Mommy Brain Tries to Ruin my Workout

My brain has decided to boycott 8 digit numbers. So when I choose to brave the workout room for a much needed trip on the elliptical, I stood at the keypad attempting my code over and over and over and over. Rejection is never fun even if it comes from a dumb door. To add insult to injury after each failed attempt I was allowed to listen to an annoying ‘beep beep beep’ while the system reset. And if that wasn’t indication enough that I was incorrect there was the red flashing light of doom denying my entry. But I think my favorite part about being reminded that my brain sucks was the woman walking on the treadmill who refused to look in my direction. She saw me. She knew I was there. She has seen me in the gym before. Thanks lady. Just for future reference if I was going to kill you I wouldn’t be wearing my very best zip up hoodie. Enjoy your walk while I put on my angry eyes.

I did eventually remember my code. I entered the inner sanctum triumphant. The lady on the treadmill apologized for not helping me. She has a bum knee and didn’t want to fall flat on her face while running to my rescue. Wow, I’m a judgmental prick. I turned off my angry eyes and enjoyed my workout.

For the record, I was struggling with 4 of the 8 digits in my code. Turns out those 4 digits are the same as my apartment number. Apparently the management decided this would help people remember their codes. Boy are they stupid.

Thirty, Flirty and Thriving

I’m thirty and surprisingly calm about it. I remember calling myself 22 with four years experience then jumping to 26 because I became a momma, but I wasn’t ever confident about much of anything in my twenties. I think in my mind there is pressure to be cool in your twenties, and I am not cool. Never have been. Awkward, sure. Misunderstood, maybe. Cool, not so much. But now I have an excuse. I’m 30. And I’m cool with it.

When I was younger someone told me that your body starts to fall apart around 30. During the past year, this memory made me laugh. Here I was, in spitting distance to my 30th, and I was feeling great. Even after two babies and all the joyous body changes that come with that, I was feeling good. Apparently my body was giving me a stay of execution. Well, then I learned that I was allergic to toilet paper. TOILET PAPER! Not kidding. Not fun. Not kidding. So now, in addition to carrying diapers, wipes, extra clothing, baby food, snacks . . . for the kids, I also have to carry my own hypoallergenic, ridiculously lame toilet paper. Awesome. Thanks body.

Then there’s the volleyball beer league that I joined. (We play then go out for a beer afterward, though I don’t drink so maybe I should call it something else. Now taking suggestions.) I played Division I volleyball in college (not bragging by any means, just stating the facts). And during this time I was forced to jump on boxes, over hurdles, up the stadium stairs, up the arena stairs two at a time . . . but my downfall was an innocent hit at beer league that wrecked my knee. Something I could do in my sleep. I blame 30.

Other than the occasional body glitches, I’m pretty okay with 30. My husband let me sleep in so I awoke rested something that has rarely happened in the last decade and a half (again, not kidding). When I got out of bed I was greeted by the most adorable two and a half year old that God has ever created. He said “Appy Birfday momma” and gave me a big hug. Next, the most beautiful little 8 month old came crawling, commando style, laughing hysterically, just to see her momma. I am blessed and loved. I was given flowers, hugs and a home cooked meal from my husband. I am blessed and loved (and after 12 years as a couple, the fact he still likes me is saying something). It was a great day.

So, I may not be cool. I may be a little squishy around the edges, and I may be a little sappier than normal but that’s okay by me. I’m thirty and never been better.

Because we are Winners

I dragged my husband to a kid's Halloween party recently. The Kraken went dressed as a SWAT officer, which by the way I hope he doesn't choose as a profession (guns and violence and crazy people and busting in doors and . . . I might never sleep again). Rosie donned her cheerleading outfit, again not what I would choose for her (watching men hold my daughter in the air whilst copping a feel and looking up her skirt doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside). My husband went as a disgruntled husband, and I dressed as an exhausted momma. Our costumes were spot on.

It really was a fun party, and that's saying quite a bit for the social anxiety nut job that I am. We sat with other moms during dinner. I don't think my shaking and sweating was too noticeable. We took a group picture. I didn't crap my pants. I met some new people and their kids. I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything so stupid that I couldn't recover. I walked the Kraken around to "trick or treat." And I didn't run away screaming. Like I said, it was a good party.

Toward the end of the night I began to clean up our dinner mess while my husband watched the kiddos. Suddenly, mid trash run, the baby was shoved into my arms and my husband disappeared. Annoyed, I continued pitching and recycling. A couple minutes later, one of the hostesses of the party presents me with a prize for "Best Boy Costume." I was very surprised by the award though I must admit my little SWAT officer was irresistible. I told my husband about it, and he was "shocked and happy".

Fast forward to the car ride home. "Hey hon," my husband begins. "Turns out I knew about the costume contest. I saw the prizes earlier and was watching the whole night for the judges to gather and decide the winners. I saw them congregated in the corner and did what I had to do to win." What exactly did he do? Once he ditched the baby, he picked up my son and plopped him directly in front of the judges. "That's what we do," he says. "We win."

