Mud and dirt and all things holy.

I pride myself on the fact that I encourage my kids to get dirty. Like, really dirty. None of this "Oh, why yes, I even let my son play in the sand this afternoon at the park!" crap. Big froopin' deal. That's what you DO at the park.

I'm more of the type that if it's raining I give the kids boots and umbrellas and send them into the backyard with shovels. Most of the time the boots and umbrellas are tossed aside and they end up with toes squished in mud and soaking wet heads. Isn't that dirty enough? You might ask...

Apparently not for my children. And honestly, who wouldn't want to be this care-free with mud?

Example 1:



Example 2:



Example 3:



And the BEST example of them all:



And so the ol' saying goes... "God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt!"

Little but FIERCE

Natalie Kate.

Or as her big sis likes to call her: Natalie CAKE. A loud emphasis on the "cake" because Olivia is quite literally always yelling her name like she's big momma around these parts and bossing her from here to Sunday. Much to big sis' dismay, however, Natalie Cake has learned the art of ignoring her.

What can I say about Natalie these days? How about this...

One minute our dear Natalie is a sweet pony-tailed lady:



And a minute later she has the personality of a NINJA:



I always thought I knew what temper tantrums were. Now all I want to say is HOLY JESUS, why didn't someone warn me? Need to pee before you turn on Strawberry Shortcake? Sorry. Let it run down your leg. This 2 year old isn't taking "Just a second" for an answer. Thinking you need to cough because there is a tickle in your throat? Be sure to ask the two year old which direction to cough in first. If you cough left and she says right... let's just say there is hell to pay. Hell that involves slamming her head into the ground, violent thrashing of her tiny 25 pound body with arms flailing wildly and a horrific shriek to boot. Oh, and don't you even DARE to try and console her. Nuh-uh. It just gets worse and then she tries to claw your eyes out as you pick her up.

Despite all that, I can't get enough of this girl. Literally. I scoop her up anytime she'll let me and breathe her in as deeply as possible. And for this I know I am in trouble. Earlier this week she was mad at me because I couldn't get her backpack on her as fast as she would like. In response to my apparent slowness, Nats ripped the backpack from my hands and proceeded to slam me over the head with it. This might sound strange but it was so cute that I literally had to stifle and hide my laughter. Thank goodness my husband was doing the same. Otherwise I think they might have admitted me to the looney bin.

Not saying they shouldn't... I will absolutely pay for my lack of disciplining her in times like these. I FEAR teenage-hood with this one.

Point. Shoot. Click.

Bet ya didn't know I have a real live model living in my house.



Yeah, I didn't really know either. Until last week.

First, yes, that is my daughter dressed in a princess dress. Specifically, that is my daughter dressed in short sleeves in the middle of December at a school function where the rest of us wore our winter coats to protect ourselves from the chill.

I have finally smartened up and conceded to letting my 3 year old wear princess dresses EVERYWHERE. Running out for milk at 7-11? Oh, hang on mom. I have to get my $40 Disney Princess dress on and deck it out with a crown, pearls and "click-clack" shoes as we like to call em'. Going down to the end of the driveway to retrieve the recycling bin? HOLD THE PHONE mom. I need to grab my ballerina tutu and my Sleeping Beauty ruffled shirt along with my pink rubber sparkly boots so I can walk 30 feet into public and PRAY that a neighbor notices me.

Honestly, I adore the dressing up. What frightens me is the ease with which she poses once she's fully dressed and realizes there is a camera within a one-mile radius. You'll note that not only has she mastered the hands on hips stance but she also now poses her leg and twists the foot ever so slightly. I've only seen that move one other time on America's Next Top Model. Tyra Banks would be oh so proud.

I think, maybe, my most favorite part of all is not the strangers "ooh-ing and ahh-ing" over her requests to "take one more picture of me mommy!" as she curtsies and sticks her rear end out a little more than needed... but rather, this adorable little princess who walks around like royalty exclaiming to everyone within earshot "I farted!" as she lets one loose for the hundredth time and then belly laughs hysterically.

Yep, that's my girl.

No teeth and a mohawk

There is so much to catch up on. First, let me start by saying that everything is going to be completely out of order for a bit. I'm literally remembering the year through pictures on my phone. Don't judge. You know you do it too.

As if I have to explain, this pic says it all:



So now I am that mom. The mom who sends her kid to school each day with a mohawk. I like to think of myself as "edgy". (Stifling laughter right now) I certainly feel that way when we are around those of the older crowd. They look at my son with his adorable strip of hair going down the middle of his head and I swear I can hear them whispering "Tsk Tsk". It's HAIR people. It grows. And it's not hurting anyone. So who the heck cares?

As if this wasn't adorable enough, he is also sporting nothing but gums where two very large front teeth used to be. Every time he smiles at me all I can think in my head is "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth... my two front teeth... my two front teeth. All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth - So I can wish you "Mwerry Chwistmas!" Now, try and get THAT out of your head.

Aside from physical changes, Riley won first place in the Science Fair at school. It was all about worms. Go figure. And I'm pretty positive that I was the only mom at the awards ceremony that inappropriately jumped up and yelled "WOOHOO!" with tears running down my face as they announced it. Hey, meds don't work THAT well guys. I still have my moments.

I'd never been so proud of both my son and those precious disgusting worms in all my life.

Sibling Love

I can vividly remember the moment I found out that I was pregnant with my third kiddo. My then 9 month old baby girl was scooting around on our bathroom floor at my feet and attempting to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper. Me? I was desperately trying not to hyperventilate while I peed on a test stick. I immediately watched the plus sign grow darker and darker. Wait 2 minutes, my ass. Try 2 seconds! It was then that I realized I had to stay conscious, if for nothing else, but the baby who was quickly approaching the cleaning products under the sink. If it hadn't been for that, I would have most definitely passed out on the toilet. Growing one baby while chasing another just wasn't in my life plan.

Oh how things can sometimes work out for the best though...

Fast forward to present day. As I sit here intermittently typing and folding laundry, I am listening to my girls play with their dollhouse and giggle. I once feared the extremely small age gap between them. Two in diapers. Two crying and getting up through the night. Two getting into everything and constantly seeking out ways to unknowingly kill themselves. I was one big ball of nerves and stress. Today, however, I realized that despite a somewhat rough and tiresome beginning, my girls are now perfect playmates. My heart melts everytime I see them follow each other through the house and on to the next adventure. Oh sure, they still have their moments - but sometimes siblings can make the very best friends.

Now, if I could only feel this way when they are teenagers. I'm not holding my breath on that one.

