JACK.IS.BACK

So today I was going to write this super informative and helpful post about lifting and diet because I felt I owed it to everyone to write something of substance since I was MIA Friday.

But.

My weekend was pretty awesome. Busy awesome. Friday night was Mom Busy (a.k.a. filled with Saturday errands because Saturday was filled with other happenings), Saturday was an all day women's retreat -without any kids!- where I got to spend tons of time with Sister Wife Rose and eat homemade guacamole, and Saturday night filled with bath time, laundry, and back episodes of the Blacklist. Sunday was the gym, church, baseball, working over at our rental house (which we are renaming the "Soon To Be Sold house"), and food prep while watching Ocean's Eleven on network television. (I am always impressed with the way they recreate the naughty words when they edit a movie for television. When I watch it's like a brainteaser for decoding swears.)

But the real reason there is no substantive post is seriously, can anyone even pretend to pay attention to anything today when I know we are all just counting down to Jack Bauer's return tonight on 24: Live Another Day?

(From just the previews I have concluded that my girl crush on Chloe is still well founded. Because not only is she still "Chloe", she has a tough girl look going on as well, which completely works for her.)(In unrelated news, I've composed my letter to Dirk Vermin from Bad Ink pleading my case for a tattoo redesign. As cool as it is, I really don't want to go the rest of my life with a broccoli tattoo in the middle of my back.)(Also, I've been searching Pinterest for haircuts.)(Because I'm .7 of a pound away from earning a haircut and eyebrow wax.)(For the sake of all humanity, pray I get it today. The Sasquatch Eyebrow look went out with crocs and socks but I am currently rocking it hardcore.)(Thank God for bangs.)

So friends, in conclusion, stay strong. 8:00 p.m. will come soon enough.

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.

Case of the Mondays: Merry Christmas! Love, The Internet

Friends, it's been a rough season of life. Thanks for hanging in there with me as I mostly get out these "Case of the Mondays" posts and very little else. Life is beginning to ease up, so I am looking forward to the new year when I can regale you with tales of my physical therapist, surviving weight gain, and how (knock on wood) I totally potty trained Ezra is just two weeks like a rock star mama. (We begin December 26. Pray for me, y'all.)

Since I'm adding Christmas Cards to the list of "Crap I Never Got Done This Christmas", I wanted to share the next best thing with you. This is how the Internet sends out some holiday cheer. Enjoy!

This year when I took the kiddos to see Santa, he looked right at 6 year old Esther and said, "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?" Esther firmly stated, "A maid."
That's how it's done.

Everything about this man makes me giggle.

I'm putting "Friends like these" on my Christmas wish list.
UPDATE: It's like the Internet is Santa Claus. The woman who made this card contacted me so I would source her work back to her like I'm supposed to because she totally answered the call on my Christmas wish list. You can visit her at: www.melissamarie.co

I would add "Friends like these" to my list as well (because do you see the festivity of those sweaters?!), but I don't do well with lap goats. Which she is holding.

Close your eyes, Kids.

These people are doing our Christmas card next year.

Love, The Johnsons

Merry Christmas!

Case of the Mondays : Memeday Morning Cheer Up

It's been so long, am I right? I think I only blogged four times the whole month of November. They say bad things happen in threes, and I'm relieved to count Brian's sickness, my broken bone spur, and the Horrendous Stomach Bug of 2013 as my quota of craptastic events allowed to occur at present time. I'm declaring I'm officially in the clear. Name it and claim it, yo.

Brian returned to work on November first; he is as healed as he's going to be. He did fall off a chair putting lights on our Christmas tree, but, in his defense, maybe I shouldn't have pushed him the chair was a bit wobbly, and anyone's balance would have been challenged.

My foot is slowly healing. That's all I can really say about that (without copious usage of colorful phrases that would feed the Swear Jar). I do have an appointment with my doctor on Wednesday to discuss my neck and headache. For those keeping track, that's no running, elliptical, or swimming now for over a month. As a result, I'm super fun to be around, and looking incredible in my skinny jeans - or, as they are known by their new name - the Jeans Formerly Known as my Skinny Jeans.

