This Is Why I Don't Get Enough Exercise Anymore

I recently was inspired to begin a Couch to 5K program.  Awhile back I did this and it was amazing, but then life interfered and I ended up back on the couch.  The past few months, I've been determined to get in better shape and have been doing my best to work out every day that I can.  Sometimes I do workout DVDs (30-Day Shred is my current favorite) but three nights a week, I run on my treadmill.

 

Ron had to work yesterday but I really, really wanted to do a 20-minute run.  The kids and I headed downstairs, where I set up lots and lots of toys and turned on a movie for them while I hopped on the treadmill.

 

Minute 1...so far, so good. 

Minute 2...this is almost too good to be true, still no interruptions.

Minute 3....Sam: "I have to go poop!  I have to go poop!"  He went upstairs and I followed a minute later to render butt-wiping services.

 

Back downstairs.  My heartrate is back to normal, so I figure I should start over at the beginning again (keep in mind, the first 5 minutes is a warm-up of quick walking - I hadn't even started running yet before this first interruption).

 

Minute 1 through 5...all is well

Minute 6...FINALLY, I'm actually running. 

Minute 6 1/2: Evidently someone forgot to close the door, because I hear Natalie heading up the stairs.  I'm determined to run at least one minute uninterrupted and figure I have 30 seconds before I need to go get her.  After all, she goes up and down the stairs all the time and has never fallen before.

Minute 6 3/4:  thunk thunk thunkthunkthunkTHUNK

 

I had the presence of mind to hit the "stop" button on the treadmill before charging up the stairs, since I know Sammy was likely to try to get on the treadmill the minute I step off.  After all, it would be a bit embarrassing to bring BOTH kids to the emergency room for treatment in the same night.  I charged up the stairs at full speed and found Natalie on the landing, still lying just as she had landed.  From the sound of it, she had fallen down the entire first flight of stairs, about 8 of them.  She was shirtless - pretty typical, since both my kids seem to be budding exhibitionists - and when she sat up, I could see a red spot on her shoulder where she had evidently taken the biggest hit from the fall but quick once-over revealed no broken bones.  For once it was only 4:00 in the afternoon when a potential head injury occurred.  Usually, all major falls at our house happen right at bedtime and I am then compelled to wake up the fall-ee hour upon hour for the first part of the night.  Luckily, all was well and nothing seemed to be injured but her ego.  And my will to exercise.

The Ups and Downs of Eating

I've lost 4.5 pounds since I got sick on Thanksgiving. It's not the most fun way to lose weight (is there a fun way? probably not). But that's about 15 percent of my weight-loss goal, so that makes me happy.

Speaking of not eating, Natalie - who, until recently, ate almost as much as a small adult - has become a picky eater. I knew it had to happen eventually, but now I have two kids who basically subsist on air, with maybe some fruit and milk here and there. Sam's new favorite saying when I tell him it's time to eat: "Thank you; I'm not hungry." At least he declines politely.

It hasn't really bothered me until recently. I'm starting to feel frustrated that I take the time to prepare a healthy, well-rounded meal, and both kids turn up their noses at it. But if they come across something sweet, they'll eat until they're sick. Thanksgiving, for instance - there was a plate of bite-sized gingerbread cookies and a bowl of frosting beside them on a small table, small enough for easy access by the kids. Every time I turned around, Sam was into those cookies again (which I promptly took away from him). And I'm sure he ate twice as many when I wasn't looking. Then a couple of hours later, he announced with a green face that he wasn't feeling well. I've talked with him, read books with him, and sat with him to watch a Sid the Science Show episode about how healthy food makes our bodies feel good, and junk food makes our bodies feel icky, but he doesn't seem to understand or care yet.

Ron and I are no angels when it comes to food, and I have to admit, we usually have some kind of junk food in the house (and there's the reason I need to lose weight). Daily, I find Sam going to great lengths to reach the Candy Cane Joe Joe's I keep on the highest shelf in the kitchen. I suppose all I can do is keep soldering on, offering healthy meal choices and healthy snacks, and reinforcing that junk food is a "sometimes" treat. I can understand why so many children are obese, because it's a hard battle and I think sometimes parents are too tired to fight it.

