It's Going To Be One Of Those Days

So far today...

We got up late and made it to soccer practice just as it was ending.

Then we drove to a car wash where I unloaded the 8 thousand pounds of crap in the van so I could vacuum it out. Unfortunately the vacuums were out of order. I reloaded the van and drove to the gas station.

There I unloaded the strollers, travel computers, DVD players, camping chairs, etc. onto the parking lot and began to vacuum out the van bus. That is when the screaming began. Grace screamed the ENTIRE time the vacuum was on which was a long time because....

...the dang vacuum hose wasn't long enough to reach the entire length of the van! So with all the doors and trunk open, the hose running, and my kids screaming I'm driving the van back and forth in front of the vacuum to get the hose to reach all the places that need to be vacuumed.

Yes, I did say kids screaming and not kid. During an episode of climbing around the van dragging the stupid hose it attached it self to my thigh and I couldn't get it off (luckily for me I chose to use the "Super Sucker" vacuum with the power of a jet engine). That's when Simon freaked. He thought the vacuum was going to eat me or at least my pants. So he spent the rest of the time yelling out his location so I wouldn't get too close with the man eating machine.

Vacuuming finished I pulled over for a drink. As I unload my kids I see I'm wet. No, Grace is wet. ALL WET. She has peed through her clothes and is a wash of smelly pee. (My heart sinks, I never want my kids stewing in their own juice--ever.)

We go in anyways. We get our drinks. Simon gets a Sprite. They are out of lids. Simon goes up front to ask if they have more lids. He spills his drink all over the front counter, himself, and the Hostess display case.

We pay for our drinks and go home where I throw Grace in the tub where she poops. Full on nuggets are floating around in the water. I get her out. I rinse her off. I get her dressed.

Right now both of my kids are on the couch watching Bug's Life and I'm going to go clean out the tub. I can't take any more disasters.

It's only noon and I'm already exhausted. I can tell it's just going to be one of those days.

ps--During the vacuuming my pants incident I had a flashback to a day several years ago when Simon was Gracie's age and I was cleaning out the car. We were at the same gas station using the same vacuum. I had climbed over the seat to do something and had left the vacuum on the seat where it flipped up and attached it self to my crotch. (Not a pretty image...if there are younger viewers please ask them to leave the room....)

I was freaking out and Simon was freaking out and I COULD NOT get that thing off of my pants. People at the pumps were staring. Finally there was a sound like a burp then like an aluminum can being crushed and the vacuum stopped and the side panel fell off of the main machine and some smoke and a burning smell came out. I just stood there for a minute then got back in my car and drove away.

True Story.

Maybe what I should learn from this morning is just to never clean out my vehicles. Ever.

Timing is Everything

Yesterday Simon and I were pulling into the gas station just as a heavy set older gentleman was leaving. He was bald on top with white fringe around the ears and back. Then he had a bushy grayish white beard and a sizable beer belly accentuated by a tight fitting bright red T-shirt.

"Mom!" says Simon, "Is that Santa Claus?"

"No," I say, "it's probably just his brother."

Had we been even 30 seconds earlier I would have had to deal with that comment in front of the Santa man look a like who wouldn't have been so jolly because as I discovered moments later from the gas attendant the poor guy had just hit a deer. (Isn't that an ironic twist of events?)

Thank goodness for sound proof van-buses and my taking forever to load the kids into them.

...and I've corrupted my children too...

In case you haven't heard the muffled laughter or felt the waves of awkwardness emanating from the chapel every Sunday then I'll just tell you what my current church calling is---primary chorister.

No,I'm not kidding.

Although I wish I were.

And while the image of me conducting music is ridiculous enough to be a post in and of itself I'll continue with my story...

Like I said, I'm the chorister and I'm supposed to be teaching a new song this week that I've never even heard before. So, in an effort to learn this thing I popped the primary CD featuring the song into the van as we drove down the road tonight and pressed repeat.

I listened and listened and listened.

It sounded so familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on where I had heard it before.

Until... THAT"S IT!!! It sounded just like something that would play during a montage of loneliness in a movie where Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore have gotten into a fight and are no longer on speaking terms. (Seriously, it does.)