*cough* Black Friday *cough*

I will write about how I am dealing with this in an upcoming post, but in my best Pollyanna moments I simply insist people call me Ariel.

Since I promised a "Cheer Up" in today's post title, I'm leaving you with something to ponder. This is mainly because I believe that stressing your brain makes you smarter, and we can only do this by occasionally asking the really hard questions. Today's brain teaser:

Mensa, here we come.

Happy Monday!

Robin Thicke's Guide to Potty Training

Ok, now she was close, tried to domesticate you

But you're an animal, baby, it's in your nature,

Just let me liberate you

Hey, hey, hey

You don't need no diapers

Facebook Status: In a marketing move that is totally paying off, I've renamed Potty Training "Go Ahead and Pee on the Floors, I Don't Mind So Much". Other possible name include: "8 Pairs of Underpants An Hour Ain't A Thang" and "Laundry Celebration Month".

I would rather do anything else in the entire world than potty train. By the grace of God and by the skin of my teeth (you just got hit with a Cliche Bomb - BAM!) I managed to teach three little girls how to use the facilities for their *ahem* voiding, but honestly, I have no clue what I'm doing, especially when a penis is involved.*

(*Case in point - Brian was all, "The heck are you doing?" when I was teaching Ezra to "dab-dab" after peeing in the potty. "Dudes shake it off." I tentatively reached forward to show Ezra how to "shake it off" (ugh, really?) and pantomimed a movement that closely resembled ringing a church bell, further convincing both of us that the parent with the lady bits should not be the one teaching the toddler how to handle what's a-dangle.)(I totally could not help that.)(Also, in my head that rhymed more.)

I've been slacking in the potty department with the idea that the Fairy Godmother of Underpants would show up on my doorstep and magically train Ezra with a wave of her wand (because my method of crying in frustration bribing him with Lightning McQueen underwear and/or m&m's just ain't getting the job done). I also loiter hopefully around the diaper aisle in major stores waiting for a film crew to waltz up with a grandmotherly saint of a host to take over this overwhelming task, a la Kitchen Crashers on HGTV, but with Toddlers and Toilets instead. (Oh wait, that sounds too much like a different toddler show that already exists.)(But maybe not, because at the end of the day Toddlers and Toilets would be about literal crap, and Toddlers and Tiaras is about figurative crap)(ZING)(#grammarlesson)

With all this information in hand, you may wonder exactly what was the catalyst that spawned me into Must Get Ezra Potty Trained overdrive. It started with a little trip to Target ...

At a mere half mile away, we frequent Target on a (minimum) weekly basis. We have been visiting our particular store for years now, and like any family with little kids who never stop talking to anyone within earshot we meet a lot of people. We are familiar with many of the employees, especially those within certain departments *cough* dressingroom *cough*.

On our latest trek to the Land of "What I Want for My Birthday" (what, your kids don't play that game at Target?) we had only a few items on our shopping list. Namely diapers, because my kids have all had skin issues and for some reasons none of them reacted to Target brand diapers. This trip was the quickest we've ever managed to get in and out, blowing past the Dollar Spot with a speed that surprised even me. While we were in the checkout line, waiting for our favorite cashier, Esther started to sing.

One of my favorite things about Esther is that she has close to perfect pitch and can imitate entire melodies within the first two hearings. As a former voice major, this totally makes my day. However, she has also inherited my gift for language; specifically the gift of misinterpreting song lyrics on a colossal level.

Her repertoire is quite varied, but her showstopper is usually a 7-10 minute medley of the soundtrack from the Sound of Music mashed with any song included during the entire Christmas season. Lately she has thrown Alicia Keys Girl on Fire on the set list, and also Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines.

