"TiK ToK, on the clock. But the party don't stop, no. Whoa-oh oh oh" - Kesha Rose Sebert

*Knock Knock*

Kelly: Who's there?

D2: Heeeey! It's Day Two Of Your Period! I'm here to TEAR. CRAP. UP. and PARTY!

Kelly: Day Two? Didn't we just hang out?

D2: Naw, son. That was probably my cousin PMS. People tell us we could be twins.

Kelly: Awesome. And it looks like you've brought a friend. Who is this?

D2: This is Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness From Your Squat Workout! He'll be hanging around for the next day or so.

Kelly: Wow. Together you guys kind of remind me of  ... hmmm, I can't quite put my finger on it ...

D2: Back Labor?

Kelly: YES! Together you remind me exactly of Back Labor! I haven't hung out with Back Labor in over 11 years and I totally haven't missed her at all.

D2: Me and DOMS are just going to come in and have a ball here for awhile. I called Bumpy Cake Ice Cream. He'll be here in about fifteen minutes.

Kelly: Just in time for me to hook up with Yoga Pants and Twilight On DVD. This is going to be such a wild party.

D2: Totally. I call dibs on the heating pad!

If there was ever a moment I knew the Internet would never let me down, this is it. Because Friends, *that* is a Uterus* Pinata.
*Story for Free because Day Two is visiting and I have poor decision making abilities as of this moment* I have a picture of my own uterus. Like, an actual photograph. This is because I've had four c-sections and am a control freak really wanted to be involved in every aspect of my childbirth experience so when I had an emergency c-section the first time around I asked Brian to take pictures of everything. Including my uterus. It is lovely, thank you. (I'm still a bit pissed he didn't take a picture of my Fallopian tube when he got the chance during Ezra's delivery.)(But that's another story for free for another day.)

And that's why I married him

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

Kelly: Babe, I need to say something.

Brian: *totally nervous* Um, yeah?

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

Brian: Well-

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

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

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

Marriage, ya'll.

More on Monday (not to be confused with Moron Monday)(which I can see you assuming because you've read my blog before)

Since I skipped Five on Friday, I am going to do a short but sweet More on Monday post for you because alliteration.

One = I am totally a winner

Everybody hands go up

AND THEY STAY THERE

Like, for real a winner. I was entered in a raffle at Lifetime Fitness for a month of free personal training when I did my last weigh in for the 90 Day Challenge (results with pics coming soon). Guys? I WON. I meet with a trainer twice a week for a month starting tomorrow. I asked Kemper about the trainer I was assigned because ain't no one messing with what Kemper is doing with me, but he's never heard of him. I probably got the newest newbie on the block but that's okay because IT'S FREE PERSONAL TRAINING FOR A MONTH. I'm going to give this new trainer my current workout schedule and "suggest" what I'd like to do during our time together. Is that rude? I don't even care. I really really really hope he's a meathead.

Two = I am totally sore

After my last session with Kemper I was all, "Maybe I can lift heavier than I have been," especially since he told me the last rep or two of every single set should be hard, and not just the final set as I had been basing my weights on. So I've been working my tush off at the gym with heavier weights (I upped my deadlift from 85 pounds to 105 pounds and my squat from 105 to 115) and ohmylanta does my body appreciate it. I can tell it is appreciation my body feels because it has been screaming in gratitude from my chest down. I even hit up the bottle of Aleve so I wouldn't take it out on the sweet kiddos that never aleve me the heck alone, even when my level of pain indicates I'm probably over exaggerating  being a giant weenie dying.

Three= I am totally tired

1. Don't get too jealous of my awesome baseball hair.
2. Yes, that's my friend Rick of our camping trip fame
photobombing this picture of me and two of my
lovelies.
3. I packed a protein bar for a snack when everyone
else got oreos and candy. I BETTER LOSE
WEIGHT THIS WEEK.

Clue number one that Brian and I are getting sooooooo old? After our weekend we are both fried. Like, "getting prepped to cage match over who got to take a nap Sunday afternoon" fried. (Brian totally won.)(But only because I had another event.) Friday we drove down to Toledo to see the Mudhens get destroyed by another minor league team who I cannot name to save my life. (Confession? I hate watching baseball. It has to be the slowest game in the history of sports. I love going to see the Mudhens once a year because we go with our church and buy out almost a whole section. This is fun because visiting and not watching the game.) Afterwards there were fireworks. We got home with four kiddos a little after midnight.

Saturday was a wedding of some dear family friends two hours away. We got home just in time for me to take off my heels and go grocery shopping. I did some paperwork and hit the hay because Sunday was church, errands, and a concert. Wonder what 34 years old is like? Being exhausted by the previous few days events where the latest one was midnight.

Four = I am totally ready to kill my neighbor

My favorite part of music school was a little amenity called "Practice Rooms". Practice rooms were little soundproof spaces where one could take a nap  make out with someone like that one time at Band Camp  practice their instrument without bothering anyone else. Some may think, as I am someone who majored in music, that I enjoy hearing it regularly. You would be wrong. I am very particular about noise level and do not appreciate the same two measures of practiced trumpet music for fifteen minutes. Which is exactly what my neighbor is now sharing. And is an improvement over the thirty minutes of scales that were the prequel to the main attraction.

OHMYLANTA NOW HE'S DOING THEM STACCATO.

