Fat Mom Brain

Did someone say, "RIVER OF CHOCOLATE?"

There are moments as a mother when you will completely lose your shizz past any level you ever thought possible. Like, kick a hole in the wall/throw gracefully toss a frying pan to the floor/screaming banshee lose your shizz. In those moments you will want nothing more than to walk away and pretend these little spawn of Satan are not yours, you have no responsibility towards them, and you are free to live in a bubble where, if someone is rude to you, or throws something at you, or ignores your instructions for the millionth time, or hits/bites/pinches his sister again, you have the freedom to just walk away without a care. Permanently.

But you can't. It's irresponsible at best and illegal at worst.

I'm sure a holier person, a Godlier person, a more grounded or centered or patient person would handle these moments better than I do. Maybe they excuse themselves from the room to "regroup" or grit their teeth and pray, "Jesus, take the wheel," as they handle the situation du jour.

But what really happens in those moments, if you are a Fat Mom (which is more of a mindset and less of a physical description, I'm learning), is that you will want to self-soothe with spoonfuls of the frosting in the refrigerator leftover from a recent birthday cake, or fistfuls of the Doritos allowed in the house because they normally don't tempt you, or entire cases of the 100-calorie snack packs you buy the kiddos as treats. (Fudge-striped miniature Keebler cookies? Why, don't mind if I do. Yes, I want all eight packs, thankyouverymuch.)

You will just want to take a fleeting moment and eat whatever you want, macros/calories be damned. Your mind will disengage from the chaos of whatever familial storm is raging, and you will take a mental tour through the pantry to see what you can cram in your mouth because you need to feel better right now.

Welcome to the Fat Mom's head.

In those moments you have a choice. A choice about what to feed. Do you choose to feed your emotions? They are quite demanding. They are loud. They are immediate. They are seemingly inescapable. They are also temporary. Or, do you choose to feed your body? Do you feed your goals? Do you choose to do the harder thing and suck it up, Buttercup, and don't settle for the cheap fix?

Today I compromised. I may have Augustus Gloop-ed the heck out of some junk food in my head, but I did not inhale a quart of ice cream in real life. I may have gone to McDonalds on a rest day and ordered a sugar free vanilla iced coffee, but I did not eat a Big Mac with fries. And today, I'm calling that compromise a Fat Mom Brain victory.

Now, if only I could stop screaming like a banshee.

*sigh*

Baby steps.

Go Shawty, it's yer birfday

Truth
#science

Today I celebrate the sixth anniversary of my 29th birthday. If you are a math genius you can figure out I have run out of time to do stupid things. I mean, the excuse of "well, I'm just in my early thirties" only works when you are actually in your early thirties. (No matter how you try to spin it, the sixth anniversary of my 29th birthday is solidly my mid-thirties.)(And rounds up to 40 years old because math is a jerk.)

I have to say that my thirties are my favorite decade so far. I realize I only have three others to choose from, but having found years 0-9 somewhat lacking in autonomous achievements (aside from learning to walk and talk, that was pretty dope) and years 10-19 being a crapstorm of hormones and the pressures of making huge life-defining decisions (as well as some awesome fashion, let's give the '90s its proper due), the contest is simplified to my twenties and thirties. In comparison, my thirties win hands down.

Thirty is awesome because you still feel like you are twenty, but without all the naivete that comes with being so preciously young. You understand a lot more about the world while simultaneously knowing you know very little about the world. It's like living an oxymoron. You still have lots of energy (when your children aren't sucking it away with their nightly puke fests) but also the life experience that allows you to really value time, so you don't fritter it away doing stupid things. (I mean, ideally, of course.)

Last night I went over to my old gym for another workout while Lifetime is under construction. I had a glorious epiphany that sums up what has been happening during my thirties. I realized that when I worked out at my old gym I was terrified of the free weight section (sound familiar?). After I ran or did floor work I would purposefully walk out of my way to avoid strolling through the free weights with all the boyz and their muscles.