Oh? You haven't heard Blurred Lines? Then you must live under a freaking rock because it was physically impossible to escape this song if you ever left your house even once during the last few months. Here is a snippet of this masterwork bound for the classics:

Everybody get up

Everybody get up

Hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

If you can't hear what I'm trying to say

If you can't read from the same page

Maybe I'm going deaf,

Maybe I'm going blind

Maybe I'm out of my mind

Everybody get up

OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you

But you're an animal, baby, it's in your nature

Just let me liberate you

Hey, hey, hey

One might think, if this lyrical poetry is any indication, that this song would be doomed to flop. Also, it's horrendously exploitative. But it has become the 2013 summer anthem. Why? It is catchy as heck. It is everything awful and lovely about pop music. You cannot go anywhere without hearing this song. In fact, all you reading that are convinced you have never heard this song - you've totally heard it. Just trust me. And guess who loooooooves this song? My five year old. And since words like "domesticate" and "liberate" are a bit above her pay grade, she has done some interesting things with her interpretation of these lyrics. Usually she substitutes amazingly creative hybrid words that mean nothing but fit syllabically. But none could have prepared me for the one she thought she made up and dropped at Target.

We finally made it to the front of the line. Esther looked straight at the cashier and with her darling little smile and sweet soprano voice sang,

"Oh Baby can't you see, I'd like to master bate ya."

OH YES SHE DID.

That's when I died.

And that's why Ezra has to pee in the potty, because I can never return to Target for diapers for the rest of my natural life.

Case of the Mondays: Recovery

I'm not afraid.

Guess what was awesome around here?  My weekend.  I had such a great weekend that I am now in full-on recovery mode. Totally like Eminem but without, you know, the substance abuse. I plan to recap my Friday night with NEEDTOBREATHE on Wednesday, so prepare for the awesomeness that will come your way then, because there's probably going to be a picture of me with the band.  Saturday morning I ran alongside Lauren as she participated in her first 5k ever and didn't walk even once.  She was a rock star in the most athletic way possible that has nothing to do with actual music. Sunday was a mix of church*, cleaning**, and a power nap, and finally capped off with WT "sirloin" burgers (pre-made ground beef patties sandwiched by sliced sirloin). (Brian was in ghetto heaven.)

(*My favorite part at church was that mid-sermon someone opened the windows (because spring has finally arrived in Michigan!) prompting Brian to lean over and ask a freaking million times if I smelled Subway until I finally whispered back, "It's my new deodorant." (Totally not true, it was probably Subway, but it shut him up.)(Until four seconds later when we went back and forth exchanging possible names for Subway deodorant.)(I'm pretty sure I won with "Cold Cut Trio" because it offers three layers of protection.)

Sorry, Babe, but my name just knocked yours the heck out.

(**My favorite part of cleaning was that Brian committed to doing the yard work Sunday afternoon.  This involved him cutting the grass and the kiddos emptying the garage of everything we own and strewing it about the neighborhood. I worked diligently inside until I found the kitchen counter.  We went to bed exhausted and earned our deep slumber.  Upon leaving the house this morning Brian discovered that not only did we leave the garage door open all night, but we also left the van in the driveway with the windows down and the keys in the ignition. Because we are responsible and take care of our stuff.)

So, in view of my uber busy weekend, here is a super short version of a Case of the Mondays post.  I'm pretty sure it won't make any sense, but continuity makes me happy and this is my blog.  So there.

Which leads me to...

I'm pretty sure Eminem and Taylor Swift would never date, but I'd love to hear the breakup albums.

"She tied Taylor Swift to Eminem? How does she do it?"  Six degrees of Pinterest, y'all.  Starting with Marshall, ending with Marshall. Full circle. Boom. Happy Monday.

I'm Walkin' On Sunshine, OH-OH

And don't it feel good? HEY! ALL RIGHT NOW!

I've been given an award.  And I have it on good authority that it is a Major Award.  You know, of the leg lamp variety.  Katie at Nested has nominated me for the Sunshine Award because she is hilarious and one of my favorite bloggers in the world.  (Not because she nominated me but because she just is.)(And she is doing an incredible give away so you should check it out and follow her.)