The Witching Hour

Let's talk about dinnertime. Every mother of young children struggles with getting dinner in the oven without sticking her own head in the oven out of despair. It's the time of day when everyone's starting to get tired, hungry, and cranky. Spending an hour preparing dinner is out of the question.

I have a list of things that I do to make dinnertime preparation more manageable. I'd love to hear any of your tips or suggestions, as well!

1) A crockpot is a busy mom's best friend. Check out A Year of CrockPotting for some great recipes, if you haven't already. (By the way, Target has an awesome 5.5 quart programmable Smart Crock Pot on sale this week for $19.99!)
2) I remember that once upon a time, I used to go out and do fun things on Friday and Saturday nights. Nowadays, a lot of weekend nights you'll find me in my kitchen, cutting vegetables after the kids go to bed. If you hook up your iPod with some good music, pour yourself a nice glass of wine, and dance, you can almost imagine that you're at a club. I suppose you could even wear some trashy clothes, if you wanted. Back to the point - I buy bell peppers and onions in bulk, and then dice and freeze them so I can just take out a handful and throw them into the dish when I'm cooking. The food processor would work well for this, too, but I find chopping vegetables to be therapeutic. Before I started freezing them, I was always having to throw out slimy bell peppers, because I couldn't use them fast enough. No more waste! You could do this with whatever vegetables you use most often.
3) Make one, freeze one. It doesn't pay for me to make an entire casserole for my family, since the leftovers never get eaten in time, so I divide a casserole or lasagna recipe up between two smaller (8' x 8') pans and freeze one. I use a Sharpie to mark the aluminum foil with the name of the dish, the cooking instructions, and the date on which I froze it.
4) Curious George episodes on the DVR. My kids don't watch a lot of TV, but we've recently discovered this show on PBS, and both kids turn into zombies when it's on. At this time of day, that's preferable to their usual curious puppy personas (chewing on non-edible items, piddling on the carpet, knocking over lamps).

So, what things do you do to keep yourself sane while you're trying to prepare dinner?

If I Only Had A Brain

Did you know that a woman's brain shrinks up to 8% during pregnancy? According to that first article that I linked, the brain increases in size again after delivery, but I originally heard that the brain rewires itself and eventually becomes more powerful. Well, I'm thinking that rewiring a brain is not a do-it-yourself job. I should have hired a qualified electrician, because my wiring doesn't seem to be up to code.

A few months back, I lost my bus pass. I tore apart my purse, then my car, to no avail. Finally, I broke down and paid the $2.75 fare so I could at least get to work, and figured I'd have to buy a new Metropass. The whole bus ride, I was silently grumbling at Sammy, the likely culprit. He likes to get into my purse to find my stash of bribes rewards suckers. Shortly after I got to work, I got a call from a stranger who found my bus pass lying on the ground at the Park & Ride and kindly retrieved it and tracked me down. I felt so guilty about blaming Sammy (even if it was just in my mind) that I apologized profusely to him later that afternoon, while he stared blankly at the crazy lady.

Then last weekend, I ran a bunch of errands with the kids. Monday morning, when I went to write out a check for daycare, I couldn't find the checkbook anywhere. Again, I tore apart my purse, the car, and the house. I traced back my steps, and the last time I remembered using the checkbook was on Saturday, at Target. By the time I figured this out, it was Tuesday afternoon and it had been four days since I'd last seen the checkbook, and my last hope was to check the lost and found at Target. If it wasn't there, I'd have to talk to the bank to cancel out the rest of the checks in that (practically new) book, with significant cost to me, since I believe it costs $25 per check for that service.

I walked into the office to look up Target's phone number, and saw that the message light on my answering machine was blinking. I couldn't believe my luck when I heard, "Hello, this is the Guest Service desk at Target, and I believe we have your checkbook..."

Now I've been lucky twice, and I don't know how much longer my luck can hold out. Next time, my bus pass/checkbook/keys/purse might fall into the hands of someone much less honest. I used to pride myself on being very organized and on top of things, and I hate this new absentmindedness. I can't even blame it on sleep deprivation, since both kids sleep through the night these days (except for this past week - let the record show that I hate teething and everything that goes along with it).

