Sprite's Keeper

RTT: Now with Botox!

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..

HASAY: My Way Isn't Always the Best Way

HASAY: All the cool kids are doing it.

"Come on, Sprite. Let's try using the potty."

Another morning, another day of convincing Sprite the toilet is the best way to GO. (She doesn't believe me.) As soon as we walked into the classroom, I steered her to the toilet, foiled once again by one of her friends who had to show her a new puzzle or band-aid or moved doll. I lost her quickly and took a seat by the teacher who had just arrived.

We talked about the class, Sprite's development, the class bully (alleged) (although the teacher's responses tell me exactly what I need to hear and moved the bully's status from alleged to proven), and then landed on the topic of Sprite again, her weight specifically.

"I think Sprite is losing weight," I remarked. "She feels lighter, and when we were at the doctor's last week, she was about a pound less than before."

The teacher smiled. "You couldn't tell by the way she eats."

I could feel my brows furrow as I asked, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, she's a great eater here."

"Really? Lately, she just picks at her dinner."

"She's usually reaching for seconds at lunch."

I frowned. "You give her seconds?"

Her smile died a little. "Well, when they ask and they seem hungry, we'll give them some more."

I shook my head. "No seconds."

Our conversation ended there and I left knowing I had just given her an impression of me that she had never seen before. She knew I was the type of mom who wanted to know everything about what my kid did, but today I seemed to cross the threshold into Hovering Mom territory. I wouldn't say my tone was rude, but it was firm and definitely disapproving of their acquiescence in letting Sprite eat however much she wanted. I wanted to apologize for being abrupt, but the awkwardness was already too much and saving face wouldn't save the moment, so I just let it go.

John and I both have a history of weight issues and learning portion control and learning to lean toward the healthier options can only help Sprite in making the right choices in life. We work hard at not giving in to her every request for a cookie and giving her enough at meals that she doesn't over-eat, but doesn't leave the table hungry either. We push the veggies and fruit because we want her to reach for those first when she's looking for a snack. It's such a fine line and one I'm actually doing better at. I used to be the kind of mom who wouldn't let her kid eat anything processed and objected to candy and treats and fried foods because they would obviously open the door to "Pizza!" demands and "McDonald's!" I've come down from that ledge and just this weekend, Sprite had pizza for dinner on Saturday AND for lunch on Sunday (birthday party) and I was okay with it, mostly. I'm also okay (mostly) with the fact that she'll probably be eating the same way this weekend since we'll be out of town and at ANOTHER birthday party where cake and pizza will be prominent. (Although you shouldn't be surprised if I try to supplement her pizza slice with a cup of unsweetened applesauce that I just HAPPENED to have in the diaper bag..) Her weight is fine right now and the doctor says she's just a solid kid, but she's also very active and that plays a big role in her weight right now as well.  

So yes, I do think I was right in voicing my opinion on their lax attitude with her portion size. (I was also remembering one Parents Night Out where they gave her slice after slice of pizza for dinner and gave us the weekend from hell when dealing with the after-effects of her indulgence.) I just think I should have said it better. Nicer. Not so hover-y.

I think I should probably get that teacher a Starbucks card though. If only just for dealing with moms like me.

STATS:

John: Down 3.5 pounds! Woot!
Me: Even. What the hell, gym? John says I'm gaining muscle. (I think it's retribution for my kinda bitchy commentary to Sprite's otherwise VERY nice teacher.) (Seriously, Starbucks card? I'm thinking yes.)

Spin Cycle: Kids, I don't know what's wrong with the kids these days...

I need to rent "Bye Bye Birdie" again.. (Update! Jan is completely right. The title referenced song was NOT in the original musical for Bye Bye Birdie, but it IS in the Ann-Margaret movie, which I used to have to fight my sister to let me watch since she owned it and thought it would be cool to hold it over my head in order to make me her personal assistant. It didn't work... For long.)

The first Kids Spin is in! And by a Spinner who just welcomed her second kiddie into the world!

Arwen over at Spors in the Desert

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher -Updated Monday!

Stacy over at True Blue Texan -Updated Tuesday!

Lisa over at Boondock Ramblings -Updated Wednesday!

Cristin over at Tiptoeing Through The Tulips -Updated Wednesday!

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar -Updated Wednesday!

Stacy over at True Blue Texan -Updated Thursday! Part II !

Camille over at Archives of Our Lives -Updated Thursday!

Maureen over at IslandRoar -Updated Thursday!

Mama Badger over at Out of the Boondocks and Into the Burbs... -Updated Thursday!

