep him as one of my own.  I'm pretty sure his mom won't mind.

Finally, my lazy ones come down the stairs.  They go to the basement, as usual.  Our visitor tells them what I have just accomplished.  (To be fair, I only got to somewhere in the 5th level, but still.  They haven't gotten that far.)

I'm upstairs in the kitchen, listening to his tale.  A lot of "She did this!" and "She did that!"  They were all, "She did?!"  It?  Was fantastic. 

I wonder if they give you a tiara for Coolest Mom or is it just a T-shirt?

Playing house

Yesterday, while I was evoking arthritis in the fingers making friendship bracelets, the kids abandoned me and went outside to play in the rain.  As I was intent on (read:  could not stop) the task at hand, I paid little to no attention to them.

Finally, I looked up to relieve the neck cramp I'd gotten from being hunched over for 8 hours straight and saw the children outside, struggling with a full bucket of soapy water.  They were lugging it over to the play set.  Also with a stack full of (clean white) washcloths.  In the 8-year-old's defense, I believe I granted permission, but what do I know?  I was trying not to mess up my bracelet.

What were they doing, you ask?

Cleaning their play set. 

They have been playing "Little House on the Prairie" for days now and the play set has become their log cabin.  So, they washed it, like any good adult does (not this adult, but hey, whatever).  It was so adorable, I had to stop my bracelet-making (which was going horribly wrong anyway) to watch.  The awesome neighbors' kids were over, too.  Imagine a 2-year-old with a dirty (yet soapy) towel, washing down a slide. 

A.Dor.Able.  

8-year-old:  I never knew it was this fun to clean.
Me:  Oh?  If you're looking for something to clean...
8-year-old:  I mean, with water and stuff. 

If they're this excited about cleaning, I'll give them things to clean.  With water even!  They have a perfectly cleanable bathroom upstairs just waiting for them.

Hey, kids?  Where'd you go?

One reason I don't have girls

I always assumed I'd have girls.  Or, at least one girl.  Someone to play Barbies with, someone whose nails I could paint, someone whose hair I could French braid (I can do a wicked French braid).  Someone to play dress up with.

(Okay, I admit I played dress up with the 8-year-old when he was 6 months old.  He looked... like a boy in a dress.  It wasn't as much fun as I thought it'd be.  [And, don't tell him I did that.])

So, God had other plans for me.  He gave me the boys, he gave my brother the girls.  I find it quite amusing that my brother has all girls.  Beautiful, beautiful girls.  My brother, in his youth, was quite mean to the girls.  He's a good looking guy and all the girls liked him.  And he was kind of a dick to all of them.  In return, he liked the one girl who was a dick to him.  Go figure.

Anyway, at least I have my nieces to play dress up with and French braid their hair.  I am fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with my nieces during the week and indulge my inner girlie girl.

Today, friendship bracelets were on the agenda.  Remember these things?



They were all the rage when I was a kid.  I remember I spent an entire summer making these with my friends.  They, like us, were pretty awesome.  So, I got a little excited when I told her we could make these.

And then I tried to remember how to make them.

My niece has a Friendship Bracelet KIT.  A kit.  When I was a kid, we'd just go up to the local craft store and buy tons of different colored thread and make up our own designs.  Nowadays, kids can't think on their own, so you have to tell them, in detail, how to do everything.  What could come in this kit other than the thread, I thought.

Instructions!

As with most instructions, I felt I was reading Chinese.  What the hello is a number 4 knot?  I consulted our good friend, YouTube.  Okay, now I knew what a number 4 knot.  Back to the instructions.

Make a backwards number 4 knot.

Ugh.  I don't remember it being this hard.  My bracelet looks like dreadlocks on a white person.  Just a tangled mess that no amount of conditioner will help.  Just, no.  Give me an epic Lego battle any day.  Let's blow fake shit up.  Why can't we just make normal braided bracelets?

I can even French braid it!              

A rainy day at our house

So, that muthafucka Mother Nature screwed me again yesterday.  I had all kinds of fun outdoor activities planned for us.  Instead, the skies opened and vomited rain all over my fun.

Pretty picture?  Imagine how I felt.

We started off the day with a failed science experiment I got from my good friend, Pinterest.  In theory, it should've worked.  I understood the science behind it.  I explained the science behind it.  The kids were excited to help.  But, after it didn't do what I said it would do, they quickly lost (P)interest.  So much for that. 

