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.

Some call it "Fourth Place"; I prefer to think of it as "Third from Winning"

"Duuuuude, Kel, nice job on FOURTH place. You
must be soooo stoked and like, super fast, man."

So I totally did it.  I may have cried a little.  But I FINISHED THE RACE. I also may have placed fourth in my age group.  (Please don't harsh my buzz by reminding me there were only four in my age group.)

Thank you for all the prayers on my Facebook plea Friday night. My triathlon was on Saturday. My LAST CHANCE Thursday evening swim workout ended about fifteen minutes after it started.  I was stuck behind a slower swimmer and had to switch from freestyle to breaststroke.  I wasn't really concentrating and made a lame attempt at the breaststroke kick and tweaked my knee.  I tried water walking on it and it hurt so soon I just got out of the pool. 

On Friday night Sarah came over to look at it.  (How did I manage to get a training partner that is also in orthopedics?!)  She thought it was a bruised meniscus and told me how to treat it.  She encouraged me to go to the race as planned, and if I needed to, I could always DROP OUT.  All I could think of was a huge DNF next to my name.  What a struggle - do I try and risk a Did Not Finish - or do I just throw in the towel and not try at all?

I trained and trained my tush off for this race.  I only do one triathlon a year because I have four kids and they have some pretty messed up priorities.  I mean, they would rather have money to eat dinner than allow the woman who birthed them to participate in numerous triathlons.  How selfish.  So this was my one shot this year. *Enter Eminem's Lose Yourself swelling in the background like a wave ready to crash on the beach of Lake Huron* (Compatible simile FTW.)

"I love open water swimming.  Also, if you smile wide
enough you can almost forget this water is about 70
degrees*". (*not a made up number to shock you;
the legitimate temperature of the water.)

It was a huge victory for me to get in the water and start that race.  My lifelong buddy - good old Fear of Failure - was with me the entire previous twenty-four hours, but I finally duct taped his mouth on the beach before the swim and just decided I was going to go for it.

So, how did it go?

It was awesome.  And it sucked.

Firstly, some background on the young fella in the picture.  Sarah and I have been training with a teenager named Jacob for a few months.  He is a runner and a cyclist, and I thought he would love triathlon, but the boy needed to learn how to swim.  (I mean, he could swim, but he couldn't swim, youknowwhatImean?)  He decided to do the Olympic distance (which was double my Sprint!) and a very ambitious goal for a first tri.  He worked really hard to get his endurance up for the race, but we never had time to do any open water practices.  Pool swims are vastly different from open water.

The water Saturday morning was C-O-L-D but also really, really rough.  Lake swims are usually fairly calm, but Lake Huron is one of the five Great Lakes, so it has things like tides and waves and undertow and mimics more closely an ocean swim than a smaller lake swim.

Pre-race I threw every word of wisdom at Jacob I could think of.  I'm sure it was entirely helpful and didn't freak him out at all.

"Dude, don't worry about your time - just stay alive.  You can make up time on the bike and run.  If you get tired switch to breaststroke or sidestroke.  Take your time to recover.  You are not going to drown.  You might get kicked, your goggles might get knocked around. You could even inhale some water, but remember, you can go a long time without air. Just stay calm, you'll be fine.  Look for the kayaks if you need help.  But, you'll totally be fine."

I'm a really good coach/pep talk giver.

The race started (Olympic distance first) and Jacob was off. There were only fourteen in his entire race and it was a very competitive field.  He was the youngest by a few years.

I waited nervously for the Olympic Distance swimmers to round the buoy at 250 yards, and then I peed in the water joined the horde of Sprinters close to the start.

I thought I was being smart this year by not placing myself behind the slower swimmers.  I knew I had upped my game in training and was ready to be a lot more confident in the water.  At the bell I scrambled for my position.  It looked something like this:

Only 20 yards in I got kicked in the face and my goggles got knocked off.  I also inhaled a ton of water.  I couldn't catch my breath and the waves (which really look non-existent in this picture so you're just going to have to trust me on that) were knocking me back.  I was already in over my head (haha - figuratively, as well) and couldn't stand to get any air or to fix my goggles.

I freaked the heck out.  I could feel a panic attack a-comin'.  It was every worst case triathlon scenario combining into a fantastic culmination of suck.  I don't even know if that sentence makes any sense - I just know at that point I was having a huge problem that had nothing to do with my knee.  I thought about calling for a pool noodle, but then realized I couldn't find a kayak in order to request one. Finally I remembered what I told Jacob, namely that I wasn't going to die.   First I had to clear my lungs and get some air.  After a minute of sidestroking and slowing down my mind while taking teeny breaths that did let in some air, I calmed down enough to cough a bit.  Once I had my full breath I adjusted my goggles.  They were still a little wet inside (and very foggy) but at least I wasn't completely blind anymore.

I tried freestyle but at this point I was fully entrenched in the breaststrokers.  I just couldn't get through anywhere.  These people had dutifully followed directions and waited in the back so they wouldn't get swam over, and honestly, at that point I was just not powerful enough to swim over anyone. (But I probably accidently goosed at least three people with my stroking arm.)(Stroking arm.)(*giggle*)

When I neared the beach I tried running out of the water but the undertow was cuh-razy strong and unexpected, so I sort of stumbled majestically.  Like, the waves battered me from behind while the water grabbed at my ankles and I did a weird curtsy looking thing in order to stay upright.  (Shout out to Will and Kate!) The beach that separates the water from the transition area is about 100 yards of soft sand.  I ran about six steps before my knee said, "Naw, girl, let's meander this beach."

