Laziness

Yes, there is such a thing as being a professional procrastinating lazy human. I would put myself in this category.

With such devices as remote controls and cell phones there is no need to move anywhere while lounging in bed. Mind you, it would make more sense if I were sick. I position myself perfectly between two pillows on my bed, while all my muscles relax and I am whisked away to the great land of houses that keep themselves clean.

It's true that I am a mother and my children are well taken care of, but there are days I wish I could stay in my pjs not because I haven't had the time or energy to actually get to my room to change but because I have no reason to leave the house. I can imagine myself sleeping soundly and awaiting the scores of people who want to do things for me. They can clean my bathroom, do my dishes and make me sandwiches. It wouldn't really matter all that much if they cleaned my house because I would stay in bed. Although the sandwiches would be important.

It is true that I make sure my kitchen is as clean as I can make it with the limited energy I have after a day of driving somewhere, chasing a two year old, breastfeeding a five month old, chasing a two year old WHILE breast feeding a five month old and trying desperately to keep myself from smoking. Ahh, smoking. Seriously, has anyone made a better habit?

It's awful for you, it smells, it kills and it makes men much more appealing to my lazy ass. I like the man with a smoke hanging out of his mouth because it makes him look like such a bad boy. I don't care if you are five hundred pounds, you look sexier with a smoke in your mouth. Yes, it's gross, but I can't lie anymore! Of course the other positive is smoking helps you lose weight without you actually doing anything! Any kind of appetite suppressant is ok by me.

It's nice too, as a lazy person, to have a dog. They help clean up the house with their never ending hunger for discarded food. Dogs are pretty awesome in the lazy person's world but I'm pretty sure the lazy person's best pet would be the tapeworm. All you have to do is eat and eat and eat! You can enjoy the great tastes of the world's foods without too much weight gain. The one down side to this is, sadly, when your beloved tapeworm has drained you of all your nutrition and thus leaving you dead, your tapeworm buddy starves.

If you're lazy for too long you die, this is the down side to being lazy. I guess it's not so bad to get out of the house every once in a while and do something, but that damn bed is one hell of a suductress.

My Husband

I know he doesn't read this blog and I'm pretty sure he'll never see this post, so I'm not so worried. After reviewing my blog posts over the past few weeks I may have painted my husband in a light which he does not stand.

If I could give him a bright white spot light to stand under he would be smiling and making faces trying to get laughs. He always gets me but there are those who don't think he's as funny as I do, and that's just fine cause he's mine. No blond chick will be able to withstand the simple and uncynical beauty of our humor long enough to get his attention. Not to get too gooy, but I love this dude! There is no one on earth like him. He is a one and only, unique piece of human being who just so happens to have his bad moments too.

That, I believe is what makes him so lovable. He can show his flaws and still be as real a human being as he was in his best form. Never fake, always kind and understanding. I don't know a man who could do the things he does on a regular basis without going crazy. Working later shifts and rushing to the train so he isn't stuck downtown until midnight. He's a good man.

He's also an accomplished artist. It's almost as if it's his biggest secret. The stacks of journals he keeps are his prize possessions. He has always let me flip through them and read short passages he jotted as he drew with no shame. Honesty seems to seep from my husband and it's hard not to be honest with him because of it. He won't lie, he'll tell you if he can't keep a secret and he'll always call when he's running late.

Why have I written today about my husband? Because he deserves an honorable mention. Because he is hardworking and loving even when I am grumpy. Because he will do the yard work as well as the dishes if it needs being done. He'll rock the baby for an hour so I can get some sleep and he'll stand up for me breast feeding in public when others scowl. He will cut my hair when I don't want to spend the money and he'll take my bossy directions with the scissors when he does.

He deserves an honorable mention because he was the one who told me I should focus on myself more. I'm a pretty lucky lady.