Erin over at Only A Movie -Updated Thursday! New to the Spin Cycle!

Have those kidspirationals in by Friday! And then hire a babysitter and treat yourself to a night out!

All I wanted was a nice picture..

Since when did "Cheese! become the code word for "Jump!"?

I just wanted to take a simple picture of Sprite and her best friend since they were both dressed so nicely. Yet, as soon as I took the camera out of my purse, a strange phenomenon began.

Every time I prompted them to say "Cheese", one would jump.

 

First Sprite.

 

Then her friend.

 

Hm, Sprite again. (Hey, she can take turns! It IS possible!)

 

(Action shot.) (Fifteen others were deleted since you couldn't tell where one began and the other ended.)

So, I decided to psyche them out and recorded the "photo session" to capture what it's really like to get ONE STINKING PHOTO.

Don't let them look at the camera.

 

Dang! She caught me!

Spin Cycle: Making Jealousy Work FOR You, Learn How!

I am the youngest in my family, the baby, the bearer of the title "Jenny gets it first since she's the youngest"... Yeah, my sister hated that.

Living in a house with 2 girls 21 months apart must have been hell on my parents at times. The fights we would pick over the most trivial subjects, the jealous crying fits when one got an outfit the other really wanted or the other stole a toy from one (who originally stole the toy from the other only the other forgot the toy was missing and months went by which then transferred the posession of the toy to one since the other was not freaking out over the taking of said toy and it didn't matter that the other was not aware of the toy being gone because in the code of childhook conduct handbook under Section Nanny Nanny Boo Boo: Shame on You, it's strictly enforced) (Did you seriously read that tangent? Wow, I'm impressed.), or one got a bigger piece than the other. Mostly common in any house with siblings, right?

My mom adopted the rule of buying for both pretty quickly. Since we were in the same age bracket, the chance of Lee liking the same kind of thing I did was going to be high, so to avoid the conflict and bitter tears, Mom nipped it in the bud before the bud even blossomed and simply bought two of the item, preferably one in pink and one in purple since that seemed to be the only preference where we differed.

Even when I broke my arm at the tender age of 7 and had to endure X-rays and a cast and the irritable suckiness of being a kid with a limb encased in plaster and got my first My Little Pony (in purple) for all my troubles, Lee got a pink one the very next morning. (It killed a bit of my buzz, ya know?) (Hey, I was selfish back then. I can admit that now.) Therefore, we had a lot of the same stuff.

Except when it came to birthdays. (Oh, you HAD to see this coming!) My parents had a rule that whatever the birthday girl got, she would have to share with her sister (within reason, of course) and they would not be buying another of anything because how the hell do you control what comes into the house when some other parent is deciding what your kid is gonna get? Well, that rule was tested.

Around 1985, Pound Puppies were big. Cabbage Patch Dolls still held the title of most coveted toy, but the Pound Puppies were staking a claim (and lifting a leg) on the pet doll competition. In January of that year, my sister had her birthday party and recieved a Pound Puppy as one of her presents. I of course had been wanting one for a while and was just a little pissed  okay, maybe a lot pissed  damn jealous of her white with brown spots puppy she had named Trixie. I was seeing red.

My parents held their ground on their rules. For one month. Finally, one day after a particularly sorry day of Lee wagging her dog's tail under my jealous nose, my mom pulled me into the living room and read me the riot act about the way I was acting. She basically laid it out on the table that I would need to learn to live with things the way they were and if I wanted a Pound Puppy that badly, I could save my allowance (fifty cents a week, and ten weeks seemed way too long to save for a stuffed dog) or wait until my birthday, a long seven months stretching out to September.

Fat tears spilled from my lowered lashes and my chin trembled with emotion as I took in the reality of the situation. I would not get what I wanted.

Then my mother surprised me and pulled a brown Puppy out from behind her back. That Puppy became the pinnacle toy of my childhood. Nothing measured up since. It now sits in my closet, safe from time and a certain child who is not keen on sharing.

Sprite's introduction to Patches lasted about 10 minutes before I put it back in the closet, safe for a while longer.

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Some light posting this week, but that's okay, everyone else is just jealous that they didn't get in on it.

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar

Maureen over at IslandRoar

Joanie over at Joanie's Random Ramblings

Melly over at Inside the Fishbowl

Cyndi over at The Adventures of HarryJack 

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher 

Mama Badger over at Out of the Boondocks and into the Burbs... 