“The Sunshine Award is an award given by bloggers to other bloggers. The receivers of the Sunshine Award are bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogsphere.”

The requirements for this award are to write 7 facts about myself and nominate others for this award.  Because I'm so great at following blogging rules (*sarcasm font*), sit back while I make five facts seem like seven.

Seven Five Facts About Me

1.  Ever since I accidently high-fived another swimmer underwater I'm the most fun swimmer ever. (Yeah, the most fun ever - you wanna go, Grammar?)  One day a guy was swimming towards me in the adjoining pool lane and we both stroked underwater at the same time, resulting in an accidental high-five and it was rad.  We both agreed we were pretty much best friends after that happened, and by "best-friends" I mean we laughed and for real high-fived at the end of our workouts.  At that moment I realized that just because swimming has the reputation of being a loner sport, it doesn't mean you can't communicate with the swimmers around you.  So I spend a fair amount of lap swimming making whale noises to see if anyone can hear me.  I also sometimes sing, but whale noises are much easier, because, you know, I'm swimming underwater.

If there was ever a moment I knew Pinterest would never fail me, it's the moment I discovered this shirt under the section of Humor (thankfully, and not under, you know, Women's Fashions). Pinterest, it's like you know me.

2.  I have super fine body hair.  And not like, "Dayum gurl, that some fine body hair," but like, "Wow, your body hair is super blonde and very small in thickness." This really works in my favor because along with being really fine, it also 'fros out like nobodies business.  In the right light I look like I have an aura about me, but it's really the light reflecting off my standing at attention arm hair.

What I really wanted to find was a
picture of Kid Rock drinking Faygo,
but apparently Kid Rock is mostly
photographed drinking beer. Which
is a bummer for this blog post.

3. I think that my feelings involving 1.the music of Kid Rock and 2. the taste of Faygo pop are going to get me kicked out of Michigan.  Both of these are Michigan staples.  Now, I love me some Better Made potato chips, I drive a Chrysler, Brian drives a Ford, and I happily add an "s" to the end of every place I am going.  (Don't worry if you don't get the pluralization thing.  It's actually a possessive thing, mostly.  No one in Michigan shops at Meijer, we all shop at Meijers.  Or Krogers. I don't get it either.) I'm totally a homegrown girl.  But I want to punch Kid Rock in the face every time I hear All Summer Long.  Or Picture (Sheryl Crow - blech).  I actually like Bawitdaba because I feel personally challenged to scream, "My name is Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid," just as long as he does.  I think he's smart and well spoken, and I would probably vote for him if he ran for any type of government position*, but I just don't like his music.  I'm also feeling really defensive right now. I also hate Faygo pop especially the Red pop and I'm writing this little because them's fighting words in the mitten.

*I heard an interview with Kid Rock on Detroit politics and it was so spot on.  For those of you that are unfamiliar with Kwame Kilpatrick and the Detroit City Council, let me summarize with this:  You know how politicians are known for being slimy, corrupt, evil people?  Normal politicians describe Detroit politicians this way.  Kid Rock fully admits that he is not qualified to serve as mayor of Detroit but did suggest he would run if they created a position for the Czar of Common Sense.  Can I get an AMEN?

(3.5 An interesting fact that has nothing to do with me but is for free?  This is Kid Rock.

This is the lead singer of my favorite band in the whole world, Bear Rinehart of Needtobreathe.

Sometimes I have to look twice at pictures to determine if it's Bear or Kid Rock.)(Which makes me feel like a slacker fan.)(#firstworldproblems.)

Hanging in my kitchen -
Holly Hobbie celebrating
Mother's Day 1974.  Boom.

4. I'm nutso about vintage Holly Hobbie.  My sister wives have gotten me some sweet gifts over the years to start and grow my collection.  Shontaya gave me a vintage book that I was afraid to open for forever and then thought, "This is totally stupid; I'm just wasting this," and so I cut out the pictures and framed them.  Because looking at them makes me happy all you people who just freaked out that I cut up a vintage book.  Rachel gave me decorative plates; Lauren got me a plaque, and Lyndsay got me a plate and made Hosanna a baby doll blanket and baby doll diaper bag out of Holly Hobbie material.  I am so spoiled.

