When you *totally* fall off the wagon. Like, way off. Like, fall off the wagon and then get on another wagon headed straight down Gluttony Avenue.

This is the deal.

There are times it's awesome to be a weight loss blogger. When the scale is in your favor, your "after" pictures get accolades, or when people ask for advice and you feel like you have something helpful to share - it's great to be a weight loss blogger.

But.

There are days moments when you fall completely off the wagon and you feel powerless to stop it. In the back of your brain you think, "I'm going to have to blog this crap," because you can't pretend it didn't happen, and you think about allllllll the people that you are accountable to through your little corner of the internet. Instead of feeling inspired you feel crushed by the accountability and guilty that you may be letting someone down.

A DEFENSE MECHANISM.

But here it is: I had a terrible week, and I ate to cope. I ate a lot. And I ate a lot of foods I never eat. Like, once I ate a piece of leftover pizza while dishing out Chinese food because I couldn't wait the thirty seconds it would take to get fried rice in my pie hole. If you are what you eat then this last weekend I was Birthday Cake wrapped in pizza while wearing Lucky Charms and sweating Sweet and Sour sauce. (A.K.A. Everyone's Best Friend.) (Sorry. I know it's not funny, Kemper.)(But I joke around when I'm uncomfortable.)(IT'S A DEFENSE MECHANISM.)

So, how much did I truly eat? I ate a weight gain of four pounds in three days much. It was so bad that at one point Brian, who has never policed my food (even when I've asked), actually took hold of me by both shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, "KEL. Snap out of this."

I am so disappointed in myself. I was at 143, so close to my Holy Grail of 140. Now I'm hanging out back at 147. This is literally the story of my life.

I hate excuses. An excuse leaves no room for responsibility. An excuse says, "Look at what happened to me," and not, "Look at the choice I made in response to my circumstance." Excuses cut out any opportunity for growth, and excuses foster weakness. They are a way to say, "Don't worry, you poor thing. It's not your fault. Anyone would have reacted that way."

That's a big fat lie. I am not powerless over my thoughts. I am not held prisoner by my emotions. And *I* am the boss of how I react to difficult situations. Huzzah.

I do believe in reasons. I want to know the reasons behind the choices I make. Knowing these reasons teaches me, and helps to prepare me for handling situations, should they reoccur. And they always do.

So, Reasons I ATEALLTHETHINGS last week:

1. I was discouraged. It can all be boiled down to that. I had some really crappy workouts last week. I felt weak, I felt tired, I felt fat, and I felt like I was sick and tired of working my tush off just to be "normal". (Can I get an Amen from all my FAT MOM sisters out there?!) I don't want to look like Barbie. I don't want to be a figure competitor. I just freaking want to *not* look fluffy. Why do I have to work so hard to accomplish this? (*the world's smallest violin is playing in the background*)

I came home from Wednesday's awful workout to indulge in the worst timed cheat meal in the history of the world. I cheat meal every Wednesday night. In hindsight following the plan was not the best decision this time. Next time I'm discouraged I will reschedule cheat meal. I already know cheat meals for me are a really sensitive thing. The occasional indulgence helps keep me on track, but they also have the potential to usher in a tsunami of binge eating, which is exactly what happened this time. My cheat meal turned into a three day nosh fest.

Then a friend's mom died very unexpectedly Thursday morning. She was only 49. Instead of being all, "Wow, I should look at life as a gift and live it to the fullest," I was like, "What's the freaking point of going to all this trouble to track my macros/deny myself pizza/work at the gym? At the end of the day I'm still fat and I could die at any moment." I didn't feel out of control. I felt defiant. I felt like no matter what I do I'm never there. There seems to be this mythical land where I am no longer the Fat Mom, and I work my heart out and it shows on both the scale and my body. I get momentary glimpses of there in my daily life, and normally those glimpses give me the hope I need to persevere. But feeling so discouraged made me want to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. It's like my brain decided to show my body who was boss by eating my rapidly gaining weight in Combos. Because logic.

"Kel, THEHECK is this?"
That, my friends, is a vegan vanilla LEGO cake with
vegan soy buttercream frosting. And it's purple,
per the birthday girl's request. This is what happens
when you try to get fancy because vegan cake
crumbles, my kids are allergic to fondant, and vegan
buttercream refuses to set.

2. Baking. One of my kiddos had her birthday party on Saturday. Since she is one of my sweet "food allergy" kids, I had to bake her cake from scratch. Then I had to make her frosting from scratch. Then I had to decorate her cake. (Which, I'm not going to lie, was a spectacular Pinterest fail.) Then I had to cut and serve cake and ice cream to 15 people. That's a lot of opportunity for bites, licks, and nibbles. (Or, giant slices of cake eaten when self-control finally reaches it's threshold after you've touched cake and ice cream fifteen times.) Next time I'll chew gum while I'm decorating and ask Brian to cut and serve.

3. I was physically in need of some rest and recovery. I needed to pay attention to my body and take some notes from Wednesday's workout. Eventually I did. I took two full rest days (Thursday and Friday) and went light on Saturday. I ended up squatting my 5x5 program, but only did 135 pounds. I lightened my leg press, hamstring curls, and lunges each to about 75%. I messaged Kemper about deloading, and he told me what I needed to do, which was not actually lighten my weight, but decrease my volume.

I actually wrote Kemper a joke about eating a ton of simple carbs being a part of a proper deload and he wrote back "Haha, I don't think so." I sat and looked at his response for five minutes wondering how I could communicate that I was serious and falling the heck apart. But at the end of the day Kemper is not my babysitter. He's not my AA sponsor. I am a grown-@ss woman and cannot cry to my trainer when I'm in a spiral. I can't expect him to drop his life to hold my hand and tell me not to eat crap food. (Although, now that I think of it, gyms really need emergency training sessions and/or hotlines for people in this situation. #milliondollarideaoftheday)(Kemper, you can have that one for BootKemp for free.)(You're welcome.)(Lollipop gift.)

I know - because I've read my share of weight loss blogs - that this is a common post to read, but it's not one I've ever had to write. It is scary, embarrassing, and shameful. And it's not okay. I know what I want. I know my goals. I know the path to get there. I am worth the time, effort, and hardship it will take to get there. It's not fair that I have to work so hard for something that comes naturally to other people, but that's life. Everyone struggles with something. This is my thing.

I feel like I need to announce, "My name is Kelly and I'm three days back on track," or something. Getting out of bed at 5:30 on Sunday morning to go do abs and HIIT was sooooooooo hard. But I did it, and everything else seems to be following suit. On Sunday I planned and prepped my food, and for three days now I've followed/enjoyed the plan. (*Check my new Pinterest board "dem macros doe" for the most amazing Parmesan Meatballs ever.*) Monday's bench day was awesome; I felt really good so I did my normal training plan, and even did 3x6 at 30# per dumbbell for shoulder press. I dropped in on a yoga class on Tuesday. I feel like I'm me again. It's still hard, but I think it always will be.