Birthdays kicked down a notch

Perhaps it is the influx of parties during what I like to call the "Birthday Season" that has prompted a revelation. Or, as some skeptics would say "an excuse" to downgrade my children's birthday parties from an all-out bash to an intimate affair that costs less. Perhaps it is my ever present (but happily welcomed) sheer exhaustion that pushed forward this whole change. Who can really know.

Either way, I've decided that because we are lucky enough to be a part of so many awesome birthday celebrations where we can spend time with friends and family- we are going to keep it simple in this house.

At first I felt guilty. Questions swam through my head. What were my kids missing out on? Would they be traumatized as adults from the lack of goodie bags and candy-filled pinatas in their childhood? But as each birthday came and went, it became easier.

Recently I had a discussion with a good friend of mine about birthdays. We both were appalled at the lack of quality time, as moms, we were able to spend with our child on his or her party day. The entire fling was spent running around filling food bowls, topping off party-goers cups and coordinating pizza time, cake time, present opening time, and whatever other activities we had so carefully planned... and then completely missed because we were cleaning up empty bowls, plates and cups while the crowd partied on.

I'm not complaining. For some, this is what parties are all about - and to be honest, I thrived on this for the longest time. I still love throwing a good bash. I adore hosting those close to me in my home and showing them a good time. But in hindsight, I really do miss seeing the look on my babies faces while we sing "Happy Birthday" from the first verse to the last. I crave sharing in the delight of each opened present from the first rip of wrapping paper to the final gleaming smile as the contents are discovered. I miss focusing the day on talking to my precious birthday boy or girl about the day they were born and how excited we were to meet them. Maybe it's selfish but I like the fact that they now delight in a few balloons and a well decorated (but small) cake that, as a special treat, they eat at breakfast time while their brothers and sisters serenade them.

My final hope is that these kiddos will grow to appreciate the meaning in things, like the day of their birth or the idea of giving instead of receiving at Christmas time. I don't want them to always seek instant gratification or adopt "the bigger, the better" syndrome. And so far, it's been a success. The sheer look of happiness on my 3 year old's face yesterday as we quietly celebrated her special day and topped it off with a princess bike (complete with a baby seat for her doll) was enough to tell me that maybe this won't be so hard after all. Oh, and I can finally remember each and every moment of it.

Ode to Summer

So...it's sort of been awhile since I last wrote. Instead of boring you all with the nitty gritty details of the last several months, I thought I would just sum it all up with a homemade tune. This is based on the "My Favorite Things" song sung by Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music.

Raindrops on noses and tormenting kittens,

Bright sunny days and some sunblock that glistens.

Brown soggy diapers that leak and then cling,

These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream colored faces with dirt by the oodles,

Door slams and s'more grahams and crayons for doodles.

Wild child that screams with the G-force of their swing,

These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in play dresses and gnarly head bashes,

Mud streaks that smear on my nose and bug rashes.

Big sticky donuts they squish and then fling,

These are a few of my favorite things.

When the kids bite, when they throw things,

When I'm feeling mad,

I simply envision myself on a beach

and then I don't feel so bad.

The neighbors must think I've lost it?

Series of events within the last week regarding my neighbors:

Oh, and please take note that I do not know these people very well...

1. First neighbor delivers a slip n' slide to my front door. Totally free of charge. Says that he saw me spraying down the kids with the hose in the front yard and wasn't sure if it was a stress reliever or just for fun. I began to wonder if it appeared to him that I was spraying them a little more violently then what I had intended? I mean, sure, it felt good to sneak up on them, hose in hand, and spray the crap out of them. But it couldn't have been that bad...right?

2. Same neighbor, two days later, says he and his wife are having a yard sale. His wife suggested that he come over and offer me first dibs on all the toys because we look like we could use some extra help with child entertainment. With a look of confusion I told him that I was appreciative, but kindly declined. Thoughts began to swim through my head. What on Earth did they think was happening over here?

3. Another very sweet neighbor, further down the street, greeted me first thing in the morning while I was opening the garage door. Up comes the door and BAM! There she is, standing there holding a large box. She holds it out to me and says it looks like I could use this more than she could. It is a brand new inflatable "car wash" water type thingy for the kids to play in. I was now starting to become paranoid.

Was the fact that I thought I had these kids finally under control just a delusion in my head? I realize that we had added a fourth to our group (a sweet little friend of Riley's has joined our summer adventure) but if anything, she was a wonderful playmate and distraction for him - which really only left me with two other kiddos who were constantly hanging from my legs.

And then it occurred to me.

This "chaos" that they see is, in fact, my normal. It's jumping and screaming and yelling and laughing and aggravating and silliness and temper tantrums and crying and playing and joking and craziness all rolled up into each day - which ends with me (and hopefully the kids too) feeling like all in all, it was another accomplished and successful day. Of course, I'm not ashamed to admit that the water inflatable gifts (which I did actually graciously accept - Hey, I'm not THAT proud) do help the day along just a little.

Vegan-ese

I have to laugh. My last blog was about being on the South Beach diet which centers around meals rich in animal protein. At the time, I was convinced that it was the answer to my prayers on weight loss. Little did I know that a few short months later I would be sitting here telling you that not only have I given up meat completely, but I'm a bona-fide vegan.
For those who are not familiar with the vegan lifestyle, this means I do not eat anything that is or comes from an animal. Although I'm a little more limited on my food choices - and honestly still trying to get past the mindset of centering dinner around a cut of beef - I have realized that this is what I need to do because fad diets are not the long-term answer. I need a lifestyle change. I won't preach about all of the health benefits from eating mostly plant-based foods. To each his own, I always say. I'm just happy that I've finally found the true way to get my energy level back to normal and it doesn't hurt that I'm doing my body a world of good in the meantime. Yay vegans!

Hey... I think I see me!

I am on the cusp of day 11 of the South Beach diet and I think I am finally starting to recognize myself. For the last 5 years I feel like I've gone from heffer to small cow to skinny cow back to heffer and well, yeah, the cycle went round and round. Since I am determined to have zero more babies (please don't jinx me please don't jinx me) I thought it might be a good time to take drastic measures to find myself. I am proud to say that think I'm finally starting to recognize my face when I look in the mirror these days!

A few things I've noticed during this transformation, as well as a few tips:

1. Get rid of ALL junk. Only buy your kids the crap that you hate. I think fruit roll-ups are disgusting. Guess what my kids get as a treat? Yep.

2. NEVER take your husband grocery shopping with you. It will only end up with you trying to read every food label in sight for hidden sugars and other nasties while he constantly says "It's JUST peanut butter! They are all made from PEANUTS. Just PICK ONE already."

