What could *possibly* be more important than updating your blog, Kelly?

Once upon a time, there was a lovely little summer storm that swept southeastern Michigan. It brought rain. A lot of rain.

"Kelly, that is a lovely pond near your house."
"Thanks, but it's actually the road, sidewalk, and half my yard after approximately ten minutes of the rain."

One of the few vehicles that didn't stall out while driving through the neighborhood. (It's probably a FORD.) #motorcitylove

"Boy, Kel, with all that action outside, you must have been super worried about your basement, huh?"

"Nope. Not at all. Just this winter we dropped a pretty penny on waterproofing the basement. All that work held up beautifully. However, all the waterproofing in the world is no match for when the SEWER backs up."

If you're wondering if crib mattresses float, the answer is YES.

Also, boxes and bins float, cardboard disintegrates, wood and fabric absorbes... it was like a real life science lesson. Homeschool. Speaking of, to the left is all of our homeschool curriculum.

Our humidifiers = death by water.
There has to be a joke there, somewhere.

Also, sanders and saws and other miscellaneous tools do not like to swim.

And the final verdict? About six inches of sewage.
Thank God for that pump. It worked tirelessly all night and Tuesday dawned bright and early with only a squishy and puddley (totally a word) basement to be had. 

Once the water was gone I could survey the damage...
I stopped counting at $1000 worth of curriculum destroyed.
(For those that know what I'm talking about - on the right is the ENTIRE Answers in Genesis God's Design for Science curriculum. Also lost - two years of My Father's World. The deluxe kits. Ouch.)

On Tuesday night help arrives in the form of eleven strong young men ready to haul out our possessions and do whatever needs to be done.

Seth, John, and Hosanna wash all the sealed but submerged food and drinks that were floating around the basement. Our pantry was downstairs. We saved $70 worth of soy milk, $50 worth of canned/jarred goods, and 20+ unopened gallons of water. We lost anything in cardboard, or anything absorbent.

Salvageable goods begin to take over our home.
(Aren't we blessed to have so many salvageable goods?!)

Destroyed goods go on the right in our garage, salvageable goods on the left.
(pictured (the destroyed goods) = furniture, an amp, MY PLYO BOX)

First day of garbage. I honestly stopped taking pictures at this point except for what we needed for insurance purposes. We have filled to overflowing two bagster dumpsters (most of this was with the drywall, baseboards, doors and other construction debris that accrued from the restoration process) and filled the entire easement with trash. The following week's garbage looked similar. 

Our focus now is on sanitizing the salvageable goods. Every item that touched the water has to be washed with an antimicrobial, washed with clorox, and then thoroughly dried. Anything solid wood needs to go through the same process, but then be re-varnished afterwards. My elliptical survived but needs to be taken completely apart and every surface washed and disinfected. We need a professional to do that.

This has been such an overwhelming undertaking. I came down with a sinus infection and double ear infections after days of sorting/cleaning the wet basement. We started homeschool less than a week after this all happened. (We're doing online school so we didn't have any wiggle room.) We needed new furniture so we had somewhere to sit. I've never had insomnia, but these past two weeks brought many nights that I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m., only to have Ezra wake me up at 7:00. Because poop. Or milk. Or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, please.

My Pollyanna Thankfulness List:

*Nothing brings the neighborhood together quite like disaster. Everyone is out on their front lawns chatting it up with whoever is out. People gather to help haul, or share dumpsters, or pass along contractor names. A family down the street that came away relatively unaffected brought us vegan cupcakes. Vegan cupcakes. They are my new favorites for life.

*Welp, the basement has been on my Must Clean Out list for years. This is one way to start/finish that project.

*Antibiotics and iced coffee - did you really think I could go a whole thankfulness list without mentioning iced coffee? It's like you don't even know me. After three days of the antibiotics for my sinus and ears I felt like a new person. And while the melatonin I bought at GNC isn't touching my insomnia, the Quest bars I bought during that same shopping trip are making me deliriously happy.

*Comparatively, we came out pretty okay. We lost a ton of stuff. We have a huge cleanup in front of us. But there are people in Metro Detroit who lost their entire homes. Their homes were moved off the foundations from these floods and are now unsafe and uninhabitable. I belong to a flood recovery group on Facebook and there are people dealing with six feet of water in their homes. I am thankful for just six inches of sewage. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

*Lifetime Fitness and Kemper - working out has been my sanity. I can forget and just lift and feel accomplished and so much better.

*Friends and Family. You guys. I have no words for how blessed I am. Here is a happy little picture I took with Sister Wife Rose at a wedding Saturday.

Me and Sister Wife Rose = the best kind of trouble.

Happy Friday everyone! Enjoy that weekend!

Housekeeping!

"How did she master the over the shoulder
pose at such a young age?"
Don't question genius, y'all.
Kelly@Sublurban Mama, class of '97

If you look up a little you may notice a new tab on my blog. For those of you that haven't been around for the whole ride, you may wonder "Who the heck is Kemper?" every time you read a post. Well, click on that tab and there is your answer. (Or, just click here.) I've included lots of pictures that I stole re-purposed from Kemper's personal Facebook account*, so there will finally be a face to put with the name for all you visual people out there.

*I guess I'd never truly Facebook-stalked Kemper before. I know, I'm a bit disappointed in me, too. I spent about an hour this weekend going through Kemper's photos to find some to use for this post and ohmylanta, what an education. Since he is 22 precious years old, high school was literally less than five years ago. People mature a lot** in that time, and Kemper is no exception.

