stopped

This morning I stopped. For three minutes I actually stopped. Stopped the running, the stress, the frustration. I stopped the madness that has become my life, for three minutes I stopped. She had asked me to read it to her before. I've always said "We can do it later." 


I had just unbuckled her seat belt. Holding up the book and waving it back and forth, she asked "Mommy can we read this?"
She was getting out of the truck. We were at daycare. I was already running late. She wanted me to read her a book now? She wanted me to read her a book.

So I stopped. I sat on the tailgate and put her on my lap.
I stopped and I read the book to her.
I put aside the frenzy that would be today.
The craziness could/would wait.
The meetings the phone calls.
The mountain of paperwork.
I let the boys fuss while she and I had a moment.

I let the cars go by, the kids stare and the minutes pass....hell, they were only minutes.

After the last page I closed the book and paused. In that moment I strained to remember the last time I had done that.
Paused.
Taken a moment.
Let things sink in.
I tried to soak in her energy, her optimism, her "being". Of course she didn't quite get the moment. Perplexed she turned her head to look at me and said "Mommy, what are you doing? Are you crazy?"

Her honesty shocked me....as it usually does. She's not one to mince words. Clearly she can see right through me.

So today (because I can't guarantee that it will happen tomorrow) I will try to stop. Even if only for a second.

The Other Side

The transition from purchasing toddler clothing to girl clothing isn't exactly the worst thing. Hell, I've ridden bucking runaway horses and still lived to tell about it. But crossing the isle of the store from the baby section to the girl section can go on my list of scary s*&%.

She is not out of the toddler girls clothing section, but her limbs are so long that I have been purchasing clothing a few sizes larger. I was on a hunt for pants and was completely unsuccessful in the toddler girl section. Besides the fact that they all were a horrible pattern or white (Kids and white pants. WTF?), they were just too short.

Before I crossed, I looked both ways and took the four steps to the other side. The girls section was large, much larger than the toddler section. It was complete with overly inappropriate clothing and then very matronly clothing.Tube tops for a girl? Khaki pleated front slacks? Who designs this crap?

I wandered very slowly and tactfully as though I was creeping through a forest. Of course I realized this after I was half way through the section. I must have looked like a crazy person. I zigged and zagged through the racks. Past the dresses, shirts, pants, accessories. And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something white. My stomach dropped. A training bra. Really? Say it isn't so.

I know that I constantly wish that she will grow up. Get to that point where she is self-sufficient. But can we skip the training bra phase?

Fit Club

I feel like I have always been active. Gymnastics, ballet, tap and soccer as a kid. Horses for over a decade. After my equine retirement I was at a loss on how to stay fit. I first stepped into the gym at 23....before then the world was my playground (are you laughing at the fact that I just typed that? Well, I am. Ha ha!). But it's the truth. I always has a physical activity. Going to the gym had never entered my universe.

Being me, I found solace in the gym. My obsession was short lived, but while I was there I got in the best shape of my life. Then I met a great guy, dug into my new career, got married and had kids. Each live changer took time away from the gym and added a pound here and there. I always had my membership just in case I would end up with an extra hour....an extra hour? What a joke.

For a while I would make it to the gym at least three days a week. Then it trickled to two days, then one, and then once every two weeks. You get the idea. Something else always took priority....or maybe I just let other things become a priority...however ya wanna shake it, I wasn't making it to the gym.

I hurt my back a few weeks ago when I fell with one of the boys in my arm...sounds much more dramatic that it really was. The pain was bad and I limped to a new chiropractor to get a tune up.
After a 15 minute download on my personal, physical and diet history, the doctor gave me my marching orders. Change your diet (no dairy, no meet, no gluten) to cure the every present ulcer and start exercising....chasing kids and cleaning up toys was not enough. Time....couldn't you have written me a prescription for more time? Just one extra hour?

I had been waking up at 4am (truth) to get some work items done. So, why not exercise then? Well, CPS usually frowns on leaving the kids alone for extended periods of time. I was on a mission to find something that I could do at home. What comes to mind first when working out in your living room? The horrors of Jane Fonda or Sweating to the oldies VHS tapes. I can't do that. My ego has enough bruises. Richard Simmons would be the beginning of my complete demise. Next I'd be shopping QVC late nights hoping for a great deal on Quacker Factory clothing. FML.

I had heard of the P90X thing for a while. The infomercials showed fit people working out and getting more fit. But where were the chubby kids? Where were the soft people? The round shape club? Well, when my box of P90X tricks arrived in the mail, I quickly found out.

Getting down to business I completely ignored the note about taking a fit test before hand. Fit test? I'll be fine. 12 CD's complete with a calendar to track your progress. Let's get it on!!!

The first day I didn't have much time so I decided to do the shortest CD. Ab Ripper X. This guy Tony who is in amazing shape appears on the TV screen...remember its before 5am. So chipper people are frowned upon. He doesn't mess around. We did something like 349 ab/core exercises in less than 15 minutes. No breaks, no water, no messing around. It was hell. I looked like a fish flopping on the carpet. I cursed at this Tony dude at least a dozen times as he and his disciples effortlessly crunched and flexed their ripped bodies. P90X isn't for fat kids....it's for fit people....I am not a fit person...yet.