I survived this one, friends.

Thanks for the accountability, Internet.


Linking up today for Weigh-in Wednesday with Heather, Ash, and Erin.

The time I threw up Redneck all over my blog

I hope everyone had a fun safe Fourth of July filled with FREEDOM and bald eagle sightings. My holiday Facebook feed was filled in equal measures with pictures of pyromaniac celebrations and of animals quaking in their thundershirts (accompanied by pet-owner rants of the evils of personal firework displays). The Sublurban Mama household mirrored the conflicting views found on Facebook with the Matriarch of the homestead having an affinity for keeping all the digits God gave her and her offspring, and the Patriarch believing that the slight possibility of dismemberment is worth the rapturous joy of blowing crap up.

Below is actual real life footage of the festivities that took place at our home this past weekend. Neighbor Don was innocently trying to capture the cute little display he had going on in his driveway when, four seconds in, you can hear him remark, "They have four," and Brian's show begins. So really, we videobombed their home videos. (Haha. We literally bombed them.)(And almost our minivan.) Here is 17 seconds of the longest night of my life other than labor.

'MERICA.

(Brian's response to this post: "Kel, you know the only reason I put on that show was so you would have something to blog about, right?" Totally, honey. I could tell it was a huuuuuuge sacrifice.)

I got found out. Go ahead and judge me. I'm not who you think I am, after all.

I honestly thought I could get away with it. It would be my own private dirty secret, and no one would be any wiser. Life would go on, I would be my normal self on the outside, while inside I held tightly to the truth, lest anyone discover what a hypocrite I am.

But then Brian confronted me Saturday night.




"Kel, what is this?" he chastised gently from across the kitchen. I looked up, guilt in my heart and fear in my eyes as I prepared to suffer through this dreaded conversation.

"Honey, I ... I don't know what to say."

"Please just tell me this isn't what I think it is." I hung my head in shame. How many times had I sworn I wouldn't do it? How many times had I made fun of those who made the choice themselves? How many times had I argued against it? Didn't I have, in the very annals of Sublurban Mama, written declaration of my stance against this very thing? I quickly blurted out my defense.

"I know. I just caved to the desire for a ... a change in my life. You can understand that, right, Babe? Besides, I'm making BLT's later this week and I might die if I eat another lettuce wrap."

So hyprocrite. Many ashamed. Much full of delicious BLT on actual bread.

Yes ... yes, that is Ezekiel bread you see in my house. Yes, I paid an astronomical amount for it because BLT's. And yes, the truth will find you out, my friend. So there you have it folks. Please, keep the rude emails to a minimum. I promise I'll be less hasty with my life-stance declarations in the future. (And I'll wait at least a week before getting my "Sprouted Wheat 4 Lyfe" tattoo.)

"You tapped out, Kel, you tapped out."

Proof - "Party Pizza"

Scene: It is Saturday night and Brian is preparing to cook a Totino's personal pizza while I blog. #partylikeyou'remarriedwithchildren

Brian: *sneaks up and puts the ICE COLD pizza box on my bare (I'm wearing a tank top, chill out) back*

Kelly: *screams, spins around, and hits the pizza to the ground*

Brian: *looks incredulously at his frozen pizza on the floor* Why did you do that?

Kelly: WHAT THE HECK? THAT WAS SERIOUSLY COLD, DUDE.

Brian: Are you kidding me? I thought you could lift tires? Imma call Kemper and tell him you just punked out.

Kelly: I can lift tires, but that was yesterday, and today I'm sore and I need hugs.

Brian: *smirks* Whatever. You tapped out, Kel, you tapped out.

Not a drop of pig's blood anywhere.

true story bro.

Wednesday I verbally spewed posted about my decision to put on my big girl panties and face my fear of lifting weights at the gym that evening. I was nervous all day long, and even tried several times to talk myself out of it. Thankfully I suck at negotiations, so when Brian got home from work I headed to Lifetime and prepared to finally lift heavy weights with the big boys during peak hours.

The first thing I did when I got upstairs at Lifetime was find a treadmill and warm up. I prefer the treadmills over by the weights because they are much closer to the TV's  I can spy inconspicuously on other people working out  they are newer and my running is smoother. I usually run about a half a mile. I chose a treadmill in plain sight of the squat rack so I could torture myself for a full half mile in preparation for squatting.

When it came time to get off the treadmill I totally couldn't do it. I was all, "Maybe I'll run another minute," except multiply that thought times five. I ended up running a full mile before I realized I was going to burn my legs out if I kept that mess up. I needed to just.freaking.do it.

Both squat racks were in use. I picked the one closest to me (a.k.a. my favorite rack and the only one I've ever used) and the dude on it said he had two more sets left. I thought about deadlifting first, but there were already three guys lifting there, and someone was working the ropes, so space was already really tight. Within a minute the other squat rack opened up, so I bee-lined it over and claimed it like an alpha male. (i.e. I threw my crap down and kicked off my shoes like I was IN MY OWN HOUSE.)(Because WHO'S HOUSE IS THIS?!?! MY HOUSE, BEACH-ES)(I may have been listening to Eminem rap Won't Back Down on my iPod at that time.)

(Also, "beach-es" is for Lauren.)(You're welcome)

I'm kind of glad I got the rack I was on because there was no mirror, so I really couldn't obsess over who might be watching me. I took a deep breath and actually self-talked. I was all, "You got this, Kel." It was totally like a Nike commercial in my mind only. I squatted the bar to warm up, then did a set at 65#. I did two sets at 85#, and a final set at 95#. It was interesting to note how much easier it is to squat at night as compared to 4:00 a.m. I was really warmed up and felt so much stronger. I felt like I could have gone another 20# but my heart rate was so high from nerves I called that set a victory and moved on to deadlifting.

Two guys were already set up in the area I needed to be in, so I waited until I caught their eyes and they gym pantomimed (you know, the non-verbal communication that happens when everyone is plugged in to some kind of device) that of course I was welcomed to set up as well.

I had a moment of panic when I realized the metal thingies (or, as Kemper calls them, "the weight clips") I needed to use were all taken, and the only ones left were the black ones. Yes, the same black ones Kemper has at his house that I couldn't figure out by myself and still didn't really understand. Still, I had to use something because it's what you do. I walked over all calm and collected and picked up the black ones and prayed Lord Jesus, please gift me with spontaneous mechanical skillz and He totally did because I figured that mess out in roughly two seconds. #miracle

Now that I looked like I knew what I was doing with the black clips I was free to deadlift. This was a bit trickier because I was facing a wall of mirrors and also surrounded by people, so I didn't need to obsessively imagine who was looking at me, I could see it with my own eyes.

The consensus? Nobody really cares what I'm doing. That realization could have been vaguely disappointing if I was someone with narcissistic tendencies. (Haha, that's a blogger joke.) I did my normal deadlift set, and felt the same way I did about squatting; I think at night I'll be able to lift a bit heavier.