Root Canal

Have you ever had a root canal? I have had two in the past three months! It's really exciting and wonderful to have such interesting dental work done in such a short amount of time. At least I have made a few dental friends. I'm pretty sure I look like a piggy bank to my dentist now. I noticed how his eyes turn into those cartoon money signs when he sees me.

The first tooth they did about two months ago and I was glad when it was done. Guilt followed me to every visit. The money I was spending on my teeth would probably have covered my college tuition. I was ready for my husband to yell, scream, throw things, wring his hands or just get miffed. Instead I got something worse. I got the "If this is what it takes to make you take care of your teeth from now on, it's worth every penny." CRAP! Why couldn't he have just stopped talking to me for a few months?

The procedure is actually pretty interesting. You go in and sit in a small waiting room long enough to get interested in the gossip magazine you nonchalantly grabbed before sitting down. You are whisked into the room where you will be spending a good hour and a half. There you sit and promise yourself you will sneak a peak at the juicy story in US weekly when you are leaving.

In comes one of the most beautiful smiles in the world. She is tall thin and so likeable! This amazing dentist doesn't even make you feel guilty about the way you've been taking care of your teeth which has resulted in you having to get root canals. That is a super power in of itself!

The dentist pops on her surgical mask and sticks you with the equivalent of needles you see the first year of your child's life. Still, you find this woman to be a kindred spirit, someone who really "gets" you. Your face swells and you know all the assistants are giggling at you while liquid dribbles from your mouth.

Your mouth is then draped with a plastic green tent, there to make sure you can't breath if you have a stuffy nose, seriously. The drilling is about to begin and you can't get over how such a nice person could have one of the most hated jobs in the world! Then, suddenly, you get a glimpse of the size of the drill she is using. You Think: Good god, thank you for poking me with so many needles earlier.

In the course of an hour and a half you smell a few different aromas: burning, chlorine and something that is reminiscent of poo. After drowning in your saliva for the entirety, the green tent is removed and the likeable superhero dentist turns to her assistant and says "Suction." She has just saved your life, where is her cape? A few xrays and then you are whisked back to the waiting room where you pay your fee happily (come on, your kindred spirit just fixed your tooth!).

You catch a glimpse in the mirror. Horror! Half of your face does not work. Smiling makes you look like you're crazy or on something. Leaving as quickly as you can, you break that promise to read the juice in that stupid magazine. Getting home to your husband and children you suddenly realize that you are in more pain then you've ever been before.

The dentist doesn't seem so much like a Superhero anymore. It's more like a super villain and she's just put kryptonite in your tooth.... ouch.

Water

After being absent for ten days I am back. It is an epic story of my leave. It included battles, laughter and fear of what a certain 6'3'' man would do to me if I had, in fact, broken his prize possession (mostly the last one).

It started off as any other day. I had found myself on the computer and proceeded to neglect my child for a few minutes. Of course this was after an hour of reading the same book ten times, offering three different kinds of breakfast and negotiating the removal of a poopy diaper.

Sitting happily at my husband's lap top, while I allowed the television to parent for me, I poured myself a tall glass of water. Breastfeeding makes you thirsty! It was placed securely beside me while I happily danced my fingers across the keys. They clicked with happy chatter, it was my happy alone moment.

Then suddenly an evil demon took over my body. I watched in horror as my hand tipped over my tall glass of water. Time slowed and water engulfed the happy keys. And dammit, there was a demon, I don't care what my husband believes! It had nothing to do with the fact that I am clumsy! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

While holding the computer upside down to let the water slowly drip away from the keys and down my arms, my son walked over and said very seriously: Oh God. My thought: Your father is going to kill me... and he's going to make me feel really bad about pouring water on his computer...

Luckily, the computer just needed to dry out for a while, and I'm back! Ya!

Whodathunk?

I have just realized why I haven't gotten but four hours a night for the past three nights. Blaming it on the over tired monster just didn't make sense when after three two hour naps my four month old just won't sleep.

