ONE didn’t want to go to school today. See how pissed off he looks? He is NOT HAPPY. Also, I can see my tonsils.

It’s surprisingly hard to leave your kid at school when he doesn’t want to be there. Not logistically hard, like when he’s wrapped around your leg and your arms are full of a very large baby named TWO. Because that happened. And it wasn’t fun.

No … I mean it’s emotionally hard. Like you feel like a bad mom because your kid doesn’t want to be left there and you are definitely, without question, going to leave him there. 

Every morning I put on my peppy face, seen above, and tell him he’s going to have so much fun! and learn so many cool things! and before he knows it, I’ll be back to pick him up. 

Some moms linger and give kisses and hugs. Not me. I tell him I love him, and I bolt. I have things to do. He will adjust.

They tell me he’s very cheerful once I’m gone. When I return after lunch, he never wants to leave. I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad mother.

Why would I give my one-year-old a plate full of cooked quinoa for lunch?!

 WHY.

Farewell. I’m off to my safe place.

I’ve started running … well, walking and jogging … in the mornings. I do not enjoy it. I prefer to Zumba my way to fitness. But, because of budget concerns, I had to cancel my Y membership. So no more fun classes until further notice. 

Lack of exercise was not only making me feel disgusting, but I literally woke up one morning and found that cellulite was beginning to creep around to the front of my thighs. Clearly this is unacceptable. So, I decided to train for a 5k.

I ran a 5k once. Two years and some months ago, in the heat of June. Although it was exhilarating to reach a physical goal that I set for myself, I hated every minute of it. It didn’t help that I trained with two of my friends who were both skinnier and much faster than me. I had to angle my body between them for this picture so my ass wouldn’t knock them entirely out of the photo.

Anna, me, and Courtney. Fast bitches.

This time, I have a friend motivating me who is — are you ready? — training to run a marathon. Her name is Kelli and I don’t think she realized the task she was taking on when she volunteered to be my cheerleader. I now text her incessant, grumpy-sounding messages. 

It seems like I know way too many people who are able to run 13+ miles. All of them are freaks. I never want to run that far. Ever. It sounds absolutely excruciating. And for someone like me who runs a 12-minute mile, it would be entirely too time-consuming.

Not being naturally thin makes me grouchy. If I could, I would text my genes every morning during my warm-up and say, “I AM NOT PLEASED THAT I HAVE TO DO THIS.” But instead, I text Kelli.

NO MORE PARTIES UNTIL 2013.

This is why I still can’t get back into my favorite pair of size 8  jeans.

Well … and there is also this, I suppose.

I have the house to myself and a borrowed laptop because I have a wonderful mother-in-law who probably lies in bed and worries at night what might happen if her daughter-in-law loses her shit because she can’t write. Not really. But maybe.

I really want to talk some more about the girl’s trip I took a few weeks ago. I don’t feel like I gave it the attention it deserved. First of all, EVERYONE needs time away. I have been watching Real Housewives of New York and it seems like there is always some chick that can’t go away for the weekend without her husband. It’s either co-dependence, or a worry he’ll run off with his mistress. Either way, I pity those people.

Not that it was easy to leave my family. It wasn’t. I was so pumped to leave and when it came down to it, when Husband wrapped his big bear arms around me while two pairs of tiny eyes were staring, it hurt.

However. Sometimes doing things that are good for you isn’t easy or comfortable. It was really one of the best experiences I’ve had in quite some time — getting away. Not just a break for an afternoon, but a weekend. It was restoring. I am already planning my next escape. Here are some pictures that tell the story of a mother who got away.

I couldn’t leave town without writing some notes. This one is still on our bathroom mirror. Husband doesn’t want to take it down.

Here I am in a bathroom stall at the New Orleans International Airport, when it hit me that I was FREE FOR A WHOLE WEEKEND.

Southwest Airlines.

I sat next to some incredibly nice people, one of which gave me his drink coupon to use for not one but TWO flights. Thank you, John Ward. I arrived in Nashville feeling quite relaxed.

Some of my favorite people in the world! The other one is behind the camera, her name is Anca and you’ll meet her in a minute.

My beautiful friend Jolene, glowing and quite pregnant.



Kelli (left) and Jolene (right) are the two best things about Nashville. Aside from their men, who cooked us brunch earlier that day.

Anca! There you are! On the left. In the middle there’s Lila who is going to be angry at me when she sees this … but she looks FAB! No need to be upset.

The Last Breakfast.

And … then I came home.

It’s a good thing I restored myself, because the very next morning ONE started preschool.



“Really, ONE? You won’t smile for the camera?”

The day after THAT, a hurricane came and I stress-ate for 72 hours.

The power came back on.

I then had to throw together a birthday party for my children.

TWO’s about to bolt.

Yesterday I bought $18 worth of home pregnancy tests because I was convinced I was pregnant. Husband told me I was not pregnant. It irks me when he’s right. Especially when he’s right about MY uterus.

I tried to punish him by sending him to the store for feminine products … he refused. Now I am doubly annoyed.

All of the sudden my life has become slightly out-of-control and I am wondering if I need one of those tacky mom calendars just stay on top of it all.

Or maybe just a flask.

www.annetaintor.com

Yes. I believe that is what I need.

Before (cake):

After (cake):

So much has happened.

I don’t know where to start.

It reminds me of how I feel when I meet an old friend for coffee that I haven’t seen in awhile and there is so much to discuss that we don’t know where to begin. So we just dive in.

I am still computerless at my house, but not to worry — we should be up and running soon. Ironically, not having a computer has affected me much more than Husband. It’s because I HAVE to write. HAVE to. It’s my relaxation, my therapy, my escape. Much like a painter HAS to paint, and a runner HAS to run … I am a writer. I HAVE to write. When I don’t, I feel like my world is spiraling out of control (it’s really not) and then I annoy all of my friends by e-mailing them way too much (they would never admit to being annoyed).

So where to begin? I’ll start with this: I have some a-m-a-z-i-n-g friends. I took a weekend trip to Nashville for a little baby shower/girl’s weekend and it was fabulous and entirely too short. 

From left to right: Anca, Lila, Jolene (the honored one), Kelli, and me.

I left feeling like myself again, which is hard to explain really. Even if you aren’t a parent, life has a way of throwing mud at you until you’re so caked over it’s hard to move or really see yourself clearly. I took a break to wash it all off and start again.

Yesterday, ONE drank his own pee. He was in the bathroom, and I was changing TWO’s diaper. I heard him say, sort of to himself, “What does pee taste like?” and I knew what was about to happen. Before I could run in and stop him, it was too late.

“I tasted my pee, Mommy. It was yummy. Like salt water at the beach.”

I didn’t know what to do. I gagged a little. Then I got down on my knees to look in his eyes and emphatically explain why this was a bad idea, and he said “If I drink my pee, will I just pee it out again?!” And then I just had to leave the room.

Now when things like this happen … I mentally retreat to my girl’s weekend. This makes me happy. It reminds me I’m not just a mother dealing with the weirdest things imaginable, I’m Harmony Hobbs. I’m in love with Robbie Hobbs. I am a writer. I ran full-speed through the Atlanta airport wearing flip flops and an unsupportive bra, and I caught my flight. I hand-sewed a stuffed lion’s armpit to keep the stuffing from coming out. I can DO things.

A little pee-drinking seems surmountable. I mean, it’s just pee.

Have I mentioned that school has started?