I'd like chocolate cake please, Mrs. Huxtable.

5. My birthday is June 19.  Along with frequently sharing my birthday with Father's Day (every.dang.year.)  I also share a birthday with Paula Abdul.  And Macklemore.  WHAAAA?  Also, Phylicia Rashad, better known as Mrs. Claire Huxtable.  I think this year we all (me and my celebrity birthday twins) need to celebrate together. (I mean, you can totally come, too.)(I just didn't want you to feel obligated like you had to come to my birthday party.)(Just follow me on Bloglovin or Google Friend Connect and that will be gift enough for me.) But Paula, Macklemore, and Mrs. Freaking Huxtable - can you imagine that party?

I am nominating (in no particular order)
1. Stephanie @ That Loud Redhead
2. Kate @ Widgeon Nest
3. Angela @ Honey, I Shrunk the Mom
4. Alma @ Can I Borrow That?
5. Sue @ Limefreckle
6. Sue @ Diapers ... or Wine?
7. Jenn @ Fat Chick 2 Fit Chick

Also, since it's FRIDAY! it's also time for a bit of housekeeping.  I know most of you follow me on Facebook (which I'm really thankful for, YOU are awesome), but I need more followers on Bloglovin or Google Friend Connect.  (Yes, GFC is going to disappear soon, but won't it be nice to add Sublurban Mama to your collection before we all have to move?) So follow me on Bloglovin or GFC - it's totally free and won't take but a second of your time.  Plus you get live, up-to-date notifications whenever I post as long as you check Bloglovin or your reader feed. It's like the gift that keeps on giving. Just click on this fancy button and follow the steps.  Or glance to the right of my blog and click on "Join this Site" with Google Friend Connect.  Boo-ya, done.

A Case of the Mondays: Weird Science

The kids need science fair activities.  I'm trying to figure out how to incorporate the social experiments in these videos.

Also, I'm slaphappy.

Happy Monday.

This one also has potential.

If neither of those made you crack a smile, here is your last chance at happiness.

OK, one more chance.

Thank you, Internets.  Never change.

If Shakespeare had the kind of resources *I* have ... the possibilities are endless

Rose got me quite possibly the most awesome Christmas gift in.the.world.

"cool poem bro"

I was very anxious to channel my inner gangsta poet, but had to wait for inspiration and the right time.  The right time came in the form of me catching the flu. Inspiration came all on it's own, because thug livin' is my life.  I had all day to stay in bed and funnel my ghetto angst into jiggy rhymes that captured my penchance for flow.

The first thing I did was put all the words in alphabetical order on a cookie sheet.  Nothing says "Thug Life" quite like teflon.* (*Proof?  Click here.  Thank you, Urban Dictionary.)

I had to leave space at the top so I had room to create.  But it's hard to limit genius, y'all.

Next, I discovered some key words were missing. WTHeck, how am I supposed to write any kind of masterpiece without key words like "Imma" or "tryna" or "booty"?  So I did what anyone with Hood Acumen would do:  I got out my trusty label maker.

The other night I had a dream that I let Kanye West and Jay-Z get into their zone.  That sh*t CRAY.

Then, I had to decide what form my poetry would take.  A sonnet, perhaps? A limerick? Naaaahhh, Imma go with Haiku 'cuz I got a Japanese cuz.* (*This totally makes no sense but makes me deliriously happy because "cuz" almost equals a homophone in a world where grammar rules cease to exist. Plus I legitimately have Japanese cousins.  SHOUT OUT to Rika.)

Here are a few Ghetto Haiku's for your reading pleasure.  You can send your appreciation to Rose.

Puddled on the floor because the two year old wanted to pour it all.by.himself. thankyouverymuch.

werd.

My inspiration for this work was Ezra.  The same inspiration inspired a transition to a big boy bed.