Then came the rain.  At first, it consisted of a few big fat drops.  Those?  Are fun.  I pushed (with force) cajoled the children into staying outside during this period.  These kids are turning into pansies.  I mean, who doesn't have fond memories of playing in the rain?

After some time, they realized the error of their ways and I thoroughly enjoyed watching them (from the safety of the front porch [there comes an age when getting wet isn't fun anymore, mIright?]) ride their bikes, splashing through puddles.

The weather, of course, got worse, so we had to come inside.  That meant 5 obnoxiously loud (I love them individually, but, altogether?  They are loud.) children were running amok through the house.

My solution?

A movie.

You bet I did.  In my defense, I had 5 children running amok in the house.  Enough said.

And then came the fun part.  After the movie was over and the young one went down for a nap, I made the older kids do homework.

Heh.

I bet Mother Nature will think twice next time about messing up my children's day.     



 

It's the final countdown

So, we're 2 weeks away from the first day of school.  What the what happened to our summer??  Remember when I had all these big ideas for the Hap Hap Happiest Summer.  Ever?  Yeeeaahh... next time I promise something idiotic like that, I'll have to check the summer weather forecast.  While we've had some superfun days, with the rain and cooler temperatures, it hasn't been the summer of our dreams. 

But, what's done is done.  And now we have to switch gears and get into back-to-school mode.  We'll still play hard, but we'll have to work hard, too.  Remember when the principal said our kids get stupid over summer?  Well, I'm not letting that happen, nosiree.  I've been playing on Pinterest researching ideas to get the kids back to thinking.  Math games!  Writing prompts!  Science scavenger hunts! 

I?  Am awesome.

And?  Someday, they'll thank me.  Right now?  Notsomuch.

I'll admit I am secretly looking forward to the kids going back to school.  With the 5-year-old starting Kindergarten (all-day!), I'll have several hours to myself during the day for the first time in 9 years.  I won't even know what to do with all this free time.

I can do any and all of the following:

1.  Run.  Every.  Single.  Morning. 
2.  Write a blog post daily.
3.  Clean behind the refrigerator and stove.
4.  Rearrange my sock drawer according to color and use.
5.  Read an entire book in a day.
6.  Get a haircut.  And color!
7.  Make a delicious, well-balanced meal, using nothing processed or packaged.

What I most likely will do:

1.  Watch all 5 of the Twilight movies in a day.
2.  Rush around, tidying up the house, removing all traces of the snacks I've eaten over the course of the day.
3.  Shower.
4.  Make pasta for dinner.  With a bag of carrots as a vegetable.
5.  After helping with homework and putting the children to bed, complain about how tired I am.

It's going to be great!

   

A battle between good and lazy

You guys?  Parenting is hard.  I love them both so much, sometimes I think my hugs will pop their heads clean off.  And, of course, I worry all the time that we're doing a terrible job and, someday, it's all going to come back and bite us in the ass.   

We have good days, bad days and Epic Fail days around my house.  It's a slippery slope we're on every single day.  Who knows what kind of humans we're molding?  A day can change everything.  They're either going to cure cancer and, in honor, name the cure after us or blame us for everything wrong in their lives, put us in a dilapidated nursing home and NEVER.  SEE.  US.  AGAIN.  Or... you know, something in the middle.  The most we can hope for is that they turn out to be a better version of us.

And maybe they'll visit me at a (bright, happy) nursing home on Mother's Day.

Yesterday, the planets aligned and we had one of those days where, if Parenting were a class, I would've gotten an A.

Okay, A-/B+.

It started off like any other day.  We woke, we ate, we watched TV played enriching games to stimulate their brilliant minds.  My brother was in town this weekend, so we invited the family over for brunch.

While we were busy getting the food together, the boys started fighting over The Blanket.  This is the coveted blanket in our house.  Everyone wants it.  So, last Christmas, I bought us another Blanket to end the fighting.  Unfortunately, my little monsters took the second blanket to the basement and now there's only one on the main floor.

Me (to 8-year-old):  Go downstairs and get the red one.
Him:  NO.
Me:  Uh, yes.
Him:  NO.  No, no, no, no, no!

Oh, I wasn't having any of that shit this morning.

Me:  Either go downstairs and get the blanket or go to your room.
Him:  (nothing.)

Then the husband stepped in.