3. Mentally prepare yourself that your new grocery bill will give you a mini-stroke the first few times you go shopping. I'd like to think this is just a preliminary phase and as the diet goes on, you'll find cheaper solutions for recipes. Until then, ask yourself "Is the extra $40 worth a smaller ass?" Exactly.

4. Be prepared to cook separate meals for awhile. Even though you might be okay with eating a slab of chicken with steamed broccoli, your kids may take awhile. Adopt the philosophy that if they at least eat some of the meat and veggies, half a box of Spongbob mac n' cheese might be okay.

5. You will build muscles not only at the gym but also by carrying the 3,000 cans of beans, vegetables, broths, tuna, tomatoes, and every other healthy canned good you could possibly think of from the car to the house and then from the floor to the pantry shelf. At least 60% of my complete purchase today was cans. I could tell the Wal-mart cashier hated me as she slammed the last few in the bag. On the upside my arms are becoming quite shapely.

6. All those things that scream "Organic!" "Whole Grain!" "Low-fat!" or "Sugar Free!" might just be a load of doo-doo. I will spare you the details on what I've been researching about the first three. As for the fourth, let's just say that from what I've read the "sugar alcohols" should just say "major laxative". I don't know what scares me more. Fighting off the sugar cravings or giving in to the "sugar-free" stuff and then not being able to leave the house all day. Sorry kids! Mommy can't go to the park today, I just ate a whole bag of sugar-free peanut butter cups!

7. Don't go easy on yourself. Don't fall for that "You can fall off the bandwagon one day, just be sure to jump back on the next!" bull crap. You'll find yourself "falling off" every other day and then pacifying yourself by "jumping" back on the next. Scream out loud to yourself "I'm tired of being a tub-o-lard. I want my ass or thighs or tummy (or all three!) back right now!". Be nasty, be pushy and I promise when the first few pounds start to fall off you will gain a renewed sense of motivation. I say this easily because I have eaten more eggs, nuts, cheese and meat in the last 10 days than I think I ever have in my entire life. A few veggies thrown in there too of course. And I've lost 7 pounds in 10 days. Nothing says full like 2 eggs, a can of green beans and a chicken with walnuts. A little celery with peanut butter for a snack later on and you're as good as gold.

8. This is not a commercial for South Beach. I just happen to really like it. What helps me is to take an interest in food, how it's made, where it comes from and most importantly, how it interacts with your body. Take a vested interest in reading all the really gross stuff like how many rodent hairs are permitted per pound of potato chips or how many maggots per jug of ketchup. In fact, read it twice and then post it on your fridge. I promise you won't want to eat them anymore.

Now if only someone could convince me there were worms in chocolate... Naaaah.

Good luck to all of you who are fighting this daily battle as well. It's a hard road but damn it feels good to be back in my old clothes again!

Signs that I'm becoming lazy

At first I told myself they were short-cuts. In all honestly, cutting corners isn't necessarily the worst thing a mom of three could do. Lately, though, I think I've taken it a tad too far. "Adriane", as my mother used to say, "You're just being lazy". This is why...

Bottles: My two youngest are still on the bottle. One seriously, the other a wanna-be. I took away the wanna-be's pacifier, so now she mostly just chews on the nipple as a make-shift binky. Beating the system or whatever, I guess. So I used to pull out two bottles at every naptime and then again at every bedtime. Sometimes if we were having a particularly hard day, I would even pull a few more out for a "I-need-a-few-minutes-of-peace-so-put-this-in-your-mouth" type moment. So there, I admitted it. Anyway - One day, while unloading the endless sea of bottles from the top rack of the dishwasher (for the 2nd time that day might I add) I realized this was just nuts. No, no. It was INSANE. Definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. I kept unloading the damn dishwasher thinking "This will change... tomorrow there won't be as many..." and then the next morning I would be emptying the fricken dishwasher full of bottles, as if they had had bottle relations and bred in there overnight. Cut a corner on this one? Oh, no. No, friends. That's not necessary. I can do one better. Now my girls have one bottle that they share between them all day and they take turns with it. Sometimes, and I'm really laying it all out on the table with this one... Sometimes, I don't even rinse it when it's being refilled for the next kid. Afterall, my toddler licks every damn thing in sight, so can her baby sisters germs really be that bad? I'm like Super Mommy teaching my children multiple important life lessons like patience and sharing all at the same time!

Kitchen Clean-up: Oh, the kitchen. If my husband tells me one more time "Baby, the only thing a person really needs to keep cleaned through the day to feel tidy is the kitchen" I will kill him. Dear Husband, it is NOT that simple. Well (insert evil laugh) until now. Meet my friend: Shop-Vac. Shop-Vac and I see eye to eye on pretty much everything. If it fits in his tube, it's getting sucked up. Liquid, dirt, dried noodles, bugs. It doesn't matter. Shop-Vac does it all. In fact, I've become so incredibly partial to him that he is now a very ugly but very permanent fixture in my kitchen. Right next to the highchair actually. Oh sure, I used to get out the bottle of cleaner and spray everything down. Use a tree and a half worth of paper towels to clean the cracks and crevices. I'd wipe down the table, the seats, the counters. 3 hours later I realized I'd had more than enough of that. I started cutting corners by using the already pre-soaked cleaning wipes and only sweeping every other day. On my off days I would just kick bits of cereal bars or scrambled egg out of the main walkways. No need to trample that mess into other rooms as well! Now, it's just me and the Shop-Vac... with the occasional spray down of the kitchen counter of course. There's nothing like a nice long dinner where the kids have thrown more peas and rice onto the floor than they put into their mouths. Chicken bits scattered under the table and smashed peas in the rug. Top it off with a crumbly brownie and there you have it. A trifecta of colors EVERYWHERE. Do I stress? Nope. Do I envision the hours it will take me to wipe all of that up and then the other 2 hours it will take me to pick the peas out of the broom and the brownie out of the highchair seat? Nope. Nope. Nope. I simply tell the kids to stay put, I turn on the Shop-Vac and then I go to town. At first I would just suck up every speck I could find. Now I make the kids sit still so that I can Shop-Vac them as well. No need to take their spaghetti noodles with them to the tub. No siree! If anyone could see us, they would probably call CPS - but I always close the kitchen window blinds just in case (insert second evil laugh). So there my kids are, mommy going from kid to kid with the Shop-Vac sucking up bits and pieces of food from their hair like I was using a genuine Flowbee. Don't worry, I tried it out on myself first. It kind of tickles. After their heads I move to their laps, arms, and feet. Once they've been cleared for take-off I go to the floor and then lastly, the highchair. There is something so satisfying about taking the Shop-Vac hose and sucking out every last bit of anything in that chair. Fresh and clean for a brand new day. I love it. I just love that Shop-Vac of mine.