(**For your viewing pleasure, and since this is a throw-away post that's really about another real post I'm sharing, here are some lovely high school pics of yours truly. Please, take a moment to enjoy the 90's in all their none- of-us-had-cell-phones-but-we-did-have-pagers glory.

CROSS. FREAKING. COLOURS, YO.

Kristen, Corrie Beth, and me. And we are totally just posing like this, not dancing (this was way before teenage girls danced like they are starring in porn)
Homecoming circa 95(?)

If only I could find an outfit that summarized the 90's ... pffft, I'd probably need to find white denim overalls and then cut them off. Sibling love, y'all. Dressing alike, it's not just for toddlers.

This picture is really an accusation. All my friends and family = DOES NO ONE LOVE ME?!?! You all let me keep that haircut for YEARS. Also, holy weight gain, batman.
(Please note the dog tag necklace and gaged earrings as I was trying to stretch my ears)(Because I was sooooooooooo hardcore.)

There you have it, folks. For this week I'm working on another new tab with all the info about what I've changed in my diet and exercise since I wrote the "How to Lose 100 Pounds" tab, and a few other posts about assorted general awesomeness (totally a word). My friend Rachel Who Looks Like Meg Ryan is coming to the gym with me tonight which means two things: one, I'll have a bench press spotter!!!! and two, two hot mama's will be getting STRONGER tonight. Hoorah.

Happy Monday!

Weight Loss Update! *AND* Weight Loss Math Explained

This is Eve every.single.day. during math.

Math was never my strong suit. While I'm pretty good at fudging my way through an essay question (a.k.a perfecting the art of bs), basic ciphering was never natural for me. In fact, the last time I took a formal math class was in 11th grade - my junior year of high school.

"Wait. Kelly, do you mean to tell me you have a college degree in education and didn't have to take a single college level math class?"

Yep. That's exactly what I am telling you. (Although I did have to stumble through one college level science class - Physics of Sound - which almost killed me.)

But lest you think I have poor computation skills, I offer the following argument to prove I am qualified to write this post. As it is currently my third and fourth go-around, as a homeschooler I am nailing elementary school math.

My subtraction? Totally on point. My times tables - I got 'em up until the twelves. This may be because I have reviewed them daily with various children over the last four years, but whatever the reason - I'm kinda a big deal when it comes to basic arithmetic. Don't get too jealous now.

I've found that when it comes to weight loss, there are two vitally important calculation techniques that must be utilized for success. One is knowing greater than > and less than <. For example: 65>34, and 25<78. If you do not have a strong grasp on how numbers relate to one another, you cannot employ the mind game Teeter-Totter.

I double dog dare you to call me a Heffalump.

(Does everyone remember the teeter-totter? Remember riding that thing in elementary school? The whole purpose was to have a grand old time pushing yourself away from the ground and going up and down on that thrill of a ride. What really happened was the fat kid was made aware of just how fat they were as they slammed into the ground, killing their crotch in the process. Happy memories, no?)

Teeter-Totter is a mind game I totally made up and is completely meaningless and stupid one hundred percent useful for making yourself feel better using comparison techniques. Teeter-Totter is simply picturing yourself on a teeter-totter opposite something heavier than you. When I finally weighed less than my husband, my reaction was, "NOW I'LL BE ON THE 'UP' SIDE OF THE TEETER-TOTTER!" Hey, small victories are still victories.

The other really important math skill you need for weight loss success is the skill of rounding numbers. As a quick refresher, any number less than 5 in the ones column rounds down to the nearest ten. (Ex: 13 rounds to 10 and not 20) Any number 5 and greater rounds up to the nearest ten. (Ex: 17 rounds to 20 and not 10) This concept works on larger numbers as well.

So it is with all this in mind that I can say today that my weight finally rounds to 100 instead of 200. Because this week? I LOST THREE POUNDS. I went from 153 to my current weight of

149.7

My body fat went down 1% to 26.1%

I spent the entire week hoping for a weight of 151 on my weigh in day. I don't even know what to do with these results. I'm so happy. (Andrew, my decidedly Not Kemper replacement, was all, *doesn't say anything, just writes my results down*. So I filled in Kemper's voice saying, "Hell yeah!" which is exactly what he wrote me when I facebooked him later.)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go lift heavy and eat more protein. Huzzah!

Sweet dreams are made of cheese ...

It's currently 4:15 Sunday morning and I can't sleep. I woke up half an hour ago from a dream with a racing heart. I was suddenly wide awake, fully alert, with all my senses engaged. It felt almost like I was having a nightmare, but then realized there was none of the terror I associate with bad dreams. Instead, I only felt ... euphoric.

I was dreaming about eating pizza.

That's probably a sign I should partake in that cheat meal Kemper has talked to me about.

So Monday night is my final weigh-in with the man. (Have I mentioned that yet?) I have prepared a list of eleventy-billion questions to ask him in order to squeeze every bit of knowledge from him while he is there in person. I may have spent Saturday night on a double date with both Google and Youtube because apparently I get around I needed a little bit of information to be able to plan my next steps. I'm going to ask him to look things over and see if I'm heading in the right direction.