Meander I did.  It looked something like this:

I would subtitle this photo: Discouragement/I'm About To Kill Something/Brian Better Not Be Taking A Picture Of Me Because I Hate Everything Right Now/I Can Literally Feel Seaweed On My Back/Tri Shorts Moving South In Order To Display a FANTASTIC Muffintop

I'm not going to lie.  I cried a bit in Transition.  I told Brian, "I can't run. Waaaaa." (Not an ugly Kim Kardashian cry, but a pitiful little whimper-esque thing.) Brian ignored me and yelled, "GO KELLY! YOU GOT THIS!" which is why I married him.

Broccoli tattoo in full effect.
P.S. It's totally not really broccoli.

Thinking only about the hill.  And my bike shorts.  Which were caught on the seat.

Bike started just the way I needed it to.  I was totally worried that the bike course starts with a hill.  There is no real lead up to it; it's just right there as you get on your bike.  As I was getting on my bike, my tri shorts caught on my bike seat. Since the only thing they have to grip is my bathing suit, the bike seat pulled my shorts down fantastically low and I had to make a snap decision - commit to the hill or pull up my shorts?

You don't even need to wonder what I chose; you know I'm a super hardcore athlete, so of course I mooned* everyone along the entire bike course. (* It was just a bathing suit moon, 100% legal, chill out.)

The bike portion was so.much.fun.  I knew the course, biking wasn't hurting my knee (it never fully extends while pedaling), and, since I seriously doubted I would be running, I went full out for the duration, not worrying about conserving any energy for the 5k. WOO-HOO!  Miles 3-6 are a steady incline, so my legs were feeling it by the time I turned around.  Then I got to Speedy Gonzales my way downhill. It was wonderful.  THAT was what I trained for.

After bike I decided I was just going to walk to stupid 5k.  I certainly wasn't going to quit at this point.  The race volunteers assured me the course would still be open (due to the Olympic racers) for as long as it took me to finish.  My pride took a beating as I strolled past spectators cheering on the first finishers.  I jogged a few steps every ten feet just to test things out.  It was getting easier to jog as my legs calmed down from the bike portion, but it still wasn't the most graceful looking comfortable thing I've ever done.

I walked about 3/4 mile before I had this epiphany: It hurts to walk.  It hurts to run. I may as well run because it will go faster.  (This is the kind of reasoning that separates us from primates, y'all.)

About this time I met Jack, my Triathlon Best Friend.  Jack and I had been leapfrogging for the run portion.  (I know some people hate leapfroggers, but they don't bother me at all.  I just assume it's their well thought-out plan to avoid injury or something else altruistic.) He kept asking questions about the run course and I explained how clearly it was marked.  I was pretty sure he was over the tri thing at this point and just wanted to chat with someone.  Plus he kept jogging and walking at inconsistent intervals, so Hey There, Sherlock.

I finally called out, "Yo, Number 14," which was his age,"Wait up a minute."  He stopped and I caught up and continued, "So my knee hurts and you look like you are struggling a bit.  Let's stay together and set little goals.  What do you think?" He was all, "Totally, Woman Who Seems Not Crazy At All Like Someone Who Is An Expert At All Things Triathlon."  This was an excellent system for both of us.

Jack was a fourteen year old who recently moved to Michigan from Australia. He is the oldest of four, a soccer player, and about to enter high school in the fall.  I was all, "I could be your mom." Jack's proper response should have been, "No, you're not old enough," but instead he replied, "Yeah!"  I forgave him since he encouraged me for almost two whole miles before his uncle caught up with us and Jack blew our current pace out of the water to finish with Uncle John.

The last half mile was run on pure heart.  I knew the course; I knew I had the equivalent to a few blocks and some downtown area to run.  I was pretty warmed up and my knee wasn't as loud in it's complaining.  I knew I was going to finish this running. Dare I say I actually felt TRIUMPHANT at this point?  I probably cried a little again.

50 yards to go! Run, Kelly, Run!

SMILES? 25 yards to go!

FINISH LINE!!!!!!

I crossed the finish line at 1:35 - less than five minutes slower than last year.  You gotta believe that stung a little.  If only I would have run the whole thing ... ;-)  I came in fourth in my age group - there were only four of us, natch - and top three got finisher medals, but hey, now I know what is possible for next year, right?

We waited for Jacob to finish.  He finished in an impressive 2:39.  He beat out two other triathletes.  He was last out of the water but not last up the beach after the swim; he averaged 18.5 mph on his 24 mile bike course riding a heavy mountain bike (with the lock still attached!)(wish I'd caught that earlier), and finished the race with a 6.2 mile run with an average pace of 7:39 - WHAT?! (oh to be young, driven, and naturally athletic.)  I was so proud of him.  He worked so hard and is now a TRIATHLETE!

Future Ironman.  You heard it here first, kids.

We completed the day with a Grand Slam breakfast at a Denny's where the hostess loved me and got me a giant bag of ice to put on my knee.  She even sat us in the corner booth so I could prop up my leg behind Esther while we inhaled ate our pancakes like ladies.

I shared my bacon with Eve = Best Mom Ever.

The End.

BEPRSNT

Old:  [ohld] adjective, old·er, old·est OR eld·er,eld·est, noun

1. far advanced in the years of one's or its life: an old man; an old horse; an old tree.
2. of or pertaining to the latter part of the life or term of existence of a person or thing: old age.
3. as if or appearing to be far advanced in years: Worry had made him old.

I think one of the key signs of aging is that it becomes a job to keep up with pop culture. When I was younger, pop culture was something I inherently understood; what was cool was cool to me, what was fashionable I incorporated with relative ease, and I recognized new artists before they hit Top 40 radio.