I finished with the rest of my leg day routine. I've changed it up a bit since my last post about leg day, mainly because since then I've trained with Kemper and he showed me some new things to add. I did reverse lunges with kettlebells, some Romanian deadlifts with a 45# plate, plie squat jumps, bridges, leg extension, and hamstring curls.

I was so freaking jubilant at this point that I decided to extend my cool down run with intervals. I did about 2.5 miles of a combination of sprints, high incline walks, and recovery jogs. I was so happy and proud of myself I forgot Brian needed me home because he had an 8:00 appointment and I pulled in the driveway at 8:30. Total wife fail. (But don't worry, Brian is as awesome as he seems and reacted by saying, "I'm glad you're not dead. I have to go," and the minute he returned from his appointment said, "So how did lifting go?" because he's the Best Husband Ever.)

So, yeah, being a nighttime meathead was fantastic.

In other Really Important Life-altering News: I have some weight loss updates.

First, here are the picture results of the 90 day weight loss challenge. I feel like they would be way more impressive if I was wearing a sports bra and some shorts but Brian would kill me there are teen boys from my church that read my blog occasionally and I got a rep to maintain, y'all. This first picture is me at 168.9 and 37% body fat.

These are my Second Day Jeans. Those are the jeans that are miserable to wear the first day but finally fit you the second day. In this picture, even the Second Day is looking pretty uncomfortable. Also, the arms of that shirt were cutting off my freaking circulation.

This second picture was taken a few weeks ago. 149.9 and 24.4% body fat.

Same clothes straight out of the dryer. Hot. Literally.
My Second Day Jeans are now too big to even be First Day Jeans and have been put in my Big Girl Pile under the bed.

I haven't posted any weigh ins for a while for a few reasons. One was that it was harder than I thought to sneak onto the fancy scale at Lifetime. I wanted to use the same scale for consistency purposes but also because it gives me body fat percentage. I was able to weigh myself twice during my 4:00 mornings, but I have been suffering a tenacious plateau for a few weeks. I've been hanging out at around 150# and between 24-25% body fat since the challenge ended. I had/have no idea why but it is what it is.

But last Thursday I weighed in with the new trainer* (because remember I won a month of free personal training at Lifetime?!) and I weighed in at 150.3 and 24.8% body fat. We decided that every Thursday I could weigh in with him, so last night I got on that scale and weighed in at 147.9 with a body fat of 23.6%. ONE FORTY SEVEN POINT NINE Y'ALL. That, my friends, is my LOWEST ADULT WEIGHT EVER. (*Picture confetti falling from the ceiling because that totally happened in my mind*) That's also my lowest body fat percentage, so I'm a happy girl.

(*I'll write about the new trainer once we've had a few more sessions.)(You know, to be fair and all.)(Spoiler: he's not a meathead.)

I'll leave you with this crappy iPhone picture awesome shot of my Saturday night 13 Years of Wedded Bliss Anniversary Date cheat meal. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :)

What you can't see - my turkey sandwich is on cranberry walnut bread. Also on my sandwich? Apples. And yes, that *is* diet coke. #partyhard

And that's why I married him

Scene: It is late last night. Brian has just returned from a Bible study at Panera. I am sitting on the couch, averting my eyes in shame.

Kelly: Babe, I need to say something.

Brian: *totally nervous* Um, yeah?

Kelly: I just ate EVERYTHING. I had a totally bad day and the kids were awful and both my workouts sucked and I came home from the gym and all the chores were still left AND I'M TOTALLY PMS-ING and I can't even talk about all the food I just put in my body especially all the ice cream. *sniffles a little bit*

Brian: Well-

Kelly: *completely interrupts* and I'm just so mad because this is the first time I've binged during this whole thing. I mean, my Mexican Feast was a decided upon bad choice - it was almost like it was premeditated - and Easter was a bunch of small bad choices but all limited to meals. Tonight I just ATEALLTHEJUNK. I wasn't even really hungry; I just ate because I was mad. And it didn't make me happy at all.

Brian: I know the supportive husband in me should feel so bad because you've been working so hard for so long, but my first honest thought was, "YES! Maybe she'll get her boobs back."

Kelly: *laughs* *smacks him upside the head* *uses the opportunity to ask for a Mommy Makeover again*

Marriage, ya'll.

Doctor Mario and the Super Heroes

I get a lot of emails from companies that mainly want me to hock their crap for free. I delete about 99 percent of them. I don't blog in order to sell wraps, or pills, or nutrition supplements. I blog because it's fun. I don't even pursue the possibility of this becoming a paying gig because I'm too lazy. I don't really market myself at all, and have relied mainly on word of mouth to grow the population on my little corner of the internet. (So far? Stellar plan.)

However. I received an email from a man named Dr. Mario Trucillo, the Managing Editor of a new health and wellness site called American Recall Center that I could not throw away. (Not an affiliate link, not a sponsored post.) My initial thought upon seeing an email from Dr. Mario was of course Nintendo, which encouraged me to read the first two paragraphs. After that, I then knew I was all in.

I was asked to write a post about my health hero as a part of their Who Keeps You Healthy? campaign. An entire post giving props to the people that have helped me lose and keep off one hundred pounds. What an opportunity!

I thought of all the obvious people.

These faces? Seriously.

My children, because what better motivation to be healthy than being able to stick around for most of their lives? What better motivation than making those years that I'm around be years of quality so I can be the mom who can run and play at the park, or get down on the floor to put together the Winnie the Pooh puzzle for the four thousandth time, or make up dances with the girlies after lunch? My children are definitely my Health Heroes.

still the only picture of us *not* in our lovely tri suits

Then I thought of Sarah. Most of you know Sarah as my friend/triathlon training partner. Sarah is so much more than that to me. Sarah is my family. She took me under her wings after we met in a triathlon swim class. She sacrificed her own training times in order to take me on my first road bike ride. She organized and got me through my first open water swim. She paced me during my first practice triathlon, all while letting me use her road bike. She is soooooo much faster than me, and yet she ran with me while I could barely breathe and even made stupid small talk (which she hates) during my first 10k so I could just get through it. She's gifted me in enumerable ways with equipment and other material resources that made it possible for me to enjoy one of the more expensive sports out there. And that's just our past relationship.

Currently, Sarah pushes me. Constantly. She meets me at the gym and tells me I can do just a little bit more. She encourages me and is interested in my fitness even if it's away from the sport of triathlon. (Although she is the only reason I am still swimming in that awful frigid water at Lifetime Fitness.) She's even started "lifting heavy" because Kemper is a drug I peddle to anyone who will listen. So Sarah is definitely my Health Hero.

