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.)

Camping - Days 1 and 2, and the precursor to the EIGHT POINT ONE SIX mile run.

As I previously mentioned, we spent part of last week ... camping *gasp*.  Those of you who have been around for awhile may remember that camping was on last year's Summer Bucket List as one of those things that I never, ever wanted to do but felt like I should at least experience.  Oh, and did I experience it.  It was, quite possibly, the World's Worst Camping Trip. You can read about when history's first landlocked tsunami soaked our entire campground and we were sleeping with the fishes in the way that Tony Soprano (may he rest in peace) never meant to be taken literally at all.  And maybe I did leave the campground in tears that first night, but I also returned only to be told the most horrifying chamber pot story and coincidentally, the only chamber pot story in my repertoire. Also, the sweet little stroll in the woods with my eight year old just barely missed being turned into the fodder for Blair Witch Project II.

After all that craziness, what in the world could possess me to go camping again? In a word, peer pressure. (Dude, I totally know that was two words.)(But "in a phrase" just doesn't have the same flow.)(Story for free? Anytime I say the word "flow" I think "flo" in my head (redundant much, Kel, or do you sometimes think outside your head?)(shoosh your face*, Grammar Nazi) because it's just like Jonah Hill in Superbad - which I totally saw at the gym while I was running on the treadmill last night - when he says, "fo' sho, fo' sho" because he is so white boy ghetto and cool, all the same things I am in my head.)

So, back to camping due to intense peer pressure.  This peer pressure is the kind where everyone you know is going and your kiddos have been saying for a full year, "When we go to the church camping trip ..." and you just can't disappoint them about that. Disappoint them that, yes, we are having pot roast for dinner = yes.  But, no, we are not going to the camping trip because Mama prefers her bed and also electricity = no. That's just how parenting works, apparently. (Kelly must totally rock at Boggle.)(I do.)

We bought our own tent this year and took three cots; I totally finagled the big cot for myself.  It used to belong to Brian's dad and is an XL. The thing is the same size as an XL twin bed. So it totally made sense that the grown up who is 5'3" should sleep on it as opposed to the 6'+ man of the family. (For the record, I only had it one night. Then I gave it up so the hubs could stretch out because love and marriage, y'all.)

The weather was absolutely perfect.  It turns out that the weather actually affects how much fun you will have and the ease at which you will camp.

We arrived Thursday morning, set up our campsite, and ate some rockin' soynut butter and jam sandwiches. (Don't get too jealous of our peanut allergy, er'body.) We toured the campgrounds, mostly visiting with the other families that had already arrived, and I made sure we visited one family in particular.

Derek and Asako are the closest thing to professional campers that I know.  They cook everything over the fire, chop their own wood, and, most importantly, wake up early enough to entertain Esther so that she doesn't wake up the entire campground because maybe her internal volume is stuck at 10. (Dude, I'm not even kidding. When we had Ezra, all the kiddos came to the hospital to help transport us home and one of the nurses, after spending a few minutes with us going over my discharge papers asked if Esther had hearing problems. She's *that* loud.) While at Derek and Asako's campsite the kiddos do fun things like:

Dance while Derek plays a jig on his violin.

Chop wood.

After visiting, we spent some time at the beach, letting the kiddos run back and forth between the water, sand, and the playground.  It was exhausting fun. It was so exhausting fun that when we returned to the campsite to cook our dinner this happened:

Oh.my.lanta. So cute. This is after the pre-nap tantrum that involved Ezra completely losing his marbles over  "Mama hold me!"  *picks up Ezra*   "Mama NO hold me!"  *puts down Ezra*   "MAMA NO LOOK AT ME!"  *turns and walks slowly away*   "MAMA HOLD ME!" (Repeat)

After pounding a campfire grilled hamburger I put on my trail runners and hit the road. I normally only wear that particular pair of shoes when I am biking or taking a fitness class, but I thought I'd pack them for my campground runs. The campground was insanely hilly, and most of my run was going to be on dirt road. I'd mapped out a 4 mile run on Map My Run and set off with a full belly and gorgeous scenery.

It's always nice running in a new environment, especially one that peaceful.  I was back in the woods for a while and saw a pond and heard a hidden stream. Around mile two I felt the rock in my shoe.  It felt small and I only had two more miles to run, so I decided to tough it out and just finish my run.  By the third mile I decided that was a stupid plan, stopped, and took off my shoe and sock.  There was no rock. It was like a phantom rock. At that point I was pretty sure that I'd been bitten by a tick, you know, deep inside my shoe between my pinky toe and the one next to it (ring toe?) because weird pain in the woods is usually linked to Lyme Disease and we all know that is the Drama Queen logical conclusion to draw when your toe hurts. I finished my run confused but fairly certain life as I knew it was over.