Rachel over at The Ramblings of Rachel 

Rikki over at Cowgirls Like Me 

Gigi over at Incrementum -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Wicked Step Mom over at Life and Times of a Wicked Step Mom -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Laufa over at Morgan Madness -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

JHS over at Colloquium -Updated Saturday! Fresh Spin!

Don't forget to stop by and say hi to all the Spinners!

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Next week's assignment: Kids

In the wake of so much tragedy in Hollywood this week, let's do something light. And what's lighter than kids? (Although sometimes it feels like Sprite's been eating rocks for dinner..)

Your own, someone else's, Spin up the antics and serve it here! We wanna read the funny, angsty, heart melting, serious, bonus points if you can fit it all into one post!

Remember, you have until July 3 to submit those Spins and put those youngins into the spotlight.

Get those Spins in on time or I may have to put you into Time Out..

He let her steal the show.

We arrived at my parents' home with the cake and stowed it on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

Tonight, we would celebrate John's birthday, and something else. As we helped my parents set up the food and layout of the tables, the easy bantering led almost immediately to the belly I was finally beginning to sport.

"When do you find out?" my mother asked, the question repeated at least once a week since the beginning of the pregnancy.

I unwrapped some paper plates and stacked them at the end of the table. "In about 4 weeks. We have an ultrasound scheduled for the end of next month."

"I can't wait! I want a-"

"Girl," John and I replied as we finished the preparation. We knew. We had known what she and John's mother had been hoping for since we'd announced the pregnancy.

Guests began to arrive and I pulled John into my old bedroom for a quick hug.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Sharing your day with her?"

He smiled at me. "Not only do I not mind, I'm looking forward to it."

I was still doubtful. "You DO know that all the attention will be on her, right? She'll steal the show."

"That's something I just need to get used to, isn't it?"

We walked out of the room and tried to forget about it while we greeted friends and relatives.

The night passed quickly, arms reaching out to congratulate John on his birthday, and hands reaching out to cop a feel of a baby who had only recently reached out to me and proved there was something more than gas bubbles playing in there.

Mom walked over and pointed out the time. "Should we do the cake?"

I nodded and looked for John. We caught eyes and I mouthed, "It's time."

He beamed, his own excitement building for the big reveal.

I found my sister and John's brother Ryan who were in on our plan and tipped them off. They ran to get ready.

Finally, I pulled the cake out of the fridge, the bakery box's plastic panel completely covered with paper so prying eyes couldn't see the surprise. Lee and Ryan stepped into position, their cameras trained on our two mothers. We wanted to preserve their reactions.

Everyone gathered around for the toast and I froze. Years of public speaking in front of thousands of strangers behind me and I couldn't even find my voice when faced with people we had known for years. Finally, I cleared my throat and stumbled my way through the speech I thought I would just wing.

I started the birthday boy's honoring, stealing some confidence from his assuring smile, stumbling over my words, at one point saying this would be his last birthday as a single man. Finally, John interjected and saved my butt.

"We had an ultrasound on Monday."

"You know what it is, don't you?" my aunt Roni accused.

Our reddened faces answered her question.

The group began to talk excitedly, my mother-in-law chanting the name she wanted to hear, the name we had promised to give a girl.

"The answer is on the cake," I announced.

People swelled forward as John and I tried to lift the box's lid and get out of harm's way.

As the collective screams filled the air, we caught eyes again.

Later, when the last of the guests left for home, we stood there with the remnants of the cake. Only "It's A" remained of our surprise. I stole a strawberry slice from the filling.

"So, how do you think it went?" I asked, reaching in for another piece.

John swiped his finger across the frosting letters. "Very well."

"At least we got to sing 'Happy Birthday' so it's still your day.."

"Seeing their faces? Best birthday present ever."

"And how does this birthday stack up?"

"Other birthdays will have to measure up to this one."

Unfortunately, I have not been able to even come close since then so I'm giving you my favorite birthday memory of John.

Happy birthday, babe. We'll celebrate you proper this weekend and even have a cake with YOUR name on it.

Love, Jen and "It's A"

Spin Cycle: It's Not Easy Seeing Green

Why do jealous people see green? What's the history behind that?

Anyway, it's Wednesday! And while I sit here jealous of all the kids on summer vacation and stew in my own corporate juices about why I have to sit in a cubicle all day long when the sun is shining and there are so many other things I would rather be doing and then I remember, oh, yeah, I GET PAID, and I immediately shut up.

Anyway, here's the first Jealousy Spin!