I'm about to yell, "GET A ROOM!" and he will totally understand what I mean.

Five = I am totally premenstrual

Chocolate is not your friend, Kelly.

Chocolate does not share your goals, Kelly.

(repeat ad nauseam until Cheat Meal)

(whoever says Cheat Meal can't include the last Reese's Peanut Butter egg left from Easter I will cut you.)

STEP AWAY FROM THE TRUMPET AND NO ONE GETS HURT.

Conspiracy Theories - Kleenex Edition

There are a few undeniable signs that life is about to get menstrual. The first is the desire for a mass consumption of chocolate. Since I am currently on day 5 of a wheat, dairy, and sugar fast I've been able to satisfy that craving and move on. Haha. That was a joke because I'm thisclose to driving to the nearest store and snarfing every piece of candy I recognize - and even those I don't.

Another clear sign of the impending monthly is that I get a huge case of the Feels and cry over everything. I'd like to take a minute to thank Great Big World and Christina Aguilera for the timing of their hit song "Say Something". Having it dominate airwaves the same week I'm PMSing is genius. I'm pretty sure that song is being sponsored in part by Kleenex brand tissues. Well done, Kleenex.

-John Green

I'm also thanking for great timing this week = my library. Finally getting me to the front of the line for John Green's The Fault In Our Stars this specific week was stellar. For those unfamiliar with this work of art I suggest you read it immediately. It is a YA novel about a girl named Hazel Grace who has cancer. She is tethered to an oxygen machine at a cancer support group when she meets Augustus Waters. Their relationship will wreck you. Decimate. Couple this novel with Great Big World's "Say Something" and you know Kleenex (and BIG BROTHER*) played a part in in it all. 

(*This is no joke = on Tuesday I was twenty pages from finishing The Fault In Our Stars - which means I was sobbing like a baby because if you've read the book you know what just happened - when my telephone rang. Since I was a hot mess I checked Caller ID before I answered it because I reserve my hiccuping snot-filled voice for my most special friends. GUESS WHO WAS CALLING AT THAT EXACT SECOND?!?!

This, kids, is a land line telephone. It is what came after telephones that still had cords. If you look closely at my Caller ID (#baller) you will see the person calling me during the end scenes of The Fault In Our Stars was none other than CHILDREN'S CANCER.

Well done, Drones Spying On My House, well done.

In conclusion, remember Big Brother (and Kleenex) are always watching. 

When the Recap Fairy Sneezes

So, I really want to finish up the California Series (doesn't that sound totally like I have a grownup, well-thought out blog?) but I also really want to recap Saturday's triathlon.  Lest you think this is the worst First World Problem I've had today, let me share with you that:



My church clothes were really comfortable but I had to grocery shop so I had to change into my really comfortable blue jean cut-offs while I was still really comfortable from my nap and it's hard to transition between comforts.

My knee hurt but if I wore my knee brace with my comfy shorts my leg looked like a sausage in a casing.

I wanted Breyer's Thin Mint ice cream but Breyer's M&M ice cream was also on sale. I guess I had to buy them both.

One radio station had Imagine Dragons Radioactive while another was playing Bob Seger We've Got Tonight and I couldn't decide if I was feeling like a warrior or if I wanted to give in to PMS.

It was 5:30 p.m. but if I didn't have iced coffee right now I.might.die. but then I wouldn't be able to fall asleep quickly and I would have to stay up late watching t.v.

I got tired watching Brian unload the groceries from the car because then I could see how much there was for me to put away.


Let me tell you, it is rough living my life.  Truth.

In response to the initial recapping quandary (Cali or triathlon?), I'm simply going to share some pics, and recap the race fully on Wednesday.  Because you'll need the details about how I rallied from a life-altering knee injury* (*really, Drama Queen?) to place (7)1st out of EIGHTY-ONE competitors, which, if you can math, you figured that I beat out (count 'em) TEN of those participants.  But? I totally finished and I am darn proud I did.  Victory, yo.

Here is the pictorial conclusion to the California trip.

Dinner and an all-female mariachi band in Old Town San Diego.  Also, they did a Disney medley which was as awesome as it was weird.  I ate a tamale for the first time and now I think Eve is lucky we named her before this experience.  Otherwise my firstborn would be named Tamales de Pollo.  It was verde, verde good.

Mission Beach!  I've actually never seen a freeway exit with just the word "Beaches" on it.  It was sweet and prompted me to say, "Wat up, BEACH-ES?" a million times because it never stops being funny.  Never.

This is because I'm a really good friend to show you how committed Lauren is to getting a good shot.  The tide pools at Sunset Cliffs.  And yeah, as soon as she posts her pics to Facebook I'm totally stealing one of this cute little crab.  Adorbs.  Also, she will probably post (in revenge) several shots of me being "pensive" on the cliffs... and later standing up and realizing I left damp butt cheek prints on the rocks.  (Damp from sea water spray, not tush sweat. Stop being so gross. Seriously. Stahp.) (I almost published this with "stahp" - a Jersey Shore reference - spelled "staph", which would have taken this story in a whole 'nother direction.) 

So, I'm 34 years old and had never been here in my life.  Sister Wife Rachel suggested I get my fries "animal style" and the biggest regret of my life is that I did not heed her suggestion. No one in the vicinity of the restaurant had them and I was scared to ask.  This is how fear ruins your life, y'all.