Lately I've been noticing this all change.  Sure, I'm still pretty awesome for 34, but that awesomeness takes a lot of time and effort.  Often, even after all the research and development that comes from HOURS on Pinterest I find myself befuddled at the appeal of many of today's most popular styles, music, and technology.  Conclusion?  I'm getting Old.

Recently I was out with the kiddos and came across a vanity license plate that said "BEPRSNT".  I immediately sighed and grew tired.  I mean, it obviously read "Bep-re-zhent" which was surely some kind of new hip-hop Pig Latin for "represent" that was going to take me hours on Urban Dictionary to decode.  I'm pretty fluent in hip-hop* which alone is a foreign language, but to add some kind of funky Pig Latin twist (never mastered as a child)(so ashamed)(on what foolishness did I waste my youth?) just seems cruel. Cut a suburban mom some slack, homie. (I'm thisclose to being current with most my phat knowledge.)

*I'm not at all.

OLD.
Ice Cube knows what I'm sayin'.

It was while I was feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of adding "mastering weird Pig Latin hip-hop hybrid" to my already full to-do list that 10 year old Eve chimed in from the back seat.

"Hey, Mom, check out that license plate.  BE PRESENT.  You know, like live in the moment.  Don't worry and stuff.  That's cool."

Bep-re-zhent.  Be present.

Two kinds of people.

A Case of the Mondays: I love it when you call me Big Poppa

Eve, Hosanna, and Brian (2006)

Happy Father's Day to the Best Father I could dream for my kids. *Kanye takes over my blog* "Yo Kelly, I’m really happy for you…Imma let you finish. But Kim has one of the best baby daddies of all time! One of the best baby daddies of ALL TIME!"

We had a great day yesterday, and it couldn't have ended any better than me overhearing this conversation between Brian and the oldest of the three girls he has given me.

Eve to Brian: Hey Papa, in about two years I'll be able to have babies! *Proceeds to tell him about menstruation*

Happy Father's Day, honey.

"There.is.poop.in.my.hand." - Kelly

Ten years old, y'all.  Where does time go?

It has been, in the words of Mrs. Nested herself, bananas around here.

I had all week long to prepare for Eve's 10th birthday party (which involved hosting a gaggle of little girls on a Saturday afternoon).  The plan was to shop after my workouts throughout the week so I could spend Friday evening prepping games, wrapping prizes, and assembling goody bags.  This was to take place after I had leisurely done the grocery shopping, purchasing our weekly food and all the goods to make the requested homemade mac-n-cheese and the super fun Sundae-Bar-in-lieu-of-cake.  It was a fantastic plan that I looked forward to implementing.  Then our garage door was all, "Haha.  Wouldn't this just be the perfect time for me to require $211 worth of attention?"  And I was all, "WHY THE HECK DID I EVER WANT TO BE A GROWNUP?!?!" and had to scratch all those plans and wait to shop until pay day, which was, of course, the day before the party.

Thankfully I had four helpers with strong opinions on sprinkles to help me shop for ice cream toppings.  It really made the job fly by.

Brian playing Hangman with the girlies during lunch.
Not the best pic, but I didn't want anyone's kid's
face on the internets without permission. Also,
Hosanna decorated all by herself.

The party on Saturday was so.much.fun.  I seriously love my little girlie's friends.  Thirteen little girls played together for almost three hours and there was no drama.  At all.  We played two Minute to Win It games, ate gobs of mac-n-cheese, made bracelets (thank you, Pinterest), and ate our ice cream sundaes.  My Sister Wife Rachel stayed for the party and we got to hang out a bit and plan a PIG OUT AT WHOLE FOODS Trip to Whole Foods to Eat Responsibly Take Two*. (*Because remember my Summer Bucket List?  The one where I really wanted to eat at the Whole Foods buffet because the vegetarian lasagna seriously speaks to me? Like, I pass it in the store and it's all, "Duuuuuude ... I'm delicious."  And sometimes it visits me in my head at home and whipsers (don't ask why, but apprently vegetarian lasagna is quiet and gentle) "Kelly, absence does make the heart grow fonder." After I wrote out that Bucket List I ended up going to the WF's by Lauren's house and it totally sucked so I was *forced* to eat a giant peanut butter brownie instead of lasagna.  So Rachel and I are going to visit the WF on my side of town and try again.)(And again, if necessary.)(Perseverance is an admirable quality.)

On Saturday night Brian ended up doing our weekly grocery shopping while I played Sudoku on the iPad tackled household chores that had been neglected due to the party.  Sunday was Brian's birthday.  I celebrated this by waking up at 5:30 and running at the gym.  I came home in time to kiss the Birthday Boy, jump in the shower, and pile in the van for church.  I did make him an awesome dinner that included homemade pita bread and a strawberry jello/cream cheese/pretzel dessert thing he really likes.  So, I didn't totally fail in the Wife Department. (Right, honey?)

Monday was destined to be a train wreck of party let down and residual weekend sugar rush. I decided I'd better start to potty train Ezra.

(If you've read this blog long enough you know that I am nailing this parenting thing.)

(Since I'm fully ten years on the job, I think I've achieved Expert Level Parent at this point.  I mean, I've only kicked one hole in the wall, which we can all agree is a pretty good average. One hole in ten years?  Mother of the DECADE, that's what that is.)

So with all that experience under my belt, and impeccable timing, Monday was the day to teach the boy to pee in the potty. (Also on Monday? Aunt Flo arrived, sore throat flared, and official Day One of triathlon training.)