Just as I'm picturing said montage (Pooh sitting dejected on his porch. Eeyore watching his reflection in the river as a tear rolls down his cheek....) I hear Simon in the backseat, "Mom, why does this song sound like people are sad at each other?"

I wanted to ask him if he thought those people were really a stuffed bear and a clinically depressed donkey but figured that I've already done enough damage through the years if he's already beginning to think like me at age 5.

Some Real Advice

If you ask a real runner for advice they may talk to you about how to avoid chaffing, when to eat gu, or how to achieve that elusive negative split. But, not me. No sir. (That's probably because I'm not a real runner but let us proceed...)

If you ask me for advice I'd tell you this: Never and I mean NEVER eat an entire order of onion rings and a large Dr. Pepper right before running 14 miles. Never.

Unless of course you'd like to see them again somewhere between mile 9 and 10...in a high school parking lot...while the tennis team is out playing...and some rising generation stoners are chillin' by the fence...then by all means, eat on my friends, eat on.

Lukewarm

I just ate some lukewarm leftovers for lunch. I couldn't wait that extra 30 seconds for the microwave to make them nice and piping hot.
Seriously, what's wrong with me?

Raging Hormones

I was so grumpy yesterday. Everything seemed to tick me off. The weather. Our broken furnace. My hair. The laundry. Stray cats. Rubber place mats. You name it. I hated it.

Then I had to go running. Blah. At the gym, on the treadmill. Triple blah.

At the gym the treadmills are neatly lined up facing out the West windows. This means two things #1. It gets stinking hot right there in the evenings as the sun is going down. and #2. As the sun sets you can see your reflection in those windows as you run.

By the time I get there it's evening. The sun is setting and it's hot. Super. I'm mad and running and am mad about running. I want to be home with my family. I want to be lying on the couch eating nachos. I want not to be covered in sweat. Not even my usual running play list can cheer me up. (When Burl Ives can't even snap me out of it you know it's bad.) So I start skipping through songs. I land on Queen.

The next thing I know I'm sobbing. I'm running and crying and watching myself in the window. I'm still no athlete but I see that now I move different and I look different and it's still so hard but what a different girl I am than I was 6 months ago. And suddenly I'm overwhelmed and grateful at the same time by who I am and the fact that I can do hard things.

Yes, indeed, I am a champion my friends.

Then something funny happens outside (something for my next post) and I laugh so hard I snort. A booger hits the treadmill monitor. What is going on?!? I'm listening to Queen for crying out loud (which is excatly what I was doing). I reprimand myself for not recognizing my hormonalness sooner, wipe my eyes, finish my run, and clean off the treadmill.

In an effort to stabilize my mood swings before heading home I stop off at the gas station for a Dr. Pepper. Pulling into the parking lot I almost run over a teenage couple so wrapped up in an effort to make out as they walked that they didn't even see my silver mini van barreling straight towards them!

I swerve. I miss. I park. I smile. I go get my soda. I may be moody but at least my hormones don't drive me to make out with an acne ridden emo in women's jeans during a wind storm at the gas station. Thank goodness.

Oh but did I mention, that we are the champions my friends?
And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!
No time for losers.
We are the champions.....


...of the world....

My Daughter and the Continuing Saga of Her Love Affair with Meat

What was the first thing Grace said to me this morning?
I'll give you a hint. It's the same thing she's said every morning for the past few weeks.

Meatballs.

She wants to have the movie "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" on all day, all night, all the time, whenever. When it rains steaks she stands up and holds out her hands. When it rains giant hot dogs she sits then and whispers "hot dog" for the next 5 minutes.

Strange.

But as I've mentioned in other posts ("Sausage" and "Meat") I already know she has a deep and creepy love for all things grilled. However, today she took it to a whole new level.

After leaving the gas station on our morning drink run I noticed Gracie had something in her hand. "What do you have?" I ask. "Meat" she replied.

"Meat?"
"Meat. "

Sure enough, it was meat. Well, not exactly meat but it was a $25 gift card to a local steak house that my precious baby girl had shoplifted from the gas station!

What am I going to do?