Sunset at La Jolla.  If I wan't married I might troll La Jolla for a hubby. (#Iain'tsayin'sheagolddigger)
Gorgeous.

Two hours north of San Diego at Wayfarer's Chapel.  If I wasn't married and had found a husband at La Jolla, I would totally get married here.  It's a glass chapel that overlooks this kind of thing.

And this.

And this.  Sike.  That's just me.

So, to sum up California:  If I could pack up everyone I know and love and take them with me to southern California, I would do it tomorrow.  Consider that a heads-up, all you I know and love.  Settle your Michigan affairs and grab your sunblock because we are moving West. I will not easily forget you, California. Nor do I suspect some of you will easily forget me. (I might be thinking of you, Poor Snot Boy.)

As a teaser for Wednesday's post, check this out:

Awww yeah.  Jacob has been training with Sarah and I for a few months now.  This is his first triathlon. This picture was taken pre race, while we are full of terror optimism.

First of all, you're welcome.  Second, this is me before the start, mere minutes before I got kicked in the face, had to tread rough water to reattach my goggles and experiencing several of the other Triathlete's Worst Case Scenario happenings.  I can't wait to talk about this swim.  

Race recap Wednesday.  You don't want to miss it!

This book may scream "Soccer Mom" but it reads "ROCK STAR PRINCESS"

One of my biggest secret fears is that one day I will be at the gym, doing cardio and listening to my iPod, when a stranger will come up to me mid-workout, pull my sweaty ear buds from my ears, and before I can scream, "NOOOOO!" will stick them in their own ears in order to hear what I am jamming to.  And I will be outed for all the bad music I thoroughly enjoy.

This fear is so ingrained that if a person meanders too closely to my machine I actually reach up and shut down my iPod if the song is embarrassing enough. (I would just skip it but chances are I'm really excited that Julianne Hough is finally singing the medley Sister Christian/Just Like Paradise/Nothin' But a Good Time (from the hit musical Rock of Ages starring Tom Cruise) because I keep my music on random and it's not every day that you get great hits like that.)(Keeping it on shuffle allows me to pretend God is a DJ because I don't keep God in a box, y'all.)

On the outside, while I'm all,

Scorching reservoir?!?! I die.

in the private world kept safe by my ear buds there is a slight chance* I am rocking out to Bad English singing When I See You Smile.  (*there is a 100% chance.  It is totally happening.) (That's how I can face the world.) (Oo-oh)

Sometimes I wanna give up, I wanna give in,
I wanna quit the fight; but then I see you Baby
And everything's alright.
Everything's alright.

Or conversely, I'm being white girl ghetto with Cypress Hill and I Ain't Goin' Out Like That.

"Let's kick it ese

Commin' out tha slums, it's da hoodlums 

I'm pullin' my gat out on all you bums 

So bring it on when you wanna come fight this 

Outlaw, I'll kick ya like Billy Ray Cypress Hill"

My video face is much more angst-y,
Amy Lee.

Other times, while I'm looking 110% committed to my speedwork on the treadmill, I'm really on stage at American Idol tearing it up with my performance of either Evanescence's Call Me When You're Sober or Tracy Bonham's Mother Mother. Occasionally I catch myself looking too hardcore in the mirrors opposite my person, but honestly, it's hard to mask the legendary internal performances that are routinely taking place.  Because? I am that good.

If it's a premenstrual introspective day, I let Anna Nalick sing Breathe (but only until I get in my car and then I own that mess), or the Bangels sing Eternal Flame.  Debbie Gibson also takes a turn with Lost in Your Eyes.  O-Town's All or Nothing just kills me because those are some heartbroken boys who are only asking for some exclusivity in their relationships.  Is that *really* too much to ask?!

"Don't make me promises
Baby you never did know how to keep them well
I've had the rest of you, now I want the best of you,
it's time for show and tell"
Just look at those faces.  How could you, Baby?

I have gotten a bit caught up in the music and accidently air drummed to the following songs while on the treadmill, elliptical, or stationary bike:

Green Day - Longview (I got thrown out of a Green Day concert when I was fifteen.  No joke.  I found myself with my friend Matt standing outside Cobo Hall in Detroit wondering how we were going to get home because all of our friends - and rides home - were still inside the venue because they didn't try to run for the main floor/mosh pit from their balcony seats, get caught by security, and literally thrown out onto the streets.)(P.S. Mom, I will deny this ever happened if you try to talk to me about it.  I am still your favorite angel of a child.)

My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade  (I had a four run streak where I pretended to be the drummer for My Chemical Romance the entire run.)

Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name (I won't do what you tell me.)

Needtobreathe - the live recording of Prisoner (Actually way more intense than the  studio version.)

Harvey Danger* - Flagpole Sitta (Lyric I loved until I found out they were being ironic hipsters back in 1997 and really making fun of me - "I wanna publish zines, and rage against machines, I wanna pierce my tongue it doesn't hurt it feels fine.")

<3  RIP

Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit (How can you not air drum to this?)(Maybe you're just in a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial ... )

Beastie Boys - Sabotage (also I forgot where I was and did the dog bark out loud in Sure Shot while on the treadmill)(That's worth about 40,000 Awesome Points if you're keeping score.)

P.O.D. - Boom (here comes the boys from the south)(I saw P.O.D. play in a church gym circa '98-ish.)(A church gym, y'all.)