But last night I headed straight there to find a squat rack and lift. Since it's such a small gym everyone was all up in everybody else's business due to space issues. I had to interact with the guys simply to avoid a collision. I felt like I belonged there. I looked like I belonged there because I was confident I knew what I was doing. When it came time to deadlift I caught the eye of the biggest man there and asked if deadlifting was allowed at this particular gym because it's not really a Meathead Mecca. (It's more family friendly and filled with teenaged bros and only a handful of adult meatheads.) His eyes got all wide and homeboy got excited when he answered, "Um, yeah. You can deadlift over in that squat rack."

So I deadlifted in the squat rack without a care in the world. A year ago I never would have done any of that. I find that my thirties have been spent making gainz - and I'm not just talking about the physical kind. I have grown emotionally, learned to take chances, and have tried so many new things. I think a lot of it has to do with the confidence that has come from losing 107 pounds (yeah, that's right, I'm at 146!!!), but I think the perspective that comes from being older definitely helps.

So on to my birthday. The plans for today are to EATALLTHETHINGS. Breakfast, snack, lunch, and afternoon snack will all be my usual, but dinner is GAME ON. We are going to my favorite burger place (Basement Burger Bar - holla!) and I'm eating a black bean burger and sweet potato fries. I'm also making my own cake this year because if I'm eating birthday cake I want it to be amazing. Like, not from some bakery amazing. Homemade chocolate cake with icing is going to put me in a food coma in roughly 13 hours. NOM NOM NOM.

Happy Birthday to ME!!!!!

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.

A Brand New and Totally Effective Diet

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Just kidding, Kemper.)

Y'all gon' give me avocados up in here, up in here.

Will Ferrell: Frustrated Gangster?

Let's review.  I've been recapping my fabulous trip to San Diego with Lauren and left you all relieved that we avoided being a part of any kind of gang initiation or other crime a suburban mama from Michigan might stumble upon in California (although "mama's" are pretty prevalent in gang activity) (usually as fodder for insults) (that are really hilarious) (like, "Yo Mama is so nasty that she makes Speed Stick slow down.") (or, "Yo Mama is so fat that THX can't even surround her.") (maybe gangbangers are just frustrated comedians) (more comedy clubs = less gang activity) (#Kelly@SublurbanMamaforPresident2016).

(I just took a five minutes break and realized I can totally make my hands spell "blood" if I try hard enough.) (But I did need to use one hand to position the other (is that cheating?) and immediately after succeeding both hands cramped and locked into position and I thought, "I can't even blog this because no one is awake to take a picture of me totally nailing this impressive feat of ... hand positioning and if I move at all it is lost forever because my hands are now in so much pain I am never doing this again.)

So, San Diego.  We arrived at the Hilton on Harbor Island at 10:30 p.m. (1:30 a.m. to our poor Detroit bodies) hungry enough to eat a - *GANGBANGER COMEDIAN INTERRUPTION* "Yo Mama is so fat she doesn't eat with a fork, she eats with a forklift."  Yes, GBC, exactly that. Thankfully the hotel bar was still open and the front desk even gave us a 20% off coupon because it was customary we were super hot.

We sat at the bar with exactly the kind of people you would expect in a hotel bar at nearly 11:00 on a Tuesday night.  Since it was nearing closing time, some of these fine patrons had been enjoying themselves for a while when we arrived.  The bartender was really cool about us coming near closing and ordering a meal. Seriously.  I ordered a Club sandwich and Lauren got fish tacos.  (Midwestern Fun Fact: When ordering food in a Midwestern restaurant and you see the word "California" proceeding the menu item, it means one of two things.  Either that item has avocado or that item has sprouts.  When my club sandwich came and it was loaded with avocado, my first reaction was, "Dude, I didn't order a California Club."  Then I realized I didn't have to.  Winning like Charlie Sheen.

The food was so.good.  We were tired and the adrenaline from the travel and excitement over our first hotel was fading and being replaced quickly with a riotous form of The Slaphappy Giggles.  I don't know who started it, but it was probably Lauren.  She's definitely the more immature one in our relationship and way more prone to inappropriate public behavior. (Haha. Sike.)