I love my darling husband.  Really, I do.  But, he has a tendency to, um, overpromise and underdeliver on threats.  For example, he'll say things like, "Do it or you're grounded for a month."  And then let the kid off the hook an hour later because it's haaaaaarrrd to enforce punishments.

Now, it's no secret I lazy parent.  I love my boys more than anything, but I admit I have a hard time staying engaged.  There's only so many Epic Battles Mommy can have a day.  Aaaand Mommy likes her Facebook and Pinterest.

I'm all for extreme punishments when warranted.  You intentionally cut your little brother with a shiv you've made out of a Lego piece?  You get points for creativity, but you're grounded (and may require possible stint with a child psychologist for anger management).  But, grounded for a month for not doing me a favor?  Probably not.  

Anyway, the husband stepped in and grounded the 8-year-old.  For the entire day.  Mostly because the 8-year-old kept talking back.

(finger wagging) Oh no, he di'n't.

So, fine.  Kid was grounded for the day.  And guess what?  We enforced it!  All!  Day!  (fist pump!) He was allowed to eat (and even then, it was only bread and water, damit), but he stayed in his room all day.  I even made him start on continue his summer homework!  Of course, this probably wasn't a good idea in retrospect (hence, the B+ grade I've given myself), because I don't want him to associate homework with punishment.  But, he likes to write (love that about him!), so I had him write about his favorite summer day.

Surprisingly, he didn't pick this day.

At 5:00, we let him have his freedom, as promised.  Lately, I've been trying to instill the idea of "good choices".  After talking it over, he agreed that he probably made a poor decision by not helping me out and would do it differently if he could.

Score:  Good Parenting 1, Lazy Parenting 0.

While Kid #1 was in prison, I invited Kid #2 to take a bike ride with me.  My 5-year-old has worn the training wheels on his bike to the metal.  To add to that, he doesn't even use them.  Every once in a while, you'll hear the metal scrape of those wheels as he rides.

Me (to 5-year-old):  Let's take the training wheels off.
Him:  No.
(side note:  why was everything a no today?!)
Me:  Yes.  Let's just try it.  If you don't like it, we'll put them back on.  (Read:  We are NEVER putting them back on.)
Him (after thinking for a minute):  Okay.

Enter husband (because I don't know how to use tools).  He took the wheels off, pushed the 5-year-old to get him going and off went the 5-year-old into the wild blue yonder!

Me:  Wait!  Come back!

We took a ride around the block.  The kid is a natural.  He strut around the house like a rooster, telling everyone, "I can wide a two wheelew."

Score:  Good Parenting 2, Lazy Parenting 0.

Today, on the other hand, started off good.  We played a couple math games (no, really!) and several rounds of Uno, but then it all fell to shit because I?  Touched the computer.

Now, the children are running amok and I'm too engrossed in my story here to bother with it.

5-year-old:  Mom, can I have some milk?
Me (distracted):  Sure.  You're big enough to lug the 2-gallon jug off the top shelf of the fridge, right?  And then pour into a cup, right?  No?  Well, be creative.

So:

1.  5-year-old (in PJs too small for him) loudly dragging kitchen chair across the room to fridge (me giving him the stink eye for interrupting my train of thought).
2.  Can't open fridge door because chair is in the way.
3.  Pulls back chair.
4.  Opens fridge door.
5.  Pushes chair back.
6.  Grabs 2-gallon jug of milk.
7.  Drops 2-gallon jug of milk.
8.  2 gallons of milk everywhere.

Okay, that's not what really happened.  However, I've been in front of the computer a while and it's awfully quiet around here.  I should go looking for them...

Score:  Good Parenting 0, Lazy Parenting 1,000,001

Life's a beach

My girlfriend invited the boys and me to visit, so, in the spirit of our hap-hap-happiest summer, another girlfriend and I took our 4 boys out there the other day.  My friend lives near the lake, in a summer-vacation-spot kind of area and we planned to spend the day at the beach.

Woohoo!  Day at beach!  Sand in every orifice!  Playing in water that fish have peed in (among other things) (not that it's much different from the water small children have peed in that we're used to)!  Water snakes!  Dead fish washing up on shore!

Wait.  Is that fish dead?

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Dead!  Fish!

It was an awesome time.  While we were 3 adults trying to corral 7 children in deadly waters, we were drinking delicious fruity beverages.  Alcoholic beverages, people.  Don'ttellmymother.