It would make a mechanical engineer say "What the fuck?" but us mothers just keep trying new things. Swaddle here, music there. Add a bit of light, make a black hole out of your child's room. Sway for hours, sing for hours, accompany your child's crying with your own whimpers. Then you give them pain meds and everything seems clear.

Teeth suck. Not only do I have an ill placed hatred of my own teeth I am now starting to hate the unseen teeth in my child's mouth! Half way through my two root canals and I just can't bring myself to say "I'm so glad I've spent years eating crappy junk food and forgetting to brush just so I can get two fake and perfectly white teeth out of it.", to be fair it wasn't my teeth's fault. But I am not above saying it was the high fructose corn syrup's fault!

What gets me about this whole thing is that I didn't even connect the dots from upset sleep and uncomfortable feeds to teething. I just assumed it was because she was tired. We all know that when we are tried we get upset easily and want nothing to do with nipples (at least my first boyfriend was that way).

My daughter is asleep, so why am I still awake, typing away as if I have had wonderful sleep for the past week? The answer to that is simple- because I haven't had any sleep in the past week. Everyone knows that you go insane with lack of sleep. Why would a sane person be typing right now instead of sleeping? That has no answer... good night.

My Bra

I have big boobs. They aren't gargantuan, they aren't tiny. My boobs are just big enough to drive my back crazy but not big enough to have medical intervention alleviate the pain. This is something I loath and love about myself.

I like that I have boobs, I like that they produce milk and I can breast feed my daughter. I like that they were never part of my self esteem deflation. Thinking about it now though, I'm pretty sure no matter what I looked like I would have hated myself as a teenager, don't we all? They were oogled, they were admired and they were misused on multiple occasions (Cheap birthday gifts, so sue me!).

As you can tell I have nothing against my boobs, (although plenty of men have wished they were!) but I do have a deep hatred of bras. Never have I gone bra shopping without it ending in tears. I don't care who you are, bra shopping is depressing. If you've got smaller then average boobs you try to find a bra that pushes what you got up and at em! If you've got different sized boobs you try to find a bra that hides this fact. If you have big boobs you try to find a bra that will support them enough so they aren't neighbors with that asshole of a belly button.

Of course if you are the person who goes bra shopping and find that every different style suits you and the biggest difficulty you have is deciding on the color, fuck you. You are either clueless and don't care or a figment of a man's imagination who wouldn't need a bra anyway cause your boobs would sit up on their own. I assume men imagine that women go bra shopping to 'help' each other tighten the hard to reach straps. This interaction turns into a hot afternoon of fun and experimentation. What really happens when women go shopping for bras together is moral support or having tissue on hand. Seriously, not sexy.

In short, my back is killing me and it's because my nursing bras support nothing. I don't know why they even market them as bras. They are there to keep the nursing pads in place, as the sagging is embarrassing enough, we would rather not leak all over the place as we are shopping for groceries.

The worst part about this whole thing!? I don't really have anyone to go bra shopping with. It's not really something my friends and I do. I have my husband. Who is the sweetest man alive and will let me spend far too much money on a bra while handing me tissues over the changing room door. He will then proceed to tell me I look beautiful, which gives me momentary relief... until I look in the mirror and he hands me another tissue.

The Tantrum

Every mother knows the terror of taking their child into a store and watching as they have a melt down. I'm talking about the worst melt down you can possibly have. Rolling on the floor melt down, kicking and screaming melt down, snot everywhere melt down. This particular melt down just so happened to us while my husband and I were going to Target this morning.

I'll admit Stan was getting close to his nap time and getting him to put shoes on was a big no no. So my husband reminded him that it was wear shoes or sit in the cart. Stan chose sit in the cart. Fair enough, he'd done it plenty of times before. Never asked to get down after we reminded him that he wasn't able to without shoes on. It was same as usual.