(I should probably preface this story with the information that Lauren and I completely lost our marbles during the entirety of this next exchange. We lost it in the way one loses it when it is not suitable to laugh and so you lose your mind trying not to laugh and then inevitably explode. It was the most fantastic display of The Slaphappy Giggles in the history of that bar.)(I'm pretty sure.)

The lady at the end of the bar was trying to pay her bill when she realized how much money she drank that evening.  Her main point of contention was the chocolate martinis.  I don't know anything about the price of drinks, but $22 per martini seems like a legit thing to question.  So she asked our Super Nice Bartender (the same guy who welcomed us and our full dinner order at closing time) to kindly review the bill. The Super Nice Bartender kindly explained the cost of Grey Goose vodka, and then kindly explained how many shots of that vodka went into each of those martinis, and when he was kindly finished she kindly informed him she had five kids in college and wasn't paying $22 for a martini that "was clearly watered down.  I drink all the time, and seriously, those didn't even give me a good buzz." After numerous minutes of this sort of reasoning, Super Nice Bartender responded, "I didn't make those drinks, I'm just trying to close up.  Let me get the man who served you.  I'll go get Omar."

This sounded completely ominous to me because 1. Omar is the name of a man who could kick a little tush (not like Marvin or Casey) and 2. this lady was drunk "not buzzed" enough to try and take him on.  Frankly, I was a little excited it was beginning to seem like my life-long dream of being a bystander on the show COPS might come to fruition.

Omar. In animal form.

Then a young, tiny little man came out. He was super cute.  Super cute like a kitten cuddling a baby seal while wearing a top hat.  This was not going to be an even fight. Omar had almost the exact conversation with Not Buzzed Lady as did the Super Nice Bartender, but, being the second time around, my keen deduction skills and math genius started to kick in. This is when I realized that if Grey Goose vodka shots were a total of $22 per chocolate martini, and an entire chocolate martini was $22, then this Not Buzzed Woman had received all her chocolate for FREE.

I anticipated this being the kind of information that needed to be shared immediately, but Lauren convinced me this was not helpful information to bring to a debate between Omar and Not Buzzed Lady for the time being. Instead I settled for a stage whispered, "STAY STRONG, DUDE," just to help Omar out, and when Not Buzzed Lady said, "What did she say?" Omar totally wasted my support by saying, "They are just having a good time."

Later, when Not Buzzed Lady retired for the evening (after paying full price for her beverages and leaving a tip)(impressive, Omar, impressive) we had a chance to discuss the situation in full with Omar.  After a few moments of fairly intelligent conversation based upon our outsider perspective of the situation, Omar looked at us anew and confessed, "Oh, I thought you guys were high."

Then we went to our room where Lauren spent 45 minutes on the phone with Expedia because Quality Inn was refusing to refund any money because they want their customers to become victims of gangbangers who just need comedy clubs I finally went blissfully to sleep on the most comfortable pillows in existence.

The End of Day One of our Great Trip Westward.

Literally

Life goals = achieved.

Confession: I may or may not be guilty of literally misusing the word "literally".  I mean, it's rare that my head literally explodes.  Sometimes I catch myself before I make the Drama Queen mistake and substitute the correct word, like, "I am so hungry I could figuratively eat a horse". (We've all seen what happens when someone miscommunicates about eating horse meat.)(If you are so hungry you could literally eat a horse, a furniture store that also sell meatballs might care so much about meeting your needs that they make it happen.)(It's okay, IKEA, we've all been there.)(Sike.)

So when I say that "chocolate literally goes straight to my booty," I'm probably remembering yesterday when I sat in chocolate. That chocolate literally went straight to my booty.  I walked around in public all.day.long, looking like I'd literally pooped my pants.  Awesome.

A Case of the Mondays: Three simple words can change your life.

Those words:  Leaf Blower Photography.

A photographer named Tadas Černiauskas (watch your mouth) invited a hundred people to get their picture taken while subjecting themselves to the powerful gusts of a leaf blower.