(Also, I'm going to beg ask nicely if he will consider training me once a month. It's not how he does things, but I bet if we all left a nice comment for Kemper begging asking nicely if he would just think about it, my chances may improve.)(Feel free to comment on this post or on Facebook.)(I'll totally make sure he sees them all.)(For those of you that think I am playing dirty, it's simply because I need Kemper to teach me to clean.) (I'm.dying.)(Because weight lifting joke.)

I have a post coming soon about Lauren's baby shower because that totally happened on Saturday. I'll also update you on the stats from the weigh-in because I know you are on the edge of your seats over that. In the meantime, send this sister some love because Monday is going to be a hard (#firstworldhard) day. Please and thank you.

'Tis the Season to be a Hot Mess And a Rant For FREE

Guess who got prescribed a muscle relaxer?

This girl did.

I've been faithfully attending physical therapy three times a week for a neck, shoulder, and upper back pain. The pain started as stiffness in my neck towards the end of October and morphed into a pretty impressive headache (not in intensity, but in longevity), and by the end of November I couldn't tilt my head back to wash my hair, and looked like I was doing the Robot whenever I was asked to look sideways.

I knew I needed some sort of physical therapy when my self-treatment (a.k.a. Googling videos of people stretching themselves out and doing massage with tennis balls) proved ineffective, but first I needed a referral from my Primary Care Physician because that extra appointment scheduled two weeks out doesn't waste time at all.

After all we went through with Brian's PCP, may I take a moment to love on my PCP? She is amazing. First, her name is Carol King, which is pretty sweet. Second, her husband is an Ironman, so she is well versed in the sport of triathlon. When I went to her and said, "I can't do any of my normal activities," meaning swim, bike, and run, she knew that was kinda sorta a big deal for me. The first thing she did was tell me to take more drugs if I was comfortable doing that (twist my arm), and then she referred me to a physical therapist.

The drugs are awesome. The Ibuprofen is dealing with the pain and inflammation, and the muscle relaxers are making me sleep um, very relaxing.

The hardest part of physical therapy is finding child care so I can go. I've been trying to schedule as many sessions as possible during Ezra's school, but I still have to take the three girlies with me. One day when I had Ezra all day, Stacy down the street took my littles, and a friend from church is watching all of the kiddos during my Friday sessions. (Those sessions are longer because they include massage therapy.)(Like, it's been medically prescribed for me to get a massage once a week.)(Yep, if it wasn't for the knowledge that I'm dealing with constant pain, I'd hate me too.)

I've only been seen a little over a week, but I have faith it's helping. My therapist told me she needs a jackhammer to loosen up my trapezius muscle, but she's been making do with her bare hands because she is a beast.

In other news, I'm a little miffed at Facebook. Roughly half of my blog page views come from people who have personally chosen to follow me on Facebook with the sole purpose of getting updates when I post them. Facebook is now charging fan pages to show their updates to everyone who follows them, resulting in a 60% decline in my Facebook blog traffic. (Because I math-ed that mess, y'all.)(That's how you know it's a serious issue for me - the occurrence of voluntary ciphering.)

You know what? I'm a stay at home mom with four kids. One of my kiddos is in (really expensive) therapy. Another takes (really expensive) medication. I have this teeny-tiny blog as a means of preserving my own sanity in this season of life, as well as carving out a space in this world to capture the craziness of raising my children. All so I can remember it and be thankful when I'm old. I really can't afford to spend money on a recreational blog.

But blogging does take time. Sometimes it takes a lot of time. And especially because I'm teeny-tiny in size I treasure every person who takes time out of their day to read whatever drivel I'm peddling. If they have signed up to read it, all the better; I treasure these people because it's like a promise they will be returning. But when Facebook won't let me post to everyone unless I pay at least $5 each and every time, well, that's some buh-loney right there.

In conclusion, I have no idea yet what to do about this. But I needed to rant, so thank you. Have a lovely day, and, if you read this from Facebook, throw me a "like" or a comment to let me know you are among the treasured few. Please and thank you.

For the Sake of the Ovaries ... Please Stop

Dear You,

I'm reaching out to you as a desperate woman.

You see, I have four kiddos. I love them madly. Sometimes I want to freak out because I didn't know it was humanly possible to love so much.

Mixed in with all that love is a quiet desperation. While my children are some of the greatest joys of my life, parenting is slowly killing me. Which I'm pretty sure it's supposed to do. Parenting is about learning to sacrifice joyfully for someone else's needs. It's calmly cleaning up puke at 4:00 a.m. and soothing an irrational and scared child when really you need to be in bed because you cleaned your own puke 45 minutes prior. It's wanting "just one freaking second to think without interruption" but helping with school work while cooking dinner and tying a shoe. All that sacrifice makes you a better person. But it is hard, and I've become very familiar with the end of my rope.

I have four kiddos. I homeschool them. I have a food allergy child. I have a child with speech and fine motor apraxia. We are on our ninth month of potty training. (Shut up.) I have a six year old daughter who is on a pirate joke kick. This is an intense stage of life. We have reached capacity.

Maybe.

Probably.

But maybe probably not.

Which is why I am publicly pleading my case.

You, dearest Facebook/Instagram/Twitter parents of the world, please stop. Stop with the pictures of your babies.

Your baby in her Christmas picture, with her chubbo cheeks and unruly wisps of hair peeking out from beneath the Santa hat? Just stop.

Your tiny newborn all swaddled in fleece, showing off his first gassy smiles in the midst of peaceful slumber? C'mon on.