My hip flexors (muscles at the top of your thigh, right where your thigh meets your hip) were so sore that while driving I could not lift my leg from the gas petal to the break with out crying out in pain. She would comment "what's wrong? Why are you making that noise?"
"My legs hurt."
"Do you need a bandaide?"
I wish it was that easy.

Two days later I did plyometrics aka jump training....I could barely walk down a slight incline. It was horror. I continue to curse Tony each time I see his smug mug on the TV screen. Two days ago I did Kenpo X...basically a lot of Karate kicks and punches. I can barely straighten my arms. Tomorrow I will tackle another CD...what can I say, I am a bit of a masochist.

Surprise

"Where are you going Papa?"
"I have to go to work."
"Oh..."
He left the room and she looked sad.
"It's okay. He'll be back later. I promise."
"I gonna miss him."
For me, tears. Only two, but still how adorable.

When he came back in the room to say goodbye, she told him "Papa, I gonna miss you."
My eyes started weeping. He looked at her and said "When I come back, I will bring you and your brothers a surprise."
Bum, bum, bum.....big mistake mister. "You'd better hold true to your word." I warned.

As the day went by, references to this "surprise" were hourly. She threw it into every conversation.
"If I finish my breakfast Papa will bring me a surprise."
"If I finish my lunch and take nap, Papa will bring me a surprise."
I thought about calling him to remind him, but figured he made his bed....he can sleep in it.

His truck pulled up, and as usual the dogs started whining. She went crazy. Leaping and clapping her hands. Papa was home. The "surprise" was within her reach. She dove out the garage door. "Papa, Papa do you have my surprise?"
His face went blank. His heart sank...or at least I hope it did, because my heart sank.
He mouthed "Oh, shit!"
She continued quizzing him, "Papa, do you have my surprise?" "Where is my surprise?"
He thought fast (kinda dumb, but fast) and handed her a water bottle. Nice work slick.
"Mommy, look at my surprise."
I was less than impressed and so was she.

But she quickly realized that a water bottle is not a surprise. The questionning continued. "Papa, Papa, you said you would bring a surprise?"
"I didn't think she would remember."
Clearly, he has not listened to my stories.....sucker. That will teach you.

Each time she asked it was like a knife to his heart. I thought about letting him suffer. But his suffering was also her suffering...and I just couldn't handle her desperate tone. So I bailed him out. He became the hero of the night as he unveiled a Toy Story 3 toy with Jessie and Bullseye that I had picked up a few weeks ago. He was a hero...in her mind. In my mind, well, let's just say neener, neener, neener....I told you so.

two seconds

Two seconds. Practically the speed of light.

When they are "loose" I can't take my eyes off them for more than two seconds. We have baby gates and cabinet door locks and deadbolts and outlet covers. We have done our due diligence when it comes to toddler proofing our house. But the lure of the kitchen table and chairs is clearly much to tempting. They look at the top of the kitchen table as though it were Everest. And me, I am the unrelenting weather keeping them from the summit. Everest takes weeks if not months to climb. The kitchen table takes two seconds.

Now you may ask, what do they do when they get on the table? Answer, they just sit. The accomplishment of making it to the top is enough entertainment. That is until they find the napkins or place mats. Who doesn't like snacking on a paper napkin or wiping your snotty noise on a place mat?

Is it a big deal that they get on the table? No.

Are they causing any harm? Other than the poor trees that died for the napkins, No.

But with two of them on the table at once, the odds of one falling off and cracking their head open is drastically increased. And while I am the first one to go with the theory that they would probably never get on the table again, falling off a table is a bit extreme.

An unlikely lookout, she takes pride in tattling on her brothers. So when I have to use the little girls room, she's on duty. She takes her hall monitor job very seriously and she's actually pretty good at it, which scares me.

If you have ever timed yourself, two seconds is about as long as it takes to unbutton your pants. It takes much longer to actually "use" the little girls room. My timing is crutial. Like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible crutial. Mess it up and I might pee my pants. By the end of the night, I have pulled out all the stops - passing off all the distractions I can find. Remote controls, hats, bags and tupperwear. A girls gotta do, what a girls gotta do.

Some of you may ask, where is he? Can't he watch the gremlins while you use the facilities? Well of course he could. But a full work load for the last few months has almost turned me into a single parent. Except, this is like being a single parent with a ghost who leaves socks on the ground inches from the laundry basket and dishes in the sink. The last couple of weeks have been hard. Really hard. And I try to keep my moments to myself, or at least out of the sight of the kids. But I am not perfect.

On a particularly hard day, I lost it. She was in a mood and they clearly sensed my weakness. At 5:30pm I was ready for them to go to bed. I knew it would be a very long hour and half. By 6:15pm I was cracking. After a marathon list of questions from her, I asked her to watch her brothers while I slipped away. Within seconds she was whining and they were sprinting for the table. I yelled "Two seconds! Can I have two seconds?" Of course it did no good. Her bantering continued and they relented on their ascent. 7pm was so very far away.