Look at these things!   They're like Capri Sun juice pouches for adults!  Love!

Anyway, after a few hours watching the kids scamper and cavort in the waves ripples, we decided it was time to go.  We packed up our stuff and drove back to my girlfriend's for dinner.

On the drive to the house, I realized I didn't have my wedding rings.

Sonofa.

I remembered I had taken them off to slather sunscreen on the boys (who wants dirty rings?) and had put them in my cover-up's pocket.  And, I could only assume, lost the rings at the beach when I put my cover-up back on.

So, while my one friend took all the kids home (and showered them - yay!), my other friend and I went back to the beach. 

My thoughts:  They'll be pretty easy to find.  All I have to do is find 2 shiny things on top of the sand where we had been sitting.  Easy peasy.

...And then we saw the family that had been next to us all day had built a mammoth sand animal in the 5 minutes we had been gone.

Of course.

My thoughts:  Forget it.  They're insured.  Let's go eat.

But my wonderful friend would not give up so easily.  She's a doer.  She's who I want to be like when I grow up.  After asking for permission to destroy the family's sand monster, my friend and I sifted through the sand.

Have you ever noticed how sparkly sand is?  Every time I saw something glimmer out of the corner of my eye, I got excited.  But, alas, it was just sand.  Stupid, stupid sand.  Everywhere.

Finally, I had to go talk to the clubhouse manager to see if a) they had a metal detector (no) and b) I could leave my name and number in case someone turned them in (fat chance).  Then went back to look some more.

When I got back to the scene of the crime, my girlfriend told me she, in fact, found one ring!  They WERE there!  I had been half hoping I had put them in a smarter place and would find them later when I got home.

But no.  I really am that stupid.

45 minutes (sifting through blazing hot sand) later, she found the other ring.  My friend saved the day!  And a phone call to the insurance agent (and the husband)!     
 
2 days later, I still can't believe she found them.  She's one of those lucky people.  I think I need her to buy a lottery ticket or something. 

We'll be sticking to the pool for the next few days.  Leaving the rings at home.

I'm becoming obsolete

I knew this day would happen.  Really, I did.  We even planned for it (sorta), finishing a room (twice) so they'd have a place to go without being too far.  I just didn't think they'd use it so soon.

I've lost my children to the basement.

You think I'd be happy.  I have the TV back!  No more Disney XD!  No more Jessie!  No more daggone Dog with a Blog!  No more Phineas and Ferb (I actually not-so-secretly enjoy Phineas and Ferb - more than the boys do, probably).

But, the boys are starting to not need me.  They can get their own breakfasts now.  And then they retreat to the basement.  Or, as my mother called it when we were children "the dungeon".  I spent time in my room (or, "the tower"), my brothers spent time in the dungeon.  We saw each other at the dinner table.  Or, possibly, on the way to the bathroom.

Is this the natural order of things?  Am I doomed to see my kids only when they have to pee?  Because that?  Is a real treat.

To add to that, the 4th of July has passed, which means our Summer of Fun is pretty much over.  And, while it's been the hap hap happiest summer they've ever had (of course), it has rained every.  single.  damday.  And we haven't had the chance to make wonderfully long-lasting warm-and-fuzzy family memories so I don't end up in a dilapidated nursing home.  Well, any memories other than the basement. 

Yay, basement!  The basement is awesome!  (Please don't put me in a home!)

Of course, because it's the Summer of Fun, we don't have true bedtimes.  Plus, it's hard to explain to the boys that they have to go to bed when it's daylight.

"No, it's not a nap.  It's bedtime.  Go.  To.  BED."

No concept of bedtime means lots more yelling at them (in the basement) to go up to bed.  (Please don't put me in a home!  Remember Summer of Fun!)

So, tonight, to help ensure at least one of them will take care of me when I'm old, we're having a slumber party in my room.  It's fun for them and they remember I exist.  And it helps with the "it's daylight" argument.  Plus, they enjoy all of us sleeping together.  I do, too.          

While I'm needed less, they still need me.  I'll take that for now.

Be careful what you wish for

So, remember when I signed up for a 5K?  Me neither.  But, I did.

For those who forget math conversions (read:  me), a Kilometer is .62 Miles.  Which means, a 5K is (5 times .62 equals) 3.1 Miles. 