Then I got back to camp, took off my shoes, and forgot about my toe pain because it went away.

The next day was full of fun.  I went to Wal-Mart right away because I didn't get the memo where you are supposed to bring junk food on a camping trip, and I was tired of my kiddos begging the families with delicious snack food to love your brother as yourself and share your Kit Kat's. (The good old church kid guilt trip, one mini candy bar at a time.) I stocked up on food that would win back my children's loyalties (except for Ezra because my friend Carrie has thoroughly stolen his affection with her amazing homemade cookies), and drove back to camp, passing the greatest temptation of my life.

180 miles of yard sales. On my route back to camp. I had two dollars cash on my person.

(One hundred eighty miles= minimum 50 sales between Wal-Mart and the campgrounds.)

The family was waiting for processed sugar me back at the campsite. I grudgingly returned thinking, "I'll just go tomorrow. I'm sure Sister Wife Rachel will go with me." (For the record? Totally never happened.)(Moral of the Story? Always carry at least $20 in Emergency Yard Sale money at all times.)(Because really, that's just being responsible.)

Day Two of camping was filled with adventures.  Stay tuned for Monday and the story of how I was almost Eaten By the Deadliest Arachnid within a two foot perimeter of where I was sitting. Thank God I lived to tell the tale. (On Monday, that is.) Also how I ran EIGHT POINT ONE SIX miles (because have I mentioned that anywhere yet?).

Have a great weekend!

*"Shoosh your face" - probably my new favorite expression and brought to you by Sue Diamond-Phillips, Diapers ... or Wine?

Case of the Mondays: Rudest Post Ever

If you are wondering about Friday's lack of post, it is for one simple reason.  I spent all day Friday thinking it was Saturday. Which made the discovery of the correct day both horrifying and awesome upon realization of all that I'd missed, and the knowledge that I had an extra full day of weekend ahead of me.

Friday seemed like Saturday because Brian took the day off work, so Thursday night I stayed up late.  On Friday we traveled caravan style with our babysitting-swapping neighbors down to Toledo to have some crazy adventures in a completely G-rated way.

Our first destination was the Imagination Station.  Imagination Station is a hands-on science museum we love for its giant play space for the under six years old crowd.  While the older kids are exploring the two floors of awesome exhibits and experiments, the younger ones are also busy for hours, playing grocery store, emergency room/maternity ward (while Stacy was literally nursing her real baby Anastasia, I pretend gave birth to an African American baby boy, and two Caucasian girls)(it was a busy day for me), firemen, house, or in the water works area.

The day was fun, but it became spectacular when we hit the Grossology exhibit on our way out.  We thought we would do a quick walk-thru, but when faced with a human skin climbing wall, a GI slide, and an opportunity to shoot "pollen" balls at a giant nose to make it sneeze, well, we had to spend more time than planned.

Ezra loved the sliding down an esophagus into a stomach and crawling through intestines. Hosanna enjoyed Gas Attack, a pinball game that teaches which foods cause the most gas in your body, using pigs and piles of poop.  Eve was really good at the life size game of Operation, and Esther loved pretending she was a meteorologist, but instead of pointing out severe weather on the green screen, she swatted at urine clouds.  Who says homeschooling raises weird kids?

I forgot my camera so I stole this picture
from the internets.  That kid is a complete
stranger, but the cylinder he is listening to
produces really deep and slow "vapors".

The highlight for me was the Toot Machine. The musician in me was challenged to make a variety of pitched flatulence sounds, while the prepubescent youth in me was tickled at the hilarity of farts.  I wrote a short symphony using only gas sounds (and, as all you scientists may already know, gas sounds are dependent on how fast the gas is released and also on how tight the sphincter muscles are clenched)(so if you are a "squeaker" you probably need to chill out a bit).

We continued our day out by eating at a local sports bar (Fricker's) and heading over to Fifth Third Field to watch the Toledo Mudhen's play some minor league baseball. It was an annual church outing for us; this year 140 of us went.  The game ended with some fireworks and only two of our children melted down on the ride home.  Success!