Please, can anyone tell me that this will get better eventually? Or am I doomed to live out the rest of my life as scatterbrained and forgetful?

Zen and Now

Since Ron has started working nights, I have a whole new appreciation for single moms and army wives. Honestly, I had no idea how hard it was to never get a break. I've found myself getting a little short with the kids, a little more often than I'd like, lately. I used to have a very short temper and I think I've come a long way, but with this new stress in my life, I've been backsliding a bit.

On Saturday, I got a much-longed-for-and-much-appreciated break. I spent the entire three hours cleaning the house, and had just gotten it under control when Ron and the kids got home from his sister-in-law's house. (There's another part to this story, tune in again tomorrow.)

I had packed lunches for the kids, and Auntie C. told Sammy he was really lucky to have a mom who made such nice lunches for him (awww, thanks, Auntie C.!). Sammy replied, "Sometimes I make her angry."

Ugh. That was a wake-up call. Ron thought it was cute and showed that Sammy had an understanding of how his behavior affects me, but that's not at all how I took it. For that to be the first thing he says about me when someone brought me up? It really didn't make me feel very good about myself as a mother.

I remembered a post on The Toby Show awhile back about a book called Buddhism for Mothers, and decided it was time to get my hands on a copy. I am going to learn to be a calm mother, if it kills me. And it might.

Just Another One of Those Days

Part I: I took the kids to the park for awhile this afternoon. The first half hour, everything went smoothly. Too smoothly. I should have been able to hear the ominous music playing in the background.

Here's where it all went downhill. Sam and Natalie were playing at opposite sides of the playground, and I was sitting on a bench halfway between. Sam suddenly said, "Mommy, what's this on my hand?"

Uh-oh. I said, "I don't know, what does it look like?" as I hurried over as quickly as I could. My flip-flops came off in the deep sand after about two steps. When he answered, "Paint?" I decided to leave the shoes where they were. I could only imagine...would it be bird poop? Gum? Actual wet paint?

One step later, I felt a sharp pain in my foot. I stopped to find a sand burr dug deep into the arch of my foot. After prying it out, I started running again, only to step on another sand burr.

After finally making it across the minefield of sand burrs, I reached Sam to find a purple splotch on his hand, obviously a remnant from an art class at daycare. As I breathed a sigh of relief, Natalie started shrieking from the other end of the playground. Ten sand burrs later, I reached her to find that she had fallen and had a sand burr firmly entrenched in the palm of her hand.

Just then, I smelled something rather foul. I assumed that the culprit was Natalie, since Sam had taken care of business before going to the park. As I was checking her diaper, Sam confessed that it was actually him that was stinky. Luckily, I had brought a couple of diapers and some wipes with, so I looked around for a spot to change him. I wasn't about to lay him down in the sand burrs, so that left the bench as the only option. Not too comfortable, and I knew he'd object, but the only other option was to go home.

(I should add here that this bench was not on the sandy part of the playground. It was on a patch of grass...and dirt.)

Natalie was still very fussy, so before changing him, I made her a bottle. She immediately spit her pacifier out into the dirt. Yeah, great planning there on my part. High-five for me! I used the little bit of water that remained in the bottle and poured it over her pacifier. The resulting mud puddle instantly drew both kids' attention, and before I could react, they were both covered in mud. Not just their hands, because of course, Natalie had to taste it to see what it was, and Sam had to copy her because he thinks that gets him more attention.

At that point, I said, "Enough!" and I tossed them both into the bike trailer, mud, sand burrs, poop, and all, and we high-tailed it home to clean up. By the time we got home, both were fast asleep. In the time that it took me to run in the house to get the camera, both had woken up, so unfortunately I didn't get any documentation as proof that it actually happened.

Part II: After we got home, Sam wanted to help Ron, who was working in the backyard. Evidently, there was a minor accident involving a shovel, so Sam decided to come inside to hang out with me for awhile. Shortly after coming in the house, he got into trouble and had to go into a time-out. I didn't have the patience to keep putting him back into the naughty spot every time he got up, so I decided to sit right beside him and hold onto his arm to "encourage" him to stay put. He hates that. You'd think I was twisting his arm, rather than just lightly holding on to it, to hear him scream and carry on.