Laundry: I've never been good at it. I even know people who like it. I, on the other hand, hate it. Like, really really really hate it. That much. I never figured out how to cut corners on this one so I just abandoned ship completely and did the unthinkable. I started washing everything - together. At first I would "accidentally" throw in a black sock or two with some questionable whites to see what would happen. When those came out looking fine, I upped the ante and threw in a dark t-shirt. Still looked okay to me. I mean, hey, I'm the mom who shows up at the playground with the extremely wrinkled pants and partly faded shirt and thinks it's okay because I have several children. As if my kids are now my excuse for my poor fashion sense and total lack for caring about my appearance. Oh yeah. Duh. They are. So now, not only do I wash most things in batches instead of colors, I also developed a new method for folding. Instead of leaving my clothes in the dryer until we'd all pretty much worn everything out of it, I decided to be a bit more proactive by putting the kids clothes away completely laid out in the drawers. No folding necessary. Just layers upon layers of flattened pants and shirts all waiting to be snatched up, worn and stained again. I'm telling you, for us laundry haters there is no better feeling than knowing that the laundry can go straight from the dryer to the drawer. Screw the hours of sitting and folding and then taking a bathroom break while my toddler destroys my towers of clothing like she's King Kong. I'd say I'm maybe even edging on enjoying laundry now, but nah....

The list just goes on and on, but unfortunately - and I'm ashamed to say - I would have you here all day reading about it. Gone are the days of wiping the kids noses with lotion Kleenex tissues, using two separate sized diapers for my 1 year old and 2 year old and putting leftovers in Tupperware. Today it's all about the shirt sleeves, buying diapers that fit everyone (even if they might be a bit snug or a little loose) and throwing the whole dang pot of soup in the fridge IN THE POT. Fifty years from now I want to look back and remember the good times. Not how long it took me to clean the kitchen. Thank you, Mr. Shop-Vac.

All things ICKY

We've all seen her. The mom who picks up the dropped binky, sticks it in her mouth to clean it off, and then promptly plops it back into her baby's mouth. Disgusting.

Let's call this woman, for lack of a better description (and of course, NO offense intended whatsoever): "Gross Mom".

Gross Mom does things like use their finger to wipe the icing remnants from their little ones mouth and then puts said finger in their own mouth to lick it clean. CRINGE.

Gross Mom does things like give their baby a drink of their water through a straw, watches tons of backwash and food particles float to the bottom of their cup, and then takes a big swig themselves. PUKE.

Gross Mom does things like pick at crusty knee scabs or yank boogers out of their kids snotty noses with their bare hands. DRY HEAVE.

Gross Mom also does things like give their child a bite of their food from a spoon and then proceeds to eat off whatever remnants the child left behind. GAG.

Ughhh...I can't handle it. Any of it.

Perhaps I am the exception to the rule but I just can't share my drink, among many other expected child-parent related things. My husband gives me a hard time about this and jokes that I am strange for not wanting to share germs with my own flesh and blood. I don't deny it, I even thank him for finally understanding me. "It's not that I don't want to share", I say to him sheepishly as he watches me order a drink for myself and a separate one for the kids. "I just can't."

Oh I'm sure in the official Motherhood Handbook somewhere there is a whole section on "sharing" and just below the definition is the antonym... followed by a picture of my face. Don't get me wrong, I actually do very well with sharing all sorts of other things. It's just usually the above that gets me queasy. Well, that and dirty diapers, my son peeing on the toilet seat for the 30th time and picking up soggy soup noodles from the floor. Blech.

Anyway, there isn't any moral to the story here or some groundbreaking point I'm trying to make. In fact, I'm positive that 99% of you reading this will be thinking halfway through "What is wrong with that girl?". To that, I say, I don't know. Maybe it all stems from my days working as an aide in the nursing home, giving sweet old ladies manicures. You've never seen dirtier nails on a person in your life... and they don't even go outside that often! It took me about two weeks to realize that my dread for going there each day had nothing to do with work and everything to do with dirty, disgusting, nasty finger nails. I held my breath and choked back vomit long enough to finish one adorable little old woman's mani and then I split like a bat out of hell. I never went back. All the money in the world couldn't have kept me there. Oh the horrid memories...

My fellow Mothers, I commend you for your willingness to get down and dirty with the backwash and the poopy diapers. I am completely envious of your ability to give your toddler a bite of your ice cream cone. Who knows... maybe one day I'll come around. Until then, it's separate spoons for me.

Writing and Relating

My Mom, gotta love her, will occasionally forward me an article or two from another random mommy blogging site. I like reading these for various reasons. The two most important being that I am always interested in other moms writing styles and second, I can totally and completely relate. Often times I find myself living the exact life this person is describing in their blog, like play by play to the tee. It's surreal.

I just finished reading one particular article where the mom was describing how difficult it was to find time to write and deal with the household and children and general daily chores. She had given up her original plan of writing only at night after the kids had gone to bed. There was just no true end to her day to find time for herself. At least not without passing out on the desk and short circuiting the keys with her drool. She continued her post with interjections of countless disruptions and specifics on the whereabouts and actions of her kids. She relayed the unending requests that they had - about everything. It was all typed out like one crazy insane play. One that only a mom could truly understand. At the close of the article she even gave an exact tally of how many interruptions, requests, tantrums and melt-downs she had dealt with during the writing of her article (whose main subject had become lost on all of us, including her!). Kudos to her for even counting. I think if I knew the total number of times I said "No!", defused a tantrum, broke up a fight or poured a cup of juice in one day I might check myself into the looney bin.

I found comfort in her writing. Just as I find comfort when I hear one of my friends say "And here I thought it was just me!" during one of our "comparison of child-rearing" discussions. We relate. After all ladies, we're in this for the long haul... and from what I've heard, although the dynamics with our children will change - from diapers to boyfriends, driving to forgotten curfews, and then forming families of their own - it never truly ends. Not that we want it to. I guess we all just need an outlet like writing or exercise or reading or endless bottles of wine to release a bit of the worry and stress it creates. For me, it's blogging and finding the humor in my everyday battles that gets me through. Hopefully, whatever your vice, just like me you can totally and completely relate.