Scientific evidence proves that laughing for ten minutes can burn up to 45 calories*.  Also around 45 calories?  Two Hershey kisses.  So if you look at the pictures linked below while eating two Hershey kisses, the candy becomes a negative calorie food.  That's the way logic works.  Negative calorie foods are those foods whose calories actually get burned off while eating them.  Like celery.  Which is awful on it's own and needs a big dollop of peanut butter or cream cheese to make it palatable and even then it's only redeeming quality is that it becomes an edible spoon.  Laughing also strengthens abdominal muscles.  So as an added bonus today's post also offers an ab workout for free.  I'm like the best personal trainer in the world.

Click here for the full awesomeness.  And Happy Monday.

It's What's For Dinner

Just an average family dinner at my house.

It's 6 a.m., so I've obviously got one thing on my mind.

What's for dinner tonight?

Food.  I eat it everyday, so, I'm pretty much a fan.  Everyone has a personal philosophy about food, conscious or otherwise, because they make food decisions several times a day.  Some people even think their ideas about food are the ideas about food for everyone. Since I'm a little funny about others telling me what I should eat (not a pride thing, just a natural consequence of having food allergy kids and being a woman that has lost 100 pounds and is terrified of gaining it back)  I adopt a bit of a free-lovin' hippie-esque view of personal diet.  My current food philosophy is:  everyone is different, discover your needs and your wants, and exercise balance (in your diet, not on the Wii board) (although that's okay, too) (geez, stop being so touchy).

In 2004, a documentary called Super Size Me prompted Brian and I to try thirty days of whole foods, which is as close to clean eating as I have ever done.  We should have known this challenge was doomed from the start, when 45 minutes into a documentary showcasing how revolting the fast food industry is we broke for a Big Mac run.  We committed to the "Whole Foods Challenge" on a whim, even though my idea of healthy food was iceberg lettuce and the occasional apple. I guess you should theoretically know how to cook before you embark on a whole foods diet.  It was my practice to pass over any recipe that started with "chop one onion" because it was too much work.  So, you can see how prepared we were to go all whole foods for a month.

It did not go well.

Starting with the twenty-four ingredient Stuffed Portabella Mushroom Burgers was probably a bad choice.  The menu sounded wonderful to Brian until he came home from work to discover me crying in the kitchen because I was so overwhelmed mostly because I didn't want to touch the mushrooms, and prompt me to leave him with a 19 month old, a 5 month old, and an unfinished recipe while I took a long drive to recover from feeling like the worst wife/mother/chef ever. And maybe stopped to buy myself some "therapy" Subway.

Eventually I learned to cook,  which came in handy when God gave us a child that is allergic to milk.  And eggs.  And peanuts.  And tree nuts.  And sesame seeds.  And berries with seeds on the outside.  And citrus.  And high fructose corn syrup. (Up until that last one you were all, "That's not so bad, we could manage that."  But then I dropped the HFCS bomb and you were like, "WHAAAA?  HOW DO YOU FUNCTION?" I know, right?)

Actually, with that last allergy we are perfectly set up to eat a clean diet.  There is just one problem.  Taco Bell is delicious I am so lazy.  That's not 100% true.  It's more like 75% true. There are so few convenience foods our family can eat that when I discover that generic Fruit Loops are free of any of our families allergens, I'm all (and say it like you are a queen bestowing favor upon the land), "FRUIT LOOPS FOR BREAKFAST FOR EVERYONE!"

Which actually sounds like tonight's plan for dinner.  Full circle.  Done.

Totally not our generic Fruit Loops.  And I am so jealous.  These have an angry eagle throwing up a rainbow of cereal.  It's almost downright patriotic.

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.

The Rules of Invisibility Are Clear

I hate when this happens.
Sometimes you really need a pickle.