My first 5K race took place over a month ago.  It was one of those color runs – a super fun event, even for not-real-runners (read:  me).  Looking back, it was kind of funny that I was so intent preparing for it.  Of course, training is always a good idea, but, well, we didn’t run.  So, there’s that.  In the end, I was glad we did it anyway.  It’s always fun to spend time with my college roommate and her family. 

And, more importantly, drink beer with her that night.  Woot woot!

A week after that race, my roommate and I planned to run another 5K.  This was going to be serious.  We were going to RUN.  And then, 2 days before the run, I had a suspicious mole removed from an area… that is sorta used in running, but, as far as I know, has never seen the sun.  Weird. 

Doctor:  Don’t do any lunges for the next week or so, until the stitches come out.
Me:  Um, I am running a 5K on Saturday.
Her:  Yeah, no, you’re not.

Okay then.  My roommate came to town to run the race anyway.  I cheered her on from the sidelines.  She did really well, too. 

Races:  2, Me:  0

I signed up for another race.  Damit, I’m going to run a 5K this year! 

From the beginning, my goal has been to run the whole damthing.  I’ve been running once or twice regularly to build up endurance.  (In my defense, we’ve had crappy weather in this area.  Rain + humidity [who knew today would have so many math lessons?] = a runner’s nightmare.  Or, a not-real-runner’s [read:  me] nightmare.)  And, I’m the queen of excuses, so if the dew point was above 50, I was sitting inside with the air-conditioning, a fruity beverage, and a good book  having the hap hap happiest summer the kids and I have ever had.    

But, yesterday was the race, so I had to do something beforehand to not die be ready.  2 days before the race, I completed a short run, a little over 2 miles in 22 minutes.  I thought a 10-minute-mile (okay, 10-minute-mile average, you math freaks.  Play along with me.) was pretty decent.  For me, anyway.

And I went into the race, stupidly confident.  If I can run 2 miles, I can run 3.1.  Right?  My SIL always says the first 2 miles are the hardest.  Once you get those in, you can run FOREVER.

Ugh.  Did I mention I’m an idiot?  So’s my SIL (love you, SIL!).

Honestly, the first 2 miles were okay – after the first 5 minutes (they’re always the hardest for me).  Would I much rather be on my couch, watching the Real World/Road Rules Challenge marathon?  You bet.  But, I paid the money and, deep down, I really wanted to do this.  I felt strong.  I had a good playlist going on my iPod.  I was going to rock this bitch.

Then came the 2 mile sign.  Good grief, wasn’t I done yet?  And (this is where it got bad) I got all in my head.  For those who run, you know what this is.  You’re thinking about which body parts hurt.  You’re thinking about how you still have 1.1… 1.0… .995 miles to go.  You’re thinking, “Man, it’s damhot out here.”  You’re thinking, “You know, it would be so. (gasp) easy.  (gasp) to.  (gasp) stop.  (gasp) running.  and… walk.  Just for a minute.”  You're thinking, "Your kids still need a mother."  And  "(Billy) Don't be a hero."

I’m disappointed to say I gave in.  Sometimes, I am strong enough to push through.  I’ll have days where I don’t think about it at all and can just go.  I wanted a day like that.

(shaking head sadly) Yesterday was not that day.

I finished the 5K in 34:00.  Now, I realize it’s not such a bad time to have for my first real race.  And?  It was 4 minutes faster than the last time I ran (read:  ran/walked) 3.1 miles.  (This is what “real runners” call a PR!)  But, I’m disappointed anyway.  Although, a runner friend of mine said I’m a real runner now because runners are never satisfied with their times.

Woohoo!  I’m a real runner!  (Fist pump!) 

Where’s the next half marathon?!

Candy Crush is ruining my life

So, it's finally summer vacation.  There's no need to rush in the morning, there's no homework at night.  Why isn't every day like summer vacation?  Why do my kids need an education anyway?  They're overachievers at Candy Crush, which is all they need to survive in this world.

(insert Charlie Brown's teacher's voice)

Wait.  It isn't?

Damn.

Since Candy Crush has made me become a neglectful asshole to my children the last few months, I have committed myself to making this summer the hap-hap-happiest one the boys have ever seen.  (And I can say that because it’s still the beginning of summer and I haven’t gotten anywhere close to failing.)

School has been out for about 2 weeks.  I was a good parent by putting down my damphone long enough to drive to each of their end-of-year ceremonies (but then picked up the damphone to take pictures [my phone is great and awful, I have a hard time staying mad at it]).