A Mommy Tantrum

Sometimes the things I say or do surprise even myself. Take for example, this other-worldly voice that I've recently adapted over the last few weeks. It's my "Do what I say NOW! I've had enough of this nonsense!" tone and it even scares my husband. It doesn't sound like me, and yet, I feel my lips moving while this deep and scary roar bellows out over my children. So it must be me. Once the voice stops, I usually walk away bewildered and wondering "Who the hell was that?". It's not one of my finer moments - albeit it does do the trick.

I honestly can't believe I've resorted to screaming. Especially when I'm not exactly practiced at the whole thing and I end up spurting out half sentences that don't even make any sense. A typical "yell" for me: "Stop smacking your brother or I'll...put the chair down... No, no, I was talking to... hit on the head ONE MORE TIME... popcorn ALL over the floor... you'll see what happens when you go THERE for the rest of the night." Jesus H. Christ. It's like I'm so enthralled in the yelling part and there are so many children to discipline now that my brain just can't wrap around the words. I'm banking on the fact that because I'm yelling loud enough to make myself go hoarse for half an hour, the sheer volume should hopefully suffice.

Perhaps I'm finally losing my cool. I'd like to think that most moms do when the needle on their patience tanks hits empty. Of course I have yet to figure out how to fill it back up without requiring a month long vacation and so I find that most days I run on fumes. It's these days that I want to scream at my kids "Run, kids! Run! Get away while you still can! Mommy is a few bricks short of a load and a shipment ain't coming in anytime soon!". My hope is that if I am feeling particularly spunky and on edge then phrases such as that might at least warn them to not push my buttons.

...hang on

...Let me stop hysterically laughing...

Okay, I think I'm good.

It reminds me of a recent conversation I had with a fellow mommy about how we sometimes get mad at our kids for the silliest of things. Especially when we are stressed (which in a house of multiple children just keeps going full circle). As if these little kiddos were purposefully trying to get under our skin or stir up some mommy rage just to spite us. Two year old vendettas, or something like that. "We can't help ourselves!", we exclaimed as we admitted the truth to each other. We hold grudges that often just leave us feeling bitchy and exhausted while the kids, in their wonderfully forgiving nature, get over and on with it. Oh to be able to forgive and forget like a 5 year old again...

I've convinced myself that the yelling, for all intents and purposes, is a much needed thing on everyone's account. It's not like I'm yelling at the munchkins all day long, but when I do - it absolutely keeps them in check. For me, it's sort of like a release of built up anger or stress. The kids shake my bottle all day long until the carbonation can't take another minute more - BAM! Explosion. I have my tantrum, just like any self-respecting toddler would do when they are upset, and then I'm over it. Now, if I could just get the wording right.

Gym Mom

In my haste to add a bit of cardio to my newfound diet, I've decided to revisit the gym. Hopefully on a much more frequent basis this year might I add. I'll admit that during my last attempt I just wasn't into it. With a new baby and adjusting to the daily on-goings of my life of three, I didn't have the energy to pee when I needed to - much less go to the gym.

Of course, my brain being the way that it is, I find myself pounding the treadmill or cycling miles on the bike and thinking only of what I can blog about next. I'm always looking for new ideas or unique content. And then it hit me: Musings from the Self-Proclaimed Gym Mother.

I realized, looking around at the early twenty somethings with their obviously-never-had-a-baby bodies, that I should be admired for what I'm doing. Damn it, I should be WORSHIPPED. In my perfect world, some non-mom types might even stare in awe and point at people such as me with complete adoration on their sweaty faces.

I'm not in denial that the above statement just means I'm delusional. Still though. Screw their tight colorful capris and ultra cute push-up tank tops. Upon entering the gym, I would like to strip off my coat and reveal my own special line of gym t-shirts. One that means something (and covers love handles and saddle bags). One that will make others blush in shame for laughing as my butt goes to and fro while I half sprint, half stumble on the treadmill. I think something along the lines of "My ass is big because I had three kids...". And on the back "What's your excuse?". Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe people really are looking at my butt... who can know for sure?

Other than gym wear, I also think that there should be some kind of secret section for Moms where you never have to wait. Curse you, cute gym girl talking to hot gym guy. Sure you might have all the time in the world to stop and have lengthy conversations. Sitting on equipment and hanging with each other between sets. I, on the other hand, have 45 minutes to get A LOT done and I don't have time to wait while you trade thoughts on the latest episode of 90210.

Lastly, for the love of God. Of all the sections that the gym has created, I wish there was a "Mom in Progress" section. Yes, I do actually realize that the whole gym is a Work in Progress... Sheesh. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I just think that Moms have an awful lot to bounce back from. Particularly when some of us put our bodies through hell to have 3 kids 5 and under. We've got parts we haven't seen in years and we have to work double hard if we ever want to find them again. Stomach muscles, people! Stom-ach Mus-cles. Get your mind out of the gutter... So anyway. Yes, a special section would be nice. This way, when others walk past us they will smile and wave and mouth to us through the glass "Good Job!" and we will wave back in recognition of their respect. What? It could happen.

So there you have it. A few musings from a mother who probably doesn't frequent the gym quite enough to warrant any of these things... but still wishes they were true. Don't get me wrong, the gym is actually a wonderful place and there is nothing more motivating than to see so many others getting in shape. And being successful at it. It just gives me more reason to believe that I can do it too. Sigh. So I suppose I will forego my judgment on cute gym girl and hot gym guy. I suppose I will continue to work out in the everybody's-invited cardio section. Perhaps, though... I might just make myself a t-shirt.

...but the day ended triumphantly!

After a particularly challenging week of Motherhood, I decided to put my foot down. In fact, I think I put both feet down, followed by both hands and then my ass. I'd had enough.

I had quite the revelation yesterday morning when I realized that not only had I fought with my two year old for most of the previous day... but then I'd spent half the night fighting her again to go to bed, which she finally did - after midnight. A few short hours later she was waking me up violently by pulling my hair and attempting to poke my eyes out. I wanted to cry. I was exhausted and I had a feeling that the start to our day would most likely outline how the rest of it would go.

NO MORE.

After a series of self-righteous texts to my Mother, followed by a brief phone call to reiterate the whole mess, I came up with a plan. Structure. Not, as my husband would put it, militant - just... organized... orderly? I wasn't sure yet, but I knew something was brewing in my brain. I would lay down an outline and fill in the blanks as I went along. It would come to me, I knew it. One thing was for certain. I would be having several heart-to-hearts with my children about all of the daily things that go on in this house and I would be the only one determining when and how they would be done from now on. Well, okay, and my husband could help...