I'd already shame-bought Lightning McQueen underpants at Target because Ezra's speech therapist pulled me aside like a drug dealer and mentioned Ezra was hiding when he needed to poop, which was a sure sign the kid was ready to potty train.  I am of the parenting camp where if *I'm* not ready, neither is my kid.  (I'm sure this parenting philosophy will stand up flawlessly during puberty as well.)  So I bought the underpants and they had been living happily in the dresser drawer with all the pajamas and socks ... until Ezra discovered them and put them on every day over his diaper.  Baby steps, right?

"But Mo-om, they look so much better
over my diapers."  Also? He totally got
dressed all by himself, which explains
why is shirt is on upside down.  Take
that, Fine Motor Apraxia.

But on Monday he was going to wear them the right way.  We put on his underpants, ate breakfast, and sat on the potty for twenty minutes and not a darn thing happened.  I read books and sang songs and did squats.  Ezra told me, "All done" about fifty times before I let him off.  (A watched pot never boils, amIright?)

He ran straight from the half bathroom where we were hanging out to another bathroom across the house, slammed the door, and locked it.  This is his favorite bathroom because it's where the toothpaste lives.  In Ezra's world, toothpaste is a variety of things. It is hair gel.  It is finger paint.  It is toilet seat cleanser.  It is a food group.  It is a weapon.  I stood outside the door trying to not sound mad so I could coerce him into unlocking the door. Thankfully Mama sounded sweet and fun to be around so he unlocked the door. Well, mostly he unlocked the door because he just wanted privacy to do his business and he was done now thankyouverymuch.  I sighed and headed to the living room to change him from his urine soaked socks, pants, and underpants.

This is when I realized that all those years I spent thinking I was useless in baseball because I was scared of the ball was just wasted time, because when his underpants were stripped quickly from his body and his unexpected turd went flying, I didn't hesitate to dive for it and caught it in my hand. To save the carpet.  Because that would've been really gross.  You know, grosser than holding it myself.

So, I think it's safe to say that potty training day one was a success.

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Batting A Thousand

"You Oughtta Know, Dave."

You know that day when you are the World's Best Mother?  Your kid (Eve) is going spazz-nuts-bonkers and throwing some huge tantrum over a supreme injustice involving the wrong color tights to wear to church, and you calmly step in and redirect her. But not before having a heart to heart where you really bond. And a Major Life Lesson is received under the light background strains of 90's sitcom Conflict Resolution music.  It is a very Full House moment.


That totally happened to me.  I was the World's Best Mother.

Then.

Two more tantrums.  From two more children.  All within the twenty minutes we had left to get ready to go to church.

Being the upstanding Christian woman I am, I lost my stuff.

Twenty minutes later I found myself in a silent and tension filled minivan, cuh-razy embarrassed over *my* tantrum which probably included the phrases (yelled, of course) "WHY CAN'T WE EVER JUST GO TO CHURCH IN PEACE?" and "FINE! DON'T BE NICE TO YOUR SISTER.  HAVE FUN TALKING TO JESUS ABOUT THAT!" and, my personal favorite, "WHAT AM I, YOUR MO- ... (scrambling thoughts, because yeah, um, I totally am your mom) I AM NOT THE MAID!"

I sneaked a peek at Brian who was driving us to church.  He was just chilled out, driving the van like nothing had happened.  I risked a tiny, "Sorry I was a jerk."  And louder still, to the occupants of the back seats, "Sorry Mama was mean and threw a fit."  They all forgave me because my family is awesome even when they treat me like the maid.  Then Brian turned to me and said,

"Kel, what you did with Eve's tantrum was great.  That was spot on.  You handled that perfectly.  The other two ... well, you need to work on that.  If you were a baseball player your batting average would be .333, which is pretty decent.  Especially in the majors.  So don't beat yourself up too much.  You have a professional level batting average. You are a Major League Mom and you are by far the best speller in the family  and you're right, I shouldn't hang my dirty clothes on the bed post."

That.  That is why I married him.

*swoon*

A Case of the Mondays: Communication, It Works

One of the foundations of a good relationship is effective communication.  As per these examples, my children and I are tight.  Exhibit A:

"Dear Mama, we love you, we are sorry we were bad. we love you more than you thingk. Ezra loves you to. will you forgive us. we love you. all are love. love Eve & Hosanna & Esther & Ezra"

I totally forgave them once they each did 50 push-ups.  (Dude, I'm kidding. It was only 25.)

Exhibit B:

Hosanna does not mess around.  Just in case I did not comprehend the full breadth of her wrath she drew a mad face with it's tongue sticking out at me.  That hurts, man.

Other parents seemed to have developed the same special closeness I share with my kiddos.  

It's specific.  Well done, Brendan.

It's hard to be accused of things you dident do.

Some kids, having mastered the art of communicating with their family, have branched out to communicate with other adults. 

This kid knows the perils of an iron supplement.

Annisa ain't messing around.  She got enough mess on that paper.

And finally, you should always communicate the important things in life.  

"Some women are dripping with diamonds ..." - Miss Hannigan

Little girls
Little girls
Everywhere I turn I can see them

Facebook Friday!  Today is dedicated to my girlies.  I love 'em.  The good Lord gave me three in a row.  They constantly remind me to call my mom and apologize for my entire childhood that girls are aptly described as "sugar and spice and everything nice" because "drama and glitter and princess dresses" just doesn't have the same flow.

Here are some of my facebook statuses involving the Estrogen Clan at my house.

Facebook Statuses = From the Mouths of Future Babes Edition

Esther: WHY IS MY GLASS DRIPPING?

Eve: It's not. It's perspiration. It's when the moisture in the air hits your cold cup.

Kelly: You mean condensation.

Eve: Yeah, condensation.

Esther: "Discreet" means don't tell anybody when you are about to go to the potty.