The Breeders - Cannonball (actually this was accidental air guitar)

*Do you remember Harvey Danger?  They were kinda a big deal in 1997.  And by "big deal" I mean they were on TRL once.  I totally met them in a very "Needtobreathe type moment" where I knocked on their tour bus door outside of St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit and they let me and my friend Megan come inside the bus and interview them for my zine.  Because it was 1998 and I had a zine.  Which was kind of like a blog.  That I typed on a typewriter and printed at Kinko's and distributed at actual record stores.  Because I was DIY and this was before computers were a thing.  Because I'm old.*

I have a ton of music I would like to write about, but I am listening to my iPod as I write this and House of Pain's Jump Around is now blasting in my ear.  I find that I have to sign off and go dance because that song is pretty much a command to move.

Thanks, Babe. It's not all fun and games being a blogger.

Happy Hump Day, y'all.

Case of the Mondays: Dutch Oven *THIS*, Dude.

Sometimes I have to remind Brian that I am quite the catch.  This is one of the ways I affirm that sentiment.

Deborah Burns accused of stabbing boyfriend who 'farted in her face'

Southwest Fla. woman faces charge of aggravated battery with deadly weapon

UPDATED 11:54 AM EDT May 14, 2013

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Deborah Burns faces a charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.

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IMMOKALEE, Fla. —A southwest Florida woman is accused of stabbing her boyfriend after he "farted in her face," the Collier County Sheriff's Office said.

Deborah Burns, 37, said she was watching television with her boyfriend, Willie Butler, at their Immokalee home last week when Butler "walked by her and farted in her face," according to the arrest report.

MUGSHOTS: Have You Seen Death Row's Female Faces?

When Burns confronted Butler about the fart, he became agitated and told her to shut up, the report added.

A confrontation ensued, and Butler chased Burns into the kitchen, where he picked up a knife and threw it at her, but he missed, the report stated. Burns then picked up the knife and threw it at him as he ran outside, striking him in the stomach, the report said.

Burns,whose occupation was listed as an unemployed prostitute on the Collier County Sheriff's Office booking blotter, was arrested on a charge of aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. She was being held at the county jail on $50,000 bond.

Read more: http://www.wpbf.com/deborah-burns-accused-of-stabbing-boyfriend-who-farted-in-her-face/-/8789538/20139764/-/xncm5xz/-/index.html#ixzz2TlnksMk3

Everyone has their limit.

"Feel the stress of the day melt away, while breathing in the positivity of the screaming match I'm about to partake in."

Corpse pose.  How the ultra fit work out.

I use the website Dailymile.com to track my workouts.  It's a helpful tool because they keep track of total mileage and send encouraging emails every once and a while to show the trends in my fitness routine.  Dailymile also has a widget you can connect to your blog that reports your latest workout, which adds accountability for my physical activity.

However, Dailymile is only helpful if you remember to log your workouts, which I have been forgetting lately.  This was brought to my attention when I received an "It's been NINE days since your last workout - are you okay or have you fallen into an endless bag of oreo cookies?" email from them, bringing my slacker tendencies to light.

My last logged exercise was a 5.2 mile run, which for me is pretty impressive, and I'm sure on some subconscious level I didn't want to replace that publicly with some 1000 yard swim.  Then I got out of the habit of tracking through Dailymile, which prompted some concern on their part (or an automatic email, I'm not sure which) so now I am here to assure you, my dear reader, with the beautiful poetry that is Fergie and the Black Eyed Peas, that I've been "up at the gym just workin' on my fitness".

Here is one of the highlights.

The best part of the week for me was definitely yoga.  I love this particular class because it's taught by the "young" instructor (Natalie) and she uses the Twilight soundtrack as her background music.  I think she thinks no one knows this, but um, I'm kinda a fan of Twilight.  Her music choice is perfect because there are a few go-to's in my arsenal of stress-relief.  Yoga is one, and eating handfuls of doritos while watching Twilight is another.  So yoga and Twilight are like the best stress-relief combination ever.  After a yoga session backed by Twilight I'm like Crush from Finding Nemo.  "Whatever, Dude." Nothin' phases me.  I'm super chilled out.

I kid you not, I tried this.
I failed miserably.  But I tried.

This particular class was no different. (Except Natalie introduced a new position where you get into a squat, put your hands on the floor in front of you, brace your elbows against your knees, and then balance your entire body weight on your freaking hands.)(It totally didn't happen for me.)(But I did try.)(Unlike all the other people that said, "Yeah, right," in disbelief.)(I mean, they remained upright while I crashed to a heap on the floor with an audible, "Ooomph," but I tried.)



This particular class had all the calming effects I've come to love about yoga.  I spent a whole hour working out all my "I'm about to start my period and I'm a cranky ball of tight muscles and irrational emotion," feelings of the day.  We were ending yoga with corpse pose, and Natalie was saying soothing things that I tune out because it's just not my thing.  I was in a perfectly sleepy state because not only we were in corpse pose, but there was a thunderstorm outside and it was a little warm inside our class.  I was daydreaming about what I could go eat after class (because that's what everyone does as they are leaving the fitness center, right?)(I totally chose Cheerios, if you were wondering) when all of a sudden my eyes flew open at the jarring sound of a loud verbal spat.  Natalie, in the midst of her Zen-like murmurings, was interrupted by the instructor for the next class, who burst in the room and yelled, "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET OUT FIVE MINUTES AGO."