So, when we got into Target and Stanley proceeded to tell us where to drive the cart. We told him that we were going to go where we needed to and get out as fast as possible. I know two year olds don't totally get this logic but I thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Next he pulled his shirt off. You can guess we were a bit taken aback. He was looking for attention. It was true but we were trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. He took his shirt off and we tried to stop him but instead we ignored it.

Then the real tears started. The high pitch shrill and the snot. Ooooh the snot. Screaming and yelling we pushed the cart passed the on lookers. There were looks of "What the hell" and smiles of "I've been there" but no one said anything. This is what normally happens when Stan gets loud in a store so I thought nothing of it.

Getting to the register the teller swiped the items we had picked up with a bit more speed then one would expect from a 60 year old man. We were yards away from the door when a woman called "Pick him up! That's what he needs! Pick him up for goodness sake!" I turned to the voice, confused. Had someone actually tried to tell me how to deal with a tantrum? Really? Woman, you have some balls! I had to walk away, but my husband shouted "You're wrong, Lady! Totally wrong!" We left the store and I was sure I would explode.

That horrible feeling of anger and sickness swirled in my stomach. At least one of us had said something! Then I realized what I should have said... "You pick him up, Lady! See if he calms down for you!" that would have been an epic ending to a small battle.... But what I wanted to say was "Fuck you, Lady." ... now that would have been the beginning of a rude back and forth. To be honest, every mother needs those back and forths, it gets us ready to fight with our teenagers.

Family Pets

It's strange to hear that your last family pet has passed. It feels like a little part of your youth has disappeared. Agatha was her name and she was a British Bulldog. In other words: Bossy and Stubborn as hell! We all loved her and she pretty much told us where to be when we needed to be there. So, since she lived life always for her family and herself I would like to reflect on how wonderful she was.

Agatha was a dog who told you when it was time to go to bed. I shared a bed with her when she was a puppy and man did she know how to hog the covers. I would wake up in the middle of a December night freezing because Agatha had pulled all the covers off the bed. It wasn't like she wanted to use them herself, she just didn't think they matched the decor of her pink collar.

When my oldest sister would return home to her husband, Dave, he would view the pictures and announce that the floors of my parent's house were lovely because the only pictures my sister would take were that of the dog. Agatha loved the attention and it seemed that she posed for these shots! She was always a camera magnet, even when she was snoring.

I spent a summer living in a one bedroom apartment all by myself. I started getting these weird phone calls so my parents sent me the best line of defense for a creep they had: Agatha. I learned that she snored worse as she got older. The few friends I had come over she would get up from her bed and slowly strut toward them. Eyeing them up and down. Then with just a simple sweep of her backside she would be sitting on their feet and refused to move. It didn't matter if you wiggled your toes or moved your foot altogether, she'd find a way to be on your foot the whole night.

With such a bossy and stubborn attitude one would think this dog wouldn't care if you were upset, but that's where the real Agatha would shine. Instead of just plopping on your feet she would sit with her back to you and turn her head around. Then very gently she would place her gooey chin on your knee and sigh, as if to say "I know what you're thinking, it's hard being you. I realize you are terribly upset and I'm sorry... But if you give me a treat I'll take your mind off it." And she always did.

Thanks Agatha, for giving our family such a lovely spirit to remember and such a sweet heart to keep.

My evenings

I can't really say I've done all that much for myself for the past few days except eat and drink. I haven't even had my needed beer after the kids go to bed. The days seem to be getting rougher for some reason and I couldn't put my finger on it until just about twenty minutes ago. My routine has changed.

I'm not talking about bringing a new baby into the house, I'm talking about my husband being home more often this week. Usually he works from 1pm until about 10pm. This is the normal routine in our house. We all get to sleep in as long as possible and then play until nap time, at which point Daddy makes his way out the door and the Mommy routine takes over. There are games, parks, zoo visits and dinner. After all the romping around town we finally have a bath, read a few stories and into bed. Nothing more, nothing less. I now have the house to myself and I can sew, take a bath, clean the dishes or meditate (Hell, I could watch porn and drink toilet water if I really wanted to and nobody would know!), it's pure heaven.

