If giggling over testicles is wrong, I can't be right.

Because anatomy is funny.

This is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.

I am at Hosanna's biannual allergy appointment. Dr. M (who totally reminds me of Eric Foreman from That 70's Show) and I have finished talking over the important issues like the cutting edge trials taking place to cure children of food allergies, how to heal her weeping skin and the resulting infections, and what new dietary and/or lifestyle changes need to be made to adjust to her current issues, when we move on to small talk.

We are discussing future plans, and Dr. M mentions retirement. I am shocked because I always forget he is 20 years older than me. He explains:

Dr M: I have to take my re-certification test next year, and at about $4,000 (and a lot of work) I can't imagine wanting to take the test again ten years later at 65 years old. So I'll probably just retire and go into missions.

Kelly: Yeah, my triathlon training partner is a PA for an orthopedic surgeon, and she had to help him get ready for his tests last year. It was super hard on her, so I can imagine how stressful it is on the testers. Or, not the testers, the-

Kelly and Dr. M (in unison): TEST-EES.

Kelly: *realizes what they just said* *thinks of testicles* *smirks* *smirk grows into grin* *realizes Dr. M is a mirror image of her own changing expressions* *are now both internally chanting, "Don't give in to the laughter, you are a GROWN UP," to no avail because they share a slight Beavis and Butthead giggle* *because they just pseudo shouted,"TESTES" and the idea of testicles is hilarious*

And that is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.

Party on, Wayne. Party on, Garth.

Facebook Status: Watching Beauty and the Beast at 4:00 a.m. with a *literally* hot 104 degree four year old. Because moms party hard.

This is the third night in a row I've greeted some insane hour by doing ridiculous things (i.e. anything other than sleep at this wretched time of day). Monday morning found me googling "macronutrient calculator" at 3:30 a.m. while waiting for Esther's pukey sheets to tumble in the wash. I am now knowledgeable enough to have an entire eating plan calibrated to my weight, preferred diet, and exercise level. I rocked that plan all day Monday and Tuesday like I was metamorphic. (Ohmylanta, rocked it like a metamorphic?! Oh, geology jokes, I dig you.)

Thankfully, before I got too prideful about my superior eating plan, Ezra has been suffering a seriously high fever for a couple hours now, and I am handling the situation of yet another sleepless night with a whole wheat English muffin and peanut butter consumed about an hour ago. (Because have you ever had a tummy so hungry it hurt? I haven't eaten wheat in who knows how long and decided it was the perfect choice for my "you aren't normally awake at this time and your body is trying to manipulate you into feeding it and you will go ahead and do it because you are an American and you do not negotiate with terrorists instead you give them exactly what they want".)(That is probably seasons four through eight of 24 talking because once President Palmer left office crap went downhill fast.)

Ezra is now tucked snugly on the couch with a Tigger water bottled filled with soy milk (and has moved on to the Winnie the Pooh Heffalump movie) and I have tackled two loads of laundry and a full half an hour of Pinterest. Now that I have accomplished the important items on my to-do list I am free to blog about last night's workout.

I only have one session left with Trainer Mike. Once I finish the whole month I plan to have an assessment post all about Trainer Mike. (It will totally be a Mike vs Kemper smackdown event). Until then know that my time with Mike has been spent mostly on abs and back. This is because I do arms on Monday and legs on Wednesday and I meet with Mike on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he tries to work other parts of my body. I'm sure he totally loves basing all his training around my workout schedule and this doesn't make me a PITA to him at all.

Last night was a whole new game for us. I missed Monday's workout (because LAUREN HAD HER BABY!!!)(pics soon!) so Mike was free to do whatever the heck he wanted. And? It was hella fun.

I ran a warm up mile on the treadmill and then met Mike. He started me on a quick ab circuit that included 30 seconds of mountain climbers (on towels), 1:30 planks, and 15 medicine ball slams (which are probably one of my most favorite things to do in the history of life). We did that circuit three times.