Eve and I ran into the sunrise a bit during our morning run. Her reaction? "Dude. Seriously, Sun? I'm trying to run here." Yep. It's official. She's my daughter.

Reason #327 I love my nine year old: Every time Eve makes a stupid joke she follows it with a vocal rimshot.

The children are peacefully watching Dinosaur Train while they eat a self-prepared breakfast of Pop-Tarts and granola bars.

Hosanna: Hey Mom - we're gonna call you Maiasaurus because it means the "good mother lizard." That's totally you.

I'm the Good Mother Lizard. Pop Tarts and D.T. It's a morning win for all involved.

Because just in case I didn't get the message every single time I turn on the radio, Esther constantly reminds me at home that Taylor Swift is never, ever, ever getting back together with her ex-boyfriend. Like, ever.

"Will somebody PLEASE get some coffee for mom?!" - Esther

Have a great weekend and I'll see y'all Monday!

It's Like I'm Joan Rivers

Woo-hoo!  Look who went and got a face lift!  Big ups to the hubs for spending a Saturday evening with me while I was being entirely specific about the fact that I wanted more than a template look to my blog, but entirely vague about what I actually wanted. (Times like these are why I married him.  Because not only did he *not* get frustrated with me, I actually had to say, "Dude, babe, let's stop working on the blog and go to bed okay?"  because he was all excited about getting me a twitter account (Pretty please follow me.  Right now I have three followers, so you betta hurry that mess up if you want to be in my first one hundred followers.)(Who will forever be my favorite.)

Some neat new features on the blog?  I thought you'd never ask.  Well, with a mere click of the "F" button you can totally get to my Facebook page where you can sign up to follow me.  (Oh my gosh, it's so easy it's like she's daring us *not* to follow her.) Also, right by the "F" button is a "P" button.  That one links you to Pinterest where you can also follow me. Similarly, a click on the little bird will take you to my Twitter account where, yet again, you can follow me.  (Jeez-Louise, if I keep this up it will be like I live with her. "Kelly at Sublurban Mama" all.the.time.  It's like a little slice of heaven in my day.) (I know. You're welcome.)

I obviously got a new header (the fancy title section, Mom)(I know you totally knew what it was and didn't assume it meant a fancy soccer* move like someone else I know who shall remain nameless)(but it's totally not me if you were thinking it was)(because the evidence might point to me being a bit tech illiterate).

(Okay, it was totally me).

Other parts of the blog are still under construction, but rest assured I will totally let you know about them once they are finished.  I care about you being an informed consumer. Which is why I tell you so often about Tim Horton's Iced Capp.  Because it is delicious.

Other things in my neck of the woods also got a face lift. (Nice segue, Kel.)  Over Christmas break we tackled the kids rooms.  Since they've been born we've been playing musical bedrooms, and they had yet to settle into a permanent room with a permanent roommate. All that changed once I decided I wanted to decorate. Thank you, Pinterest.  I used some of my Black Friday planning and shopping time to gather cheap items for the kids' rooms.

This is the part of the blog where if I was a planner I would post "before" pics.  We have none.  Like, I went through three years of pictures of us living in this house and found not a single shot of either kids' bedrooms.  So, bear with me as I describe the "before" awesomeness.

Eve and Hosanna had bunk beds, a dresser, and two of those cube bookshelves.  Their walls are pink but did not have a single piece of artwork or decorations of any kind.  Their bedding was on the floor mostly originally green, pink, red, and blue, and covered in birds. (Sounds hideous, I know.)  They ditched them and went with the down comforters I got on clearance that were brown and blue. (Sounds worse, right?  It was.) After two full days of getting my Extreme Makeover on, this is what they have now:

I did all this for about $100.  The twin beds came from the in-laws.  Remember how they are moving to Africa for a year?  We are storing these beds for them for free.  I know. How generous can we be? (I was all, "new beds would be hundreds of dollars, who loves us enough to let us use their furniture so we don't have to buy any?") The bedding was on clearance. Each set is six pieces - the polka dot was $23 and the butterfly was $29.  All the artwork came from Hobby Lobby, either on clearance or with a 40% off coupon, and I ordered the vinyl clings online for about $12.

The desk and mirror are my crowning achievements in Pinterestdom.  I refinished the desk in July (remember when I confessed I was a serial killer?) and I garbage picked and refinished that mirror around then as well.

The chair I got on Black Friday.  It is lime green.  On the bottom right is a shower organizer I got from the Dollar Store.  It holds all the girlies' lotions, necklaces, and sunglasses.  The desk and mirror?  I totally did that.

One of the cheapest changes but the one that has made the most difference in terms of organization was inside the closet.

I switched dressers with Esther so it would fit in Eve and Hosanna's closet.  I moved all their hanging clothes to one side and put the boxes for next seasons clothes underneath.  This way the closet doesn't become the black hole of death for any and everything they own.  I spent $5.99 on that shoe organizer and it is worth it's weight in gold.  Every shoe has a spot, and they are limited to four pairs or five pairs each.  No more lost shoes, no more smooshed shoes, no more dirt kicked all around.  Awesome.

Tomorrow I'll show you Ezra and Esther's room and you'll understand why my nights have gotten a tad "later".


So do y'all like the new blog look?  Let me know - please and thank you!



*Soccer = Football for the rest of the world who are deprived of Alabama football, but still know that Alabama will ruin Notre Dame tonight.  ROLL TIDE.

Merry Christmas, Eve!*

*Big ups to me for naming my kid after the night before a special day.  Now everyone on Facebook is wishing my kid a Merry Christmas.  I'm a planner, people.

Merry Christmas all y'all.  

And *that's* how we ended up pooping by the campfire.