I'm not saying that my routine is better structured in the afternoons after my husband leaves but... it is. So, I am, in fact, saying that... which I have no apologies for (sort of). Let's just say I feel a bit guilty about loving alone time and wanting the hubby to work nights. Daddy only gets to see his kids in the morning. I'm sure that sucks from his point of view.

Being a father and sole breadwinner must be hard. Having to leave when all you want to do is play and protect all day. Let's be honest though, it's easier now then when we humans were some animal's dinner. Instead of having to be strong to kill a Saber-toothed Tiger, Dad's have to be strong enough not to punch their boss or kick their clients for being pricks, thus keeping their job. It's nice to know that we, as a species, have come so far.

So, I feel bad about this but it's annoying when Daddy's schedule becomes a 9 to 5 operation. My husband comes home from working all day not to the usual quiet, tidy house, the love of his life and left overs from dinner waiting for him but crap everywhere, a banshee and two children hitting that "I'm getting so tired I'm going to scream" stage. Welcome home Dad!

I should say that my three month old doesn't notice Daddy as much as all the commotion. It's not the fact that a 6ft 3in man has walked in the door that makes her go crazy, rather it's when my two year old realizes that it is in fact Daddy coming through the door there are squeals and screams. If I were her, I'd freak out too.

Anyway, it's getting closer to Daddy's vacation and perhaps that will help. I think my husband needs it after seeing what the house looks like at 6pm. And why do I find this 9-5 operation annoying? I miss my alone time because, seriously, when else can I get total control of the computer?

Weaning

Yesterday I felt as if I hadn't left my child's room in days. My three month old was being denied the pacifier and tears were plentiful! It's hard to describe to someone who has never held a crying baby what it feels like over the course of four hours. It is different for every person but it generally ends up in tears, on both sides of the front.

There are plenty of reasons to keep a pacifier for your child until they can turn to you and say "Mom, I want my pacifier or I'm going to have my robot army destroy you." but with our three month old it was getting out of hand. It had gotten to the point where every nap she was taking was only twenty minutes long. I had to hold the pacifier to her mouth for her to have a longer nap. I didn't want this to suddenly start happening during the night. I had fears of falling asleep hanging over the crib, my arm falling asleep and my daughter continuing to cry. One can imagine that it was time to make the situation better.

You would think that this would be an easy fix, remove the pacifier! Imagine having a spoon to eat soup. All your life you've only eaten soup with a spoon. Someone refuses to let you have your soup with a spoon.... all you can think about is that damn spoon and how hungry you are. Trying to get this rather ocd person to understand that you can eat the soup if you pick up the bowl, is like explaining how to drive a car to someone inconsolable and screaming at you. You want to leave, you want to exit the car and walk away... but you want your sixteen year old to learn to drive so you can get some peace and quiet in the house!

So there I was consoling an angry three month old. I couldn't just leave her there in her room alone. So I held this screaming hot box and swayed her until she would fall asleep. I'd put her down and quietly leave her room... and she would sleep for twenty minutes.... why did I do this again?

Next week I'll be weaning the pacifier from my toddler. That should be easier, right? Cause I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any robot armies... I'll just double check his closet to be sure.

Trying to Read

I am reading a mystery novel. Let me rephrase that: I'm trying to read a mystery novel. It's set in feudal Japan and the leading character is a Samurai... a son of a Ronin to be exact! Yes, I love these stories!

I fondly remember how I read books when I didn't have children. There were nights when I would start a book and finish it before daybreak. What a wonderful romp. The pages being turned slowly as I rolled through my sheets in high anticipation of what inevitably ended each book session. The hours of excitement leading up to that climax. Such joyous nights have now turned into fifteen minutes of scanning the pages and skipping paragraphs just to get to the damn ending. Highly reminiscent of other fun things to do in bed which took such a dramatic turn after children.