Now that we’re home, I want to make memories.  My mother did tons of stuff with us when we were kids.  Unfortunately, we remember none of it (sorry, Mom!), but at least she has some good memories.  And, deep down, I know those memories are in me somewhere and will keep me warm when I’m old and alone in a dilapidated nursing home because I didn’t have girls and my daughters-in-law refuse to take me in.  I know I had a wonderful childhood and would gladly give my right arm to experience again the warm peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cold Dr. Peppers at the neighborhood pool of my youth.

I want my kids to give away their arms, too.  So, we’re going to have fun this summer, damit.

And, here we are, the Summer of Fun (damit).

First stop?  The library.

Oh, you read that right.  We went to the library.  Because, according to our principal, our kids get stupid over the summer and it’s our job to make sure they don’t get too stupid.  So, we’re reading every day.  And by “read”, I mean “they read, I play Candy Crush”. 

I see you raising your eyebrows, lady in the third row.  Judge not lest ye be judged, yo. 

Unfortunately, it’s been 40 degrees and rainy to begin our summer vacation, so there hasn’t been a chance to eat warm peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the pool.  Because we have a visitor every Wednesday and I wanted to make sure he had fun, I needed to be more creative.  It’s one thing to disappoint your own children (what else is therapy for?), it’s quite another to disappoint someone else’s. 

Who cares what the motivation is as long as we’re motivated, mIright?

So, we’ve visited the zoo.  We have a yearly pass, which pays for itself with one visit.  Now, we can go to the zoo first thing in the morning, see our favorite animals (Hi, giraffes!) and get the hello out of there (Bye, giraffes!). 

This week, the weather is finally cooperating.  We were able to go to the nature center (Hi, tadpoles!  Bye, tadpoles!) and the beach (Hi, trash in the sand!  Be careful, don’t step on that glass!  Clean up after yourselves, you punk kids!) and finally (finally!) the pool yesterday.  The 5-year-old jumped in without hesitation… and forgot he had to actually swim in order to not drown. 

Details.

I’m also chronicling our adventures on Instagram.  You guys?  I don’t get Instagram.  I mean, I know what I use it for.  I like to take my silly pictures and make them pretty.  But… then what?  You post them so people can like them?  And you now feel vindicated because someone does, in fact, like them?  What’s Facebook for then?

And now that I’ve wasted precious minutes writing this post, I must get back to my Summer of Fun. Next stop:  The MOON!

Beat that, lady in the third row.

Why I'll never be Mother of the Year

So, I work part-time, right?  It's a nice little gig - I like what I do, I like the people, I get adult time.  But, being part-time, the best part is that I get to spend more time home with the family.

Today was one of my days off.  I had a dentist appointment in the morning, so, after the children were shipped off to school, I went to the dentist.  With sparkling white teeth, I realized I had some time to spare before picking up the little ones from pre-school, so I went to the grocery store.

(Sidenote:  There's nothing better than going to the store (Target, grocery, drug, whatever) without children.  While I love my children (and nieces) to pieces, I barely get out of a store without wringing one of their scrawny little necks. 

"Can I have..."
"NO!")

Anyway, I spent a lovely hour in the store, finally remembering to buy the things we've been out of for weeks now (another reason going to the store with children is an annoyance - you remember to buy nothing on your list, but still spend $100, without fail).

I got to the preschool in time to pick up my 5-year-old and my niece, noticing the parking lot is filled to the brim with cars.  Odd.  The school is attached to a church, so I thought maybe there was a church service today (you know, because today is National Pig in a Blanket Day). 

Happy National Pig in a Blanket Day, by the way.

I went in and noticed all these parents leaving with their kids, talking about how well they sang in the program.

(insert record needle scratching sound effect)

Program?  What program?

Damit. 

You know, very rarely do school events land on one of my days off.  And I almost always have to rearrange my work schedule so I can make it to these events.  Because I love being able to participate in anything that has to do with my kids.  Some might call it suffocating, I call it loving.

And the one day I don't have to do anything to make an event?  I neglect to read the colorful papers the school sent home, notifying the parents of this program and I MISS IT.

Epic.  Fail.

THE WORST PART (you ready?)


My 5-year-old (as we're walking to the car): Mommy, did you see me sing?

Sigh.

Actually, I don't know what's worse.  The fact that I missed it or the fact that he didn't notice I wasn't there? 