So in honor of my Imagination Station Gaseous Masterpiece, I'm leaving you with this video. I may or may not have giggled my way through hours of youtube too many minutes to count of fart videos because I use my time wisely.  Brian didn't scold me at all by saying, "Real mature Kel; are you going to do that all night?" while he was busy playing Internet Bingo. Um, Yes, Pot, I am.  Love, Kettle.

So 1.  I'm sorry.  This will probably only be funny if you are a preteen boy.  Which is totally my demographic.  and 2. If you are a preteen boy - You're welcome.

Batting A Thousand

"You Oughtta Know, Dave."

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


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

Then.

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

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

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

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

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

That.  That is why I married him.

*swoon*

Merry Christmas, Eve!*

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

Merry Christmas all y'all.  

Camptastic: Returning to the Scene of the Crime

This is not our camp sight.  But it is what it felt like to
me because I am a bit melodramatic.

I think I should get something for returning to the camp site.  And I'm not talking about poison ivy or Lyme disease or anything, which seems most likely in view of my camping luck thus far.

Ezra and I returned to the campground mid-morning on Saturday.  On the way there I called my mom, who was a bit concerned having been trapped away from home herself the previous evening due to intense flooding of the roads.  I also stopped en route at Target, where I bought only a sleeping bag. (Syke.  It was Target, so of course I bought more than one thing.  I also bought five disposable rain ponchos, leggings for Hosanna, and sanity chocolate for me.)

When we arrived back to camp it was still raining, but at least this was more "miserable drizzle" than "oh-heck-no downpour."  Brian and the girlies shared a damp night in the tent, but because theirs is a group mixed of manly men and adventurous children, they were all "it was so fun!"  Liars, all of them.

I spent some time huddled around a picnic table with Rick, his wife Jenny, and a few others who were intent on telling me the worst camping stories you could imagine.  It was kind of like when you are pregnant and everyone wants to share their labor stories, simply to horrify you with what is surely in store encourage you that they survived, and you will as well.

One man, who will remain nameless due to the nature of this story (Nick), told of a trip when his un-staked tent was flipped over by the wind while he was sleeping inside.  Also in the tent?  His used chamber pot.  Even after that experience Nick this man is still a committed camper.  And by committed I may mean "needs to be committed to an institution."  I think I will buy him a Hazmat suit for Christmas, because while REI neglects to put this on your "Must Have's for Camping" list, I now know the truth.  You're welcome, Nick Unnamed Friend.

This is me totally cooking my burrito
over a camp fire.  I'm pretty sure this
makes me an official Professional
Camper. Camping like a boss.

I spent more of the afternoon chatting in the Field House with Denise, Jenny, Tiffany, Amy, Grace, Karen, Carrie, and a bunch of other women I'm forgetting to list. It was like Girls Gone Wild without any of the alcohol, flashing, or intense partying.  We discussed the nutritional value of Hot and Spicy Cheez-its and Nutter Butters.  My philosophy is that both are protein packed in theory only and therefore the perfect post-volleyball snack.  Craig, Denise's husband and an elder in our church agreed with me, so I'm pretty sure I'm going to be teaching a nutrition class at church pretty soon.  (Well, me and the pastor's wife Nora, who wore her "Kale is the new beef" t-shirt.)(Well, probably just Nora will teach it.)

I returned to the camp sight to cook my first camping meal over an open fire = burritos. (See nutritional theories above for an idea about my burrito philosophy.)

The rain took a permanent break around 3:00 p.m. This was well timed as we had a baptism scheduled for 4:00 p.m., and would have preferred clear skies for our outdoor meeting.  Several people got baptized, including this young couple, shown here with their freaking adorable baby, Jack.

Eden and Chris and baby Jack.  (Coincidentally, they also used the camp sight next to ours and saved the day with their mad camping skills that included packing mustard and ketchup.)

Day Two ended on the scariest note possible.  But since this is already longer than most of my normally concise posts,  I will tell that story tomorrow.  But remember the helicopter teaser from yesterday?  Pretend you are reading for the first time right now:  Stay tuned for tomorrow's conclusion of Camptastic : Returning to the Scene of the Crime (Part 2). There may be an imaginary helicopter rescue involved.

Camptastic

Well, I did it.  I went camping.  

Camping was #3 on my Summer Bucket List, and it was one of those things I didn't really want to do at all, but felt like I needed to do so I could overcome my lack of desire for pretending to be homeless.  Or something.