There are times when it is polite to treat people like they are invisible.  I've discovered, with some concern, that recently more people are ignorant of what used to be the unspoken rules of invisibility.  Which is leaving me no choice but to review a few here on my blog because I care about the future of a society in which I am raising my children.  I can't imagine leaving them to inherit a world full of people that aren't practicing the rules that provide an opportunity to be open-minded and compassionate.  Otherwise, what kind of world are we leaving them?

Rule #1:  People are invisible while they are in their own cars.

When one is in their own car, minding their own business, and makes the responsible decision to keep their hands on the steering wheel at ten and two because they are being trailed by a cop and are slightly tense because they might be 1. missing a taillight and 2. have a speedometer that frequently spontaneously quits, it might occur belatedly that they've rendered themselves unable to accurately communicate through dance how they feel about the music on the radio.  This is when the more creative members of society (or those with a Can-Do Spirit) explore other means of expression.  Including, but not limited to, conducting the music with one's nose*.

(*Before you hate on this and shrug this off as a non-option, consider that the nose sticks out of the body much in the same fashion as an arm or leg.  It's almost/kinda like another appendage.  Plus it can wiggle, scrunch up, hold up your glasses, and even houses one of the five senses as a conduit for smell.  In fact, the nose is probably way more useful than your right elbow which you use all the time when you dance and it's time to rock out a lasso.  Not so much a stretch now, is it?)(Also supremely underused?  Eyebrows.  And since I'm not one to discriminate I employ both of mine as often as possible.)(When I'm alone.)(I try not to be too much of a spazz in front of others.)

Actually not as hard as you would believe.
Because windows are already clear.

But just because people understand the availability of the nose for rocking out doesn't mean they will accept it when they see it happening.  However, those with any sense of propriety will observe the situation, make sure that the driver is not having a seizure but just dancing with their nose, and turn away and giggle at the spectacle.  Because the unspoken societal rules clearly indicate that while one is in their car they are in a bubble of private personal space and are therefore clearly invisible.  And for no reason is it copacetic to blatantly stare and silently judge.  (It is okay to take a picture if you are not driving and can do it in a subtle nature.)

Rule #2:  People are invisible if it is dark-ish.

Like, maybe you're spending a week at Disney World.  And maybe you've been walking around all day and you're super tired and even the trip back to your cabin was sidelined by a stop for dinner at another resort meaning that you still have an additional boat ride back to the bus stop that will take you back to your cabin. (First World Problem alert!) And maybe the Disney meal plan allows a dessert with your dinner and so you order an awesome looking granola cookie bar thing to take with you because you are sufficiently full now but will totally be ready to indulge later.

However.

On the boat ride home you make the mistake of taking one little bite and discover that the granola cookie bar thing is the most delicious thing you've ever eaten in your entire life.  And so you keep taking minuscule bites for the duration of the ride because you're holding a wiggly two year old and trying to eat without getting crumbs in his hair because you don't want to bathe him that night trying to be a responsible eater. (But then you remember that you're pretty sure the chocolate in the bar is dark and the coconut is organic, and probably the whole thing was handmade on some kind of free-range farm by free trade workers*, so it's totally just like health food.)

The clippings are a breeze to clean up.

When the boat docks, the best husband in the world takes over the care of the two year old, leaving you with two free hands to dedicate to mowing this dessert.  Since there is about a two hundred yard walk to the bus stop, mainly on barely lit paved pathway, and it is late at night and therefore very dark and less populated than in the light of day, you feel okay about eating with less decorum than usual.

(Have I mentioned how good this granola health food made by rescued baby seals and wrapped in biodegradable plastic wrap tastes?)


And maybe in your haste to finish it before you reach the bus stop, you may literally break off more than you can chew and some will fall from your lips (not chewed yet, chill out) and slide down into your bra (take a minute to thank the good Lord it won't be wasted).  This is when you automatically reach down into your bra to dig out the cookie bit that fell from your lips into your bra.  You might need to embark on a bit of a search as it is dark and the morsel landed among crevasses.   Once you have procured the crumbling chunk, you, without any delay, eat it.  At that exact moment of the boob to lip return you will look up and catch the eye of Disney Dad of Dastardly Deportment, the fellow that not only watches you remove food from your bra but sees you eat it as well and doesn't even have the decency to look away and pretend he didn't see it.  He's either the rudest person at Disney World or it's like he doesn't even know the rules of invisibility.