The entire two minutes, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I don't like this don't hold onto me Mommy leave me alone I want to get up", etc. When he got to the part about "scary monsters", I started feeling the laughter coming. I know it sounds mean to hear me say that I wanted to laugh, but I figured out awhile ago that he's not really scared of monsters. He's just figured out that's an all-purpose excuse to get out of things.

I made it until two seconds before the timer went off, and then I couldn't hold it in anymore. The absurdity of the tantrum, and his ramblings, was just too much for me. I had to leave the room and come back when my fit of laughter had passed.

Amazingly, he was still sitting in the naughty spot when I returned, and I went through the whole routine, "Do you know why you were in timeout?" followed by a hug and a kiss. He was still a little worked up from his tantrum, so afterwards he still couldn't stop talking but the words just wouldn't come out right. "I was in timeout--I threw Mommy--I hit a toy--I throw a toy and Mommy--I throw a toy and hit Mommy..."

In the meantime, I was removing his shoes, which were still sandy from the playground. He continued on, "I throw a toy and....someone was in the sandbox today!!" (This as the shoes came off and poured sand all over the living room carpet. Oops.)

The End.

Sibling Rivalry

It had seemed that I was able to trust Sam with Natalie more during the past week. Until this morning.

I was at work, but the word from my husband is that Sam got angry with Natalie for not cooperating with a game he wanted to play, so he purposely banged her head with the closet door. I haven't seen it yet, but the report is that she has a big goose-egg on her forehead.

This sort of thing has happened regularly since Natalie was born. Earlier, it happened unprovoked, out of jealousy, and that part seems to have resolved itself. But now that she's mobile, she will often take a toy away from Sam or get in his way when he's trying to do something, and then he retaliates with physical anger. I've been working on teaching him (what I think to be) the appropriate response - and at this point, that's "Mom/Dad, I need help" or "Mom/Dad, take Natalie away, please". Of course, when they get older, I plan to help them learn to work out their own issues, but I think they are both a bit too young for that at this point. My goal right now is only to keep everyone alive and well.

Sam seemed to be picking up on this. A few times in the last week, he has asked for assistance instead of reflexively belting her. Now he seems to be regressing.

I've heard a lot about a book called Siblings Without Rivalry, and that is next on my reading list. I'm afraid it's going to be geared towards older kids, though, and that it won't be helpful at all for really young children.

Has anyone else dealt with this? Any suggestions?

Mealtime with rambunctious young children

Scene from any random night at our dinner table:

Me: “Tomorrow I need to go--”
Sammy: “I want milk!”
Me: “to the post--”
Sammy: “I want milk!”
Me: “I know you want milk. Wait a minute, please. I’m talking to Daddy. So, tomorrow--”
Sammy: “Pweeeeeeease?”
Natalie, throwing her graham cracker on the floor: “Ah-goo, pbbbttthhh”
Sammy hops off his chair: “I go see Nye.”
Me: “Sammy, get back in your chair. We need to sit at the table while we eat.”
Ron: “I was reading about this new way to make hydrogen…”
Me: “Sammy, get back in your chair.”
Sammy, munching on Natalie’s graham cracker, which he’s scavenged off the floor: “Mmm, this is dewishus!”
I get up, pick up Sammy, and plop him back in his chair. Natalie flings her sippy cup on the floor and starts crying because she wants out of her highchair.
Ron: “and then the hydrogen molecules…”
I take Natalie out of her highchair and pour Sammy some milk with my one free hand.
Ron: “As long as you’re up, could you get me a napkin?”

After about 20 minutes of this, everyone else is finished eating. I sit down to eat my cold supper, while both Natalie sits on my lap and grabs at my food, and Sammy takes all the magnets off the fridge and throws them on the floor. Finally, when half my food is on the floor because of Natalie's help, I sigh, give up, and dump the rest of my food in the garbage. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember the days when I could enjoy a nice, hot meal in peace and quiet.