I have three awesome children that mostly expel waste without any involvement from me.  I do hear the occasional plea for toilet paper sounding desperately from behind closed doors, and, more often than not, I remind a certain child in a patient and loving tone that she needs to flush the freaking toilet every time she uses it.  (Even during nap time.)(And yes, I *know* Ezra is sleeping in the other room.)(But if he can sleep through the "I CAN'T FIND MY CINDERELLA BALL GOWN" Meltdown of Summer 2012, he can survive a deuce flush.) Mainly the bathroom part of my job is over until puberty and we are expelling something else entirely (help me Jesus and thank you for three girls in a row).

However, I'm really, really bad at potty training.  Like, "Don't they have a professional service for that?" bad. Because I would pay big money for someone else to suffer through the accidents and resulting messes that occur when one is transitioning from the comfort of going at will in their pants to learning you have to control that mess. I even told Jesus I would be in labor with #4 for a full month if the baby would come out potty trained.  Jesus did not take that deal.

I know.  So many moms have praised the 3 Day method, where pretzels and goldfish take on a medicinal-like quality and a mere 72 hours locked in a tiny enclosed space with the trainee produces a potty trained little person. (Little person = a 2-3 year old, not little person like Little People, Big World.) Unfortunately, it would also produce schizophrenia as my mind would figuratively split in two were I forced to endure that kind of confinement with a toddler.

Other moms have said, "No one goes to kindergarten in diapers; just relax. It will happen when the child is ready."  And I'm all, "Have you paid for diapers lately?" Plus? Toddlers poop a lot bigger than babies.  Sometimes Ezra even has Man Poop, the kind where I actually feel a bit impressed at the advanced state of his digestive system.

I had such an ordeal potty training Eve (I finally told her at age 3 that she couldn't go to Bible study if she didn't wear Big Girl Underpants.  She totally started using the potty immediately.)(Which sort of proves that her lack of toilet usage was a personal war waged solely against me.) that I told Brian he was in charge of potty training Hosanna. He rose to the occasion, and decided that when we were on vacation with my parents he would do it.  She would be trained in less than a week.

The plan had merit.  It was summertime and we were staying at the cottages, so Hosanna would be free to wear a dress and run diaperless through the grass during the day.  Brian would take her to the bathroom all the time, and if she had an accident she was just giving the lawn a nitrogen boost. Because that's how we give back on vacation.

What actually happened is that Hosanna completely shunned the actual toilet and discovered the joy of free-balling.  She also thought that peeing outside was the best plan ever and that the campfire was the perfect spot for doing her business.  Her "thinking/take a magazine or maybe even a book because this is a big job" business.  Right by the fire where we cooked our food.

It was awesome.

The one part of potty training I am really good at?  Buying cute underwear.  My children have the most awesome trainer underpants around.  Urine soaked, but adorbs.

So, to summarize:  Somehow I have three toilet trained offspring, and I still don't know how it happened.  And the boy is of age.  Now potty training has the added element of aim.  We are so done.

Zoology 101

This is why we rule at Family Dinner.

Scene:  We are all noshing on penne with spinach, tomatoes, and bacon.  Broccoli is served as a side dish.  The adults in the room have had trying days and are being overly bright to compensate out of consideration of everyone else in the room.  Whom they love dearly. The children are all, "Mmmm, bacon."  Then, this:

Hosanna:  What's the name of that animal?

Brian:  What animal?

Hosanna:  You know, it's erectile.

Kelly: *snorts Diet Coke out her nose*

Brian: (eyes twinkling) Like it's dysfunctional?

Kelly: STAHP.

Hosanna: The one where in the water it looks like a log floating.

Kelly: *giggles like a teenage boy*

Brian: What did you call it, Nan?

Hosanna:  The erectile.  Why is mom laughing so hard?

Eve:  Oh, I get it.  It's a wrecked tile.  *laughs uncontrollably* AWRECKTILE   AWRECKTILE  AWREEEEEEECKTILE!

Kelly:  Dude.  Stop.  Nan, do you mean a crocodile?

Hosanna:  The tail whips back and forth.  Erectile.

Kelly: *tears coming down her cheeks*  Do you mean reptile?

Hosanna: Um, yeah. A reptile.

Mission: Accomplished - Part One

Here are some excerpts from the top secret mission documentation for my covert Black Friday shopping extravaganza.


Operation:  Black Friday.

Mission:  Obtain as many Christmas gifts and/or household goods at the lowest cost in under 17 hours (because that's the length of an Ironman Triathlon).

        Terrain: suburban jungle with some WT ghetto strip malls thrown in for fun.

        Enemy:
            1. Many individual soldiers, but several small squads as well. Most squads appear to be females in a shared family unit.  All are armed with cell phones and seem capable of calling for backup if needed.
            2. Retail store fronts offering merchandise at a bargain.  Some bargains are imagined.

        Weapons:  Mastercard, Debit, Cash, and The Clipboard.


Execution: This is where I will give you an informal report of the mission because since you are reading my blog that brings you into the inner circle of trust.  Don't let it go to your head.  (Also, several *boss* items will be omitted on the basis that the future recipients of said items read this blog.)

If you haven't read my other post on Black Friday you can check it out here.  The planning for Operation: Black Friday took about three weeks.  When I left the house on Thanksgiving evening around 2200 hours (10:00 - ish), I was all ready.

