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.

Bored? Read my latest “Mamarazzi” post over at Birmingham Mommy!

It’s been two days since I last did laundry. Two. Days. And this is what I have going on:

I have a load of towels in the washing machine, sheets in the dryer, plus the two baskets full of clothes and the additional laundry on the floor. Sometimes I find myself wondering why I’m always doing laundry. Well … this is why. Because I let it go for almost three days and now I have THIS.

Are other families just neater than we are? I go through several changes of clothes a day between working out, going outside in the dirt, running errands, or feeding the baby — who has taken a strong liking to spitting out his food with glee.

Then there is ONE, who has mastered the potty but still manages to pee on his clothes an awful lot. And last night he peed in his bed. And since we had to change his sheets, I figured I might as well change ours too. Just to keep everything even. Because I have OCD. Not really. Like not officially. I think I just have it a tiny bit.

Anyway, as I was typing this, I realized that if I just let us all wander around in the same clothes all day I would have a lot less laundering to do. But that would also mean that one of my children would smell like piss, the other one would be smeared with carrots and spit up, and I would be covered in all three. All day.

No thank you. Laundry’s not that bad.

Today I was feeling like everything was all right. Then I made a discovery. 

A kitty cat has been pooping in ONE’s sand pile. I’m unsure how long this has been going on, but it was quite a lot of poo.

It’s kind of funny how I am constantly taken down a peg. Yesterday I took both kids to run a series of errands with me, and by the time lunch rolled around I was feeling like everything was all right. Everything went so well; my children were perfect angels, I looked presentable, and I started to feel like the smart and capable mom-of-two I always knew I could be.

And then, right in the middle of Chik-Fil-A, TWO spit prunes all over me. Why did I decide to put a container of prunes, of all the choices in our cabinet, in the diaper bag? I don’t know. What I do know, is that I later found it in my hair. And on my shoulder. And up TWO’s nose.

In retrospect, I realize that if we are going to have sand in the backyard, it needs to be in a SANDBOX. With a LID on it. Also, feeding prunes to a baby is generally a terrible idea. In my defense, it’s hard to think rationally when you have a small child jabbering at you alllll day, asking question after question about life and death and how his little brother got out of your tummy and into the living room.

To the makers of Midol:

If I am in need of your product, chances are I am uncomfortable and/or in a foul mood. Therefore, making your gelcap packages almost impossible to open really sucks. 

You get me every time.

I hate you more every month,
Harmony

I just found myself singing, “let’s put on your socky socks, socky socks, socky socks, let’s put on your socky socks …” to TWO. He loved it. 

But when I heard the words that were coming out of my mouth I stopped myself mid-sock and wondered who took over my body and made up that ridiculous song. Maybe that is why there is a misconception that stay-at-home moms are stupid. Because after so many months of not enough rest and not enough time to THINK, you just start acting weird.

Not that it matters how weird I’ve started to act. TWO now has his socky socks on and is grinning at me like I’m the funniest person he knows. Which I am. Clearly.

Husband loved the soup. He had two bowls of it. It totally made my day. Apparently, my self-worth is directly tied to my kitchen. 

And my children. 

And my appearance.

Oh dear.

After yesterday’s events, I was very much looking forward to today: Husband’s day off. I had every intention of wandering off alone (ALONE) to do something frivolous. Unfortunately, he’s sick. Not just a little bit sick, really, sick-in-the-bed, sick.

And so, rather than doing something frivolous, I am doing this.

I am making French Onion Soup from scratch, hoping against hope I can nurse him back to health before I lose my mind because I need help with our children. NOW. 

So … I sliced up two pounds of onions, which was a bitch, and they’re cooking on the stove. Husband is a picky eater, and when I told him my plan he said “I’m not really a soup person” and I turned and walked away before I could pick up the pillow next to him and smother him with it. 

WHO ISN’T A SOUP PERSON WHEN THEY FEEL LIKE DEATH?

But now I’ve decided that if he chooses not to eat the soup I’ve been slaving over, I’ll just eat the whole damn pot of it myself. Because that is exactly what a good wife should do. Make soup for her sick husband and then when he refuses it, drug him to sleep and EAT. IT. ALL.

Today, I enjoyed a lovely pilates class at the YMCA. Then I picked up my children and headed home to make lunch.

We arrived home. I unlocked the front door and dumped our bags on the table. I hung up my keys. I got ONE out of the car and asked him to go inside and wash his hands.

When I turned to walk back to the car to get TWO, I heard our front door slam shut. For a moment I thought, surely he wouldn’t lock us out of the house. We have a key stuck in the deadbolt lock most of the time, and for a moment I thought, what would I do if he turned the lock? My keys and phone were inside the house. But I dismissed the thought and quickly got the baby out of the car.

Well … my instinct was right. My three-year-old, my sweet handful of a son who is making me age quickly beyond my years, had indeed locked the deadbolt. There is no other way to get into our house from the front, unfortunately. We live in a townhouse and have no access to the backyard except through the house which is a HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE DESIGN and I CANNOT WAIT to live somewhere else. But that is another blog post altogether.

I beat on the door. I called his name. I threatened and demanded and finally begged. But I knew what he’d done … he’d locked it and run away to hide. I considered my options and was grateful the baby was with me, at least I didn’t have to worry for HIS safety. Just as I was turning to start knocking on neighbor’s doors to see if I could use someone’s phone, I heard the lock turn. ONE opened the door.

We believe in spanking at our house, but sometimes I wonder if it even makes an impression. I do my best to save spankings for times like today, when it’s vital that my kid understand that he is never to do that again — EVER. I sent him to his room while I made lunch. When he came downstairs to eat, it was like none of it ever happened. He complained about his sandwich not having cheese in it. I stared at him for a long time before speaking. Because what I really wanted to do was to remove his lunch from the table, dump it down the sink, and send him straight to bed. Isn’t that what they would have done back in the olden days? But while I might have it in me to spank my son, I simply cannot let him go hungry. So I let him eat. And then I sent him to bed.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that my son is three. Just three. He is learning. He’s growing. I have a hard time balancing the patience that raising a three-year-old requires, with the ability to discipline him when it’s needed. Most of the time I wonder if I’m doing any of it right. 

Mothers of boys … mischievous boys … my heart goes out to all of you. I honestly have no idea how to keep my son in line except to pop him with a wooden spoon. If any of you have better ideas, please feel free to share. I’ll just be over here, lying down.

Today was the kind of day that made me want to hide in a closet and drink. But looking at this picture snapped of us earlier this afternoon makes me feel normal. I mean … I think we appear to be normal. 

What a relief.