I should've lied.  If he didn't notice, why ruin it for him? 

Hopefully, this doesn't cause permanent damage to his psyche.

I figure if I give him enough Oreos for dessert, he won't even remember his name.

The Mother of the Year people are calling the authorities as we speak.



  

The dumbest game ever invented.

I’ve recently been made aware of the game Candy Crush.  And, for that, I’d like to punch that little rabble-rouser (scallywag?  demagogue?  tub-thumper? [my personal fave]) in the throat.

I have always been a big fan of puzzle games.  Tetris on the GameBoy?  My.  GAME.  After my now-5-year-old was born, I became highly addicted to Bejeweled.  So, while my now-8-year-old watched Cars (Every.  Single.  Day.), I played Bejeweled.  I cannot think of Cars without thinking Bejeweled.  To add to that, I cannot think of my now-5-year-old as a newborn without Cars and Bejeweled.

Yes, it was that bad.

Since that time, I have kept a fair distance from these games.  Instead, I get sucked into things like Scrabble.  Or Twilight.

Hunh.  Maybe I have an addictive personality.  Better it be silly teen angst novels instead of drugs, mIright?  Too bad my addiction isn’t curing cancer.

So, it’s been over a week since I’ve learned of this new aggravation in my life (as if I needed another – I mean, I have children) and I cannot stop playing.  I have also gotten my husband involved, so he’s been cursing me all week. 
I try to stop.  Really, I do.  Because my Scrabble and Scramble games are now suffering for it (yes, friends, you can nudge me all you want, I’ll get to those games when I get to them).  My son and co-worker and both offered to delete the game from my phone and I just about chewed their arms off.

When does it end??

For 3 days, I was stuck on Level 29.  I actually went so far as to update my FB status, cursing this game.  Which, of course, led to me finding how many other people play this game.

People who can give me lives.

There is something about the ridiculous high you get when you make a great move, which sets off at least 5 other great moves.  It's like a drug to me.  (See?  It’s really a good thing that real drugs scare the piss out of me.) 

I constantly text my neighbor (who is much further along on this never-ending candy road, I might add), whining that I cannot, repeat, CANNOT, beat this level.  She has talked me off the ledge several times now, reminding me to never EVER buy lives or power ups.

She’s the reason I’m still here, people.

And now that my lives have reloaded, I’m going back in there.  See you on the other side.

I signed up for my first 5k. No, really.

I've always wanted to be a runner.

Bwahaha!

No, I'm lying.

When I was young, I used to run all the time.  Frolick, I think it was called.  I'd run here, there and everywhere.  Freeeeeeedommm!  My dad used to say all the time that I was fast.  That was back when running was a means to get from Point A to Point B.  And this was all before I had a driver's license.

I drive now.

Over time, running became... haaaaaarrrdd.  And I wanted to do it less.  And I'd tell anyone who asked (or didn't ask) that running was bad for your joints and you shouldn't do it.

Heh.  Right.  That's why I didn't run.

But, I've always liked the idea of running.  I've always wanted to pretend I was a runner.  You know, that motivated, energetic, disciplined, happy, fit type person?  That's how ads portray runners anyway:



But it's not like that for me when I run.  When I run, I pretty much look like this:



But, I'm always in awe of the ones who make it look so easy.  How do they do that?  And how can I get me some of that??

I have a friend who's been a runner her whole life.  She said that running helps her clear her mind.  I'm not quite sure how that happens.  I guess when you spend the time thinking "this sucks" or "why am I doing this" rather than thinking about whatever was bothering you, it might help.  But otherwise?  No.  Just no. 

Or, at least, that's how it used to be for me.

The last couple years, I've done the "Couch to 5K" system to help me run when the weather's nice.  And I'm ashamed to say I've never finished.  I'm not even sure I've made it past week 3 in years' past.  It's just so hard for me to get motivated.  I don't crave exercise like my crazy lovely SIL.  I'd rather read.  Or watch TV.  Or do laundry.

But, this year?  No more.  I signed up for a 5K.  I HAVE to do it this time because I've already paid the money I want to finish something.  I want to know what it's like to run 3 miles nonstop.  Forrest Gump ran for years (mostly) nonstop and I can't do a silly little 3.10686 miles?

Well, not this time!  I'm running.  And I might still look like picture #2, but I don't care.  Because I feel that high after I'm done running (mostly because I'm done running) and I like it.