This situation is clearly a time when you are invisible.  Let people grope themselves for snack food in peace.  Duh.

IS THAT A TIGER?  It's like invisibility of a whole 'nother level.  Welcome to the jungle, Kitten.

In conclusion, there are probably more than two rules of invisibility, but that's all I have time for today.  So remember, next time you are witness to some "I can't believe I just saw them do that!" moment, ask yourself, "Are they actually invisible right now?"  Let's keep America kind.

* the only proof you have of this is your own assumption.

How to Get Free Stuff (You'll thank me later)

Sometimes people* question why I waste invest so much time on Pinterest.  Not to brag or anything, but I am really good at Pinterest.  I am diligent in my searches and committing to pinning anything that strikes my fancy awesome things in a systematic and logical way. Like this:

Whaaa?  Are you kidding me?  Why don't I have this already?  TheWaffsicle Maker.  A waffle on a stick you dunk in syrup.

I'm diligent in my pinning for one simple reason.  One day, the fine makers of reality television are going to spring a new show on us.  I am convinced of this.  And when it comes, I will be ready. Because I am already steadfastly planning for Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition.

Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition will happen when your Pinterest boards are hijacked and everything on them either purchased, created, implemented, or personally taught to you.  It's like a first world life makeover, and I am not messing around with my preparation.

Whenever I see something on Pinterest that I like, my sole criteria for pinning it is "What if it were free?"  An outfit that is okay but I really love the purse?  Better pin the whole thing, because EM:PE will be giving every piece.  A crazy exotic vacation destination that I will only visit in my dreams? Better get my passport ready because EM is sending me on their dime.  It's not practical to own a glass canoe when you have four kiddos?  It's totally practical when it's a gift.

Can't you see my children absolutely destroying this me freaking out as I search for leeches relaxing as I row through the crystal clear waters of paradise?

My "Lookin' Good in the Hood" board is extensive because I have fantastic (internet) style.  In fact, I'm pretty sure if Pinterest were invented when I was in high school (the dark ages)(not really, it was the 90's) I would've swept Best Dressed Not in Real Life but on Her Pinterest Board during mock elections.  So, you're really lucky, Class of '97 Reigning Queen Julie D.  Lack of technology handed you the crown for that one.

My fashion pins revealed to me that I really like 1950's housewife dresses:

(How many do I own in real life?  Zero.)(Which is a shame.)(But I'm a size 10.)(If you needed that information for any reason.)(Like buying me a dress.)

And, I apparently would really like to be adorned in birds:

(Also?  I like leaf jewelry too.  Who knew?)

(Whooooooo wants to buy me this owl bracelet?)






I also have about a thousand skinny jean/t-shirt/cardigan/scarf/purse combos pinned just like everyone else, because I'm not at all trendy.



Once I'm on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, my home will be filled with the cutest handmade crafts.  You are going to be so jealous, mainly because I didn't have to do them so they actually look just like the picture said they should.  Not at all like the t-shirt tutorial I tried and ended up throwing away.


<----- Lies.  All of it.  Or I just suck at crafts.  But it's probably lies.

Suburban Detroit, y'all.

I can't wait for my Pinterest Edition home.  It going to have a waterfall built into it, and a three story wall of windows.  It will fit in perfectly on my suburban block down the street from the garden gnome house.







My Nom Nom Nom board is the biggest, because I really like food.  Specifically, eating chocolate, which is reflected accurately in my pinning choices.  I'm really excited for my personal chef to make all the cute mini-food I pinned that I will never take the time to make but enjoy looking at because it's darling.

Awwww ...  Panda Bears made out of rice!

Mini Pineapple Upside-down cakes?  Don't worry, Producers, I already bought the pan to make these four months ago and haven't gotten around to it yet.