And you with the video? Do you know happens when I see the ten second clip of your three month old expressing their pleasures with their new-found ability to coo? Puppies wrapped in red bows shower down from rainbows and Dove chocolate grows on the boxwood hedge in my front yard. And honestly, that's too much happiness for one planet to contain.

The worst by far is this type of picture:

Do you know what happens when I view any baby from this angle? I am made acutely aware that my "baby" is now three years old and it has been a long time since I snuggled someone using only my arms. And then my ovaries explode.

Every time I see one of these adorable pictures, I want another baby of my own. To snuggle, to feed, to coo with. My kids would looooove another baby. But we are at capacity.

Maybe.

Probably.

Or maybe probably not.

So please, for the sake of my ovaries, stop. Your baby is awesome, and I just can't handle it.

She's called a Primary Care Physician because she primarily cares about taking your money.

Duuuuuuuuuude.

What. a. week.

I'm sorry I've been so quiet, but honestly, I've been so busy. It has been bananas over here. I've gotten so many emails and Facebook messages wondering how Brian is doing and offering up prayers and encouragement, and I am so thankful for so much support. I have no idea how people do this alone.

"Hhhhhhhhi, Baby. Ohhhhh, my breeeeaaaath is baaad?"

Firstly, I'll bring you up to speed on Brian's condition. (The condition where he is dizzy, not the one where he is super sensitive to smell due to his new meds and is apparently incapable of shutting his mouth about my freaking "garlic breath halitosis".)(Seriously, I get it already.)(I mean, I'm sorry my poor hubs is suffering so and my breath is rank.)(But honestly? California Pizza Kitchen has a frozen white pizza with spinach and garlic that is out of this world.)(Like, divorce worthy.)(Also? I totally went and bought him falafal and chicken shwarma because it was the only thing that sounded appetizing to him, so really, hey Pot, wanna keep talking smack about the Kettle you married?)

Last I blogged, Brian was waiting for an evaluation from a physical therapist who specialized in vestibular rehabilitation. He was evaluated last Thursday evening, and had a Friday morning session to see if they could make any headway, but I was called into his session because Nick the Therapist did not think Brian had Benign Positional Vertigo. He was hesitant to keep treating Brian, mainly because he did not want to waste our time or money unlike our primary care physician who will eventually rue the day she met me. He recommended we go back to our primary care physician and get a referral to see a neurologist and/or an ENT doctor.

This is where crap got real.

We've had a bit of a rough time with our primary care physician (let's call her Dr. G) mainly because she is a horrible person she was hard-pressed to actually spend five minutes with Brian before she handed us some sheets filled with exercises (that she refused to demonstrate) and referred us to physical therapy for a condition Brian doesn't even have. So...we went out on our own.

We found our own PT (Nick) who would see us sooner than mid-November. We finagled a neurology referral from Dr. G's staff in her name, and managed to see a neurologist first thing Monday morning*.

(*This story is amazing. Will you indulge me on a tangent? I'd be ever so obliged. Brian had PT Friday morning at 7:45. (Um, yes I dropped him off and went and ate McDonalds.) I was called in around 8:30 to talk about the next steps. We left around 9:00 with Nick's promise to email Dr. G right away with his report so we could get cracking on the neuro/ENT side of things. We had a referral by 9:30. I sent out a Facebook plea to see if we had any connections in the neurology world. It just so happened that my friend Lina checked her FB while she was sitting in a neurologist's office for an appointment her daughter was supposed to have had the day before, but got rescheduled last minute. She pleaded our case to a compassionate doctor, who in turn got us an appointment Monday morning at 8:45 am. This is usually a 2-3 month process, and we got in the next business day. Whaaaaa?)

Not Dr. G. But I'm pretty sure she looked
like this while talking to my dear, sweet, sick
husband whose wife just wants his normal
sense of smell back so she can eat more
spinach and garlic pizza.

The neurologist turned out to be the best kind of bust; Brian's vertigo doesn't seem to have any neurological cause. His tests all came back clean (!) and the brain doc referred us to the same clinic Dr. G originally referred us to - except not for Benign Positional Vertigo this time.

When Dr. G. got all the paperwork from Brian's neurology appointment as well as his MRI and MRA results she flipped the heck out in the most unprofessional way possible, calling Brian at home and giving him a "stern lecture in an irritated manner" (this is how Brian describes it because he's not the Drama Queen in our relationship) concerning the way her staff dropped the ball and how we should not have done the things we did to ensure Brian had, I don't know, actual medical care.

At the very least, this conversation seemed to light a fire under Dr. G's tush because she (in tandem with the neurology department) tagged us as "expedited" on the University of Michigan Vestibular Clinic waiting list. This clinic has upwards of a year waiting list. Dr. G marked us "urgent" before, and that gave us an appointment mid-November (remember the one we wouldn't wait for?!). I did not hold out much hope even with such a fancy word like "expedited" attached to Brian's name, but apparently I don't speak the magic language of insider medical scheduling, because "expedited" is freaking golden.

We received a phone call that day to schedule Brian's appointments. The clinic requires a series of three appointments of multiple hours of testing before you can even see a doctor. (I'm trusting this makes sense because I have to believe these people know what they are doing.) Our first appointment was scheduled for October 10th, our second the 21st, and the third the 31st. We were scheduled by my current favorite person in the universe, Judy, who promised she was still going to try to get Brian in sooner. Boy, did Judy deliver. She called the very next day to say she found a block of all three appointments for this Friday, and she got Brian an appointment with a doctor next Thursday.