Right as I was perfecting my  pièce de résistance, the unthinkable happened.  My label maker ran out of label.  I was all, "Dude."

This is my label maker that gave until it had nothing else to give.  This is my hand saying, "Dude."

A good blogger would have typed some words on the computer, printed them out, cut them out, glued them to magnets, and used them.  I remembered I had yellow sticky notes.

What up, Pampers?

In closing, here is a picture of Rose and I at the Red Carpet Run.  Brian is throwing up the midwest gang sign because that's why I married him.

Midwest 4 Life
Rollin' down the street, in my Chevy, sippin' on Faygo
Laid back (with my air conditioner and my furnace both on in the same day)

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.

The Grand Finale

Since this is the last rerun, I've decided to title it "The Grand Finale".  Partly because it's the last one, but partly to sucker you into reading yet another reposting.    Thank you, my faithful readers for still showing up and giving me a slight break as I phone it in over Christmas.  You deserve a medal. Or some chocolate.  Or an Iced Capp from Tim Horton's.  I promise I'll be all new on Monday.

For those of you who were around in the very beginning, here is a return to Facebook Friday. Facebook Friday was a day when I looked back at some of my Facebook statuses throughout the years. ("Wait, Kelly.  Are you telling us that not only is this *not* a new post, it's also a reposting of some other reposted crap you posted on Facebook a long time ago?"  Well, Friends, I prefer to think of it as a repost within a repost.  Much like the movie Inception.  Which?  Won a lot of awards. Like - an Academy Award for Best Sound Mixing.  Now, not to get too bragg-y or anything, but this is the caliber of blog I run.  You know, the kind that receives awards for sound mixing.)(Note to self: Post a video of me finally owning the second verse of Eminem's Lose Yourself even when I add in hand motions. Blogging "sound" gold, y'all.)

Facebook Friday:  Sweet Moves

"Don'tcha think?"

I have always been known for my keen fashion sense repertoire of Disney songs extreme gracefulness. It's like there's a ballerina trapped inside my body, stumbling around trying to break free.  It's ironic that even my inner ballerina is stumbling.  Well, maybe in an Alanis kind of way,  in which "ironic" means "a big bummer."  Since it's Facebook Friday (two weeks in a row!) I have collected the Facebook Statuses I have posted about my *sweet moves* (say it like you are Napoleon Dynamite) through the years.

On being awesome at home:

Accidently macing yourself with non-stick cooking spray pretty much sets the tone for the day.

Always wear your glasses (and your shoes) when attempting to show a pine cone your "mad" (i.e. non-existent) soccer skills.  If you don't you might discover that pine cone is really poop.

25,000 Awesome Points for wedging the colander in the sink at the perfect angle so that my freshly cooked pasta could move seamlessly from pot to colander to garbage disposal.

If cleaning the bathroom wasn't fun enough, I just played a quick game of Catch the Brand New Roll of Paper Towel Before it Falls into the Toilet, and lost.

On being awesome in public:

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.

The best way to handle the Crazy Psycho Woman coming straight at you with her cart as you enter Target is to realize she is your reflection in the automatic doors.

In my defense, in the Walmart by my house the WOMEN'S bathroom is on the left.

Don't assume you can bully the automatic door to open faster by charging purposefully toward it. You will end up smashing forcefully chest first and making a cool noise that sounds like, "Ugh-huh," and conceding the automatic door is superior, while glancing around to see how many have witnessed your shame.

You know when it's raining, and you've finally loaded all the groceries into your car, and you just want to get home, but the trunk won't shut because the toilet paper is in the way, so you get all, "Idon'thaveTIMEforthisit'srainingandI'mtired" and you use brute force to close the trunk because YOU are the BOSS of the toilet paper? Yeah, well, it wasn't the toilet paper.  It was the grapes.

**********

"Oh, Kelly.  You are a disaster.  How do you have any friends self-esteem?"
To answer your question, "Um, it's called swag and it's how you remain *flippin' sweet* (say it like you are Napoleon Dynamite) as you pull all this off."