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar

Maureen over at IslandRoar

Joanie over at Joanie's Random Ramblings

Melly over at Inside the Fishbowl

Cyndi over at The Adventures of HarryJack -Updated Thursday!

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher -Updated Thursday!

Mama Badger over at Out of the Boondocks and into the Burbs... -Updated Thursday!

Rachel over at The Ramblings of Rachel -Updated Thursday!

Rikki over at Cowgirls Like Me -Updated Thursday!

Remember to have those Spins in by Friday or you'll just be jealous of everyone who got theirs in on time...

Surge

"Banana!" Sprite cried, going for her standard homecoming snack. I quickly peeled one, gave her half, and set the other half down on the counter so I could answer to the two whining dogs who were yelping from their crates to get relief from captivity and to relieve themselves in the grass outside.

Distant sounds of thunder rolled into hearing range and I looked toward the East. Gray, but not ugly. Satisfied that we would most likely not have to deal with a big lightning storm, I secured the leashes and left the dogs to roam for a bit in the backyard while I got Sprite and her quickly disappearing banana settled and started dinner.

"Do you want to watch Sesame Street-" CRACK!

The thunder sounded louder and more insistent. Sprite's eyes widened. "Do you hear it?"

"Yes, I hear it. It's thunder," I replied, heading back out to retrieve Harry and Blue, who had also heard it and didn't want to be anywhere near it. (Both dogs are afraid of thunder and frequently pant and vie for lap space when the thunder is fierce. During violent storms, they're a lot of fun.)

"Flounder?"

"No, honey, THUNDER."

"I wanna see Flounder."

"What?"

"Ariel," she pressed, "I see Ariel. Yes?"

"I watch Ariel again on the DDD." (I refuse to correct her on this. It's much more fun watching others try.)

"Um, sure." I grabbed the remote controls (because apparently, we need three to be able to toggle back and forth between cable and DVD and radio and cosmic messages from beyond, SERIOUSLY? This is why people shouldn't be surprised we lose remotes so quickly! If one were to be removed, it would probably take a week for us to notice it missing.) and started to prep the DVD (already in the player as this week's movie du jour) when the lights flickered. "Oh, no."

"Mommy? Turn on Ariel?"

"Hold on, Sprite. The power went out." The power surged back on, but something was amiss. I looked up at the pocket lights in the kitchen and they glowed dimly. If the electricity was back on, it was definitely phoning it in.

"Mommy, turn on Ariel." Sprite's voice became agitated with impatience.

I sighed, pressing on the remote to try getting her beloved sushi loving redhead (Now, here's a thought. Has anyone ever wondered if Sebastian or Flounder ever feared for their lives when Ariel got hungry? Just me? Never mind.) while worrying that the half-caffeinated power would not be enough to make dinner.

The lights flickered again, like the street's transformer was trying to make it up the hill of electricity, then went out completely as the transformer gave up.

Sprite and I stared at each other in the darkened house, the late afternoon light not strong enough to illuminate anything more than Sprite's consternation. "No! Don't turn off the light!" She ran over to the wall and flipped the kitchen switch. Nothing. "Mommy! Turn on the light."

"I can't, honey. The power is out."

"PLEASE?" This tacked on question usually got my approval for whatever request she lobbed my way, but I was powerless to help her. And the house was powerless too as she vainly flicked the switch up and down to bring back the voltage.

"Sprite, the power is out. We don't have any lights."

She marched back over to me. "Turn on Ariel."

"I can't." I emphasized the "can't" as if this would clue her in to the limits in my feeble powers.

Her temper surged. "I do it," she announced, and turned to the remotes where she started pressing buttons. "Ariel, come on," she commanded, looking back to the silent TV with every move.

I watched, not even close to controlling the fit of giggles that came up. Sprite, in her anger, glared at me and cried, "No! Get Ariel! I want Ariel!"

I didn't know what to do. I knew the problem. I understood she was upset. I just couldn't make her understand why I couldn't fix it.

Bending down, I picked up the dissolving child and tried once more. "Sprite, we had a power surge. We have no power. No power, no Ariel. I'm sorry. I can't make it better right now."

Her eyes filled with tears as if I was punishing her. "My Ariel?"

"Sorry, kid."

Her cries became louder and her eyes squeezed shut as the tantrum took over. And I hugged her tight and wished I could plug some of her frustrated energy directly into the wall so she could have every damn Princess she wanted at her viewing disposal.

"Do you want chicken nuggets?"

The tears streamed down her cheeks. "Ye-eh-eh-es..."