This particular novel has been in my possession from the library for about two weeks and I've been able to read about fifty pages. It's sad, really, when I have to flip back to the beginning just to remember the character's names. What makes it even more head shakingly disappointing is that I fell asleep on two separate occasions while trying to read. It wasn't even at a boring part of the story, like meeting a new character or emphasizing the redness of a stupid painting with text, it was during a fight scene! There I found myself, jolted awake. Looking down at the library book strewn on the floor, I noticed it had closed on impact. My first thought: I lost the page I was on.

I decided to try to finish the book while my two year old son was watching tv. It usually gave me about an hour to make dinner for him, so I thought it would give me atleast twenty minutes to read. WRONG! It's amazing how often a child can need help desperately.

One would assume that if a toy fell over you could pick it up and nothing would be amiss. With a two year old if something drops/breaks there are usually seven things you have to do to fix the situation enough so you can walk away.

1) Console child.

2)Fix whatever fell/broke.

3)Console child again because the fixing is taking too long.

4)Show your work.

5)Console child because they don't believe the issue has been fixed.

6)Distract the child with another toy/activity.

7)Watch as the child ignores you and "happens" to return to the activity they were doing before they had the afore mentioned panic attack.

- Have five minutes to yourself and repeat.

Long story short.... guess what happened when I tried to read my book.

Great Responsibility... or Cookies

I've been pretty good about running every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It's only been a week, so I've done it once. Not bad for a procrastinating mother of two! It seems to be getting easier too! Meaning: I can run about half a block further without thinking "I'm dying, I'm dying, o my god I'm dying". Running, I have heard, can be meditative. Unless meditation is cursing under your breath while letting all your limbs flail and your face crumple into unspeakable pain, I'm not meditating.

Every time I see a fellow human being in such pain of their own accord I always want to commend them. They are getting from one place to another while putting their bodies through torture one step at a time. I always wondered if a call of encouragement would help them go another block or two. "Good for you!" I shout in my head. I remember that scratchy feeling you get in your lungs, as if the air coming in and out so fast has cut through that delicate layer of lung we all depend on so heavily. I remember the awful aching of every joint after a long run and the ice packs to sooth it. I remember all the pictures taken of people running. So painful! Then say quietly "Thank God I'm not doing it!"

So, it was a bit of a surprise when, while running in my most unique way, a neighbor popped out her front door and called after me "Good for you!". Suddenly, 80's inspirational music swelled and life slowed to increase the importance of the next few seconds. I turned to give the thumbs up and she returned the favor. With a smile on my face I pushed harder through my run and felt like Wonder Woman. There I was, running, pushing myself to the limit and all while trying to remember the words to "Eye of the Tiger".

When I got home, panting and trying not to limp, my husband turned to me and his expression was utter shock. "Are you ok?" he asked. "I'm... fine.... why?" I said between breaths. "You just look a bit... tired. How far did you run?". I shot a side glance at the mirror and noticed I had changed colors. Gone was my normal human glow and it was replaced by purple spots. How hard had I run? And who knew a bit of encouragement had so much power!?

My next thought was of my neighbor returning back into her house and saying to herself "Thank God I'm not doing it!".

With great power comes great responsibility, Lady! So where are my cookies!?

Button Anyone?

Being obsessed with sewing is a rather expensive habit. I found myself one day torn between buying milk or a six dollar button. Now, to be fair, I didn't really need the milk but this button was TO DIE FOR! It looked almost like a coin lost over the last few centuries that had a story to tell. You know, one of those things you would pick up and think "I bet it's been places I've never even known!". Perfectly worn and just the right type of dirty. That kind of tarnish one would expect when walking into a Pier 1 or Crate and Barrel. It is a regret of mine that I pass these things up. So what? It was just six dollars! Where's the harm?