But honestly, I think the number one reason (without a doubt) that I need to be on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, is that I will finally own this:

This is a cross stitch of the genius that is Kayne West on twitter. "I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me like oh great now I gotta be responsible for this water bottle"

I die.  Every.single.time.  There are no words for how sharply I giggle when I see this.  It's like a little slice of awesomeness I could glimpse several times a day if I owned it.  It might be better than iced coffee (yeah, I just went there). (Interestingly enough, you don't even need my correct size in order to gift this.)(It will flatter me regardless.)(It's a gift where everyone wins.)(And by everyone, I mean mostly me.)

So, just a heads up, all you slackers out there that are missing out on prime preparation time, squandering your time away by making dinner instead of pinning recipes.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  The Pinterest Edition is coming.  Be ready.



P.S. Now I don't do this for just anyone, but yeah, you can follow me on Pinterest if you need some extra help with your preparation.

*my husband

Secretary to the Ministry of Cupcake

In high school I had a history teacher named Mr. Grant who kept McDonald's coupons in his wallet (this was in 1996, way before electronic gift cards)(it was kind of like the Flintstones Era)(the Flintstones were a cartoon)(from the 1960's)(1960's? For real?!) so that when a person of a homeless nature approached him for a handout he could feel confident his money was going towards food* and not a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.

(*food = this was also before Eric Schlosser and the rest of the Fast Food Nation would tell us the ingredients and preparation of many a McD's menu item, effectively ruining chicken nuggets for the rest of humankind.)(Who am I kidding?  Chicken nuggets are still awesome.)

I was thinking about Mr. Grant's coupons the other day as I was accosted by yet another person suffering from an irascible nature.  These people seem to be everywhere.  Walking by on the sidewalks, shopping in our stores, dining in our restaurants, texting while their kids play forlornly alone at the playground.

They are easily recognized because they look like they are personally offended simply by your presence.  They are hurried, short-tempered, and hindered by a litany of first world problems including being upset that "the Iced Capp machine is being cleaned and therefor unavailable to produce me Iced Capp".  (This may have been a personal experience.)  In short, they are suffering from a disease I like to call Splenetic Syndrome.*

(*this is simply because I'm too radio-friendly to call it the A-hole Syndrome, which I first wanted, and then every alternative I came up with was equally as curse-y and slang-ish.  Then thesaurus.com wouldn't let me search for the swears.  It kept asking me if I really meant "assail" which I didn't, so stop judging me thesaurus.com.)(Also, since I had to settle for crabby, "splenetic" is way more alliterate and has the same meaning.)(Vocabulary word for the day.)

Don't despair about these crabby/splenetic/irascible people, y'all.  I have a plan.

Being election year, I have a taken a page from the politician's handbook and decided to tell you why everyone else is handling this the wrong way be proactive in dealing with these poor, peevish, suffering people.  You see, on my birthday this year (way back in June, don't worry, you can send me a card next year) all I wanted was a Grasshopper cupcake from Just Baked.

It's like glass enclosed happiness.

Well, seeing as the fine people from Just Baked have decided that the grasshopper cupcake is best provided via phone ahead order (who plans a cupcake run?) I had to settle for the next best thing: two Snickerdoodle cupcakes A Just Baked gift card in the amount of one cupcake.

Because I am so committed to authentic blogging I took time to personally visit the fine establishment to capture digitally the glory of the Just Baked gift card because I used my birthday gift card on a triathlon cupcake.  And because it would be rude to waltz into Just Baked and simply take a picture of the gift card, I was morally obligated to purchase and inhale a Chubby Hubby cupcake.  Because I have manners.

I never knew such a gift card existed.  There is now a whole list of gift giving possibilities that could be taken advantage of for an excuse to visit Just Baked.  It's your birthday?  Have a cupcake on me. Valentine's Day?  Here's proof I love you.  The second Tuesday of every month?  Every day is a gift, people.