Because our entire class was so relaxed, centered, and generally at peace with the universe, three different woman responded (from the floor, still in corpse pose) "WHAT THE HELL?" "THAT IS SO RUDE!" "IT'S NOT NATALIE'S FAULT WE ARE LATE!" (Now, I love Natalie, but it totally was Natalie's fault we ran over.)(In the interest of fairness.)

Natalie replied with, "EVERYBODY CALM DOWN." The other instructor informed us that her "ENTIRE CLASS OF PEOPLE HAVE BEEN STANDING IN THE HALLWAY FOR FIVE MINUTES FOR A CLASS THEY PAID FOR," implying it's superiority to our general admission yoga that merely requires one shell out the yearly $400 fee to be able to attend.  Natalie rolled her eyes (oh yes she did) and apologized sort of with, "I'M SORRY BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE RUDE ABOUT IT."

At this point I knew I was clearly at the best yoga class I would ever attend, because who expects yoga to turn into a fight?  It was awesome.  I was waiting for it to escalate further (my money was on Natalie not only because she's young and super buff, but also because she looks like she might be the kind of person that resorts to hair-pulling and ear biting)(like Mike Tyson)(but only as a twenty-something white girl from the 'burbs) but what really happened was that our class started packing up, mostly tense about the situation, and the other class trickled in, looking oddly embarrassed to be there.  Once we saw their embarrassment we played it up and managed to look wounded at the abrupt ending of our yoga time, because apparently we were all raised Catholic and/or by Jewish grandmothers and know a lot about manipulation through guilt.

Thanks to the fight, I left feeling exhilarated.  I felt energized and full of life.  It was an amazing feeling.  I'm going to petition that the makers of yoga look into officially replacing corpse pose with some kind of surprise exciting event (probably not always a fight because that would get stale fast)(but maybe something like a fake fire that triggers the sprinkers)(or you know that machine at the eye doctor's that blows air at your eyeball? That would work as well)(that thing always scares the bejeebers out of me), because that was my favorite yoga class ever.

Whisper Sweet Nothings

Brian took this picture of me before a 5k.  True love is = taking a picture like this and keeping it on the
camera so it accidently gets uploaded to the computer and randomly used as a desktop photo. Thank you, honey.

Scene:  I have just gotten out of the shower and am drying off in front of the mirror.  I'm flipping back and forth between being super proud of my shoulders (thank you, swimming) and horrified at my former baby condo.  I am also simultaneously thinking about watching Sixteen Candles and eating Lay's Dill Pickle potato chips.  Brian walks in and I blurt out:

"Honey, I love you so much.  You are such a good dad.  You are a great husband.  I am sooooooo lucky to have you."

Brian assesses me and takes note of my verge-of-tears tone of voice.  He responds,

"I can't wait for you to start your period."

Um, YEAH, I totally meant my ovaries.

It turns out that me feeling so much better on Saturday was a total fake out.  It was merely a reprieve as my body unknowingly prepared for experiencing why some people use "violently" as an adverb with "ill".  I have never felt so sick in my entire life.

That's how I ended up at Urgent Care Sunday evening crying into my Throw Up Bowl (run to the bathroom?  Ain't nobody got time for that) fully convinced I was going to be the first case in history of some crazy hybrid flu that made even the hardest of doctors sympathetic to my misery.  I would be the woman the staff gather around to garner bragging rights that they were the first to see "Sublurban Mama Close to Death Flu" in southeastern Michigan, 2013.

I had the best nurse.  Her name was Rebekah, and she is the youngest of five, and a triplet. The first thing she did after my hour and a half wait yielded me a trip back into the coveted land where there are Actual Nurses and Doctors was transfer me to a room with a gurney so I could lie down.  Rebekah, because she is an awesome nurse, knew being in a room with just an exam table was not going to do the job.  (Although, in the interest of full disclosure: I totally crashed on the floor in the waiting room because I have no shame I'm not that picky.)(And the waiting room was full of chairs and love seats that were deceptive in the way they looked like they could handle a curled up 5'3" woman.)(But they couldn't.)(Handle me.)(Don't worry, the floor stepped up.)(Or rather, I stepped down.)(Okay, I slid.)(Pouty faced and pathetic.)(The important part is that I rested and did not throw up in public.)

Rebekah was 100% supportive in all the right ways, even though I was probably the fiftieth case of the flu she had dealt with that day, and each case knew theirs was the worst case Rebekah had ever seen in her career. (Sorry guys, mine was the worst.  True story.)  She got me water and warm blankets and didn't make me feel like an idiot that I came to Urgent Care even though I knew no one could do anything but Dear God, make it stop I was desperate.  She even suggested I get an official pregnancy test since Aunt Flo is running a little behind schedule this month. (Negative on the bun in the oven.) She also totally made up for Dr. P, who was a (Holy Ghost edit).

Dr. P was not 100% supportive.  This is the story of our relationship.

Scene:  Kelly is on a gurney, probably dying of a weird flu that will be named after her. There is a sharp knock at the door, and as Kelly is registering sound (although not processing the source) the door sweeps open and in storms a young, tall, attractive man.

