One Foot at a Time

The other evening after bathtime, I sent the lil’ dude into his room to dress while I put the bathroom back together. While I was scrubbing down the tub and gathering bath toys, I could hear a thump-thud-thud over and over coming from down the hall. A three year old boy is always jumping and climbing, soaring through the air, etc. so I didn’t think much of it. Thump-thud-thud is a familiar sound in my home.

I yell out, “Lil’ dude! Are you okay in there?” He replies, “Yes Mommy, I getting dwessed like you told me.” That gave me a moment of pause because when does he EVER do what I asked him to do the first time? I make my way to his room hearing the thump-thud-thud again as I creep to the door just to peek in on him.

Here is what I see.

The lil’ dude is butt naked, laying toppled over on the floor holding his Lightning McQueen underwear. He scrambles up off the floor to a standing position, holding his tiny little boxer brief Underoos open out in front of him. He readies and steadies himself and proceeds to jump …er, attempt to jump… into his drawers with both feet at the same time.

Of course, this doesn’t work so he crashes to the floor with his feet caught in his underwear. I can hardly stifle my laughter as I watch him repeat the steady, jump, fall pattern over and over. He is a persistent little fart, and does not accept defeat easily.

He finally looks up and sees me peeking in at him and says, “Look at me Mommy! I’ve got a neeeeeew way to put on my underwear!”

“How’s that working for ya?”, I ask him.

“It didn’t work yet, but watch.” He trys again…and again…and again. I finally had to call it off when he toppled to the floor face first…for the third time. He protests, “No wait Mommy, I can do it.”

At that point I have a flashback about six years or more ago, long before LT. I’m standing in a bedroom with the same incredulous look on my face watching the Big T ridiculously attempt the same exact thing. As I laughed and rolled my eyes in disbelief, I told him it was impossible. I just fueled his determination when I said it couldn’t be done and he set out to prove me wrong. Let me just add that BT is always joking that he is part Super Hero, capable of super human feats. *insert eye roll here* Though I am pretty sure that most times he is not quite joking and somehow believes it. Don’t tell him, but sometimes I do too actually. He and his brothers are all these beasts of superior strength and muscle that is TRULY above and beyond the average. But jumping into his drawers? Yah. Right.

I digress.

So because I knew I couldn’t stop the development of a mini Marvel character in training, I just stood and watched LT jump himself silly until he wore himself out. At the end of it all as he sat on the floor still naked, I asked him “So are you giving up?”

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Just til tomorrow.”

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Mommy My Butt is Cold

Yesterday LT bounced in my room proclaiming, “Mommy, my butt is cold!” I was working from home and had my head buried in the computer and said, “Well sweets, it is freezing today. Go get a thicker pair of pants.” As he left the room I looked up and saw that he had a perfectly round wet circle on the back of his pants.

Me: “Dude… why are your pants wet?”
LT: “I don’t know”
Me: “Did you spill a drink and sit in it?”
LT: “Noooo”
Me: “Did you potty on yourself?”
LT: “Noooo”
Me: “What happened then?”
LT: “I don’t knoooow”
Me: “Look homie, wetness doesn’t just appear out of thin air…”
LT: “Maybe it was maaaagic…”

Yeah. Right.

So because I don’t trust his three year old self as far as I can throw him, I got up and did the Mommy thing…. I picked him up and smelled his butt. No suspicious odors, plus he hasn’t had an accident in months and there was no potty down the front, so I was satisfied that he didn’t pee on himself. I went and checked his playroom next door and there were no wetspots anywhere. I thought it was kind of suspect, but I hunted everywhere to no avail for traces of liquid he could’ve gotten into. I reasoned he must’ve leaned up against some water somewhere. I directed him to go to his room and get another pair of underpants and pants and change into the dry clothes. (He’s gotten really independent lately and wants to dress himself.)

Later in the day he comes into the room and says, “Mommy I have ta show you sumpfing.” I raise a suspicous eyebrow as he comes over to me, turns around, bends over and drops his pants. He’s wearing two pair of underwear.

Me: “Ummm…what’s that for?”
LT: “My butt was still weeeally cold so I need more underwear on it”

Before I can uncrinkle my face and before LT can pull his pants back up, BT walks in the room looking bewildered as to why our son was practically mooning me. I explained the cold butt situation as well as the wet circle phenomenon.