But how can I forget Kemper? Anyone who has read this blog over the past two months knows what Kemper has done in my life. I met him in late February, weighing 168 pounds with a 37% body fat composition. He sat with me and talked about making changes in my diet because I was about to lose my mind in frustration. (You can read about that conversation here.) I often tell people that Kemper "adopted" me. He didn't try to sell me anything - training sessions, supplements, or detox plans. He just gave me the gift of his time and knowledge. He told me how to eat and he showed me how to workout. He introduced me to lifting weights (which I freaking LOVE). He took an interest in my health and I give him so much credit for my success. My last weigh in showed me at 153 pounds and 27% body fat. Those are huge results. Kemper continues to support me even though he's left my gym, and has made himself available to me if when I have questions. Kemper is my Health Hero.

But then I thought of one person who trumps everybody else.

Almost 13 years of marriage and 4 kids
Still mostly sane.
Still crazy in love.

This man right here is the reason I am able to chase after the dream of a healthy body. My husband Brian has loved me at 5'3" tall and 253 pounds. He didn't love me "in spite of" my weight. Honestly, when he looks back at pictures of the old me it's apparent that he didn't even see the weight at the time. He loves me now, at 5'3.5" tall and 153 pounds, and I know he will continue to love me whatever size the future (and my choices) may bring. My husband Brian is the sole reason that I can live the life I do. 

Brian supports my food choices even when I'm being a PITA about them it's not fun. He works to figure out how to buy certain foods even though they are more expensive choices because I feel it is important. He makes it as easy as possible for me to maintain my dietary lifestyle, asking if I have a plan about what I am going to eat if we go out or travel, and how he can help with it.

Brian also works 11-12 hour days and then comes home and does dinner clean up and bedtime with the kiddos so that I can go to the gym. On Saturday and Sunday mornings he gets up with kids because I am already at the gym. He has surprised me with money to go get new workout clothes. He budgets to be able to afford my gym membership. He never complains that there are dumbbells on our dresser, or foam rollers by our bed, or that I hang my swim cap and goggles on the bathroom door handle to dry.

He actively listens to monologues filled with details about deadlift form, protein sources, and my speedwork on the treadmill even though he cares NOTHING about any of those things. He can quote Elliott Hulse and Kemper because he always asks about what I'm learning. In short, he is my partner in everything I do - whether he actively participates with me - or not.

Brian is truly my biggest Health Hero.


So a great big, giant, fat THANK YOU to all my Health Heroes. I love you all to pieces, you are all in my heart, and I am forever grateful for all you have been and done in my life.

A Brand New and Totally Effective Diet

This is my teenage life summed up in one picture.
I had a huge crush on the guitar player.
(Of course I did.)
"STAND DOWN" - Boy Sets Fire

I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter. I started the day with an early bird workout at the gym. It was leg day and also coincided with the first time I wore my earbuds while lifting. Apparently I feel much freer to grunt when I am focused on the music and not on the sounds I am personally making. I discovered this during a break between songs.

In unrelated news, I now listen to my iPod on a much lower volume.


(I have been pretend drumming for listening to Boy Sets Fire* for a two week stretch now. It's kinda impossible to fully enjoy Boy Sets Fire on anything less than the loudest setting possible. I've caught myself lip-syncing "SILENCE KILLS THE REVOLUTION" with all the passion it requires while on the treadmill. I don't feel ridiculous about this at all and instead choose to feel sorry for all the pretentious people at Lifetime who do not get to be pretend rock stars in their heads while exercising.)

(*I traveled to Chicago waaaaay back in 1998 with my friends Melanie and Josh to see Boy Sets Fire play in a bowling alley that also hosted late night rock shows.)(It was rad.)

(Brian hates Boy Sets Fire.)
(He also won't let me in his band.)
(The obvious conclusion we can draw is that Brian could not recognize musical genius even if it lived with him.)

After my Easter morning workout I hurried out to the parking lot because I knew in order to fully celebrate this beauty was waiting for me:

I know what you are thinking. "Kelly, you are a vision of loveliness first thing in the morning   are you naturally that white or do you work at it?  did you really sit in the parking lot of Lifetime Fitness and eat a Reese's Peanut Butter egg?"
Sure did, y'all.
#4gramsofprotein #Kemperwouldbeproud (Because I'm pretty sure Reese's is exactly what he had in mind when he told me to eat carbs after a workout.)

Easter was a struggle for me. I think the real problem was I had no plan on how to handle all the special holiday food. I knew I was going to allow myself some leeway (hence, the peanut butter egg), but I had to navigate a church brunch potluck and the actual Easter meal at my mom's house, and my only thought was, "Let's just see how it goes." Bad idea.

This is literally the only picture I have
from Easter. It's a blurry cell phone
picture of me and my sister. You're
welcome. (For the record, it's clear I
am taller.) 

When I take last year into account, I did fantastically well. But for this year, and knowing my current goals - blah. At brunch I ate ALLTHEFRUIT because I don't normally eat a lot of fruit, so kiwi and strawberries were like candy to me. I ate egg casserole that looked like it was loaded with spinach, but I also really really really enjoyed a homemade blueberry muffin. (To be honest, I enjoyed that muffin more than the Reese's egg.)(Please don't tell - I don't want to spoil the good thing going on between me and Reese's. We have a special relationship - it's eggselent.)(Oh no, she didn't.)

At my mom's I just ate too much. My stepdad is an amazing cook and he bought kielbasa and fresh pierogi at the Polish market. It was all so good. I also had a piece of cinnamon swirl bread and lemon cake for dessert.

At home that night I stood on the scale and was all, "Yep." Last week I weighed 154.3 at my weigh in. Easter night that scale read 157. ONE FIFTY SEVEN. Of course I totally panicked and began thinking all these disordered thoughts like, "I should totally go run at 4:00 tomorrow morning. And not eat all day. And hit Core Blast and lift before my weigh in. HEY! Maybe I can even skip my Monday weigh in and show up Tuesday. That would buy me a full extra day!" Thankfully I'm not completely stupid and the part of me that is rational was all, "Dude. Don't be crazy. You need a full night's sleep. You need to return to your normal food tomorrow. You need to drink a crapton of water. You need to do your normal workout, and then you need to SUCK IT UP AND FACE THE MUSIC and go get weighed on your normal night because you are not a cheater." Which? Is totally what happened.

I really thought most of that weight gain had to do with sodium and being bloated from all the crap food. So on Monday I pounded water like nobody's business. I spent most of Monday peeing feeling like while I enjoyed all that food, it certainly didn't change my life, and I'd much rather be down 15 pounds than eat like that all the time.

Monday night was upper body lifting followed by Core Blast. After that I went over to the trainer desk and tried to find a Kemper Replacement to weigh me in. (Which? TOTALLY won't ever happen.)(Because Kemper is completely irreplaceable unless Elliott Hulse shows up and then all bets are off.) Andrew, the trainer who offered to weigh me in, while being a fine young gentleman, totally didn't want to joke with me at all was all business because he had a client warming up on the treadmill. I had to tell him all the vital information that Kemper already knew - you know, the important things like my age and height - so I tried not to be bitter that I had to verbalize that info (*rolls eyes and enjoys her first world problems of missing the trainer that was so generous with his time*) while waiting for the scale to out me for my Easter noshing.