Man: How are you? I'm Dr P. (Keeps talking.)(Dude is like a freight train of talking.)
Kelly:  (still on first question, interrupts)  I've been better.
Dr. P: (looks confused - is she talking to me?)
(this man has no sense of humor)
Dr. P: So what's wrong?
Kelly:  I have the flu and it hurts everywhere.
Dr. P: Well, you have the flu.  It can hurt.  Sit up.
Kelly: (tries to sit up and gets tangled in the blanket.)(Is also still wearing her coat zipped and hood on.)
Dr. P: Where does it hurt?
Kelly: Everywhere. But mostly... (pantomimes rubbing her abdomen.)
Dr. P: Show me exactly.
Kelly: (unzips her coat at the speed of molasses.)(Thinks she is being the fastest coat unzipper-er ever.)(Jabs at a specific spot in her stomach.  But since she's a mom who has lost 100 pounds and is hunched over on a gurney, it's not nearly specific enough for Dr. P.)
Dr. P: Lay down and show me.
Kelly: (Has enough brain power to register that maybe she should be embarrassed that she is not wearing a bra that could have been some kind of veiled reference to the Mama Gut she is still rocking.)(Gets offended that she is really sick and this doctor just barely by the craziest interpretation possible kind of called her fat.)(Also, maybe when Kelly feels picked on she starts verbally spewing any excuse of justification that comes to mind.)

(I'm explaining the motivation of the character here.)(That was totally a character note, Dude.)(This is like, a professional level screenplay dialogue.)

(Back to Kelly feeling the need to seem smarter and more altogether ... together than current situation would suggest.)

Kelly: I'm a triathlete.  I mean, I know what it means to persevere.  You know, when you're in pain. I'm not a wuss.  So I don't really know anatomy, but I'm pretty sure it's my kidneys. Can we just rip those out?
Dr. P: Show me.
Kelly: (Juts her hips in the air and digs her fingers in to the spot of torture.)

This is a picture of my reenactment once I felt better the next day (because if I were President the first thing I would do is give every household Zofran.  And complimentary fiber.  Holy Side Effects, Batman.)  If you know anatomy this picture is already hilarious.  If not, don't worry, I'll explain soon.

Dr. P: (Steps back.)(NO EXPRESSION WHATSOEVER.)
Dr. P: Anywhere else?
Kelly:  Just my whole stomach hurts.
Dr. P: (Steps closer and begins to probe.) Tell me if it hurts.
Kelly:  (Is in full panic because now she is worried that 1. it's going to hurt and 2. she might throw up.  This realization brings that panic that 3. she has never throw up without pooping at the same time, and now she has to try to accurately assess a pain level and not throw up and poop on this doctor who already thinks she is a hypochondriac retard.) (Finally answers) It's all ... sensitive.
Dr. P: Okay, we'll put you on an IV for dehydration and give you Zofran for nausea.
Kelly: My mouth tastes like metal. (What she means is, "Hey Dr. House, here's a weird symptom that you can add to your puzzle in order to correctly diagnose and treat me. Because I am too sick to have the normal flu.)
Dr. P: Yes. You're dehydrated.
Kelly: (Desperate) And my hips and knees are killing me. (C'mon, House, work your magic.)
Dr. P : Dehydration. (Leaves the room.)

End scene.  Well, not exactly.

The next day, having received my IV and Zofran from Rebekah the Angel Nurse and feeling almost close to normal (just a lot worn out) I also was able to fully distinguish a flu-like stomach ache from period cramps.  And then when Aunt Flo visited around noon I finally put together that when I asked Dr. P to rip out my kidneys?  You know, these kidneys?

The kidneys all the way in my lower abdomen that were trying to kill me?  The kidneys that I asked Dr. P to rip out were really my ovaries.

So yeah, I *did* have some weird hybrid flu.  Pee Em Ess Flu, Dude.  Don't hate.

Awesome.

The Most INSPIRATIONAL Fitness Friday in the History of the World. Officially.

I'm not gonna lie.  I weighed in at 156 today.  That is a turr-ble number, which causes a turr-ble feeling, because my goal is 148 by Christmas and that ain't gonna happen unless I get the stomach flu.  (Also, I totally don't want the stomach flu, Jesus.  Please and thank you.)(And Santa, if you are thinking of bringing it to my house, well, our chimney has wasps.  Go ahead and try.) 

Honestly, I'm happy I've maintained my three pound Disney World loss, because Christmas time food opportunities are no joke.  It's not even that we have that much crap around our house (we don't; I caught Brian eating marshmallows the other day because we have nothing good lying around, poor husband of a Wife who Needs to be Careful All the Time), it's simply that we have so many extra "food" events that I have not been handling responsibly.  I'm not bingeing, but I am not restraining myself, either.*  But I am maintaining in the month of December, and I'm going to focus on that.

*Wednesday was one of the most delicious days of my life.  I took the kiddos to the mall during the day.  (It's sad to me when Santa needs a sponsor, but apparently the Ice Age movie franchise is paying him well enough to include it's movie themed interactive wait in line and continually falling rice paper snow before you even see Santa.  Which guarantees my  kiddos will want to see Ice Age ASAP.  Jokes on you, Ice Age, I got it at the library for free.  Snap. However, they are not paying him so much that he thinks it's wrong to forbid you to take your own picture but charge you a price-gouging $21 for a 4x6 print. Whatever, Santa.  Thanks for the Ice Age notebook give-away.)  We ate Sbarro for lunch (admittedly, horrible food) but I had some of the white pizza with broccoli and red pepper and it was really good.  Or I was really hungry.  Probably both.