Ever since the kids were old enough to be in any sort of a routine, they have gone to bed around 7:00 p.m. That has always been the light at the end of a long, tunnel-like day, a time that I can look forward to, with no one making any demands on me. So imagine my frustration when, for the past three nights, one or both of the kids has been up until 9:00 p.m. Tonight, everyone was down for the count by 8:00, so that's an improvement. Little Natalie was so tired that she zonked out in the middle of the first bedtime story. I had both kids on my lap, and Natalie started to fuss, so I turned her to her side (her preferred sleeping position). It wasn't ten seconds later when I heard little baby snores coming from her. Sammy was a tougher nut to crack, but after threatening to take his binky away if he didn't stay in his bed, he finally gave up. We were planning on getting rid of the binky this weekend, but there goes that idea. I don't know what I would threaten him with to keep him in his bed otherwise. Funny, because I just recently told someone "We never had that problem with Sammy" - in regards to the whole toddler-not-staying-in-their-bed issue. Famous last words.

I recently read a quote in a parenting magazine, something to the effect of "Your job as the parent of a toddler is to keep them from killing their fool selves." Easier said than done, though. Tonight I was folding laundry, and Sammy pulled out the folding step stool that I keep beside the dryer. He climbed up on it, then tried to use the magnetic appliance bar (which holds a maximum of three pounds) as a foothold to climb up on top of the dryer. You can probably guess what happened next. THUNK, followed by shrieking and wailing. If everyone has a guardian angel, I think toddlers must be provided with fleets (flocks? hosts?) of angels. I also have thought toddlers are a major argument against evolution. By this point in time, humans should have evolved to be immobile until an age when they have a bit of common sense. On the other hand, I've known a few 18-year-olds who don't have a whole lot of common sense, either, so maybe that wouldn't be practical.

I just realized all this seems really negative, but there have been good moments too, in the past few days. Like last night, when the kids were taking a bath, and Sammy was playing with his foam soap. I squeezed out a long, rope-like length of soap, and said, "Oh, there's a snake in the bathtub!" and Sammy, playing along, said, "Who pooped in the bathtub?" His imagination is working overtime these days. He also brought a Scotch tape dispenser over to me a few days ago and said, "This looks like a snail!" and you know, it really does. And then over the weekend, he had some mandarin oranges for lunch and pointed out that one looked like a seahorse.

And even though this has been a trying week, I can't help but think that in another 15 years, the kids will be so busy living their own lives, that they won't have a lot of time for me anymore and I'm going to wish I could re-live these days. This is something that I remind myself of every time that the kids are being high-maintenance or whiny, and it really does help get me through the moment.

The two's, they can be oh-so-trying. Yesterday, Sammy was in rare form. From the moment we got home, he was throwing things, knocking all of his letter magnets off the fridge, and just generally being a pain in the patootie. After numerous time-outs, I finally banished him to his room and told him not to come out until he felt better.

I was surprised he stayed in there, but he did. I could hear him kicking his walls and jumping on the bed. After about ten minutes, he came out and happily announced, "I feel better now!" And wouldn't you know, that was the last problem I had with him all night. I think maybe he just needed to blow off some steam.

Last Friday was a work holiday, and I decided to keep the kids home from daycare. When I picked them up on Thursday afternoon, I mentioned that they wouldn't be in the next day. One of the infant teachers said, "Oh! Then we need to quick paint Natalie's hands before you go." (It was for an Easter art project - a ducky whose wings were the kids' handprints.) I had already picked up Natalie - who always gets so wiggly with excitement when she sees me - and had to put her in the high chair so they could finish up her project. Her face crumpled, and it was plain to see that her little heart was broken at the thought that I wasn't taking her home with me after all. Man, I'm going to miss this stage. No one else gets that excited to see me.

Then Friday morning, I took the kids along to do errands. Remind me never to do that again. Taking one with is no big deal, but the two of them together makes it very complicated. First of all, it was snowing hard and the parking lots were a mess. Before we even got to the first store, Natalie had fallen asleep in her carseat, and I didn't want to wake her, so I took the seat into the store. Those carseats weigh about 20 pounds, even without a baby in them. Then because the parking lot was so slick, I carried Sammy in my other arm. So that was about 60 pounds of kids plus accessories to lug through the slushy, slippery parking lot.