This of course I could say about buttons I have seen on four different occasions each week for the past three years. Adding up all those buttons one would realize that: first, I own 468 buttons I've never actually used, two, that I am insane, and three, don't ask how much fabric I own (my husband would kill me if he found my stash).

To make the long story short, I like sewing and other things that pertain to it, like buttons. So when we were strapped for cash during my husband's birthday I made him a Kimono. I found the greatest fabric. I wanted it to be wearable in the winter so I lined it with felt. It was gloriously masculine! Thankfully my husband can pull that kind of stuff off without looking like he's trying too hard. One must remember that he would be wearing a comic book character T shirt under it.

Although I loved it and it looked great on him, my hubby wore it once for thirty seconds before placing it quietly into our closet. It's been months and I want someone to wear the damn thing! So I asked if I could sell it. He was cool with it, but he mentioned that he really liked it and it was just that the felt was uncomfortable. It was too hot and bunched under his armpits (wuss). So, in accordance with my list of things I want to do for myself I have started pulling out all the stitches and am starting anew with this piece. And the best part of this whole thing? I'll have to go out and buy a new button for it! YEEE!

Setting an Alarm

It's important to set an alarm, of course this makes sense when you need to be reminded of the time. It also helps when you need to be up at a certain time in the morning to do something rather important. For me, setting an alarm is like wearing a bra when you have no genes for boobs... it's there so you look like you're trying.

So I set my alarm and the inevitable happened. The snooze button was given a proper work out. After about an hour of this I was then woken by my two year old son calling out for help. He had apparently tried to set up his train tracks on his bed and he was rather upset because the tracks wouldn't stay level. This of course was followed by tears and snot becoming one of my pajama accessories. It was at this moment I realized why I had stopped buying nice clothes. After the tears had stopped and the building site of the train tracks had been moved to a flat surface, there was twenty minutes of quiet playing time.

Every parent knows what to do when their two year old is having quiet play time, you sleep. So I fell asleep in my son's bed only to be woken up by a pacifier being shoved into my mouth. My son stood over me with a big smile and in his own two word language called for me to "o-pin mowph" for my "pass ee". I refused and a new layer of snot and tears bedazzled my hair.

After ten minutes of this my husband appeared squinty eyed and sluggish. "Did you want to take a run?" as I lunged out of the twin bed I was trailed by a blur of color, just like in comic books.

Out the door I ran. My "run" was a much slower pace so I could enjoy the quiet of the out doors. I could hear a married couple yelling at each other through their kitchen window, there was construction just half block south and the train just half a mile north of me was screeching away. Ahh, nature....

Strangely enough I came home to a happy toddler, upbeat husband and sleeping infant. I showered and went back to bed. This time I didn't have to hit the snooze button on my alarm at all because seconds later I was woken by my infant daughter screaming bloody murder. Why did I set the alarm in the first place?

List

I decided I wanted to get more done in my day.... that's the short answer for why I am writing it down. The long answer is that I want to be able to look back at my progress. I want to force myself to get on here each day and write, if nothing else but "I didn't do it". I am hoping this procrastination can be pushed a bit further as I try to write about changing while actually staying the same, because let's be blunt, no one changes all that much...

Let's start with the list I've made for myself:

Walk the dog - seriously, this should be the easiest part of my day but you'd be surprised!

Exercise - I want to be 120 lbs! Ya right, let's instead take off the 40 I gained just having my daughter alone

Meditate - as a Buddhist I have lacked in this lately... perhaps it has to do with the fact my children are a toddler and a newborn?

Read - does it count if I read facebook?

Sew - this is something I hope will really stick, 45min of sewing or at least getting patterns ready to sew each day!

See, it seems simple, right? The husband gets home at 11pm and leaves for work at 11am (most days), so I'll be able to do this in the morning. After I've gotten 6hrs of sleep! That is of course if the baby only wakes up once in the night, which doesn't always happen. I could do this on 3hrs of sleep though? Right? Wish me luck, my internet Mistress!