Yesterday morning during the madness of getting ready, an act that truly does resemble herding cats, she was busy hoarding books into a box. The purpose of doing so? Only she knows.
I said, "Okay. It's your turn to get dressed."
"No."
"We have to get you dressed, so that we can go. Mommy has to go to work and don't you want to go play?"
She let out a huge sigh (she gets that from me). "Mommy, can I have two seconds? I'm really busy."
It took everything I had to not smile......and cry.
Shoot me now.

It needs to come home with me

It had been sometime since I had visited the red bulls-eye mecca. I love/hate that place. Go in with a goal of three things. Leave with a cart full of impulse buys. Damn you Target.

The dollar racks caught me right as I walked in the door. She ran over to the racks with determination. She didn't know it, but the racks were calling to her....just like they call to me. Of course I found $10 worth of crap that the mommy kids HAD to have. My rationalization....it's only a dollar. What's the harm. Plus, I don't have to "round down" the price when he asks how much it costs.

I snapped myself out of the dollar high and headed back to the shoes department - the entire purpose of walking into this place.

Stay focused.

Stupid me, I took the long way around which put me right by the home decor...crap. Thankfully the boys (one buckled in the seat and the other loose in the basket - hold your judgments - what was I supposed to do? those stupid two seated crazy limo cards are a recipe for disaster) decided to play "who can grab at the fragile stuff the fastest." I hightailed it out of home decor and made it to the shoes unscathed.

I refrained from gagging at the sequin covered mary-janes and the action figure sneakers. Really? Where are all the regular shoes? As I was cursing the red bulls-eye for not having what I came here for, she came over with a rolling backpack. Not just any rolling backpack - this was a princess rolling back pack. Pink with princesses and a complete piece of junk.
"What do you have?"
"A pack-pack."
"Yeah? What are you going to do with that?"
She looked up at me "It NEEDS to come home with me."
And with complete elation I wanted to crouch down and say "I know! Stuff talks to you right? The stuff you absolutely love. It talks to you! It happens to me too."

But like a good mom role model, I told her that we could not get it today. Maybe another day. Then I went on to tell her, and show her, that it was not made very well and would fall apart. That 26 bucks for that piece of junk was a joke. We would get her a good rolling back pack (sans princesses - thank god) from Pottery Barn. They were way cuter and better quality. She wanted nothing to do with my speech and had already begun to pack her pack-pack with shoes from the rack. Clearly she had her heart set on the backpack....I had to hold back from saying "I know sister. Parting with an item is hard."

I am still not sure how it worked, but I managed to convince her that the back pack was not meant to be. We put it away and said good bye. She patted the backpack and said "I see you soon. You come home with me soon."

It occurred to me as we were driving home and she was chatting about her beloved "pack-pack", that while a bird & the bees conversation is required, clearly a discussion on parting with super awesome Target bounty would come first.

It happened

I knew it would happen eventually but I figured I'd be older....like 40...40ish.
In fact, I did not even know that it happened. The actual "happening" occurred sometime ago and I just realized it.

It was a Thursday morning. I know that because I remember being exhausted which contributed to my self loathing. The gal sitting next to me was probably 30ish....my age. We were sitting next to each other and she bent over in her chair to grab something from her purse. The way she jolted when she dove down caused me to glance over. There it was in plain sight. Her Victoria's Secret thong underwear. I know that because I have the same pair. At the moment I saw the top of her thong peaking out the top of her pants it hit me. I no longer wore thongs. I no longer wore cute underwear. I wore.....drum roll...comfortable underwear! Shit. Seriously? When did this happen? Comfortable underwear?

I started to sweat realizing that I couldn't remember the last time I wore sexy underwear...actually the last time I really felt sexy. Her we go....so what's next? Only practical shoes? Short hair because it's easier? Mom Jeans? I know that I am still young and I look young and I definetly still act young. But seriously? I have always preached that I was not going to let "that" happen. Now, don't get me wrong I did not go from thong to granny panties that could be used as a schrug. But am I on that path? Is this how it goes? Is this the progression of underwear?

I decided to run home (cause I guess I had nothing else to do) and fix this situation. I quickly changed from my black panties to a thong. Did I immediately feel my youth was back? Hell no. Did I feel sexier....uh, let's not go there. I threw my pants back on and walked back out the door with my head held high. I slid into the driver's seat and woop....the thong was certainly back (for those of you who have or do wear thongs you know what I mean). Okay......Quick adjustment and I drove away.

The day transpired as usual. While putting her to bed, I bent down to pick up something and she was behind me. My baggy sweats (sexy) had slipped down so the inevitable thong peek was in full effect. She said to me "Mommy what happen to your panties? Are they broken?"
Of course I laughed. How could  I not?
"No, they are not broken. But thank you for noticing."
"Your welcome." She replied and jumped into bed.

The thongs are out of retirement. The panties are in the bull pen and it's only a matter of time before they will be back in the game.