The damage? I lost 1.3 pounds. I weighed in at 153. I also lost .2% body fat. (Down to a solid 27%.)

So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm now on the new Reese's Peanut Butter Egg diet because it's totally effective.

(Just kidding, Kemper.)

Five on Friday - Automatic Responses

Here are a few common situations I face in my life and the ways I automatically respond to them.


1. Scene: Entering Lifetime Fitness - Every time I enter the gym I see this sign on the glass in the lobby:

Automatic response: I think, "not these guns." *mentally flexes my biceps*


2. Scene: At least one child every.single.day. whines, "Mo-om! I can't find my ______."

Automatic response: I think, "It's up your butt and around the corner." You can take the girl away from the 80's, but you can't take the 80's from the girl.

A perm, a boombox, and throwing up peace signs? It's like the 80's puked allllll over this mess.
I think we can all agree the 80's were good to me.

3. Scene: Hears birds chirping before the sunrise.

Automatic response: I think of breastfeeding. This is mainly because the first time I consistently heard birds ring in the new day it was during the hellish period of adjusting to a newborn while bonding with the tiny life I'd created as I nourished her from my own body. Now it's almost a Pavlovian response.
(Now *you* will forever associate pre-dawn bird chirping with breastfeeding. I'm like the gift that keeps on giving.)


4. Brian's new favorite video - Jim Rome on Gym Guy:

Scene: I walk in the house upon returning from the gym.

Brian's automatic response: "KELLY! Hurry and get in your protein! YOU DO NOT MAKE YOUR MUSCLES WAIT FOR PROTEIN! GET THAT PROTEIN NOOOOOOOOOW."

(Don't worry - I totally did already in the car on the way home.)


5. Scene: Jason Derulo sings "Talk Respectfully* to Me" (*how this young man should speak to a SAHM mama) while I'm driving the Ford Flex.

Automatic response: My freaking hips take over my body and I become the best dancer in the entire world. There is something truly magical about Jason telling me my "booty don't need explaining" that makes me throw all caution to the wind and let it do it's thang. YOU DO YOU, BOOTY.
(Lest you think I'm exaggerating in standard Sublurban Mama form the driver of the car next to me last night totally affirmed my effort with a gigantic smile.)

See you Monday when I share the extensive report on how I enjoyed the Reese's Peanut Butter Egg I am saving for after my LEG DAY workout Sunday morning. It will keep you on the edge of your seat. (Almost like me, barely able to be on the edge of my seat after Leg Day.) Happy Friday! Happy Easter!

Linking up with Clare at Fitting It All In.

Five on Friday - If Moms Ruled the Gym

Things I would say if Moms Ruled the Gym.

1. "Honey girl, go put on a t-shirt. There is too much boobs happening to attempt that run/elliptical/burpee."

2. "Watch your mouth, young man. I may have rendered myself invisible due to my Mom Ponytail and "birthing hips", but I am right freaking next to you and I don't want to hear about your junk."

3. "You sir, are grounded from the dumbbells for one week. Maybe that will teach you not to leave them in the middle of the floor for anyone to trip over."

4. "Thank you, People That Wash and Fold the Towels, for washing and folding the towels." "Thank you, People That Clean the Toilets and Showers, for cleaning the toilets and showers. Also, for restocking the toilet paper." (Also, totally random, but I find myself wanting to get Kemper settled down with a nice girl and give him long term financial advice. Because Mom.)

5. "Look at you lift that weight/finish that run/hold that pose/show up to exercise! You are improving every day - I am so proud of you."

Also, this conversation happened this morning:

Kelly: *upon returning from an early bird workout* BABE. I totally upped my weight on shoulder press, leg press, and dead lift. I also did drop sets for chest press and row. You are in the presence of a MOTHER FREAKING CHAMPION. *flexes*

Brian: *is still waking up as he puts on his shoes for work*

Kelly: *still flexing* BABE. Look at my bicep. It's totally like a little baby bicep that is happening.

Brian: *squints*

Kelly: Can you see it?

Brian: *squints* *reaches forward to squeeze*

Kelly: Don't touch it! It will go away.


Yep. Beast Mode activated.

*Linking up with Clare at Fitting It All In*

Elephant Noises Optional

This poor guy spent his birthday at Urgent Care ruling out strep throat. I've since promised that we can extend his birthday as many days as he wants. I don't know exactly what that promise entails, but I'm sure I can count on the request for burritos for dinner for the entirety of the week. Also, because he's sick and I'm totally in loooooooove with the man, I will probably make him that pretzel/cream cheese/jello dessert thing he loves even though I totally already slaved away for hours over the Sara Lee frozen cheesecake we initially celebrated with.

Happy 36th Birthday, Babe. You are my favorite person in this whole world. There is no one I would rather laugh with. You've kept life fun from the moment I met you. Anyone whose first order of business as a married man is to declare we each need wrestling names (because of course there will be wrestling)(I still firmly believe you needed a sibling growing up) is a keeper in my book. Thank you for always supporting me, for being a wonderful papa to our little monsters, and for letting me spend your paycheck (#iain'tsayingsheagolddigger) being my best friend. Love, Captain Top Rope

As well as being Brian's birthday, yesterday was also another weigh in day. This was my first weigh in since adding in "lifting heavy." I did the same workout on Friday and Sunday that I did with Kemper on Tuesday. Because of Brian's work schedule, the only time I can make the gym on Friday is 4:30 a.m. This worked to my advantage as I was totally freaking out of my mind about being on that side of the gym by myself. I figured going in that early would make it a little easier. I was halfway right.

I started my workout with a five minute treadmill warm up. Since I didn't bring my iPod I could hear everything around me. Normally I am fully plugged in and channeling my inner rock star, but I didn't want to lug it around with me so I went au natural. I'm so glad I did.

This appeals to the mom side of me
so much. 

Lifetime Fitness in the evening is pretty busy. Consequently, it's a bit loud. They have music playing overhead, but you really have to purpose to hear it over the din of so many people. Lifetime Fitness at 4:30 a.m. is no where near as busy, but I was surprised to see around 30 people greeting the sunrise by breaking a sweat. There were about five men lifting on Friday. I'm calling them the Rack 'Em Symphony Chorus (SERIOUSLY?! THAT IS THE BEST DETROIT MUSIC SCHOOL NERD JOKE I'VE EVER MADE.)(I seriously had to take a blogging break because I had to make a mental list of everyone that would love that joke.)(All six of them are getting links to this post.)

The Rack 'Em Symphony Chorus is really a trio (and two quiet dudes) who are the most vocal lifters I could ever imagine. The first, obviously a bass, grunts in staccato bursts. He is not only picking the key, but keeping the beat. The second, in true baritone form, fills in with constant yells of "YEEEAAAAAHHHHH," just to keep the sound big. And the final man, my obvious favorite, is the tenor soloist who, I'm not even kidding, made sounds like an elephant.

I wished I had a program to see where they all studied.

My new mission in life is to see where I can fit in, making their trio a quartet. I think we could make big money doing weddings.