"Good, because I hear Daddy outside. We're going out to eat."

"Watch Ariel in blue car?"

"Yes, love. You can watch Ariel in the blue car."

As John's key slid into the door lock, her stormy face brightened and she wiped away the watery evidence. She bounced down from my arms and ran to see John, who was a little surprised to find us in the dark. "Daddy! I get chicken nuggets! I watch Ariel in the blue car!"

John looked up from her excitement. "Power out?"

"Yup."

He knew no power usually means a hellish night with toddler. I married a smart man.

"Let's go then."

RTT: Yes it is. Yes, it is.

John likes to tease me when we're watching a movie or commercial or even listening to a radio ad and the closing phrase is repeated. He knows I hate to hear it because I know the writers did it to make the statement have more meaning. Think about it. Let me set you a scene. Grandma and Grandpa are coming over for a visit. Little Jimmy is being a bad boy and doesn't want to hug his grandparents. His father takes him aside and tells little Jimmy that now is the time to love Grannie and Gramps no matter how angry he is at life, his sister, or Pokemon, since his grandparents only have so many years left before he won't be able to hug them anymore. A few moments later, (since it is a commercial and all and they only have about 30 seconds to sell the product) Mom sees her little boy running over to her parents and giving them the biggest squeeze. She looks at Dad who is also watching. "What did you say to him?" she asks.
"I simply explained the meaning of loving one another."
"Do you think he understands?" she asks.
"I think he does." One second pause and a twist to the way he says it. "I think he does."
And cue the life insurance brand name!
To a lot of advertising geniuses, it's easier to wrap up a promo when you repeat the last sentence to make sure the point hits home instead of, say, thinking about it just a few seconds longer and coming up with something a little better.
I hate that. I really hate that.

Anyone else watch Jon and Kate + 8 last night? Nuff' said? The only thing I can really say is that the Crooked Houses company will get a lot of interest since they were so prevalent in THE SHOW. I'm not familiar with divorce, I've only seen the effects it had on my sister, but watching this one show made me appreciate the closeness of my own marriage a hell of a lot more. And TLC? You could have handled this family a whole lot better than you did. To draw the feelings out of the parents for 25 straight minutes and document every tear and nuance of two people who look like they've been through the emotional wringer, then show a perfunctory blip about their divorce initiation was tacky.

Another rant on radio commercials! Who is hiring the talent these days for the voice overs? And who is writing the content? In my area, the economy relies a lot on the tourists and we're currently out of season on those. (If you want the tourists fresh from the wild, you need to come in November. By June, we usually only have farm raised, which have a higher mercury content..) But some of the restaurants advertising are apparently paying for absolute crap just to remind the locals that they're still in business and are ready to stop ignoring their own zip code now. The conversations between the characters don't flow, they try to squeeze too much information into their lines and it comes out disjointed and just plain "Yech, not this tripe again! Mute the sound! Turn the channel, turn on Sprite's Imagination Movers CD, or veer into oncoming traffic to give myself some other pain rather than listening to THIS!" inducing. Seriously, local marketing gurus? We're onto you. Put some thought into it, please!

Is it sad when you know every word to "Alice in Wonderland" or if you readily admit to it and try to slip pull quotes into random conversations throughout your day? "Who ARRRRE YOU?"

We're still pushing against shove when it comes to potty training. Sprite just moved up into a classroom where the potty is promoted, so instead of a teacher trying to remember to guide her toward the bathroom every time she starts the dance of the deuce, the eagle eyed educators watch for it and let us know immediately when they notice patterns popping up. Now, John and I have been proactive on the home front too. Whenever we're home from school, I immediately yank her out of Pull Ups and put her in underwear and during the weekend, I try to keep her out of the Huggies completely unless we're going somewhere or the laundry is threatening to tip over or the wood starts warping from the stream strain. However, other parents, whose kids have successfully potty trained and have a better track record than our big fat ZERO, have told me that the back and forth between diapers and Pull Ups and underwear is only confusing Sprite and I may have already traumatized my child into another three years of diapers when I could have done what they did in their own brilliance and had the kid out of plastic earth killers a lot sooner. (Maybe I should be thankful my insurance covers therapy.) One parent even went as far to say that her daughter breezed through the bathroom poop quiz before she turned two, but that was most likely due to the fact that she's very advanced for her age, the same daughter who's notorious for picking and eating her own boogers. But that IS advanced. Kids don't eat their own nose nibbles until they're three or four, right? She's obviously well ahead of the curve..