I won't bore you with the details but let's just say a few things happened:
1. All of my children were in the tub by 8, dressed and combed by 8:30 and then were told repeatedly that they had 30 minutes to watch t.v. or read a book - but that was it. 9pm is the new bedtime in this household.
2. At 8:58 I started to get nervous.
3. At 8:59 I started thinking my plan was going to fail miserably.
4. At 9:00 I announced "Bedtime!" and Riley quietly jumped into bed (his sister was already fast asleep in his walk-in closet - another story for another day - and YES, Mom. The door IS open!) and he immediately closed his eyes.
5. Olivia went quietly into her crib, which she was quick to point out was for babies and she's a big girl. Had a little "revelation" of her own and proceeded to put up a semi-quiet fight for about 15 minutes. Then fell asleep. Slept through the night. AND DIDN'T WAKE UP UNTIL 9AM!
6. My husband and I, literally standing in the middle of the living room and staring at each other, took in the IMMENSE lack of noise in the house. I swear to God I even heard the heat blowing through the vents for the very first time in our 2 years of living here! We both began uncontrollably giggling and like right out of a movie exclaimed at the exact same time "This is weird."

A few other things came about, like the fact that my kindergartener picked out his own clothes (matching!) and even put them on before he left his room this morning (like I asked!). He went immediately to the kitchen table for his breakfast instead of begging for it in front of the t.v. My two year old began her usual "Now!" this and "STOP!" that and when I calmly said "Would you like to go back to your crib?" she said in a sweet little tone "Sorry, Mommy" and then hugged me and grinned.

You can judge us for this, it's okay. We honestly never knew what we were missing. We were trying so hard to make our children happy and yet, here we were - having a total and complete "AH HA!" moment. Kids want structure. They don't love it, but I swear to you they are much happier kids for it.

So, dear people... the tally for today? Kids: 1. Mom: 1.

It's been a day...

I am letting my children get the better of me. I realize they are small and usually harmless and don't really have a general sense of what they are doing. Sometimes, though, they make me want to put my head in a tub full of water and take a deep breath in. Okay, maybe not quite to that extent... that's just the drama in me talking. I'd settle for being locked inside my trunk for a few hours - especially if I can have a blanket, a book and a flashlight.

Fortunately, my youngest is still very much a baby and in all her sweetness I find I can simply nuzzle my face in her neck and be calm. I understand this won't last for forever, but I'm holding on to it with every last damn molecule in my body.
My oldest is usually quite entertaining and has in-depth conversations with me about all sorts of things. The only problem is, he wants to talk ALL.THE.TIME. If it's not "Mom, look at this!" it's "Mom, look at THAT!" and if it's neither or both of those, it includes fart jokes and burp jokes and then simultaneous fart and burp jokes and then a demonstration follows shortly after. He gets so wound up in all his talking glory that he ends up fumbling and tripping over words. He has so much to get out that the future thoughts takeover the present ones and he has to start all over AGAIN. He's got the gift of gab and I find myself telling him lately "Buddy, I'd love to keep talking but please.please.PLEASE can you take a breather and leave me in peace for just 5 minutes?
Sigh... and then there's Livy. My middle child. My wild child. My... anxiety. As you all know from previous posts, I am pretty partial to the girl and love her dearly. I do not, however, love her actions lately. Between the constant screaming at me to do things and do them "NOW!" and the poltergeist that has taken over her tiny 2 year old body - I am exhausted. No, really. Not, like, tired. I mean head to toenail, pure and simple D-O-N-E. After a particularly rough day today and the finale of her wrapping the kiddie binoculars string around her baby sister's throat twice and dragging her through the living room, I surrendered all of my Mommy patience and tossed her into the crib and left her there. It took every bit of my being to not spank the living hell out of her. You see, she'd already been a terror at her Grandmother's house. Then in the grocery store on the way home she ripped open a bag of goldfish crackers when I repeatedly told her not to and then threw them up and out of the cart in a magnificent explosion. She then reached up to the Self Scan screen and cancelled my entire shopping transaction while I was reaching under the cart for the milk. This was after I'd managed to somehow finagle scanning the entire cart of groceries while keeping the baby from pulling all of the magazines off the shelf and screaming at her brother to put the candy back for the 15th time. When we got home she didn't want her bowl of Spaghetti O's and instead of handing them back to me she tossed the bowl across the kitchen like a frisbee. This was followed by her chewing up the salad I made her into tiny little bits and spitting them all over the kitchen floor - repeatedly. I put her in the tub and after she attempted to drown her sister I then found her chewing (literally) apart all of her foamy princess bath toys and pouring water out of the tub onto the floor while her older brother screamed for help. Shortly after that, and several very loud warnings from myself, she continued running away from me while I tried to get her pajamas on and then laughed and peed on the floor. I gave in and tapped her leg once as I am not a fan of spanking. She cried for 3.7 seconds and then laughed once more and ran away. Finally wrangling her to the floor I used my legs to hold her down and dress her and explained that it was time to lie down on the couch and watch a show. She decided it was actually time to jump on the couch, fell off and almost broke her neck on the side table, scaring the living shit out of me in the process. I calmed her down, checked her neck for broken bones and put her back on the couch. I used my "Wrath of God" voice on her this time and threatened her to stay on the couch or else. She stood up, laughed, jumped and fell off...AGAIN. I glanced in her direction and quickly decided to act like I was ignoring the entire situation. If she broke something this time, she'd let me know. Insert attempted murder with binoculars incident - Nuff' said on that one. Defying me once more when I finally took her back out of the crib time-out, she got off of the couch, brought over the binoculars and asked me to look through them. As I bent down to peer through them she swiftly swung them into my face with a loud thud. I tried to tell myself it was just an accident but when I asked her to say sorry to Mommy and give me a hug, she sauntered over to me, leaned in an inch or two from my face and proceeded to spit right in my GOD DAMNED EYE.

As I desperately posted on Facebook earlier: Tally for the day - Kids: 1. Mom: 0. I've thought about calling the Super Nanny lady, but I can't face the embarassment on national television. I've even dreamed of putting her in some kind of toddler boot camp class, but I doubt they exist. Perhaps I need to look to a higher, Godly power these days. Afterall, if He doesn't help me now, He certainly won't like me when he sees what I do to her in her teenage years!

3-2-1 Blast Off Fat!

I did it. I caved. I had another semi-bad day of eating nastiness (see previous post) and decided that I need some help.