That night Brian and I went on a real date with Other Adults.  These Other Adults have grown children, which made it so we didn't even talk about potty-training once. We ate at an Italian restaurant that Jerry and Nancy picked out, and since they are Really Italian I figured it would be good.  Brace yourselves; I had calamari. (Seriously I did, Mom.) I never, ever eat seafood.  Like, ever.  I've been trying to challenge myself and nothing says "outside my comfort zone" quite like tentacles.  I also had Linguine Carbonara and it was (in your best sing-song falsetto) *ah-may-zing*. My mouth is watering in memory.  Because I totally finished it for breakfast lunch. 

In other news, my calf is still healing.  I've been swimming and doing the elliptical, but each time my calf reacts the next day.  I'm going to try to ride the most boring contraption known to man stationary bike at my next workout to see how that goes.  I've been doing a lot of lifting and also the Plank Challenge. Today's time:  

Just in case you missed it, that's TWO MINUTES AND FORTY-ONE SECONDS in plank position.

  

I found this video on the internets and it makes me cry every. single. time. y'all.  Watch it.  This man ... I dare you to tell me you can't after you've seen this.

(And my personal addendum: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. - Philippians 4:13.)

Sometimes you're the frog.

Mama said there'd be days like this.

My current theory is that this frog toadally knew that thumb was being a bit fat wienie and went after it maliciously.  He was all, "I know you think I'm just a frog, and it's all super hilarious to mess with me, but I have feelings too."  He probably also dropped a monster swear because it doesn't feel good to be purposely frustrated by others.  Then he was all, "This is just like when I ask everyone for their dirty clothes, do six loads of laundry, and then discover another full load of dirty clothes that were ignored because they were under the bunk bed and/or crib."

Probably the frog* was like that.

* feel free to relate to this YouTube video as personally as I have.


In other news, I'm pretty sure our basement is fixed.  We've located the source of water and are currently getting everything clean and dry. (Because while I've been a slacker blogger I've been a busy homeowner.) My much anticipated Operation: Black Friday Recap will be coming soon, so stay tuned for an inside look at the top secret mission report. Thank you for your patience.  Hoorah!

I was hijacked. Or held hostage. Or something.

I think we all need to remember that I am the victim here.  Because I'm not going to go into this at all if you are going to sit there all silent and judgey like it's never happened to you.

I was being responsible with my time.  The kids were in bed, the house clean as it could be since we ran out of dish soap yesterday and apparently you're not supposed to use shampoo even if you need the slow cooker to be clean in order to use it so you order pizza instead, effectively turning the $2 dish soap you were waiting until grocery shopping day to buy because "we don't run to the store for 'just one thing'" into a purchase of $20 in hot crust and pepperoni, and my workout done.

Brian was finished with the computer for the evening, so I could take the time and care required to work on this blog in order to keep it up to the impeccable standards I currently use for excellent blogging.  (They include:  try to spell check before you publish, and make sure each post contains the word "totally" roughly 30 times.)

Since it is Foreign Language/Fitness Friday, I needed to do some last minute research to have content that was both relevant and interesting.  (Read:  I've exhausted my vast repertoire of exercises that beguiled me when I began working out, and yet I also don't want to admit that this week I gained two pounds and use any of my spare time to dwell on my own failure.  So I was fresh out of things to write about.)  I went where everyone looking for inspiration should go:  Pinterest, the most trusted name in Genius Ideas Found on the Internet.

I promise I had every intent upon going straight way to the Health and Fitness section.  But every Pinterest visit begins on my home page showcasing all the pins of the people I follow, so I think honestly the first perpetrator person we can blame for what happened is my "friend" (who shall remain nameless)(Megan) who frequently pins the most amazing desserts on the planet.

I clicked on one little dessert pin and ended up discovering the next perpetrator my true junk food soul mate in a woman I've never met before who honestly could be my 24th sister wife solely for her love of chocolate.  Her name is Shelly, and it's one of those weird "I don't know her, no one I know knows her, but her pins are so good I should probably follow her, but not a lot of people are following her, so should I just go ahead and do it or will she think she's being stalked or something?" kind of situations.  Most people would just go ahead and follow her because that's how Pinterest works, but I was feeling a little sensitive and might tend to over-analyze things this time of year when SAD gets it's hooks under my skin and keeps me tethered with insecurity over L-AME-O things.  (And?  A titsch upset that the only remedy for SAD is sunshine, meaning that moving to Texas* is less a deep seeded desire and more of a medical necessity.)

*I totally want to move to Texas.  Brian's work has an office there.  It is warmer there.  And in Texas I wouldn't have to go through the gallons of lotion my allergy kids require during the winter.  Are there any readers that can tell me the good neighborhoods in the Dallas/Fort Worth area so I can be specific when I waste spend my time on Realtor.com?

I wanted a post full of this:

because I care about your health and helping you be an informed fitness junky.

Instead, I ended up with this:

Ghirardelli English Toffee Recipe?  YES.

and this:

Whaaa?

I was clearly defenseless when faced with the possibility of both toffee and truffles. I maintain that I was clearly hijacked.  Or held hostage.  But whatever the case, it totally wasn't my fault.  So, in conclusion, I rest my case and Happy Fitness Friday to you.