One time I was on the phone with AT&T for eight and a half hours.  Straight.   My internet wasn't working and an awesome computer support person in California was working diligently with me to resolve the issue.  Which meant I had eight and a half hours to be wedged under my computer desk with the phone glued to my ear as I tried to implement the solutions suggested.  My second favorite part of this phone call was when computer support asked me if I had a Mac or a PC.  My answer?  "Um, it's black,"  like she had just asked me what kind of car I drove.  ("Um, it's silver.  And AMERICAN, because I'm from MICHIGAN.  And I DON'T HATE FREEDOM."  For the unions.  You're welcome.  Support my blog.)  My absolute favorite part of this eight and a half hour phone call?  When we exhausted our "fixing it" options and realized it was a billing issue.  So, five minutes later I had the correct credit card on file and my internet was back.  True story. 

Happy Friday!  See y'all Monday.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful

Dear Jesus, if you are going to send a
blizzard, I would prefer mine with
Oreo cookies.  

Well, the good Lord saw fit to dump a bunch of snow on our neck of the woods.

...


*Searching my brain for a Pollyanna-type comment*


It's really pretty from inside my warm and cozy house.





If I had my choice I would live somewhere warm and sunny all the time.  So today's post is a return to my happy place, when I could ride my bike outside on a wooded trail while wearing a tank top. Bliss.  Here is a day in the life of a hardcore trail-riding cyclist who also won the X-Games.

And THAT'S How I Won the X-Games (posted in June)

Facebook Status: It may be all Zen to you to practice your flute in the middle of the woods at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, but to me, on my first trail ride, coming around a bend and hearing faint strains of Bach's Partita in A minor only reminds me a bit of a whacked out suburban version of Deliverance. And I'm already peddling as fast as I can.

Yep. My first trail ride.

I left the house at around 6:15 a.m. after mapping and remapping my route obsessively via mapmyride.com. I had 12 miles scheduled and I've been spoiled by Sarah planning our routes. But she couldn't bike that day so I decided to Navy Seal it and do some trail riding. (Because if Navy Seals rode their bikes to train for a sprint triathlon they would totally go trail. Blindfolded.  While being chased by rabid squirrels.) Also, major roads (the kinds my neighborhood is surrounded by) still freak me out (maybe because Brian, in his deep seeded love for cyclists, mentions taking them out with his car how much he hates sharing the road with them whenever cycling enters the conversation).  So hitting up a place that dubbed me the biggest threat had a certain appeal.

I spent most of the ride pretending I was in the X-Games. I made sure I had my hardcore face on, and skidded on the gravel as much as possible because I have poor balance and limited overall control of my ride.  There were a ton of (imaginary and consequently invisible) fans cheering me on, and I mugged for the (again, imaginary and invisible) cameras and enjoyed a few voice-over commentary moments.  Like,

"Kelly, tell us about that last turn, where it looked as if you were going to attempt a full pirouetting dismount."
"Well, John, it got dicey out there.  I was going so fast and misjudged the angle.  (Insert dramatic pause to catch my breath because I had just finished the event and won.)  I thought I was going to have to bail and didn't want to eat it on those tiny bits of gravel huge rocks, but thanks to my extensive ballet training (i.e. my best friend is a ballerina and uses terms like pirouette in casual conversation) I knew it would be the best way to get outta there.  Thankfully I recovered without any dance moves."

also

"Kelly, on bridge number four you made this fantastic face - tell us what you were thinking."
"Are you referring to when I came out of the saddle, John?  I was thinking, "I'm totally riding out of the saddle.  In the middle of the woods.  And it's gorgeous out. And since I'm standing up I can see the stream raging river below the bridge.  And at the next games I'm going to suggest we ditch the bridges and ride through the rapids.  Because this is the X-Games, not a tea party*."

*not a political statement.  It's simply that I have a gaggle of girlies and have partaken in my fair share of actual tea parties.  And they are nothing like the X-Games.  But now that I'm on a tangent, I remember my children frequently wear their bathing suits and jump off the couch into a blue comforter. They also paddle board, surf, and barefoot ski on the same blue comforter, so, yeah, my house is pretty much like a year round X-Games.