Mine are actually black
and pink. source

As far as the lifting goes, I did really well. I bought my own wrist wraps from some Crossfit type store on line and they are doing their job. My favorite part of the whole experience was when I was done waiting for the leg press, the guy who was finished attempted to take off his weights (because his mama didn't raise no dummy and taught the boy to re-rack that mess) and I was all, "That's cool. You can leave it all," because I am a rock star bad A who was lifting the same amount as him.

Then I traded all my cool points for poor form on my dead lifts, but don't worry, I youtubed dead lift form this weekend and also talked to Kemper on Monday, so I think I'm okay.

Weigh in verdict? One week "lifting heavy" - I lost FOUR AND A HALF pounds, and 1.7% body fat. Some of that is because I gained .5 pounds last week, but most of it is a solid loss earned this week. I'm a believer.

That Time I Got Mistaken for Kim Kardashian

I've survived another weigh in. After a second week of PROTEIN FEST 2014, I lost 1 pound and 1.5% body fat. I'll take it because I have to.

I wish I wasn't being such a crabby pants cry baby about this. But I totally am. I was fully expecting a "First Week on the Biggest Loser Ranch" type loss which is not only delusional but unhealthy. Kemper could tell right away I wanted to destroy the scale with my bare hands when the results popped up. I was all, "THE HECK?" And I maybe even dropped a baby swear when I described the way "I worked my AAAAYYYY off strength training this week. Dude. Seriously*."

*"Dude. Seriously." - You know I'm in bad shape when my verbal tick shows up.

Honestly, this isn't a weight loss issue. This is an expectation issue. These expectations stem from the realities of 253 Pound Kelly who could lose five pounds a week thinking about exercise. (Okay, it was never that easy.) But at 253 pounds I had to make very few changes to see immediate results. I could downgrade my large fries to a small and see a loss. I could refuse the second bowl of nightly ice cream. 160 Pound Kelly needs to realize that my body is used to regular exercise and a steady diet of whole foods and it is going to take a bit more (or a bit longer) to see any significant change in my body.

So today, when I have absolutely no accurate perspective of the results from the work I have been putting in, I'm turning to two outside sources. One is Kemper who said, "You lost a pound, but you lost 1.5% body fat. That's really good." So today I know I am stronger than last week. Also I am turning to my husband who, after listening to me whine for 45 minutes that "the scale at Lifetime Fitness was obviously broken and that has to be the problem and not the two three cookies I ate over the weekend", finally interrupted my ranting to say, "Kel, there are people in Africa who are starving to death." Which really snapped me out of it because Jeez-Louise I was turning into Kim Kardashian except that I look much better when I cry.

So from now on I am going to be happy about life. I am doing what I need to do. I am moving my body. I finally had my first post injury non-stop three mile run. My injured neck and shoulder lifted ten pounds in each hand for shoulder press. (Which is a huge improvement from a month ago.) I am choosing good foods to fuel my body (the cookies don't count)(because they were gift cookies)(bakery gift cookies)(which I'm pretty sure are calorie-free and have 100 grams of protein each), and I am drinking so. much. water. I have not had pop or coffee in two weeks and I don't miss them. My clothes are fitting better. Those are victories.

Hoo-rah.

"I think your garage is on fire." "Cool. Thanks man."

There are many differences between men and women.

For example, at 9:30 Sunday night, when a couple is half way through the much anticipated return of Walking Dead, and they hear an unanticipated knock at the door, the man will stride confidently to answer the door, while the woman will beg him to take a weapon because who comes over unannounced on a Sunday night?

The man will check out the window, open the front door, and through the storm door say, "HEY. HOW CAN I HELP YOU, MAN?" The woman will stand looking out the front window silently lamenting that her man does not even have a baseball bat with him, because surely anyone knocking on the front door late at night is out to cause great bodily harm. I mean, she has seen movies about home invasion.

The man knocking on the door will say, "Sorry, bro, I was just driving by and there is a lot of smoke in your driveway. Like, it's on fire. There are flames next to your garage." The woman listening will begin to freak the heck out, because of course there really is no fire, this is how young man lures your man outside where a gang of bandits rape and pillage the entirety of your household. Because, the Bible*.

*this may be a minor taking out of context the account of Sodom and the angry mob outside of Lot's door.

The man of the house will hear the words "smoke", "fire", and "flames" and respond calmly, "Thanks, man." He will gently close and lock the front door, put on his coat, and walk through the kitchen to the garage door. The woman will hear those same words and, mixed with her skepticism about the reality of said fire, be all, "WHY AREN'T YOU PANICKING AND PLEASE TAKE A WEAPON."

The man will open the garage door, say, "Stay here," and serenely stroll into the dreaded abyss. The women will dash through the house to see if she can see anything through the front window. When that proves insufficient she will dash back to the garage door and open it a teensy bit in order to check the status of her beloved's life, and her beloved will be shoveling snow onto the actual fire in front of the garage and yell at her, "CLOSE THE DOOR," because when plastic melts there are toxins.

The woman will forget the fire and be all, "Dude, he yelled at me," and return to watching The Walking Dead.

The man will come inside and say, "I guess the embers were still hot."

The woman will say, "WHAT?"

The man will explain, "When I cleaned out the fireplace I emptied the coals into the plastic bag inside the plastic garbage can."

The woman will respond (incredulously), "You didn't think maybe it would melt anything?"

"Yeah, that's why I put it outside our garage. Because I learned from the last time I started a fire in the garage*. Don't worry, it's out now."

The woman will think practically. "Is our garbage can okay?"

The man will laugh and respond, "No, it's totally gone. Once the snow I put on top of it melts you'll be able to see the handle. That's all that's left."

There you have it. The main difference between men and women? A women won't let a little thing like a fire interrupt the mid-season premiere of The Walking Dead.



*When we were engaged I was out of town and Brian celebrated his last bachelor Fourth of July by setting off large amounts of fireworks at his parents house. He disposed of these fireworks in the garbage can inside of their garage. His mother awoke to a garage filled with flames. Thankfully the house was spared. Brian, however, will never live it down as long as I have a blog.

Weekend Update - Tuesday is the New Monday

*Insert dramatic proclamation about the intensity of the weather and the havoc it is wreaking upon my life*

TL;DR = It's been coooooooold.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I feel so much better now.

Friday I braved the sub-zero temps to take four children to the grocery store to pick up a few essentials. That night was our turn to babysit (we swap with Chris and Stacy down the street) and with the prospect of eight children under the age of ten (six under the age of six!) "essentials" meant hot dogs and bakery cookies. 

I'm a really great babysitter.

Once we filled the kiddos up with those nutritional powerhouses the only thing left to do was dress up and have a dance party. (The girlies dressed up. The little boys wrestled with each other the only way two little boys each with three sisters can wrestle. That is, fervently.) Everyone got in on the dance action, including the one year old, who would raise her arms in the air and then crawl in a circle when the feeling got really intense. And a dance party to Switchfoot is always a bit intense.