This is my reenactment of Black Friday.  Essentials include:  easy on/easy off clothing, shoes that are both supportive and slip on, layers because outside is cold and inside is hot, my big clear bag, and The Clipboard.*

 *The Clipboard is the most important part of Black Friday planning and execution.  The Clipboard is Command Central.  Within The Clipboard lists everyone's sizes,  my itinerary, and the Master List by store in order of visitation (based upon the itinerary).  Within the store list there is a shopping list for each store.  Mind blown yet?  This is just like Inception but with lists.  Just in case you thought The Clipboard couldn't be more vital, The Clipboard also holds coupons.

FYI - I got it for much cheaper.  Cha-ching.
Also, you owe it to yourself to click on that link.
For real.

I went to Meijer first, because they had a vacuum with on-board tools.  And?  It is yellow.  They were also offering buy one, get one for $1 winter boots, mittens, and shoes for the kiddos, so I took full advantage of that offer.  (I even finagled a way to get every second most expensive pair for $1 instead of the three cheapest for $1, so yeah, I'm a rockstar.)  Champion running gear was 50% off, so I picked up a cheap coat for winter running. I also bought lame things like $.99 Post cereal, $.99 fruit snacks, and buy one/get one free Ibuprofen.

Next I braved Target.  I missed most of the doorbusters because $4 pj's clear out fast, and I was there about an hour and a half after the opening.  I missed out on the one doorbuster toy I wanted (a slight setback but I went with a snap decision Plan B and it worked out okay), but did manage to score 600 thread count sheets, a folding chair for Hosanna's desk, $5 sleep pants (also for Hosanna), and a few odds and ends.  I think the best thing that happened at Target was that I convinced a woman she wanted to be my friend.  It only took about 45 minutes of initiating and engaging her in conversation, but since she was held captive by the checkout line in front of us, I knew if I persevered I would be met with success.

I conveniently left Target at 11:56 p.m. (Conveniently?  Who am I kidding, I planned that mess.) Kohls opened at midnight and was just across the street.  I only had a five minute wait before the dam broke and the flood streamed in doors opened and they let a calm group of cheerful ladies to meander to their desired sales item.  (Ha-ha that is a joke because these woman can run and they will cut you for those boots.)

Shoes, not slippers.  $11.99

Kohls was just as busy as I predicted, but it wasn't really chaotic, unless you were shopping for boots.  The only thing I needed in the shoe department was an absolutely adorable pair of mocs for one of my kiddos.  (If you spill the beans I will mess you up Suburban Mom style.)(Meaning I will spit in your Starbucks and shun you at playgroup.)

The set we got is still in the trunk of
my minivan, so here is a picture of
what it almost looks like.  The colors
are the same, but the design is a bit
more contemporary.

Hosanna almost exclusively wears Kohls pants because they are cut a little fuller in the tush and hips - she's totally her mama's daughter that way - and I picked up a few pairs for $6 each.  I got pj's, a few cold weather running shirts for $6, and a lot of super secret gifts.  Awesome super secret gifts. (My biggest Kohl's score didn't occur until the week after Black Friday.  Brian and I needed new bedding.  We got a $200 bedding set: a comforter, two pillow shams, a bed skirt, and three decorative pillows, for a final price of $37.00.  It was 55% off, and then I used Kohls cash and a 25% off coupon.  D*mn, it feels good to be a gangsta.)

I stood in line at Kohl's for around an hour, but thankfully so did my new friend Erin and her mom, who became my Kohl's best friends.  We held each other's spots while we made impulse grabs, and Erin recommended I go to Justice for some of my girlies stocking wants.  Genius.  Justice wasn't on my master list, but since it was so close I thought I could squeeze it in.  I'm glad I did because Hosanna wanted a "fancy pen" and Eve wanted hipster "fake glasses", and I scored both of those at 40% off.

Around 2:15 a.m. I was on to Toys R Us.  This was strategic.  Toys R Us is almost as crazy as Walmart, so I only go way after the psycho doorbusters shoppers are done.  I knew I was taking a chance that everything would be gone, but I value my life more than a $15 Animal Planet Farm. Unfortunately, everything was totally gone.  The ah-may-zing store manager agreed to a doorbuster price on a Lego set that wasn't a doorbuster, so yeah, I was feeling pretty BA until I went to pay and my credit card got rejected.

WHAAA?  This was Black Friday.  This was the night I was to get all my shopping done.  And?  We never use our credit card.  Like, ever.  It was on the tip of my tongue to explain this to the cashier in a musical number to the tune of the hit Taylor Swift song where I sang, "We-ee never, ever, ever, ever use our credit card," just to drive the point home that there was no way possible we were over out limit, but I thought it might work more to my advantage if I left my (almost) purchases with the manager and figured out my card nonsense by myself*.

*I did what anyone with no sleep would do:  I called the hubs at home repeatedly until the phone woke him up.  (This part of the story is called: How Brian is a Magical Prince Who Saves Christmas for Everyone.)  Brian's first thought when I called was,"Please don't tell me she spent $12,000 by 3:00 a.m."  (Ahem - it's probably not that hard.)  In my defense, I totally didn't spend $12,000; not even a fraction of that. (Well, if we are being technical, I did spend a fraction of that.)(It was a tiny fraction and I was just using a figure of speech.)


Brian is a super hero who did not complain that I woke him up but calmly checked his email and found an alert from the credit card company.  They were a titsch concerned that someone stole our card and was making a few purchases because there was way more activity than normal.  We got it cleared and I went back inside Toys R Us feeling vindicated and a little sad that I didn't sing Taylor Swift when I had the chance.  But?  I did get this for Esther:  a Play-doh Spin and Style Cinderella.  You can design her dress out of Play-doh. Best. Mom. Ever.


