I just did Zumba two days in a row and now I’d like to lie down and rest for about a week, thank you.

Today I went with my friend Lesley to a different YMCA that was big and super fancy with a regimented feeling to it. We Zumba’d in a huge room that was packed full of a lot of women and one lone man. This happens to be the older gentleman who popped me with a towel that one time, and today was my lucky day because I got to shake it rightnexttohim.

It never fails that some kind of drama is going to go down if you are around a bunch of women. People who attend regularly have their certain “spot” where they like to shake it. They like to shake it near their friends (that would be me). They get annoyed if you shake it too close to them. 

I get it. I mean, I’m a little particular about certain things. But if you’re in a room packed with people and Fergalicious is blasting, there is only so much that can be done. So if you’re going to ask me to shake it a little farther away from you, strange lady in the back, at least say it with a smile. That’s what we do here in the South. 

If you’d like to lose a few more brain cells, why don’t you read my latest Birmingham Mommy article?

I have been exhausted beyond my normal level this week. Maybe I am still recovering from last weekend’s festivities (my parents were in town), or that late viewing of The Hunger Games which put me in bed at midnight on Sunday. Either way, I’m very tired. I’m not thinking clearly. My children are getting on my nerves. 

While making preparations to go grocery store shopping, I took a good look at my list … which judging from my handwriting, I must have written while half-asleep:

If an item is listed THREE times, it must be important.
 

Yesterday I met a dear friend for lunch. I wore a $15 dress from Old Navy and ate sushi and came out of the whole experience feeling NORMAL. Like my normal, old self. I can’t remember the last time I lunched with a girlfriend. It did my heart good.

I think I would shrivel up and die without my friends. They remind me who I am, at the core. With them, I am myself. They don’t scream at me “I HATE ONIONS! Make me a sandwich!” They don’t ask me where their gray pants are. Not that I mind taking care of my family — I love it. But sometimes, I just need a break from service.
 

I’m surrounded by handsome men.

Ah … oversharing. 

If you want to know way too much about what is going on in my house, go on over to Birmingham Mommy and check out my latest article.

These antidepressants must be working really well because I found myself daydreaming this morning about having a third child.

Someone talk some sense into me – QUICK. 

The baby is almost 7 months old, and today I finally got around to framing and displaying pictures of him. I think it’s probably obvious that I’m not the kind of mother who scrapbooks or writes down the things I should write down, like first words and first steps.

No … instead I write this blog and I talk about the completely weird and redundant things my children (and I) do. Not milestones. Just things for my own entertainment.

So one day, if one of them asks me “Mom, what was my first word?” I will say to him, “Honey, I don’t know. But one time when I was pulling weeds in the backyard, you stripped down naked and peed directly on your sand pile and monster trucks before I could stop you … so I decided to continue pulling weeds and pretend that it didn’t happen. Also, later that day I discovered that a cat had been pooping in your sand pile. But don’t worry … I dug it out with one of my wooden spoons and flung it over the fence.”

At this point in the conversation, my son, whichever one of them it happens to be, will probably walk away. 

I also fully intend to be one of those moms who talks openly to them about everything. Husband has instructed me to steer clear of attempts to have any sort of sex talk with either of our sons, but I am afraid that he will muff it up and they won’t leave the conversation with THE FEAR (of me and Husband, of God, of venereal disease) in them. I wish for them to have THE FEAR. At least until they are of age. It is because of this that I intend to have a very in-depth conversation with them about women and I hope to make us sound absolutely terrifying.

For these reasons and more, I hereby nominate myself to be Mother of the Year, 2012. Thank you.

ONE and TWO just took turns making monster sounds and laughing hysterically.

Times, they are a-changing. Thank God.

It’s still frustrating to feel ick. But I write this post to say, taking care of kids is probably all the workout a woman really needs. I have two demanding trainers, right here in my house. Toting a 19-pound baby around all day is no easy feat. Not to mention wrangling all that laundry up a flight of stairs. 

So while my Body Mass Index still tells me I am overweight, and for some reason I can’t seem to put myself on any kind of diet to remedy that issue, at least I know I can haul around heavy things. And since I refuse to diet, I can still put half and half in my coffee without feeling guilty.