I bit the bullet and went back for a second round of Zumba. The groupie was there, of course. She and her skin-tight t-shirt glowed brightly in the front of the class as I slinked into a small spot in the back row. When we started going through the moves though, my attention was drawn to a petite woman beside her, or actually the petite woman's butt. Oy, this is going badly.. Let me paint the picture. She was wearing a bright blue tank and tight gray sweatpants that had hot pink cording around the waistband that dip in the back to give the ALLUSION of a g-string. Well, these sweatpants were covering a pretty curvaceous booty. I couldn't stop staring at it only because I kept thinking, 'her ass MUST be bigger than mine!'
And I'm pretty sure it was bigger than mine. But the damn thing didn't jiggle! Zumba throws a lot of jumping around and stomping feet into the mix which are guaranteed to make the gluteous shake to its maximus, and I checked her out every time and it didn't move. By the end of the class, I was convinced she had shot her hiney up with Botox. And I hated her a little more than the groupie, which is saying a lot.
At Boot Camp class on Wednesday, the instructor (who seems like a really nice guy at first, but you end up hating him at the end of class, he's that good) decided to work with the balance balls the entire hour. As we were getting ready, I noticed there were small, medium, and large, and being my first time with this type of exercise, I didn't know what to go for. So I asked the person next to me if size mattered and proceeded to crack myself the hell up for the rest of the class. Yes, I can be that juvenile. (But laughing can also work your abs. Give me five reps of THAT.)
The easiest thing about being married to John is that I never have to buy him anything. When he truly wants something, whatever he desires is typically geeky and way beyond my technological understanding (which hovers somewhere around Off/On), so to make sure he gets what he wants, I just tell him to buy it and wish him a happy birthday/ Christmas/ Friday when he comes home with his new toy. For his birthday, he wanted a remote control. Yeah, remember what I said about losing remotes in our house? He decided we needed a touch screen, master blaster, Hey! This thing really does transmit cosmic communications! (which is all right as long as they don't wake the kid during naps or night. If they wake the kid, their galaxy is toast.), ready to take on all other electronic devices, can most likely dial out from your cell phone, and even remote access your computer remote control. (I think I even spied a "shuttle launch" button, but I kindly asked John not to play with that feature.) The only thing it doesn't do is charge itself, so you have to haul ass from the couch just to place the little beastie back into its cradle. Kinda takes away from the entire "I have a remote so my butt does not have to change seat impressions" reputation, hm? (I told John to keep the other three remotes we WERE relying on in a safe place for when this remote walks off.. Which it will. It does everything else, I'm sure growing legs is listed in it's manual as well.) (A remote with a manual.. seriously, what is this world coming to?)
Good mommy: Remembering to apply sunscreen to your child before spending time in the sun.
Bad mommy: Forgetting to apply sunscreen to yourself before spending time with child in the sun.
Stupid mommy: Doing the exact same thing the very next day.
(I complained all day today and then berated myself for complaining when it was my own brain fart for forgetting.) (My co-workers wonder about me.) (A lot.)
Sprite and I found ourselves at a park on Sunday for the birthday of one of her classmates. Post pizza, pre cake, a smell wafted over to me from the slides. Sniffing out my little culprit, I was about to pull her to the van for a quick change when the birthday boy's mom announced it was time to light the candles. Damn. It was the one moment I had been psyching Sprite up for all week, to sing Happy Birthday, although since John's birthday was days prior, the chance of Sprite inserting Daddy where Logan's name should be was pretty high, but meh. The point is, she likes to sing it out, loud and proud, and if hurrying up with the Huggies switch to get her back in time for cupcake caroling was needed, then by jove, I would rush!
Stupid mommy.. In my quickness, I neglected to check for something I always check for before I locked the van. Holding onto to Sprite's hand, and pinching a hiney hazard closed with the other hand, I watched the van door slide closed as I spotted something glinting in Sprite's car seat. I had locked the keys in the van. Thank goodness I had my phone, calling John to ask him to come rescue us from the early afternoon heat, not telling the other party-goers why we were sticking around the playground, even though Sprite was clearly DONE with the whole jungle gym experience. I figured John doesn't get those opportunities to laugh at my ineptness that often, so I decided to give him the sole satisfaction of having me owe him one. And I paid him back! I let him have the entire afternoon to hang out with friends as I dealt with the following tangent:
Why is it that you can do anything short of body slam a sleeping toddler during the night and they'll snooze right through it, but if you even dare to take their slip on shoes during a daytime nap, you know, to make them more comfortable?, their eyes pop open and they're ready to go on six minutes of sleep? (Of course this is the same toddler you jostled while removing her from her car seat, and exposed her to the noise of the garage door closing, the alarm being turned off, the dogs whining to get released from their crate, maybe a sideswipe of her head on the bedroom door opening, and the little Oomph! as your arms gave out at the last second before her body made contact with the bed and she may have bounced a little on the impact. None of that woke her. And then? YOU REMOVED HER SHOES!) Yeah, so, I'd like an answer to that question, please.
Speaking of naps, I'm in desperate need of one, so head on over to Keely's Ranch of Randomness over at The Un Mom and get a proper start to your Tuesday. Or end, if you're winding down now. Go ahead, close your eyes. You've earned it. Just keep your shoes on..