Thanks to Mr. Grant, here is my plan.  I will keep several Just Baked gift cards in my wallet, each with the amount of the purchase price for one cupcake.  (I think it's about $3.13 if you live in southeastern Michigan.)(Just a rough guess.)(It's not like I go there enough to have the price of one cupcake memorized.)(That would be vaguely loser-y sad the sign of a great memory.)  Every time I run in to someone who could clearly use some good cheer I will

1. Apologize profusely that their day sucks so much because that is the only reason they could possibly have for behaving so poorly.  I, too, have suffered bad days. (But I might have a lot of judgement for people that have awesome lives and are just whiiiiiiiiiners.)
2. Present them with a cupcake gift card.
3. Stand back and watch the joy.

All of this is just a plan in theory at this point.  I haven't actually presented anyone with a gift card yet, so step #3 might actually be 3. Stand back and get cussed out by crabby person who feels super judged to be the recipient of such a gift, but hey, sometimes you have to be willing to sacrifice for others.


In other cupcake news...

Not to brag or anything (totally bragging here) but I made these.  Turns out my best artistic medium is powdered sugar.  Who knew?  And they are vegan.  Woot.

Bucket List Update : Whole Foods Recap

Friday night I got all dolled up (i.e. I back combed my hair and put it up) because it was the evening of the great Whole Foods dessert pig-out tasting.  I tried to take a picture of my hair.

Me

Not me.  Pinterest Goal.

What you can't see - the awesome back combing job and twisty-bun thing a la Pinterest that I dominated finally called "done" after a mere 17 minutes of almost cursing because the tutorial looked so flippin' easy, but was a big fat liar.  (And, not to get all hater-like, but where were you, Sister Wives?)




Lauren recently moved into some new digs so I traveled to her side of town to check out the renovations in progress, collect some of her old dance costumes for the girlies, and eat my body weight x10 in calories at Whole Foods, a.k.a. the Pinnacle of Good Health.

My Whole Foods has an amazing hot food bar.  The Whole Foods by Lauren was, bless their hearts ... trying.  There just wasn't much to choose from and I decided I didn't want to waste my calories on something healthy mundane like vegetable soup.  What I really wanted was dessert. We headed to the mecca of chocolate goodness that disguises it's empty calories behind mind-blowingly gorgeous artistic creations that deserve to be eaten, otherwise referred to as the dessert showcase.

It was one of those situations where you are struck dumb by choice.  Not like you are choosing to be struck dumb, but that there are so many good choices you are rendered mute.

Because one of my hidden talents is an insane ability to make vegan baked goods (blame it on the a-a-a-a-llergy kids), I was honestly tempted by vegan chocolate cake.  I was even tempted by vegan carrot cake because any form of sugar can seduce me.

I finally settled on a peanut butter brownie.  Lauren chose a chocolate frosted brownie.  They were both fine choices.

Mad artistic photography skillz.  Stephanie, you should totally be jealous.

Don't worry, we drank skim milk with it, so it was  pretty much diet food.

I felt like such a hipster taking pictures of my food.  But then I realized it wasn't with Instagram, and then I felt like a nerdy suburban mama, so back to reality for me.

Dinner at Whole Foods remains on my bucket list, which means technically I'm pretty much required to go to my WF in order to fulfill this dream.  Otherwise I would be someone who never follows through with their plans.  I can't settle for being that girl.  So really, dinner at WF is a matter of my personal character.  That's what's at stake here.

WE TOTALLY JUST HAD SO MUCH SUGAR!!!!!!!!

Also, another update just for fun:  Remember when I confessed the night I realized my Serial Killer tendencies?  The scene of the crime was in my basement where I was working diligently on a desk for Hosanna.  I totally finished it.

Life before Pinterest.

Life after Pinterest. 

"Hey Kel, did you line the drawers?"
"Heck yes, I did."

Oh, and did you want another random update?  Of course you do.  Here is my bathtub after the Peroxide/Ginger Detox bath.

Just, sick.

And finally, because I can't leave you on that loveliness, here is me after crushing day one of Jillian's 30 Day Shred.

As the days progress, the triumph dims considerably.  But for now - Is that all you got, Jillian?!