Judy is getting a puppy. Or at least a fancy cup of coffee and some flowers if I ever meet her in person.

I am really thankful.

Right now Brian is better than he was, but that's mainly because he quit taking all the anti-vertigo drugs and his body is learning to compensate. He gets tired very easily. He has started to take short walks down the block once or twice a day, but they are very taxing. He can't drive or watch our little kids (he's okay with Eve and Hosanna), and if he overdoes it he is in bed all day long. He is currently on short-term disability (which is another hilarious post for another day)(and Dr. G actually charged us $20 to fill out our disability paperwork)(which she forgot to sign)(and I had to drive back the next day and get her signature), and I really can't stress how thankful I am to get into this clinic so soon.

I'm still coveting your thoughts and prayers, and a huuuuuuuge thank you to so many of you who have babysat or brought food, and the numbers of offers to be available for anything we need. We are abundantly blessed to know all of you.

Some of the support crew - Sister Wife Rachel, Sister Wife Lyndsay, me, and Sister Wife/Running Partner Extraordinaire Rose - holding me up on Sunday morning

This kid. Seriously.

While I'm talking prayer request (it got all church up in here), I need to drop another request on you all. I planned to have this post ready yesterday, but, you know, life, so while I was going to ask for prayers for my sweet 6 year old nephew who was having brain surgery, I'm now asking prayers for his complete recovery. We are praying he will be moved from ICU to the regular pediatric unit today, and that he will have everything he needs to manage his pain. Keep my sister Cassie and her hubs in your prayers as well. This is one of the hardest things a parent has to endure. Please and thank you.

Case of the Mondays: Up High, Down Low, TOO SLOW JOE

Well, I hope everyone is fully prepared for today.  Did you stock up on extra water?  Collect three months of your prescription drugs?  Buy ammunition to barter when it inevitably becomes our currency?  No?  Well, then you are obviously unprepared for July 1st : the day we say goodbye to Google Reader and usher in the end of the world.

If you have prepared by following me on Bloglovin, Facebook, or any other subscription method of your choice, good on you, big ups on your survival skills.  I would high five you, but it would probably look something like this:

Happy Monday!

Brain Dump and the Apocalypse

Approximately five times a day Brian does something both hilarious and inappropriate and then smirks, "Put *that* in your blog."  This is maddening and is one of the few things that makes me wish I blogged anonymously.  Because then? All bets are off, Babe.

I tried on nine pairs of shorts at Plato's Closet yesterday.  Plato's Closet is a used clothing store for teens and 34 year old SAHM's who have lost 100 pounds who want to update their wardrobe for cheap.  As my weight has dropped I find I'm more interested in fashion, and Plato's Closet allows me to try new styles without a big monetary commitment.  My newest discovery is that among the young adult crowd, the most popular accessory to go with shorts is your vagina.  I'm thinking of opening my own used clothing store where all the shorts are still hip without exposing you to too much of mine.  I'll call it "Not Too Hip".  I'm sure it'll take off.  That mess is marketing gold.

I went on a bike ride this morning on my new baby:

Selfie because everyone was still asleep.
#superhardcoreathlete

Sarah helped me get it for my birthday and it is such an improvement on my old ride. (Which is a mountain bike that I still love for trail riding.  This is a road bike and is sooooo much lighter and a significantly smoother ride.  For those that speak cycling it has hybrid tires because I'm clumsy.)

Even though I chose those handlebars my left hand still started to tingle around mile ten (because the pressure plus my tendinitis can make my hands go numb), and when I waved to a car to give them the right of way it was like I had turned into a mannequin.  Or Miss America.  Either way my wave was awesomely stiff and I stared at my hand in wonderment as I tried to make a fist and giggled when I realized I probably looked really high to the average bystander.

The real reason for this post is that all you lovelies that follow me on Google Reader are about to LOSE ME FOREVER.  It's like the apocalypse for bloggers.  But you can follow me another way.  I've chosen Bloglovin' to keep track of all the blogs I follow.  You can do that, too.  You can also follow me on Facebook.  I update my Sublurban Mama status every time I post, so you can still keep up with all the vital life information I dole out regularly.  You're welcome.

Hangovers and Races and Needing To Breathe

Lesson of the day:  The best way to handle those who are not naturally morning people is to treat them as if they are hungover.  Even if they are not.  Because they kind of are - they are still working off the effects of the previous evening.  So while you might think it's quite natural to be boisterous and loud as heck upbeat and cheerful first thing in the morning (even after only 4 hours sleep), and maybe even assume your demeanor in the dawn light is an admirable quality, that is not always the case.

Such was the lesson on a Saturday morning.

After the wonderment of NEEDTOBREATHE, Lauren and I drove off into the sunset (okay, it was like 1:30 in the morning) with one thing on our minds: McDonalds.  We drove to three or four before we found one open at that hour.  I was all, "The heck? This side of town cares a lot about making healthy choices hates freedom and doesn't want their citizens to have access to a 2:00 a.m. McFlurry.  What kind of fascism is this?"  But through perseverance we found a drive thru to meet our needs and settled into the parking lot to nosh and chat.  It felt a lot like high school, except without the "I hope I don't get caught" aspect.  Because, you know, I'm the mom now.