When we completely tuckered out the kiddos, we plugged them all into a video. I snuggled with baby Anastasia while I fed her a bottle (and my ovaries exploded a little) and then hung out with Chris and Stacy when they got back from their date while the kiddos finished their movie.

I got up early Saturday to do the rest of the grocery shopping (because although hot dogs and bakery cookies sound divine as a week long meal plan, Brian made me go get vegetables being a responsible adult I knew we needed some healthy choices as well).

(Lately I've been grocery shopping at 6:00 on Saturday morning. I'm a morning person so this is not as horrendous as it sounds. There are pros and cons to shopping this early. A pro? Store is about empty of customers. Con? The aisles are filled with boxes as employees restock. Another con - my store only has self-checkout available that early. Can I just say that their is nothing quite as stressful as doing self-checkout when you are buying your weekly groceries? I've never felt so incompetent in my life. I am now thoroughly convinced cashiers have secret powers for scanning the barcode the first go around.)

I hit the gym at 9:30. I met Sarah on the treadmill. I did a five minute warm up while we chatted a bit, and then I left to bike. My heel has been acting up ever since my four minute run cycle, so I took a week off from running to see if it will calm the heck down. I was pleasantly surprised to pull a 16 mph ride out of my tush (ha - literally), and logged 9.7 miles on the bike before Sarah put me through a torturous arm workout.

(I was all stretched and ready to shower when Sarah was all, "I'm just going to do this quick arm workout; want to join me?" For those of you who are confused and think that quick means something that happens in a short amount of time, there is a new element to the definition of quick; quick = it will wreck your triceps and shoulders for the next three days. We did some planking, pushups, tricep dips, shoulder presses, and bicep curls. I tried not to look miserable and like I could totally keep up with Sarah the whole time.)(I'm a really great actor.)(Sike.)

Saturday night we were invited to Colleen and Andy's house for dinner. They have three little boys so Ezra was in heaven. We had fajitas and Colleen made from scratch brownies that made me realize how delusional I am about box mixes. Never again, Duncan Hines. The thing I love most about Colleen and Andy is that I feel like we all click with one another. It's awesome to be able to chat with any adult in the room like they are your family.

Sunday started too early. I got up with the kiddos, but Eve ended up needing to stay home from church because of calf pain. I totally googled her symptoms and diagnosed her with BACM because apparently I'm an internet doctor. She spent all day drinking water and lounging around on the couch. I did lesson plans, laundry, and organized my Pinterest boards, so yeah, it was a party.

Sunday night we celebrated Lauren's birthday. I dressed up by showering. Kidding. (But for real, I *did* shower.) I also put on adult clothes and a bit of makeup. We had dinner with Lauren, her husband, and a few other couples at a restaurant nearby. I had the best sweet potato fries. For those that missed it, LAUREN IS PREGNANT AND IT IS A GIRL! (Can you tell I am excited?)

That's it for my weekend escapades. Thanks for pretending it is still Monday and not late Tuesday night so this post makes a little bit of sense. (But tomorrow you can totally resume business as usually.)(Because we do not want to miss Wednesday.)

Never gets old. Except when it does.

Getting Old Sucks

Over Christmas we received a version of this catalog in the mail.

This exchange followed:

Brian: Don't tell me they are bringing the Walkman back.

Kelly: No, honey, those are robot vacuums.

Great Scott, Marty! It's the future!*

(*Proof you are old? You understood that reference.)
Happy Friday!

P.S. In some other housekeeping news (no, she did *not* drop a housekeeping pun during a vacuum joke post)(no, she did *not* drop a vacuum joke post), less than 2 percent of you that follow me through Facebook are receiving my notifications when I post*. (One way you can fix this travesty is to follow me via Bloglovin or Google Friend Connect. Just click on the fancy buttons on the right of your screen and voila! you are totally always in the know.) But if Facebook is truly where you check for stuff, please, go to my Facebook page, hover over the "Liked" button, and check "Get Notifications", not just "Show in News Feed". Please and thank you. I would be forever grateful.

P.P.S. *Mark Zuckerberg? More like Mark "Suck"erberg. 

For moms thisclose to losing their shizz. Like, literally. (A.K.A. Combing The Desert**)

Spaceballs - proof the '80s were good to us.

Reporting Live! from the front lines of the War on Poop (in pants).

We decided two months before Christmas to start preparing Ezra for our No Turning Back Potty Training Tour, which was scheduled to begin December 26, 2013. The highlights of this tour included an absolute NO RETURNING TO DIAPERS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE rule, and a solid week of staying at home. We said things like, "Hey Dude, after Christmas diapers are all gone," and "After Christmas you get to wear BIG BOY UNDERWEAR!"

The big day began with the fetal position and screaming. Once I got a hold of myself Ezra was upright and stopped screaming, "I WANT MY DIAPER" we were good to begin.

Day one was wet. Very, very wet. We set a timer and took little man to the potty every 15 minutes. I fulfilled my weekly squat quota in just under an hour between toilet time and laundry. (Note to self: Market a Potty Training Workout to better your booty. Then watch Shaun T struggle to come up with a more extreme alternative.)

Day two was slightly drier. We kept Ezra captive with wheat thins and the job of Master of the Television Remote. The older kiddos started saying things like, "Monsters University again?" but I held firm; anything to keep little man from total mutiny.

Day three we got the call that my GRANDfather died. The next day would be the viewing. It was 40 minutes away and would require we look presentable. (Insert evil suspense music.) We were still using the potty every 15 minutes and while it was drier than day one, keeping pee out of the underpants was still hit or miss.

At the funeral home Ezra stayed contained and acted appropriately in every manner. That's the new way I'm describing him borrowing people's phones to play Angry Birds and sneaking away to take pictures of my GRANDfather in his casket. Since the funeral home also had an indoor playscape (oh, you mean the four steps up to the next landing in the lobby that are the perfect height for jumping off while screeching "YEEEAAHH!" isn't really a playscape?) he worked out all the "I spent all morning cooped up at church, followed by a scenic Sunday drive to get to this building where everyone is somber and you are supposed to act reserved" ants in his pants throughout the visitation.

Me, Cassie, and my future SIL Natalia.
That's how you do family. BOOM.

We continued to take him to the bathroom every 15 minutes or so, which really helped me have time to connect with my out of state family. I had many deep, meaningful conversations that went something like, "Hey, my Only Brother in the Whole World! How are you? OHMYLANTA you got engaged last night?! And my future sister-in-law is standing right here with her gorgeous ring? Tell me all about the proposal. I want to hear every detail - oh, I need to take Ezra to the potty. I'll be right back. DON'T MOVE."

Ezra actually stayed dry until around 4:00. I put him in plastic pants as an extra measure of protection in case there were any accidents. This allowed a layer of protection and provided three surprise perks to the potty training process. First, it actually contained the mess when he finally crapped his pants that afternoon. Secondly, the plastic also held any body heat he generated from jumping up and down the stairs. This resulted in the following restroom conversation about a dozen times.