If I wasn't a mom I'd be a Rock Star. Or more likely a Roadie. Either way I'd have access to a microphone, so yeah, WIN.

I'm pretty sure Bear is singing, "Kelly is our
NUMBER ONE FAN and she is so awesome."
I'm fairly certain those are the lyrics.

I'm not going to downplay it.  My weekend was pretty boss. (Yeah, you read that right.  I'm bringing boss back.)(This is kind of like when Katniss was bringing earmuffs back in book two of the Hunger Games series.)(Because I know that I will someday lead a revolution just like Katniss.)(But mine won't be a revolution against a tyrannical dystopian society.)(Mine will be a revolution of Awesome.)(I don't even know exactly what that is, but it's gonna be boss.)(And will probably include free Iced Capp.)(And definitely have it's own soundtrack.)(Comprised mainly of Needtobreathe.)(That was a segue....)

Needtobreathe?  Oh yeah, I totally saw them this weekend.  Again.

A few months ago Lauren called me in a panic because we didn't have tickets yet for their fall tour and this was the first NTB show where there were actual seats. For someone who is only 5'3" and NTB's NUMBER ONE FAN, this was a bit disconcerting.  I have never, ever seen NTB from anywhere other than the front row.  Also, every single time I've seen them play I have spoken personally to at least one member of the band.  Because that's what NUMBER ONE FAN's do.

Because Lauren is a cuh-razy good friend and also loves NTB (like any person with impeccable taste should), she immediately drove fifteen minutes out of her way to procur tickets for us.  We ended up getting second row seats, but it was after the orchestra pit full of folding chairs, which made us more like tenth row.  This was a huge disappointment for me, someone who actually paid money to join the Needtobreathe Fan Club strictly so that I could have first dibs on ticket sales and meet and greets.  But I totally dropped the ball and my ah-may-zing bestie picked it up and got us the best tickets possible.  That's why she's on my team.

Proof?  This is my actual fan club membership card.  I even signed the back.  You need a photo ID to use it, so don't even think about trying to steal it.  Also?  It's Non-Transferable, so no, you can't have it.

Saturday afternoon I got all dolled up and took this picture.

"Hey!  Imma Blogger and this is a pic I took of myself."

Then Lauren showed up and Brian helped in the photography department.

See?  I do much better with others around.

We left around 3:00 to drive to Kalamazoo, MI, home of Western Michigan University.  We made decent time even though Lauren graciously had to accommodate my many pit stop needs due to my uterine/intestinal issues.  I was allllll a mess up in here.

We parked for free (whaaa?) and had to pass two tour buses and a semi truck previously full of NTB gear on our way to dinner.  It took HUGE amounts of self-control to refrain from "dropping by" in the form of stalker-like knocking, but I was determined to play it cool.  Biggest mistake ever. (Decision? I'm totally done being cool.  Like, forever.)(Brian thinks this decision won't have much affect on my current lifestyle.)

We ate at a bar next to the theater and just happened to sit next to one of the opening acts. (Parachute?)(They were awful.)(Musically, I mean.)(IRL they were really polite to their server.) But they weren't NTB and I'm not a groupie for the sake of it, so I just kept devouring eating my baked potato soup like a lady, and left them alone.

We went next door and were ushered to our seats.  

See what I mean?  Like, tenth row or something.  But it was something different and I'm ok with it.  Really.

Drew Holcomb played first and the dude is funny.  It was just him and a guitar because his band was all back home, but the man was personable and owned the power southern growl.  Lauren surprised me by buying me three of his CD's because once again I am spoiled rotten by my awesome friends.  I heart new music.



The next band was the aforementioned Parachute.  I think that's all I have to say about them. Except I was actually grateful for our ticketed seats because I had freedom to leave the theater during their set and frequent the privy without suffering a huge line.

NEEDTOBREATHE! NEEDTOBREATHE! NEEDTOBREATHE!  The excitement of waiting for NTB almost got the best of me, but fortunately I was distracted by this:

Can you see what this is?  It's the floor of the theater aisle.  And where it changes from carpet to the cement of the orchestra pit was a 1/2 inch piece of molding.  (Where the dark part and the bluish part meet.) This is when we giggled like teenage boys every time someone tripped over it.  It happened a lot.  The time flew by.

Then ... there was Needtobreathe.  A moment, please.

I love them.  That's all I can really say.  They played a new song that was gorgeous.  And they finished with an acoustic song, which I always love.  And they are amazing and someday I will win some kind of grand prize that allows me to spend an entire day in studio with them.  Like a Make A Wish thing, but without the sickness requirement.  And I will officially be dubbed their NUMBER ONE FAN.  (This is kind of starting to remind me of sixth grade when I had New Kids on the Block bedding.)(But not as weird ... right?)

NTB went on at 9:30 and they played for around two hours.  I danced and sang and got my NTB on, but at 11:30, since we had a two hour drive home (3 for Lauren), we decided to be adults and not wait around for the band.  Which (sad face) was a good decision, because half the venue was outside waiting for the band.  I'm sure Bear, Bo, and Seth all grieved a little because we didn't get to hang out, but whatever, I'll see them in a few months.

Until then, boys, until then.

There's this thing they do at the end where they pull out all these drums and do a crazy rockin' out song with lots of bass and I dream air drummer dreams of greatness.