Then he gave me only one more circuit to do. We were going to do the whole thing three times, resting as I needed.

This is not me. But this is totally what it looked
like last night. Except there was no dog. And I was
 waaaaay sweatier. And my muscles are
slightly less defined.

We started with push ups with rows. Mike has me use the PowerBlock dumbbells for these because they help my wrists. I got in plank position (wide leg) did a push up (which felt more like a tricep push up with the positioning) then alternated a row on each side. (The PowerBlock was set at 15 pounds for each side.) I did that 10 times. We went straight into plie squats with a 25# kettlebell. I could really feel the difference all that heavy squatting has made. Those plie squats weren't a thang.

Next were regular kettlebell swings (@20#), followed by ... box jumps. This was a HUGE milestone, because I've never done box jumps in public before. (Unless you count jumping the benches at the park.) I was so nervous! I did that whole Biggest Loser pre-jump sike-out move twice before I just took a deep breath and just went for it. After my first set Mike raised the height by a few inches. It got so much easier (emotionally) the second and third round.

This *is* what I look like while working the ropes.
Like my hair is all shiny and clean and flows
behind me as you can see above. It definitely
doesn't cling to my head in a mom ponytail while
 sweat drips off the ends and onto my neck
and into my eyes. Because that would be
decidedly not hot.

We followed box jumps with the ropes. Trainer Mike does this totally cute move where he tells me to "GO!" and then pretends to look at the clock so I can do 30 seconds but really he gets distracted by the cute girl doing back extensions on the machine in front of him and makes me do 45 seconds because "you looked like you could keep going." Haha, he's such a joker.

After the ropes was a cool down move of a minute of step ups before we repeated the whole circuit twice more. I really had a blast with this workout. It was a nice break from heavy weights but also just kept going, so I never got bored. I was challenged physically by the push ups and mentally by the box jumps. After all the circuits I ran a cool down mile. Then I came home and ate carbs, so yeah, a day that finishes with a great workout and allthechickenandRICE is a good day.

Now I'm going to go tend to my sweet baby boy (who is now on his third movie of the day - Toy Story at 6:30 a.m. for those of you keeping track)(and who could really care less about my "tending" unless it's to bring him more drinks and the occasional back rub). The girlies will be getting up in another half an hour and the day "officially" begins again.

*sigh*

Is it wrong that I'm already dreaming about a nice arm workout and HIIT treadmill run tonight? Don't answer that.

Case of the Mondays: Good marketing is THE BOMB.

Sometimes the best way to sell a television ANYTHING is with a Candid Camera* style prank. Check out what LG Ultra HD TV did to prove their television's picture quality is blazing. Do you think these interview candidates were convinced?

This commercial got bonus points from me because when I saw it I laughed hysterically and then said, "Dude, that was kinda bogue." So, yeah, any commercial that makes me revert back to using slang from the 80's is a win in my book. Happy Monday Everyone! I hope your day is explosively good.

*Candid Camera = Kind of like "Punked" for you younguns.

Robin Thicke's Guide to Potty Training

Ok, now she was close, tried to domesticate you

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

Just let me liberate you

Hey, hey, hey

You don't need no diapers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody get up

Everybody get up

Hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

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

If you can't read from the same page

Maybe I'm going deaf,

Maybe I'm going blind

Maybe I'm out of my mind

Everybody get up

OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you

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

Just let me liberate you

Hey, hey, hey

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

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

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

OH YES SHE DID.

That's when I died.

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

Kummerspeck: Because Cupcakes Always Love Me

Losing weight has taught me when to recognize when I am eating my feelings. And if you are wondering how I've been feeling lately, what with it being the last week before home school starts, I've been feeling = cupcakes. Specifically, carrot cake cupcakes. Oh, and chocolate cupcakes from Kroger with fluffy white frosting and yellow sprinkles. Because my feelings are both delicious and beautiful.