I slept over at Lauren's house (furthering the whole "high school" feel) because the next morning we were going to run a 5k together. We went to bed around 2:45-ish. Lauren was going to wake me at 7:45.  This is how that went.

Lauren (hesitant and gravelly voiced): Kel? It's morning.

Kelly: GOOOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!! (Okay, it was really like, "Good morning!" peppered with two stories of things that had happened during the three hours we had been apart and sleeping.)(One was that my phone died a slow and vocal death between 5:00 - 5:40 a.m.)(The second was that I woke up in a panic because we were *obviously* late because I was much too rested to have only slept our allotted time, so I sneaked downstairs to find a clock because my phone was dead, but I didn't want to disturb Diamond the dog and/or David the husband, but it was only 6:11 a.m.)(I shared both stories in my usual manner and ended with, "Cool, I think Imma take a shower.")(Lauren looked at me in awe bewilderment and went back to bed.)

I only noticed a difference in our morning personalities when I was standing at the toaster (singing a made up song in my head of "toastin' some toast in the toooooaaaaster ... gonna put on some peanut buuuuuuutter") and Lauren said, "Are you always this happy in the morning?" and I was like, "Yes." This was when I realized Lauren had a Not A Morning Person Hangover and I should probably chill the heck out and eat my toast respectfully.

We drove to my mom's house because that's where we were going to park, but discovered the race was farther away then I previously thought.  We parked closer to the race and walked to get our race packets.  I originally wanted to do the pre-race yoga session they offered, but with our late night and someone's hangover it was probably best we skipped it.

When the race started, I warned Lauren it would be congested and we would both dodge people and have people dodge us.  It thinned out after about a quarter of a mile and was a great run.  It was mainly through neighborhoods and the weather was perfect.  There were two water stations and a lot of volunteers cheering us on.  Since the race benefited mental health awareness and suicide prevention, the course was lined with signs filled with facts and statistics relating to the cause.

I heard the first f-bomb at the Mile 1 marker.  It totally wasn't from Lauren.  She did fantastic.  Her goal was to run the whole thing and she did.  She even sprinted to the finish line.  I still haven't found our official results anywhere, but the sprint to the finish was to beat 40 minutes, so, accounting for our starting place in the mob of racers, I'll bet we averaged about a 11:45ish mile. I am so happy and proud she did it! The next obvious step is to convince her to do Warrior Dash.

Yeah we totally just ran a 5k. #selfiesatthefinish

Also, because this is super fun, here is a picture my friend Meggan tagged me in on Facebook.  She found it on the Royal Oak Music Theatre FB page from the night Needtobreathe played.  Photo is by Joe Gall Photography.

Front row? Check.  Huge smiles? Check.  Looking like I'm naked?  Aaaand check.

An Accidental Lap Dance. At JCPenney.

I'm sure that when most people see me they immediately think, "Daaaang, she coulda killed it as an exotic dancer."  This is especially true if one has seen me dance. (Signature moves include:  the Running Man, the Roger Rabbit, and, of course, the Sway and Clap to the necessary beats (um, all of them).)

Proof?  Stripper snood, Hot for Teacher Specs, Flashdance sweatshirt

Now, just because life has gifted me the killer bod and sweet moves to be able to flourish in that industry does not mean I've ever had an inkling to pursue it.

However, sometimes opportunities just drop in your lap. Or rather, in someone else's lap.

(Wasn't that the best lap dance segue ever?)

(Are there enough lap dance segues to declare a best lap dance segue?)

(Now I totally want to google lap dance segues but I'm scared to.)

(Because something tells me the search might yield a different kind of lap dance segue than I'm looking for.)

(Of course I'm totally picturing lap dances that involve:

This is totally what you were picturing too, right?

I was at JCPenney, where all my accidental stripping/exotic dancing takes place. Proof? Here is one of my facebook statuses from 2011:

The correct order to exiting the fitting room at JC Penney is: shirt on, coat on, open door. A slight deviation in that order and you have to add the step: freak out as you make a sound that is a cross between a yelp of horror and the words, "I forgot my shirt!" P.S. In spite of my peep show, the doorbusters were awesome.

I was perusing the clearance racks with Black Friday-like intensity (because that's how I roll) when I turned and tripped over a person sitting by a display of shirts.  I totally didn't see this person at.all.  They came out of nowhere.

I fell in the most graceful way possible, grunting, "OOOOPH!" as I stuck my chest right in their face, and, as I was trying to break my fall, flailed with a fervency that only encouraged this person's up close and personal encounter with my heaving bosom. (Maybe if I wasn't so focused on that clearance rack maybe they wouldn't have had to be so focused on mine.)(Vocal rimshot.)(You're welcome.)

My decline of awesomeness continued I grabbed their stomach to slow my descent and landed fully across their lap like maybe I needed some discipline. I was unleashing a frenzied stream of "OhmygoshdudeI'msosorrydudeareyouokay?" before I was even at a complete stop. This poor person was frozen in shock, probably more horrified than I was. They wouldn't even answer me.

From my prostrate position, I took a steadying breath and glanced up.

My accidental lap dance customer?

Cheapster didn't even tip.  Not even a "thank you."

"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!

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

This is Brian when he was four.  It's pretty much
what Ezra looks like. (Like he's about to totally do
something covert that will take for-evah to clean up.)

Happy Facebook Friday!  If you are new to Sublurban Mama, Facebook Friday is a day when I revisit some of my more memorable moments in Facebook status updates.  It's about celebrating Friday with a chuckle and certainly not about me phoning it in at all.