My friend Rick has been organizing this camping trip for months.  He got the word out, reserved 27 sites for all 130 people attending, and scheduled it for the same weekend the good Lord decided to do something about the drought-like conditions we have been facing.   Since Rick has been tirelessly riding my back encouraging me to join in with the camping festivities for upwards of seven years, I can only conclude that as a special gift to me for finally accepting his heartfelt invitation, Rick worked it out with Jesus to bless me with unending torrential rain and chilled to the bone temperatures on my very first camping trip ever.  Rick, you are a gem.  Never change. (And seriously, thanks for all your hard work in organizing this beast of a trip.  You know we all have pneumonia now a ton of fun.)

Marshmallows?  Check.

I had no idea what to pack for my family of six, but I knew marshmallows were pretty vital.  So I definitely did well there.  Turns out it's also recommended that you bring some type of bedding for every person camping.  I may have failed a little there.  But, honestly, it was August.  Did the campground not get the memo about temperatures in August?

Perfect August camping weather.

When we arrived Friday night it was raining.  Still.  It was also cold.  This is when I thought, "I probably should have brought something other than flip-flops." (I also brought my running shoes, but for real, those things are expensive.  No way I was wearing them in the mud.)  Brian went with a few guys to set up the tent, and I stayed at the Field House with the kiddos and all the other families waiting out the rain.

Cutest thing ever.

This part of camping was actually fun.  I think it had to do with the electricity, heat, and running water.  (Or maybe the Field House gym that we decided to all chip in and rent so the bajillion kids running around wouldn't climb the walls with their stir-crazy freakoutedness.)  There was volleyball, basketball, and little girlies forming "braid lines".

The night kind of fell apart for me when two year old Ezra gently made his sleep needs known by doing a full back arch screaming fit.  This is when things got truly ... camptastic.

Brian and I left the girlies in the Field House so we could set up the playpen and cots in the tent so Ezra and I could sleep.  (It was still raining.)(And cold.)(I'm not complaining, I'm merely painting an accurate picture of the situation.) This is when I discovered the tent industry runs a major racket.

Isn't the sole purpose of a tent to provide shelter from the elements?  Well, apparently it's a well known fact that if you touch the tent it will lose it's wicking ability and leak like a sieve.  This is quite common when you set your tent up in the rain (like we did.)  If you want to know what it was like inside our tent, go stand in your shower and turn it on.  There were so many leaks in our tent, Brian had to stack the cots like bunk beds.

"Kelly, where did you sleep?"  I'll get to that.

I think it was when I was practicing the art of self-talk to convince myself that camping wasn't any worse than labor, jumped into the trunk of the van to unload something unreachable, and slammed the top of my head into the roof of the vehicle that I completely lost my stuff.  I might have said a monster swear word that I immediately took back, looked around frantically because I was at the church camping trip,  and finally put my head in my hands and sobbed like a baby.  My wailing sounded something like,

"I-can't-do-this-it's-so-wet-and-cold-I-wanna-go-hoooooooome!"

On a positive note, this is how I proved my merit as a camper on day one:

When my friend Karen was lamenting that the hot, delicious, homemade chili and corn chips she was serving her family on that rainy, miserable day was a meal served sans vegetable, I assured her I was pretty sure onion powder counted as a vegetable.

At that same meal, I thought about the precooked, frozen hot dogs I had in the cooler for my family that just needed to be warmed up over the camping stove and I was all, "yeeeee-aaaaah," and went to the little camp store and paid $1.25 each for their hot dogs the teenager behind the counter would warm up in a microwave.  Resourceful = me.

I was super helpful setting up the cots and playpen, fulling spazzing at Brian and saying things like, "DON'T PUT IT IN A PUDDLE!" which was a joke because our entire tent was a puddle.  I'm pretty sure enough puddles added together makes a pond.  Or some other small body of water.  I don't know.  Geography is not my strong suit.  But there was definitely a bay/delta/cove/lagoon inside our tent.


Don't worry;  day one finished on a good note.  And by that I mean I packed up Ezra and I left the campground at 9:00 p.m. to head home and sleep in a warm, dry bed.

Leaving the campground.  Notice the
evening sky and TORRENTIAL rain.

See ya, Sucka's!!!

So, to summarize day one of my first camping experience:

Do you know what would make camping awesome?  If it wasn't outside.

Stay tuned for tomorrows conclusion of Camptastic : Returning to the Scene of the Crime.  There may be an imaginary helicopter rescue involved.