I've been justifying this because *guess who ran nine miles?!* and also because I've been so stressed out with doing lesson plans that I gave myself my period two weeks early. I'm pretty sure a doctor on Wikipedia would suggest consuming copious amounts of miniature cake to negate the stress of any situation so taxing it affects the natural rhythms of my reproductive cycle. But don't worry too much, I took note of my sweet weekend noshing and reined that mess back in.

How is lesson planning going? Fantastic. A few months ago I won a night's stay at the Hilton Garden Inn and I redeemed it Friday night. I locked myself up in my room with nothing but my school supplies, coffee from my friend Stacy, and Twister on cable television (starring Helen Hunt)(which I have almost memorized)(because I appreciate good cinema*) and knocked out a month of lesson plans. September is looking pretty rad, my friend.

(*Warrior has recently replaced Pump Up the Volume as my favorite movie of all time. This has less to do with my love of all things MMA (which doesn't exist) and more to do with my intense love for the Conlon brothers as they reconcile their relationship. Also: Tom Hardy and Joel Edgerton. You're welcome.)

In other news, did you hear the one about the girl who ran nine miles for the first time ever Sunday morning? 

It was totally me. 

I've decided my favorite part of half marathon training is that I have to remember mid-run to eat jelly beans. Or "sport beans" as true athletes call them. (I think I finally found my running fuel of choice. I can not handle the consistency of Gu, and protein bars are a bit too heavy for my tummy. Eating nothing made me light-headed and grumpy, and dried fruit combatted my iron supplement a bit too aggressively if you know what I'm sayin'.)

The weather has been hot, humid, and threatening thunderstorms, so I woke up really early and ran three miles to the gym (just beating the rain, score!) where I hopped on the treadmill and ran four more miles, and finished with two more on the indoor track. I "fueled" while I was walking in between running destinations. I only feel mildly ridiculous eating jelly beans while slightly out of breath and covered in sweat at the gym. I also still kind of feel like I should be able to run that long without any kind of fuel, but both Sarah and my friend Stephanie have talked with me about the importance of fueling for these longer runs, so I get it. However, that doesn't stop me from trying to shove what looks like candy into my yammer both quickly and discreetly so no one sees me and assumes I'm a complete junkie (which honestly only perpetuates the fat girl sneaking food mentality that already messes with my brain).

Today's agenda includes organizing the homeschool prep desk (be still my heart - I looooooove to organize), laminating (don't get too jealous), and a happy little three mile run. Also, we are having blt's for dinner, but I promise I'll keep myself from suffering Kummerspeck. Happy Labor Day!

Nothing says "love" like VD*

I have dreams of being *that* mom; you know, the one who actually does all the crap she pins on Pinterest, whose children have amazing memories of themed breakfasts and color coordinated holiday desserts, but who also gracefully handles normal life with aplomb.

But instead I'm the kind of mom that actually has kids.

However, this year was going to be different.  I had my Valentine's Day game ON.  I picked a Pinterest craft to make for my beloveds:

and even started saving toilet paper rolls like, two weeks ago, which, in my sweet little family of six means I have a collection of about 25 in my immediate possession. (Which also now puts me on the Black Market Hit List for every elementary school art teacher in my vicinity.)  I bought candy with which to fill the bombs, and, because I know the perils of too much junk in the trunk, I also bought some heart pencils and rulers.

I don't even know how it happened but I finagled my way into an invite to a homeschooler party that I wouldn't need to plan at all.  I could just show up with a treat or two and have the kiddos prepared to hand out cards.  Which? I also had the foresight to purchase last week. Cards with stickers and pop out cardboard jewelry.  (Oh my goodness.  I get the chills just thinking about how ahead of the freaking game I was.)

My whole "This Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom" Valentine's Day plan was going so well.

Enter Saturday night.