After doing a bit of research on non-invasive weight loss programs today (i.e. Special K, No-carb, South Beach, etc.) I came upon Slim Fast. Apparently they have a new motto: 3-2-1. I was confused at first as to what this meant and even thought, "Well maybe it means "3-2-1 Blast Off Fat!" or something with similar awesome-ness. Now that would be cool! Alas, no. It does not. The numbers are as follows: 3 healthy snacks. 2 shakes or bars. 1 sensible dinner. Sounds easy enough, right? I thought so, and so I polished off my second cinnamon roll for dinner and vowed to start the 3-2-1 first thing tomorrow.
Of course, what is a diet plan without supplies? So off I went to Target this evening for some shakes and protein bars. Oh, and let me preface by saying that I was really embarassed by all of this and I still don't know why. It's not like I'm signing up for some diet pill that causes you to have several greasy bowel movements every day. No, I do not know about that one personally, but I've heard first-hand accounts and it sounds truly frightening. I'm sorry but I'd rather be the largest one in the room than stand there and poop my pants - only to have it smell like a potato chip factory.
Anyway. So I nonchalantly throw in a large box of Slim Fast cans from the bargain aisle (score!) into my cart and power walk away from the aisle completely hoping no one would see me. I realize that I have no idea where the bars would be and so I end up asking an employee - never making full eye contact of course - and she points me in the direction of the medical supplies. Uh. Okay.
After much searching I finally find them at the end of the aisle by the pharmacy where several people are waiting... and watching. UGH. I pick up a box and say loudly - probably a little too loudly- "Hmm. I wonder if she wanted this flavor or that one?" I then proceed to pull an old shopping list out of my purse and look it over. I can't even remember where this list came from and I sure as hell know that it has absolutely nothing written on it about Slim Fast. It makes me feel better though and so I nod my head emphatically like I finally figured it out and dump a box of bars in my cart. I take off like a mad woman.
Feeling quite proud of myself for getting both items and managing to not pick up any other crap along the way, I beeline it for the check-out. Thinking the hardest part is over, I load my stuff up onto the conveyor belt and let out a sigh of relief because there is only one shopper in front of me. No one to stand behind me and scan my stuff like I usually would do with theirs. Whew!
This is when it gets ugly. A few points I'd like to make before the big finale though.

1. The lady in front of me is probably 300 pounds.
2. She is buying at least 50 air fresheners.
3. She has COUPONS FOR ALL OF THEM which must be scanned individually.

SIGH. SIGH. SIGH. Dear God. Can I EVER. EVER. FRICKEN'. EVER. go to Target without some kind of incident? .............Didn't think so.

The lady, apparently in her haste to purchase the entire stock of Target air fresheners, has miscounted and actually needs one more to be able to use all of her coupons. The deal is buy one, get one free. For some reason, to make it even better, the cashier tells her she can only buy a blue or purple color. WTF? WHY? Aren't they all the same price? He then tells the lady to go grab one and he will suspend her transaction until she gets back. He doesn't want me to have to wait. She throws a fit, says everyone will just have to wait and then throws her checkbook down on the little check writing area thingy and demands a pen. She says she'll write him a deposit to hold her space in line. WHAT. THE. EFF??
She then looks me squarely in the face and says "You don't mind, do you?". At this point I am petrified of this woman and so is the cashier. He mumbles something about getting the air freshener himself and goes running. Literally sprinting back through the check-out lanes. Of course, two customers are now lined up behind me and I just KNOW they are looking at my Slim Fast. But just in case they aren't? 300 pound lady, making conversation while we wait, announces to me in her loud and booming voice "Slim Fast, huh? Yeah. I like the chocolate ones best, been drinking them everyday for the last 6 months!" I smile and not knowing what to say, nod my head like an idiot and let out an "Ohhhh." She looks so proud of herself. I couldn't fathom bursting her bubble.
Grrrrrreat. Not only does the entire Target population now know I am purchasing Slim Fast when I was THIS close to sneaking out unnoticed... but even worse? 300 pound lady and I are now on the same weightloss program. I'm not getting my hopes up on this one.

Love/Hate relationship with carbs and sugar

In honor of the new year, I thought I might touch upon one of my goals: Weightloss. Not because I want to give the world an update and say "Look at me! Look at me!". No, no. It's mostly because I had a horrible day and like any good dieter I want to tell someone about it for moral support or whatever. My hope is that I'll be so ashamed of myself that I won't do it again. In case you missed it, I am in the process of working off the last 15 pounds of "baby weight", or as I often call it "lazy weight", so that I can fit into my old spring wardrobe. To my surprise, and after much squealing on the scale, I am happy to say that I am on my way!

Well, uh, I was anyway...

With a TON of willpower I have been eating a fairly healthy diet and was able to successfully cut back on my calorie intake. Both of which have surely helped me get to this point. Don't get me wrong, by no means am I close to the finish line. I'm more like at mid-point, and boy did I have a halftime feast today!

Here was my entire meal menu (cringing):

Breakfast: pizza
Snack: cake
Lunch: pizza
Dinner: pizza and cake WITH a scoop of ice cream
Snack: Sour patch kids

In case you were wondering, I am currently in a sugar and carb stupor and am surprised as hell that I am even able to type right now. I almost wish I was passed out on the kitchen floor lying in my own puddle of drool - it'd make for a much more motivating wake-up call. God, who eats like that? Obese people don't even eat like that! Do they? Wait, don't tell me. It'll just make it worse. I swear I told myself after each meal today "THAT'S IT! ENOUGH ALREADY!" and then when I got to the fridge and had to reach over the pizza for the Activia yogurt... well, my hand just did this funny thing and grabbed a slice of good ol' italian pie instead. After the second slice of pizza I reasoned with myself that since I'd jumped off the deep end so badly, I might as well ride out the rest of this carb explosion and finish the day off with a bang. Now here I sit, sick and ashamed feeling like a SLUG.
I know it's not the end of the world and I will get back on track tomorrow. Perhaps we all need a day like this to remind us of how terrible that crap makes our bodies feel? Who knows. What I DO know is that I just had to unbutton the top button of my newly loose pants and that AIN'T a good thing!
Good luck to all of you who are working on the same or maintaining... it's a sucky ride but I hear the ending is awesome.