So I think the real question I am left with is. . . Should I ban him from little league now or wait until he has a public breakdown when my son accidently runs the bases in the wrong direction?

My swagger wagon

I drive a minivan. It's one of those fancy minivans with all the bells and whistles, and, although we bought it used, I still feel a little snooty tooty driving it around. I'm not really sure why. Whenever I pull into the parking lot at a park or playdate there are at least 40 other vans exactly the same as mine: same make, model and color. At some point I may need to purchase a bumper sticker so mine kinda sticks out in the crowd. I was thinking about "Honk if you love Jesus," but I am a bit jumpy and have poor bladder control after two babies so . . . not such a good combination. I also appreciate "I slow for tailgaters." Maybe I should combine the two and have "Jesus loves you, now get off my ass." That might work.

My van also has driver and passenger seat warmers. I wasn't even aware of this feature until one afternoon I kept trying to make the AC colder and colder but couldn't stop sweating like a pig. At first I panicked. Could I be pregnant again? Not sure my husband would be all too thrilled with that announcement. That's when I noticed a tiny little light I never noticed before. AHA! Seat warmer. Whew.

I really enjoy my navigation system. Never really thought one was necessary for me. My husband, who gets lost in a paper bag, yes. Me, who generally has good sense of direction, not so much. But it has proven to be a very handy tool. I especially like the "avoid" feature where I can detour around a certain road or highway. Sometimes I like a little variety when traveling to the same park day after day after day. Maybe I want to take the second star to the right and go straight on til morning, or maybe today I would rather take a left on Cherry Tree Lane and circle around the back way. Gotta keep people guessing. I would modify this feature just slightly though. A couple days ago we were headed to a playdate and were running a bit late. I turned a corner and we came to a complete stop. Stuck in traffic. I went to my super cool "avoid" button, but alas, there wasn't an "avoid homecoming parade" option. I think I would add that. Could have saved me a bit of time.

Being sort of anti-TV, I wasn't thrilled that this van came equipped with a DVD player. However, I'm not going to lie. Sometimes it is nice to take a break from "mommy? mommy? mommy? mommy? mommy? mommy?" And on another positive note, if ever there is a contest for quoting Finding Nemo or UP from start to finish, I will win. Hands down. No contest. Don't even enter.

The best perk of "mommy's new car" has to be the automatic doors. When carrying a car seat complete with 16 pound Rosie, a diaper bag filled with anything and everything a baby and toddler could ever possibly need, holding a toddler's hand and balancing my must have coca cola classic on my head, the last thing I would be able to do is open the car door by myself. Heck, those bad boys will even open from across the parking lot, which helps with the "everyone has the same van as me and I don't have a bumper sticker yet" problem. Hooray for remote entry. Again I say Hooray.

On a sad note, my car doesn't automatically turn the lights on when it gets dark. Sounds really stupid, I know, but my last car did and apparently I became accustomed. So much so that I often forget to turn my lights on now. Yep, I am that girl. Who forgets to turn on their lights at night? Me. So if you see me scooting down the road, feel free to flash your lights at me as a reminder. Please, don't honk however. That will only make me believe that you love Jesus (good for you!) or make me wet myself (not so good for me).

A night off

Both babies are asleep and it's only 7:45. That never happens. My husband is working late. That usually happens. So I have the night to myself. I think I shall take a super long bubble bath and retire early to rest up for tomorrow.

On second thought . . .
I will catch up on my favorite shows which will NOT include a puppet, cartoon character or breaks in the action so I may practice my counting or colors. While watching said smut, I shall eat crap (don't judge me, I have the points left for the day, so there!), and I shall finish making my necklace and bracelets (yes, I am crafty, well only sometimes). Next, I shall surf the web and see what has happened in the world whilst mine revolved around diapers and snot and meals and cleaning and laundry and playdates. And last but certainly not least, I will clean my kitchen while singing my favorite songs that may or may not contain a bad word, which upon hearing I will look around guiltily for the little ears that may have heard the obscenity.

And then I shall take a bath and go to bed.

Oh, but first I will repair that book that the Kraken ripped. And then I need to clean my room. And then fold the laundry. And I'm sure there was something else . . .

What a wonderful night off! Let's do it again tomorrow since I have SOOOOO much still to do.

Brain Fart

I towed my kids to my sister's volleyball game. While there, little Rosie filled her pants with chocolate squish and needed a change. I collected my gear and carried her to the bathroom. Instant annoyance. No changing table. Who doesn't have a changing table these days? A large number of places even have changing tables in the men's restrooms these days. But Noooooooo. Not here.

Before I had the chance to complain to the whole world my brain finally caught up to the real world . . .

I was in a middle school.