Kelly: Dude.  I don't feel so good. (The exact wording may have been a bit different because maybe I feel Brian doesn't take me seriously unless it seems I am dying.)(So it probably was more like, "Briiiiiaaaaan.  I feel like I'm gonna diiiieee. Seriously, Babe.  I've never felt so sick in my Whole. Entire. Liiiiiiiiife.  Except that one time in our old house - remember then?  When my limbs were so painful that I couldn't even lift the sheet off the bed and you had to stay home from work because there was no way I could lift two children in and out of cribs let alone be expected to change any diapers? That time was worse.  But thiiiiis is reeeally bad, toooooooo.")(I'm paraphrasing, of course.)

The next few five days were a blur.  A blur of the worst moments of my life.  (Really, Drama Queen?)(Um, yes.)  Because not only did Mama get the FLU FROM HELL (symptoms include high fevers  - averaging 103.5 because we are not underachievers - extreme body/muscle aches, fatigue, chills - and night sweats, score! - sore throat, headache, nausea - maybe I even took a pregnancy test because this wretchedness could not all possibly be just the flu, right? - sinus pain, etc.) but all four kids got it as well.

Brian came home from work most days to discover me cashed out on the pullout couch, covered in four feverish children.  I think we were all whimpering.

I do know this week included copious amounts of television.  And the viewing of the entire "Buddies" puppy movie catalog.  And probably the Spy Kids franchise as well.  We consumed exactly four sleeves of saltine crackers, one and a half gallons of apple juice, and 19 berry flavored Minute Maid juice boxes.  The highlight of the week was undoubtedly this:

Facebook Status:  Thanks to the wretched flu, tonight was my first attempt at dinner in 4 days. About 30 seconds after I realized the Greek yogurt I drizzled all over our Greek pizzas was spoiled, the doorbell rang, and there stood my friend Carrie with homemade chicken noodle soup and warm bread. It was the happiest moment I've had in a long time. I feel so loved :)

Best chicken noodle soup of my life.

So, in conclusion, Next Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom for Valentine's Day.  Unless there is a tornado.  Or something else as equally unplanned and horrifically destructive as this flu. Until then, well, I guess our St. Patrick's Day is gonna be piiiiimp.


*"Nothing says 'love' like VD" is the name of my Valentine's Day board on Pinterest.  It makes you totally want to follow me on Pinterest, amIright?  Good news for you, click on the P over at the top right and you are all set.

Case of the Mondays: No habla Espanol

Confession:  My children refer to Super Bowl Sunday as "the day we get to eat." Now before you call CPS because apparently I don't ever feed the kiddos chill the heck out.  They are simply accrediting game time to the unsupervised nosh fest that is tradition in our home every SBS.


The highlight of the game for me was my third chocolate chip cookie when two of my children wrestled on the floor and the t.v. remote became an unintentional participant.  This resulted in the t.v. spontaneously only speaking in Spanish, which resulted in the fastest grown adult freak out panic you've ever seen because Beyonce was about to perform.  While we were waiting for the English to be restored (because HURRY!  THIS IS 'MURICA!) this video is a bit what the game was like for me.  Here is some more goodness from the fine folks at Bad Lip Reading.

P.S. My commercial viewing was sporadic as we had little kids in the room and frequently switched to the Snow Channel* due to "inappropriate content", so of the commercials I saw I loved the Dodge farmers commercial, the Doritos goat commercial (because OMG did you see that one part with the face and the noise?), and the Labatt Blue commercial with the bear, "C-A-N-A-D-Eh".  What others ones should I youtube today?

*Snow channel - the fuzz you get when you have no reception because you have no cable and it's the year 2013.  Part of me wants to give you Brian's email so you can protest directly on my behalf.  I mean, I shouldn't have to watch Hoarders on my tiny computer screen like some kind of barbarian. #firstworldproblems

To Make You Less Miserable

Anyone can get a haircut, Anne.