Grr, can anyone trip this thing up? I've been asking everyone I know and NO ONE has been able to prove this stupid thing wrong! (And no, this does not mean I'm pregnant. Just trying to see if it's wrong!)

All right, you whippersnappers, now go on over to young Keely's over there at The Un Mom and see what other random goodies she has holed up. You'll be glad you did.

You'll be glad you did.

(See? Doesn't that piss you off just a little?)

HASAY: Looking for another way

HASAY: The only online weight club which will come to your home and monitor your calorie intake for you! So I've heard. And I think it costs like a thousand bucks for that service, and I'm only signed up for the free check-in plan so I'm going on hearsay alone. No, the club is not named Hearsay. It's named HASAY. Duh.

Oh, this plateau! She mocks me!

I joined a gym.

Please don't tell the Nord! I only worked out with him once this last week and he asked me what was wrong. I didn't know what to say, so I told him I wasn't feeling well, but I can only carry a cough so far before it hurts my throat..

Last week was a trial week since I wanted to focus on the classes which work on resistance training and such and felt I wouldn't be getting my money's worth to walk into a weight room only to stare at a line of treadmills when a perfectly good one was sitting still in my bedroom.

Monday, I tried Zumba. Now, I can dance. Don't expect me to break into a spontaneously choreographed routine when someone utters "Fosse", but I have rhythm. (And I did try once to spontaneously choreograph a routine when I was 18. The fact that I haven't done one since should tell you that things didn't end well.) So, Zumba, for those out of the loop, and the fact that I'm actually in the loop excites me to no end, is an hour long dance class which focuses on mostly latin and hip hop steps combined for cardio endurance. It's fun. If you like to dance. And if you CAN dance? Bonus! If you can't dance, just look for the one groupie wearing the "Zumba is my life!" t shirt and mentally slam her for the entire hour. You'll know which one she is. She knows the routine better than the instructor and has the time to throw in a hair toss during the really complex steps. Even the instructor looks to her for help sometimes. Easy to hate and easy to shoot ocular daggers at. Don't worry, she won't even look at you. She's too busy looking at her mirror image. And yes, every class has one. If you screw up a step, just blame her.

But anyway, the class went well. I workd up a sweat and had fun. I even thought I did well. Then the teacher came over and asked if I had ever taken a Zumba class before. Bolstered by the oncoming compliment, I replied that yes, I had taken a couple over the past few years, but nothing formally, then felt my smile disentegrate when she suggested I attend the beginners class so I could more easily adapt to the slower pace before I try her class again. Meh. I had fun. Next time I'll just stick to the back of the room. And maybe follow the groupie instead of the teacher.

Tuesday, I stayed home and ran on the Nord. The silence was palpable, but I filled in the dead air with TV noise. Sigh. I hope he understands why I'm doing this.

On Wednesday, I wandered into the Boot Camp class ready for an hour of high pressure aerobic activity thinking, I can go for 100 minutes on a treadmill. This guy is going to be impressed with my stamina. I think by the end of the hour, he was impressed that I wasn't crying. Loudly.

The guy kicked my ass! Upper body, lower body, thirty second rest, "No, I lied! 2 minute jumping jacks, GO!", squat thrusts, "Who said you could use your knees in push ups? I don't care if you're a GIRL!", and other exercises guaranteed to make you feel the burn well into the evening. And the next day. Maybe even the day after. I wouldn't know since Thursday brought an even more formidable opponent.

Spin class. I'd always wanted to try it, but never had the nerve. I should have known how hard the hour would be as soon as I straddled the seat. Who the hell designed those cycle seats anyway? I felt like I was sitting astride a chainlink fence. Whenever the instructor commanded the class to stand and everyone groaned, I breathed a sigh of relief, happy that I would be off the instrument of torture which was trying to get to third base with me. Oy. I did enjoy the class though and thought I would try for another go around on Saturday morning.

On Saturday morning, I marched back into the Spin class a little weary, my rear still remembering the harsh treatment from only two days prior. The seat obviously forgot because it treated me like fresh meat once more. Another student told me to give it a few more sessions and I won't even notice the seat anymore. Apparently, this class also toughens your bum, not just your legs. Well, two down. I'll believe it when I DON'T feel it.

STATS:
John: down 2. He's trying to get down 2.5% of his weight for a contest at his gym. Good luck, John! You're doing great! Win money!
Me: up 1. What the hell? John says I built muscle. I say I'm giving it a month to change my mind before I go running back to the Nord and begging forgiveness. Luckily, my fees aren't bad.