Good ol' fashion stripper clothes

Yes, stripper. That is not a typo. Apparently 2011 is the year of princess and all things girly in my abode. I feel like I've finally joined the "I have a daughter!" club and man, oh, man did I get thrown in head first.
In particular, I'd like to focus on the dress-up clothing of present day. Santa was feeling especially generous this past Christmas and left quite a few dress-up clothes under the ol' pine tree. A trunk, in fact. Unfortunately Santa did not do much research on this trunk before unloading it Christmas Eve night. Now Mommy and Daddy are left with a 2 year old who can manage to pick out the sluttiest of the slutty from her magical trunk of clothes. All we can do is cringe and say "Look how pretty you are!" for fear of hurting her self esteem. And we wonder why girls today prefer wearing Pretty Woman type garb pre-going-to-the-opera-in-my-beautiful-red-gown-moment. Sigh.
Trust me when I say this. You will not make yourself feel any better if you go back and read the toy reviews AFTER you've purchased the toy. In fact, you will feel like a complete moron. Right there in the product reviews it states clearly by Moms, Dads, and Grandparents of all types that these trunk items are not appropriate for little girls. Now I understand why my husband took almost 2 years to pick out the perfect dining room table. Okay, maybe I don't fully understand 2 YEARS, but I get the research part of it. Me, on the other hand, I look at those little star rating thingys and if it's anything over a 3, I'm sold. After purchasing a rather expensive transforming robot remote control car that doesn't work and a series of other seemingly nice toys that turned out to be bombs - SCREW THE STARS. I'm now focused on nothing else but reading negative after negative review on any item I purchase online or otherwise. People might be brutal, but they sure can save me a lot of money!
So anyway this trunk, upon opening, was nothing but a sea of pink and feathers and shiny things. I was pleased. It wasn't until later when my daughter tried on one of the low cut halters that left nothing to the imagination that I realized it wasn't so much a princesses dream as it was a prostitutes. My dearest little girl even pointed this out when she exclaimed "Look Mommy! My boobies!". Hell, these days she looks more innocent in nothing but a diaper and her toddler belly sticking out.
The variety of included skirts were no better. Completely see-through and nothing longer than mid-thigh. My hopes and dreams of capturing my little ballerina in cute poses as she flitted around the room were crushed. Now all I could do was worry that the picture printing place would turn me in for child porn. This world we live in today... SIGH.
I guess I now know why I see so many young girls walking around showing their goods. We're teaching them from toddler-hood that low-cut and see-through is acceptable. Moral of the story: Look, when you're an adult - whatever you want to wear is your choice. But let me clarify that it's your choice so long as my kids aren't left asking questions about anatomy and my husband doesn't need drool wiped off his chin. Until then, perhaps we should re-think our choices of fabric and style when choosing dress-up clothes. I don't know about you but I'd certainly like to capture some childhood memories with a little more make-believe and a lot less cleavage.

A Day in the Life of My Bitching

Okay, so my blogs are completely going off topic. A Day in the Life of Three has turned into A Day in the Life of My Bitching.

I've been trying so hard to remain positive and not immediately judge in my everyday life anymore though. Blogging should be no different I guess. And yet, as I go back and re-read some of my posts I can't help feeling like a cynical old lady with my granny panties in a bunch.

I will say that perhaps my blogs have fallen off of the happy and humorous bus because I am finding the strength within myself to adapt a little better to this whole "Life of Three" business. It's not really any easier - I'm just streamlining it to be more efficient and a notch less stressful. That, in itself, gives me less to write about these days. Wiser Mommy = Less embarassing and humiliating situations?

I know, I know. You guys are just pining away for my next blunder. Trust me, I constantly scrutinize our daily activities now and wonder if it would make good content. The cold weather and fear of winter illness has kept us indoors more than usual - and there are only so many things that can happen inside this house. Mostly it's just cabin fever. Nothing funny about that. Believe me.

So anyway, I'll forewarn you that there isn't going to be any mind-blowing content or deep thought to this particular post today. "As opposed to all those other mind-blowing posts you've blogged lately?" you are probably thinking. And to that, I respond "Exactly!" with a mostly straight face. I just thought it might be nice to give you a heads up that I think I will try straying from time to time from the kids to other subjects. If for no other reason than to remind myself that sure, I'm a Mom, but I'm also just a regular person sometimes too. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

Resolution Shmez-olution.

Yes, I'm aware of how cliche it is to blog about New Year Resolutions. Does that stop me from giving my 2 cents? Nah.

I'm pretty positive that over the span of my lifetime I've never made a real resolution on January 1. I know me. I won't stick with it. I don't have a whole lot of self control when it comes to promising myself things, i.e. going to the gym at 5 am every day of the week and eating only organically grown food. It just ain't gonna happen people. As my husband would say - "Baby, I'm just a realist".

This year, however, I'm using the New Year as an excuse to push myself ahead and drop these last few baby weight pounds, among a few other things. I am doing it mostly because I am a tight wad and don't want to buy more clothes this spring. I just want to get myself to a point where I can wear the four piles of capris and jeans on the top shelf of my closet. I swear to God they have dust on them. Considering I've had 3 babies in the span of 5 years... I guess it's no surprise?

So anyway, enough about me - getting back to resolutions in general.... I heard a statistic the other day that half of Americans make a New Year's Resolution, and of that half, only HALF actually stick to it for 2 weeks. 2 WEEKS! Seriously people? Two weeks is all you have to give? No one is expecting you to resolve to find world peace and cure starving nations. We don't expect much more than perhaps a promise to cut down on chocolate consumption or get outdoors a little more for some sunshine.

Instead of taking it slowly, people go hardcore signing up for year long gym memberships, clearing out and wasting hundreds of dollars worth of junk from their pantry and making ultimatums like vowing to find the perfect mate, get married, get that promotion, etc. or else. I guess I just don't get it. Why does it take a start of another year for you to resolve to do something when you should have been doing it or working on it all along? Yeah, yeah. I know. It's not that easy. Even as I typed it I knew it wasn't exactly the best observation I'd ever made. Still, I think if you are going to go the distance of making a resolution and spend cold hard cash on it (or large chunks of your time), it's gotta be worth something to stick to it for at least a month. Right? Not only that, but why make yourself the same damn promise over and over again each year knowing that it's extremely likely you'll be having deja-vu in 364 more days? As Nike says: "Just DO IT!" although I would like to add "For crying out loud!" or perhaps something a bit more explicit at the end of it. I don't know why, it just sounds more motivating.

I'm going the cheap-o route this year (surprise, surprise) and making the following resolutions... all of which I think are equally, if not more, important than pulling out my checkbook at Gold's.

Yell less, laugh more. Stress less, blog more. Nag less, appreciate husband more. Enjoy the moment instead of worrying about the next. Keep more of an open mind instead of judging. Clean out the bad, pile on the good. Annnnd... if all those go well, take off my last 15 pounds. If it doesn't involve some kind of weight issue, it's not considered a real resolution I think.

If you've made a resolution this year - good for you. If you haven't - good for you. I don't think it really matters. It might be January 1, but in reality it's just another day of another week of another month of another year of your life that you should be making an effort to be your best - to yourself and to others. At the risk of sounding cliche - again - isn't that what it's all about anyway?