At this point of Operation: Black Friday I took a breakfast break, and so here I will end part one.  Stay tuned for tomorrow's conclusion of the Black Friday recap.  I will leave you will the mental image of me blissfully snarfing french toast at an all-night diner while reading People magazine.  It's a mental image because I didn't take my camera shopping with me, and therefore can not present you with an actual image of me blissfully snarfing. But it probably looked something like this:

"Mmmmm, French Toast."

Strutting My Stuff-ing

I am so embarrassed at my own laziness.  To
think I could have worn this to the race ...

Turkey and stuffing and potatoes and pie!  I hope y'all had a lovely Thanksgiving.  Since I took a monster break from blogging we have much to catch up on, namely, what I did with my hair.

Last time I posted I conducted a worldwide contest to find America's Next Top Haircut for Kelly.  The choices can be seen here.  Haircut number 1 garnered exactly zero percent of the vote because apparently everyone hates Jennifer Aniston.  (Don't worry, Jen, I'll be there for you.)  Haircuts number 2 and 3 tied, each with 50 percent of the votes. Then my awesome hairdresser weighed in with, "Um, Kelly this is almost the exact same haircut, just styled differently and photographed from another angle."  So whatever you voted I totally agree with you and I chose your haircut.

Here is a before and after shot of my haircut.  The after shot is literally a three minute blow out I did all by myself.  Don't get too jealous of my hairdryer skillz.  If I ever get fancied up and curl it more to look like haircut number 3 (probably around Christmas party time) I will post some pics because I know you are dying to see that as well.  Before:

"Awesome dark shot Kel that makes it so we totally can't see your hair."  Also, in my Mom's voice, "Don't look over the top of your glasses, you remind me of a nun."  (She has Catholic school memories, y'all.)  In my defense, I was on my way to the salon and thought, "DUDE!  I totally need a before pic.  I'd better pull over even though it's getting dark and I might miss my appointment and take this picture because I care about authentic blogging."  You're welcome.

 After: In both these pictures I'm thinking, "He-ey!"  You can hear it, amIright? Also, I look super weird without my glasses.  But, did I mention this is a three minute blowout?  I might want to remind you that I have four kids and often fall back on the dreaded mom ponytail.  But no longer will that be the case! Three minute blowout to the rescue.

Glasses on, much better.  And I'm looking in the mirror like a boss.

Snowflake clings on my half bath mirror?  Am I ahead of the game or what?

After my haircut I came home to show off my new 'do.  I walked into my house feeling like a supermodel and was greeted by Esther screaming, "PAPA!  MAMA CUT OFF ALL HER HAIR!"  Eve added, "IT'S RUINED!"  This did wonders for my self-esteem.  Mysteriously, Santa then declared both of them were now on the Naughty list so yeah, sucks to be them.

It has become a tradition (i.e. we've done it twice) that after the Thanksgiving morning Turkey Trot we come back to my house to eat brunch.  I spent the rest of Wednesday evening preparing for the brunch. I made my Grandma's famous casserole (yep, that casserole; I'm pretty sure every grandma makes the same one), a fruit salad (that one took me all night as I had to open up the pre cut fruit I'd bought and dump it all into one serving dish), and did some baking.  I'm not gonna lie; I rule at any kind of food prep that involves lots of sugar and fat, so baking is one of my better culinary masterings.  Also, Hosanna is allergic to milk, eggs, and corn syrup and consequently I am a creative baker.  I made vegan mixed berry cobbler (de-lish-us) and snickerdoodle bread that I call "coffee cake" to justify serving it at breakfast.  The other component of the meal - the frozen Hebrew National cocktail pigs in a blanket (obviously) - would just need to be cooked in the morning.

Thanksgiving morning it was really foggy and about 45 degrees for the race, so Eve and I wore layers and took cheapo cotton gloves.  We got to the race about an hour early because I guess I can't read and thought the race started at 9:00 a.m., so we had plenty of time to people watch.  This race has tripled in size since I first ran it two years ago, so there were a lot of people to check out.  I am slightly disappointed that once again I have dropped the ball and failed to procure an actual turkey costume before race day.  Many others mocked me with their prepared selves happily adorned in giant costumes or turkey hats.

I knew a few other people running (unprepared and lazy as well)(because I'm sure those are the only reasons people run 5K's without costumes) so we gathered for a happy pre-race picture.

The girl right next to me in the purple?  This was her fourth run.  Not fourth race, her fourth run.  I may have wanted to trip her when she caught up to me was super proud and impressed at her natural athletic ability.  And she's a newlywed. 

Proof.  Plus?  Her 18 year old sister-in-law designed and sewed this gown.  You can find her on Facebook here.

The race was nice.  They did drop the ball by not having the first water station available by the time we all ran past, but this was only a mile in and no one was really going to dehydrate (totally a verb) at that point.  (It did cause a moment of panic in my 9 year old "Type A to the Nth degree" child because, well, we planned to drink and walk for 20 seconds at the one mile mark and it didn't happen.)

I was all, "Quick, flex your quad so no one will notice you are bottom heavy."  Totally worked.

We had so many friends and family attend the race as spectators, and it was really fun to cross the finish line when a group of fifteen people are screaming your name. The throngs cheering for me personally is pretty much what the inside of my head sounds like all the time; although experiencing the reality was slightly better.  Because, you know, other people hear it too. (And it's like others are agreeing with my self-proclaimed awesomeness.)(Which makes it no longer self-proclaimed.)(Just General Awesomeness.)

Sarah ran five miles to the race to watch me run.  And then ran five miles home.  I feel like that could have been made into a tongue twister if I tried hard enough.  Now you have a challenge for the day. Go!

Tomorrow I will recap more Thanksgiving festivities in a blog entitled "It's really not Thanksgiving until Grandma drops a 'He/She'."  You may want to tune in for that.