Miles 8-9 took place on a paved trail where I experienced my first X-Games medal ceremony.  And really, it was almost embarrassing to win so many of the gold.  I also saw a group of deer, which was cool but completely unexpected as I was really close to a major highway.  Because I was going so fast (have I mentioned that yet?) I came upon them suddenly, and they were only a few feet away before they took off.

Also?  I've seen a number of sweet neighborhood rabbits on my morning runs.  They generally slowly hop away as I approach.  But I have a different effect on rabbits while on my bike.  They freak the heck out.  I wanted to be all, "Dude, rabbits, I'm cool.  I wouldn't run you over or hunt you.  Even if it was the end of the world.  Or the Hunger Games.  Probably."  But then I thought about it and knew I was lying in my head to those poor rabbits.  But maybe not.  Because although I would totally eat them during the Hunger Games, I would let someone else hunt them.  So, semantics = not a liar. Awesome.

I have another trail ride tomorrow - a scheduled 15 miles.  And in honor of the summer Olympics,  I might take a break from the X-Games, and enter a few cycling events there.  So I'll probably pass Michael Phelps as the most successful athlete in history.  Better call Guinness. (The World Records, not the beer.) (Heathen.)

Also a jerk? CAFFEINE

Facebook Status: ‎"Mama takes pills EVERYDAY to help her stay awake" -Esther to the lady at the bike shop. I should probably explain the Vitamin B and Iron supplements a bit differently.

I run in circles where kombucha, wheat grass, and Dr. Fuhrman are vocabulary words used in casual conversation.  However, I'm more of a foreign exchange student in these conversations, offering helpful tidbits like, "Dude, Burger King has sweet potato fries!"

Since my diet is the very definition of balanced, imagine my surprise when, after baby #4, I was found to be anemic.  And crabby.  And tired.  And a titsch moody.  My doctor suggested an iron supplement and a supplement of "the B's" for good measure.

I realized I hate supplements.

It was supposed to take a while to feel the desired effects of the supplements.  Unfortunately the undesired effects were felt sooner.  In order to be a good steward to my body I would need to persevere and keep taking the pills ...

...but.

There's the crux of the matter.  Butt. Iron quickly works it's charm, and you are left desperately looking for an iron cure.

There is a delicate balance in formulating just how much fiber you need to combat all that supplemental iron.  Benefiber in your apple cider is probably overkill.  But only eating an apple - Mama might be a bit *cranky*.  And quite frankly, I'm not that patient.  Or that skilled at trial and error.  Or that ready to be my own 'finding a good formula for consistent pooping' guinea pig.

After much scientific hypothesizing, testing, and reflecting not thinking about it at all, this is the method for taking supplements I have decided works best.

I take the supplements with renewed commitment for as long as it takes me to become constipated. I stop taking them until Brian says, "Are you taking your supplements?" in response to my completely (un)reasonable tearfulness, incessant need to nap, and endless complaints about brittle fingernails.  So I start taking them again with renewed commitment ... this cycle goes on until the supplements expire, and I throw them away.

So far, this is a stellar plan.  And it doesn't waste money at all.

If all that drama weren't enough reason to personally hate supplements, here's one more you may not have thought about obvious one.
  

When you completely on accident pee in the group shower at the gym, supplements like Vitamin B and Iron turn what should have been a private faux pas into a literal neon stream trumpeting your blunder to the world.  (Now, I'm not saying this has ever happened to me, because it would be too mortifying to admit.) (Also? Gross and unsanitary.  Probably it's safe to also throw 'inconsiderate' in the mix even if it was completely out of your control.)  But I will say that if it ever happened to anyone else I wouldn't judge her.  Because I have been there, being a mom with incontinence issues, when you have absolutely no control over your bladder.  Especially in a warm shower.  But way to go, Vitamin B, for outing a girl.

So, yeah, in conclusion, Vitamin B is a jerk.