Kelly: Hey Dude, are you wet?
*Kelly and Ezra both feel his underpants. They are slightly damp all over.*
Ezra: No wet.
Kelly: I think you are right. I think it's just sweat.

(Of course, because we are efficient we developed a convenient shorthand:
Kelly: Wet?
Ezra: Just sweat.)

The final benefit of the plastic pants was the awesome rash that resulted from hours of stewing in his own tush sweat.

(#ParentingTip = if you want to experience extreme potty training, add a layer of A&D ointment to the diaper area of your child. Having effectively greased up your child, challenge him to stay seated on the toilet. Award bonus points for any horizontal dismount that may occur.)

Things were actually progressing better than I thought they could, given the circumstances. Even with his one accident, Ezra proved to be my favorite child ever when he finally pooped his pants during Brian's turn to take him to the potty.

Since Brian is a really good dad and believes a child should experience natural consequences for their actions, he required Ezra to carry the little blue bag we used to hold his poopy underpants. This bag was tiny, fragranced, and, most importantly double-knotted, so I had to agree this was a fair plan.

As we made our rounds to say goodbye (we thought it best to leave on our personal high note of crapping our pants and stealing all the cookies from the deli trays left out in the family area of the funeral home) I jokingly told everyone possible a few trusted individuals that Ezra was carrying a bag of poop. (This is because I value discretion and understand appropriate conversation topics at the viewing of a loved one.)(Also, poop is hilarious and "Boy, that Kelly, she's sure a hoot".)

This was amusing until we were on our way out the door and realized Ezra no longer had the blue bag of poop.

If you want to know the reason you end up at a funeral home quietly asking all your relatives if they've seen your bag of poop, this is it. And when no one can find it you will have to check with the kind staff, being as vague and diplomatic about the missing item as possible:

Kelly: May I check your office for my blue bag? My little boy had it and I wondered if he dropped it while he was in here stealing all the candy off your desk visiting earlier.
Funeral Home Worker: Sure, honey. Is that the one with the poop in it?
Kelly: *open and closed dumbstruck guppy mouth*
Funeral Home Worker: I'm sure it will turn up.

Thankfully you will find it stashed on the podium before your uncle gives the eulogy, and sneak out clutching it while pretending to be invisible. Unfortunately your invisibility skills are sorely in need of practice, because two different people will comment on your way out, "Oh good! You found it."

**The only thing that will run through your mind is a super inappropriate scene from SpaceBalls, and you will picture yourself as an African American man in the desert with a giant pick replying, "I ain't found (Holy Ghost edit)." Which? Almost redeems that part of your day.

Heinz 57 (the post where we ketchup)

Seriously. I've been doing stuff and things.

This is how relationships die.

You're plugging along, living life, enjoying the relationships you've be blessed with, and suddenly busyness locks you in a choke hold. Not even fun busyness either, but the time consumption that comes from putting out a dozen little fires daily.

By the time you've survived the day, you lie* in bed at night (*totally correct - I Grammar Girled that mess) thinking of all the things you didn't get to, and communicating with loved ones falls into that category. "Tomorrow," you hazily think as you collapse into blissful unconsciousness.

The problem is that eventually too many "tomorrows" pile up, making the amount of sharing needing to happen grow into a monster sized accumulation of correspondence. This is wholly overwhelming, and cannot be undertaken in five minute bites and chews.

"I can't call because I only have twenty minutes and wouldn't know where even to begin with that amount of time." "This weekend I'll set aside a whole day just to catch up," and Saturday finds you grocery shopping at 5:00 a.m. just because you can't fit it in anywhere else in the entire day. (Hypothetically.)

This is where I find myself with blogging. How can I write a post about my return to running if I haven't even written that I NOW BELONG TO LIFETIME FITNESS?! How can I write about potty training when I haven't finished writing my post on grieving my GRANDfather, which includes the dawn of our potty training saga? How can I speak on dealing with weight gain when I haven't even written about BLACK FRIDAY* and the experiences in the dressing room which were the catalyst for admitting said weight gain?

(*I'm pretty sure we can agree that the Black Friday Recap Post ship has sailed. I mean, I'm pretty flexible about the unwritten blogging rules, (i.e. I make mine up as I go along) but I think a good general rule is to write about something within the same calendar year it happened.)

My brain can't consolidate any of that stuff, I get totally overwhelmed, and I'm left with the mantra (usually said in corpse position)(while under my covers in bed at night)(it's my own personal yoga studio)(#healthnut) "I'll blog tomorrow."

I don't want our relationship to die. So here is my Heinz 57 post. (I briefly thought about writing 57 bullet points of updates but then I had the epiphany of fifty seven bullet points, so I bailed on that plan.)(You're welcome.)

1. Ezra is sloooowly learning to pee in the potty. This was, of course, up until he got sick yesterday. He spent a miserable day dozing on the couch, with frequent breaks to throw up and/or scream for me to hold his hand. His fever has been a pretty consistent 101 degrees, so I'm not too worried. After having to physically carry him to the potty the third time, The Best Mom in the World said, "Forget this", and put him in a diaper. Smartest decision I made all day. (Which says a lot about the rest of the day.)(Or my decision making ability.) He asked, "I have diaper on?" every half an hour or so, effectively giving him the go-ahead to pee while still reclining on the couch, so, under certain standards, it was a pretty great day for him.

2. I had my first post-injury run on Saturday. It was brutal. I'm a hot mess. I'm writing a post called, "Bouncing Back from Injury". (Sike. I don't know what it will be called yet. Probably something sensationalist that really misleads the reader because I'm a creative genius.)

3. Lauren is PREGNANT. My bestie is having her first kid. My oldest will be able to babysit her oldest (in about two years). I'm gonna be an aunt! (A friend-like-a-sister aunt.)

4. My master plan to finally get cable totally backfired. I got Brian hooked on back seasons of The Walking Dead. Because we don't have cable our internet connection is snail like. After watching season 4, episodes 6 and 7 via Brian's iPhone, his data for the month ran out. I thought, "This is it. I'm finally getting cable. We have the mid-season cliffhanger finale left before the show resumes in February. One stinkin' little episode is going to get me cable!" I started daydreaming about House Hunter marathons, the deep clean my kitchen receives after watching Hoarders, and not messing any longer with rabbit ear antenna. Brian crushed my dreams by upgrading his iPhone data plan.

We huddled around his iPhone like fiends and watched the finale all zombie-like. (Yeah, I went there.) The current dilemma is what we do on February 9 when the shows returns.

Unrelated: Is creating a Kickstarter fund to raise money for cable out of the question? Asking for a friend.

I wish I had a fancy way to finish this post, but it's simply that my allocated time to write is gone, so I have to wrap it up. Esther and Ezra just woke up and they are discussing the merits of different methods of vomiting. That's a good place to end for today, don't you think?

Thanks for visiting. Let's do this again soon, OK?