BT looks at LT and says, “Did you stick your butt down in the toilet again?”
Me: “What the?!?”

LT breaks down in giggles, “Yeeeeeah!”

I. Am. Dumbfounded.

BT says, “Son, what have I told you? Keep your butt out of the toilet, that’s really gross.” Still laughing he replies, “But it weally fun tho. Try it… ya butt gets weeally cold!” BT can hardly contain his laughter as he says, “Dude. I’m NOT stickin’ my ass in the toilet. And I don’t care if it’s fun, don’t do it again….at least not while Mommy’s here…she might have a heart attack.”

He’s totally right. I can hardly contain myself thinking about LT putting his butt down in the toilet, thinking it’s fun. He’s gotten caught doing that before, but while sitting on the potty handling his business. He thought it was pretty clever that he could take a dump and then stick his hind end in the water to “wash da boo-boo off.” Needless to say, I was NOT pleased about that one either but it had happened so long ago that I totally forgot. I certainly didn’t think about him doing it for FUN, or the fact that it had apparently happened again and BT kept the secret.

Later, still befuddled by the whole butt in toilet thing, I said to him, “Baby. I know it may be kinda fun to put your butt in the toilet, but that is really nasty. That is where people go potty and boo-boo at. Please don’t do that again. Ever. With or without pants. NKay?”

He looks up at me with a concerned look and says, “But Mommy, how I’m gonna wash the farts off?” …. …..Excuse me? “I got to wash off the farts. But just the stinky ones.”

So the little monster thought he had to stick his arst in the toilet to “Wash off the farts”??!?

Sweet baby Jesus…. Please give me the strength….

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Mommy on a Diet

I gained a little bit of weight over the holidays. Okay…so, I gained about 15 pounds over the holidays. I was traveling quite a bit for work from the months of November to January, and instead of hitting the gym 3-4 times a week on my lunch hour, I was doing well to make it once a week. Also, all the holiday fare, the cold weather, blahblahblah…. Long story short, I just gave up on the gym and watching what I ate for a couple of months. While I wasn’t watching, the laziness and gluttony ended up on my ass.

I didn’t even much care until my clothes got tight. I mean, tight where my spanx body shaper wouldn’t even conceal the damage. I mean, just getting into my spanx in the morning was kicking my fat behind. One morning after grunting, panting, moaning and sweating into my shaper only to realize that my fat was only encased into a weird sausage type shape with a large dose of muffin top exploding over the edge, I realized I had two choices; buy new clothes and accept the new sausage link shape or get off my lazy arst and lose some weight. Begrudgingly, I chose the latter.

Let me just add here: BT can pretty much eat what he wants and not gain an ounce. Summuma biscuit eater…If he does gain, he just cuts back a little bit and is back in order in no time. True, he plays basketball at least three to four times a week, but to him a diet means he doesn’t have the fries with his value meal. …insert me rolling eyes

After much trial and error, I know that for me to lose weight I can’t just work out. If that was the case, I’d be like a size 0. I can be a working out fool, because I like the way it makes me feel. I like combining interval cardio with strength training, or sometimes I will do plyometrics type work outs, or short bursts of high intensity cardio mixed with high rep low weight strength training. I love sweating myself silly! If I’m at an ideal weight, it is enough to help me maintain it and tighten things up, but if I need to lose a significant amount of weight I need to clean up my diet to make the sweat sessions pay off.

The thing that tends to work for me pretty quickly and consistently is lower carb combined with lower fat. So basically, I cut back on everything I like to cook and eat. And while it works to lose weight, Mommy without a piece of bread is NOT a happy Mommy. I didn’t even notice it until one day I was already feeling a little edgy and BT had the nerve to come home with carry-out Mexican from our favorite restaurant. I was pissed about his audacity to bring home fatty, carby, food while I was trying my best to be non-sausage like. I started to lose my mind a little bit and my sister (Who lives with us) screams, “Somebody get that girl a cupcake! This is enough you crazy wench! You get ridiculous when you are on a diet…YOU NEED A CARB!”

BT just sat back in smugness, perfectly content in allowing Sissy to step into the warzone while he took his place at the table and dug into a plate of something smothered in cheese and sauce.