Today's Facebook Friday is all about my darling little boy Ezra. When I was at my twenty week ultrasound during my pregnancy with Ezra they told me he was a girl.  My Facebook status that day was : Officially renaming our house the Estrogen Palace.  I guess with three little girlies God decided what's one more?  Baby#4 = GIRL.  My poor, poor husband. 

I had to go back the following week for another ultrasound, as baby was being a little stubborn about showing off her profile.  After the appointment I updated my status to: Sometimes I think, "Really, what could happen in a week?"  Oh, baby girl #4 could grow a PENIS.  Baby #4 is a boy. (Also, Brian went out that night and bought tiny little khaki cargo pants.  Adorbs.)  

Here are some Facebook Statuses involving the boy child.

We've been calling it a "car seat" but Ezra is slowly renaming it "Fossilized Cheerios Buffet."

If you're wondering if a non-verbal 2 year old can still embarrass you by calling a random stranger at Home Goods a "stinky elephant" using really obvious sign language, yes he can.

If Ezra was twenty years older (and not my son) I would totally think about taking out a restraining order against him. I doubt the cops would buy the whole "separation anxiety" thing then.

When they said people with children couldn't own glass topped table tops, they meant people with male children ... Ezra = 6, Household Objects I Love = 0.

Note to self = When a man has waited patiently through the births of three little girls and has finally received a son, never cover that son in lavender scented lotion after his bath. It will not be a popular decision.

I can finally add to my "Conversations I've had with a toddler while using my Earnest Voice" list with : "Honey, don't sneak up behind me while I'm standing at the counter cutting cucumbers and bite my butt. It scares me and it hurts."

I really love my little boy.  He is a joy.  A very busy joy who loves his mom so much between the hours of 3:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. it is a wonder she gets anything done because "NO! I have to make dinner and I can't hold you!" Lately, the girlies have been mentioning (with increasing frequency) that we need twin boys.  Esther even rubs my belly and talks to the babies that are potentially inside.  Sometimes, for a joke, Hosanna will put, "It's a BOY!" signs on the front door.  This is all hilarious.  Really.  I remain firm in my conviction that, much like getting a dog, we can have twin boys if everyone else helps clean up the poop.  I'm waiting for their agreements.  In writing.

Outed

Back by popular demand, it's Facebook Friday! This is a return to a Friday series I did in the early days of Sublurban Mama ... you know, back in 2012.  Some would say returning to it is "so last year" but I prefer to think of this as a throwback. A retro throwback.  I'm just that cool.

I was going to call this "I Came Out in 2012", but I thought that might give my mom/husband a heart attack.  (And by mom/husband I meant my mom and/or my husband, not that I'm married to my mom.) (Which would be weird, perv.)  One of the most common responses I got to this blog in the beginning was that it was so nice to know that I am as big of a nerd as I am.  I wasn't sure this was a compliment, but I've come to embrace the spirit behind it, meaning "it's really nice to know that even though you look like you've got your stuff together, you're really a hot mess on the inside ... just like everyone else".  There's a lot of comfort in knowing you aren't the only crazy one, you know? (You're welcome.)

So here is a collection of some of my more "I've totally got my stuff together" moments in Facebook history.

Facebook Statuses = I've Got This Edition

Some people call it "running out of gas", but I prefer to think of it as "giving the lawn a mohawk".

There is no cool way to play it off like you meant to sneeze out your gum. None.

The best way to clean up $12 worth of hypoallergenic, high efficiency laundry detergent spilled all over your wood floors? WITH YOUR TEARS.

One of the reasons I'm not a running coach is that the best way I've found to practice sprints is to sit down to Facebook and remember ten minutes later that you are also cooking bacon in the next room. 

P.S. BLT's are ready.

While I concede that it may have been a bit melodramatic to call Ezra chucking a matchbox car at my forehead a "car accident", either way I think I deserve some ice cream.

I think the best part of having a bunch of new clothes is that it considerably ups the odds of leaving the house with sales tags still in place. Today did not disappoint.

Just single-handedly stopped a freezer avalanche comprised mainly of Hot Pockets.

It could be a crumb from the super delicious confetti cookies you noshed while standing at the counter. Or it could be a stray piece of minced garlic leftover from your crockpot dinner prepping. Go ahead, give in to the temptation, because it's pretty irresponsible to (maybe) waste cookie crumbs.

But FYI - it's totally garlic.

Happy Friday, y'all!  See you Monday!

Party Like It's 2012 (but also like you're a 33 year old with four kids)

This is totally what I'm doing tonight.  Except replace all
these hip people with my kiddos and my in-laws.  And then
swap the balloons and streamers and party atmosphere with
the interior of our local Chinese restaurant.  But otherwise
pretty much the exact same thing.

How did it get to be New Year's Eve already?  WTHeck, Time? Slow down you animal; there are children aboard.

I loved this year.  2012 did me good, y'all.  (That sentence was a grammatical mess, and, to be honest, made me wonder if people would deduce I was trying to hint at innuendo but failed miserably because I'm not really a Master of the Sexy.  Which is why it was up to Justin Timberlake to bring sexy back and not me, which is good because apparently he succeeded and sexy is totally back.