I put Sammy in the seat of the cart, and Natalie's carrier in the cart basket. That didn't leave much room for groceries, so I had to get creative with piling things in and around the kids. By the time we got to the checkout, Natalie had woken up and was voicing her unhappiness at being stuck in the carseat. I could barely hear the cashier over her protests.

Stop number two - Kohl's. They have a different type of cart there - like a stroller with a basket attached to the back. Now I know they have double strollers there, but I couldn't find one. So that meant I could only have one kid in the stroller at a time. I could see that was going to be trouble. Natalie started off in the seat while Sammy wandered off walked on his own. It's really hard to look at clothes when you are trying to track a moving toddler, so after about 10 minutes I gave up and decided to come back another time, ALONE. One cute thing happened at the store, though. Sammy found a friendly older lady and started chatting her up. He walked back to the stroller, patted Natalie on the head, and said to the lady, "This is my sister."

Stop number three - the library. I knew Natalie was probably hungry by now, so in the parking lot, I got her out of her seat to feed her before we went inside. That's when I smelled that old familiar smell. Sure enough - she had a blowout. And I had no spare outfit for her. I should know better by now, than to leave the house without a spare outfit for the baby. Last week, I took her to the chiropractor (three minutes away!) for a quick adjustment, and she had a blowout on the way. This morning, she had a blowout on the way to daycare and Ron had to drop her off with poop all over her clothes. Um, come to think of it, maybe I won't miss this stage too much, after all. It is nice to move past the constant fear of a blowout at the worst possible time.

That was my Friday. I did eventually get all my errands done, but by the time we got home, all three of us were crabby and tired. Nothing is simple when you have two young children.

Yesterday, a friend came over with her two boys. While the older kids were playing, the adults and the baby were in the living room where Natalie was on the floor, trying her best to roll over. She’s been working at this skill with such good-humored patience for the past couple of weeks; it’s been inspiring to watch her. Wouldn’t you know it, I left the room for a minute, and she rolled over. So, it wasn’t Ron or I who witnessed it for the first time – but my friend! She was so excited about her new trick that she spent all night practicing. She’s still in our room, so all night long this is what I heard: grunt, grunt (as she exerted herself) then a few moments of silence, after she’d succeeded. Then, waaaahhhh!!!! because she doesn’t like to be on her stomach for very long. She does know how to roll back the other way, but I think she was so surprised at being on her stomach that she caught herself off-guard.

Last night, I was trying to clean up the supper dishes while Natalie lounged in her high chair and Sammy sat at the kitchen table, finishing his supper. Natalie was tired and started wailing, but I couldn’t get to her right away. Sammy took matters into his own hands and got right up in her face, saying, “Cut it out, Natalie! CUT IT OUT!” I wonder where he might have heard that phrase? Could it be the million and one times that I’ve told him that while we’re driving somewhere, and he’s sitting in the backseat whining because, I’M STRAPPED IN AND IT’S CUTTING OFF MY CIRCULATION AND I CAN’T RUN AROUND AND WREAK HAVOC AND WAAAHHH WAAHHH WAAAHHH.

I was definitely ready to come back to work this morning.

Not one of my proudest parenting moments

Back around Thanksgiving, Sammy decided to crawl around with his face planted in the carpet. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Needless to say, he ended up with a nasty case of carpet burn. Maybe he thought it would make him look like a tough guy.

It's hard to look tough when you're playing in your little sister's exersaucer.

I know that's not a great picture, but you get the idea. A few days after it happened, his nose scabbed over and looked just awful. It must have itched too because he wouldn't leave it alone, and I could see the scab starting to come off, so I kept getting after him to leave it alone. Sure enough, he ended up pulling off the whole scab, and it started gushing blood everywhere. He was trying to wipe his nose off with the sleeve of his light-colored shirt, and since I had Natalie sitting in my lap, I was having a hard time trying contain the blood and gore without dropping her. Without thinking, I said "dammit" and right away, realized what I'd done but it was too late to take it back. In between his sobs, he started saying "dammit", *sob*, "dammit, *sob*, *sniffle*, "dammit". Yay me, teaching my child his first cuss word.

Then the next day, he was trying to put a blanket over his head and was having a hard time getting it just right. I heard a muffled "dammit" come from under the blanket. What can I say - at least he understands the correct usage of the word.