LT walks over to me, looks up with big curious eyes full of concern and says, “Mommy? You otay? You need a cupcake?”

Of course, then I was really ready to lose my damn mind. But somewhere in my ketosis induced brain fog, I realized she had made a point. I DO need a carb! There is a reason why I feel like everything tastes better as a sandwich. Or why given the choice betwen meat and potatoes, I’ll likely choose the potatoes. Especially if both of the previous foods involve cheese! And add bacon to that? Fuggetaboutit!

Ok…focus here…

Anyway, so maybe extreme restrictions in diet do make me an unhappy camper. Certainly, there must be a space somewhere in between the extremes of dieting and gluttony for happy Mommy.

I’m dedicated to getting back my sexy. Or at least getting comfortably back into my clothes. I let WORLD NUTELLA DAY 2011 pass without so much a dollop of the chocolate hazelnutty goodness for God’s sake!! I’ve rededicated myself to gym time, and vowed to put down the cupcakes… though I DO bake a mean cupcake. And first and foremost, pay attention to my body and what it needs. If I’m teetering on the edge of reason, yahhh…I’ll take that carb. Just not the refined, bad for you kind.

So if you peek in my kitchen window sometime and see me in the dark prowling around in the pantry looking like a wild wolf in heat, pay no attention to the crazy lady within…Sometimes a girl just needs a carb.

Posted in family, food, health, humor, nutrition | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

“Mommy I’m Getting Bigger!”

The other evening, my three year old Timmy is laying in the bed with me. We’d just finished reading a  story and were feeling kinda chilled out. He’s laying there with one hand down the front of his pajama pants (as usual), and we have the following conversation;

Timmy: “Mommy, I’m growing up”

Me: “Yes baby, you sure are.”

Timmy: “I’m getting bigger and bigger”

Me: “Yep, sweetie pie. Bigger and bigger every day. I can hardly believe what a big boy you are becoming!”

Timmy: “Yeah, and my p*nis is getting bigger and bigger!”

Me: “… …. Ummm, yep baby you’re getting big …uh, all over… ….”

Timmy: “Yep and my ball getting big too!”

Me: “… ….”

Timmy: as he pulls the front of his pajama pants out, “Look see!”

Me: “Oh, yep. There it is, getting bigger just like…your….feet” (sweating a lil’ bit)

Timmy: “But loooook! You didn’t look Mommy. It getting reeeaallly bigger!

Me: Thinking to self, “Oh sweet baby Jesus…”

To top it off, and I’m not even sure how we got there, but we ended up having a conversation about which was his testicles (which he refers to as his ball…yes, just one…) and which was his p*nis. He seemed to have the two confused and wanted to argue about it as if I didn’t know what I was talking about (!!!???) Now look, I’m sleepy and a little disarmed by the whole conversation. So I just say, “Let’s call Daddy up here. He has the same as you, he’ll tell you which is which…”

Enter my other Timmy, a.k.a. Daddy, Big Timmy, Timmy #1. I quickly catch him up on the last few minutes of toddler conversation, to which he proudly juts his chest out and loudly proclaims, “That’s my boy!”. I roll my eyes and say, “Ok then, you take this one.” I then sit and watch them have a technical conversation regarding the parts of the male package. Then and only then, was Little Timmy convinced about what was where… Good Lord Almighty…

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What Am I Doing Here?

After humoring my best friend with email stories of life with my two Timmy’s for years, she has finally convinced me to blog. When I was pregnant, I reeeeaaaally meant to blog the whole experience. But I couldn’t seem to be able to drag myself off the couch and prop my eyelids open long enough to sit at a computer, much less muddle through the brain fog called pregnancy to be able to form a cohesive thought. Then I reeeeeeaaaaally meant to blog the first 18 months of Lil’ Timmy’s life while I was home with him. But then, I couldn’t seem to drag myself away from my new found love affair with my son. And when I did, my hands were wrapped around my camera and camera phone as to not miss a single minute. (I have more photos of that child sleeping than any person should know. Let’s not even talk about the “gas faces” I captured on camera that I was CERTAIN were his first smile…)

So there’s that.

Now that he is three years old, and I’m busy as hell trying to play career catch up and chase my high speed preschooler around in my spare time, I may as well start now eh?

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