2012 was a kinda a big year.  If I had to sum it up in one phrase it would be "The year that Kelly turned into a Bagel BELT and Iced Capp because: you are what you eat."  (Not having Tim Horton's sponsor my blog is one of my major fails in life.)  I may or may not have received four TH gift cards for Christmas.

Um, yeah that's my husband. *Swoon*

Sadly, this is the year that Joe Stillwell left Needtobreathe.  I am still very, very blue about this. If I was a teenybopper, it's Joe's poster that would be on my wall.  Because I maybe have a thing for musicians and he is, after all, a drummer.  But since I'm a grown woman and my husband won't let me I don't have any rock star's picture over our bed. (But I'm just sayin' if I did it would be Joe, which is why I'm so sad about his departure.)

Rock of Ages ... don't hate.
This is what I would be like as a rock star.
Except I'd wear a shirt because I'm a lady.

I did get into some new music this year.  I fully jumped on the Mumford & Sons bandwagon.  I love me some rock and roll banjo.  I also discovered Fun and a bunch of other stuff I never would've given a chance if it weren't for needing a good running playlist.  Neon Trees, Foster the People, 30 Seconds to Mars, and Bon freaking Jovi topped some of my playlists.  In my most awesome moment ever I confessed I really wanted the Rock of Ages soundtrack for Christmas.  In an even more awesome moment that trumped my confession I actually received the CD because my mom loves me.

Her Majesty.

I also had fun on the Internets.  My favorites this year included Honest Toddler -  on Twitter and his blog, Ghetto Hikes, and of course The Bloggess.  (Jenny Lawson is my Stephenie Meyer.  You know, in the sense that she's an average woman who makes a ton of money writing hilarious nonsense.) I've also been extremely blessed to enter the blogosphere and "meet" some fantastic people. I'm thinking of Katie at Nested and Stephanie at That Loud Redhead.



To finish my 2012 review, here are my Top Five Gamechangers of 2012.  These are the things I never saw coming that changed my life.  All of them.  In one year.  It's been a ride.

1. Sarah - Can you believe that I only met Sarah in February?  We met at a triathlete swimming class offered at my gym.  Sarah was an actual triathlete while I was a wannabe who didn't know if I could do it.  For some reason she still wanted to swim with me after the class ended and she wasn't forced to because she paid to be there.  Our swim times grew to include bike times, practice triathlon times, and finally just hang out and have fun without killing our bodies times.  Our Christmas gift exchange was rad as she spoiled my whole family rotten; she got me because I wanted it so badly Ezra this:

If you listen closely, it's totally a Kris Kross ripoff which I love.  Now I get to hear Tigger rap, "wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-wiggle!"  all day long.  Pooh is so hood.  100 Acre Woods, y'all! (Yeah, I totally just threw up the midwest gang sign.)  I got her some footie pajamas.  And?  They have shark feet.

Sarah's are aqua, and can you ever go wrong with shark feet?  Answer:  NO.

2. Pinterest - Laugh all you want but Pinterest has changed my life mainly because it reminds me that I will never have my act together enough to make miniature sushi shaped like a penguin and that's more than okay.  Pinterest is teaching me how to dress, one accessorized outfit at a time.  It is teaching me how to combine desserts into hybrid dessert recipes that would make Keegan-Michael Key freak the heck out because they are that good.  (Why stop with brownies?  Why don't we make brownies with a pretzel crust and fill them with oreo cookies? They also probably need to be topped with cookie dough.)  It is where I first discovered that some children, whose parents love them, have rock walls in their bedrooms.  Mine have to settle for climbing the fireplace. They are so deprived.

3. Sublurban Mama - I thought about doing this blog for a while.  I started it in June and the response has been overwhelming.  I'm so thankful for each and every one of you who read it. (And comment. I'm a nerd about loving people that comment.)(And all of you that are Sublurbanites and follow me on Google Friend Connect - I might yell "SOMEONE ELSE IS FOLLOWING ME!" to Brian whenever it happens.  It's totally like on It's a Wonderful Life when Zuzu Bailey says, "Teacher says, "Everytime a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." But you following me is the bell, and me screaming in excitement and maybe on accident peeing a little  is like an angel getting wings.  Or something.)(We won't even talk about what happens when another blog links to me.)(Have I mentioned that I can still do the Roger Rabbit and it might be part of my happy dance when those of you that love me refer me to others who then in turn follow me on Google Friend Connect or Facebook?)

So this blog was a bit of a game changer for me.

This is just me.  Being a triathlete.  No biggie.

4. Triathlon - Did I mention I did a triathlon this year?  Oh, I did?  I forgot how many posts I wrote about it but here is the recap.  Triathlon is a monster of a sport.  Can you imagine getting race ready for three different sports?  The equipment needs themselves are staggering.  I was pushed out of my comfort zone every day (for four months!) as I prepared for the big day.  It was one of the proudest moments of my life.





5. Disney World - I feel a titsch silly with this one, but I finally get what the Disney hype is all about and I will totally be going back at some point.  What made this trip so special was that it was thrown together pretty last minute by the in-laws, who are so good to us.  It was to be our last big family time together before Brian's parents move from 3 miles away in our little Michigan town to Malawi for a year. Yep.  Africa's Malawi.  It's gonna be rough. Rough for me because I love them and will miss them.  Rough for them because Malawi doesn't have a Tim Horton's.  I don't know who will have it worse.

Happy New Year everyone!  Stay safe tonight.  I'll see you next year! (I had to do it.  It's a tradition, right?)