On Saturday Sarah and I went to see Les Miserables.  As a former voice major I have spent my fair share of time being emo and performing "On My Own" and "I Dreamed a Dream" to the untold masses that gather to listen to me in my shower and minivan.  And while I do rock out some intense vibrato on the ascending "shame" line of "I Dreamed a Dream", I'll begrudgingly admit that maybe Anne Hathaway performed it a bit more convincingly than I.  Part of it had to be the costuming and makeup, but mostly somewhat slightly it had to do with her vocal chops and acting ability. (Seriously, she was amazing.  Not even ah-may-zing. Just, wow.)

I love Les Miserables because of the message of redemption.  It's a story of grace, and yes, revolution, which excites the warrior in me.  With this remaking I discovered it was possible to form an immediate crush on every dirty French revolutionary that sings (mainly because they are all young and attractive and have nice teeth despite the reality that that probably wasn't so) and also want to adopt a six year old boy who would doubtlessly give my own sweet Esther a run for her money.  I was pleasantly surprised by the performances and cried like a big fat baby through some of the scenes (effectively using my shirt to sop up the mess)(because I was too lazy to reach for the paper towel I brought from the bathroom for that very purpose).  Hugh Jackman was every bit as good as he was said to be, and Russel Crowe was aight.

However.

I came upon a clip.  Thank you, Internets.  I'm calling for an Oscar duel.  An Oscar duet duel, if you will.  Neil Patrick Harris and Jason Segel vs. Hugh Jackman and Russel Crowe.  It's on.

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.  

So You Think You Can Dance

Scene:  We are watching our upteenth hour of political coverage.  During a commercial break Brian heads to the kitchen for a snack.  I am standing at the couch folding laundry.  At the sound of the segue music that signals the coverage is about to continue, Brian returns to the room to find me dancing (obviously).  He looks at the ground and shakes his head.





Brian: Kel, about 98 percent of the things you do are excellent.  The other 2 percent just shouldn't happen.

Kelly: I know, Babe; I'm just sad that everything in that 2 percent involves me moving my body to music.

Brian:  Yes.

Kelly:  I can't help it.  Rhythm is a dancer.

This is totally what I looked like.  Except I was folding towels.  And my abs are slightly less defined.

Dude, where's my royalties?

I thought I knew the sound of my own voice.  As a voice major I spent 4 and 1/2 years recording myself vocally and listening to it back to critique every breath, pitch, nuance, and inflection I could pick up on.  I never say, "Is that really what I sound like?" after hearing a play-back from a voice mail message I've left, or watching old home movies. The sound of my voice (outside of my head) is just already weirdly familiar.

Imagine my shock when I got a small sample of how my children perceive my voice.  It sounds exactly like this:

This is the only logical explanation for why phrases such as "FLUSH THE POTTY" or "HANG UP YOUR COAT" go consistently unheeded.  Those directives are full of individual words I am quite sure already exist in their vocabularies;  I'm even thoroughly convinced that the specific combination of those individual words have clear meaning to the little munchkins.  So clearly something must be wrong with the sound of my voice.

The Peanuts corporation has apparently been stealing the sound of my voice for years.  In fact, this is such a gross case of theft that it began before I was even born.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to sue them, because at this point I'm due millions in royalties.  That's right, millions.  (Pain and suffering and all that.)  I plan on using some of my winnings to hire an interpreter for my children so that when I talk there will be no further confusion over what I am actually communicating.  And by interpreter, I probably mean Super Nanny will come live with me and school all those involved.  Or I'll buy an ice cream truck and employ a healthy dose of the reward system to encourage the kiddos to get on board and learn how to speak Mama Nag.

This might end up being a class action lawsuit, so if you or anyone you know may have had the sound of their voice stolen and used in the Peanuts comic, contact me to see how you can get a piece of what you are owed.  Because everyone needs to be understood, but especially everyone needs their own ice cream truck.