All better

While I may not always be Silas' go-to-gal, he has certainly learned that mommy has the magical power of "kissing it better."  

Michael called me after I got to work and had me on speaker phone (because his phone has been broken since about a month after he got it) talking to me about some video game.  In the background, I hear "mommy! waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."  So, I asked Michael what was wrong with Silas.  He informed me that Silas had injured himself and was running toward the phone holding his hand out. "He wants you to kiss it better."

So, I had to kiss Silas' boo boo better over the phone while Michael was cracking up in the background "he's holding his hand right up to the phone!" and I'm saying, "muuuuuuah!" and here goes Michael "no, it's a bad one, he wants you to do it again, bahahahahaha!" Me even louder this time "MUUUUUAH! Is it all better yet?"  

Immediately after I finished my question, I heard a throat clear down the hall in a you're-making-me-uncomfortable-by-talking-like-a-baby-and-making-kissing-noises-at-work kind of way.  So, I tried to hurry off the phone.

Apparently, phone kisses combined with comfort food worked wonders.  This is the last report I got from home:

Conserving Energy

Let's assume that God made us and said something like, "you have 1 billion units of energy (or however energy is measured, I'm not a scientist) to last you your entire lifetime." 

Well, we waste a lot of it doing really pointless crap as children, and we laugh at adults who say things like, "I wish I had some of your energy" because, as children, we think we'll feel that tireless forever.

Last night, I watched Silas expend an exorbitant amount of energy climbing up onto the furniture, then immediately climbing back down, then climbing back up, dropping his sippy, exclaiming "uh oh!", climbing back down (repeat x 50). 

If my above assumption were true, and my son were any indication, it would stand to reason that we clearly use up about 500 million units (I'll even do the math for you - that's half) of our energy by the time we reach our 25th  birthdays between the pointless kid stuff (spinning in circles for an hour) and the all-nighters in our early 20's.

I'm nearing 30, and I'm certain I've already used half of my allotted energy for my lifetime.  And that is why I should be allowed to take a nap every day.  Energy conservation. 

Judge for yourself

Because I attended a baby shower on Saturday, I've been having discussions regarding whether or not newborns look like their 3D sonograms.  Judge for yourself:

...and then comes baby in the baby carriage

All last week, I planned our weekend with the knowledge that we'd have two kids.  Then, Friday hit, and I found out that we were suddenly kid-free for the weekend.  I'm sorry, but you cannot just throw someone into a situation like that.  Especially someone who is a stickler for mental preparedness. 

Why was I not jumping for joy?  Well, I'm not sure how impromptu, kid-free weekends go in your household, but we always manage to screw ours up.  

For a rundown of how our weekend went, you can just assume there was an argument (or three), and that someone had to go grocery shopping to calm down (someone who is monumentally impatient and hates grocery shopping - so really that should give you a way to gauge how frustrated that person was), and that one (or more) "I don't know, what do you want to do?" conversations happened. 

We've lost the ability to function properly as a duo.  Is there training for that?  How-to-be-alone-together-successfully-after-you-have-kids training?  Can someone send me a pamphlet?

Hypothetically speaking - version 2.0

When you're frustrated about fifty things you can't really talk about because some of it is not your business and some of it is no one else's business, sometimes your frustration comes pouring out over things you usually just sigh about and move on.

On that day, you blow little things out of proportion and throw tantrums at work and have to have meetings that make you uncomfortable and feel like you should apologize to half the office.

Of course, I'm speaking hypothetically here...again.

Victory is mine!

In October 2008, I broke my ankle and had surgery and the surgeon put screws and plates in my ankle and made me fumble around on crutches for a couple of months.  Then, after I was finally allowed to walk again, he told me to stick to swimming for now (it was December) for exercise (um, yeah, I was a different person then.  He didn't volunteer that info...I asked for it).  Then I found out I was pregnant with little Silas man and got all sleepy (because that's what happens the minute you find out you're pregnant - pee on the stick, plus sign, bam! you need a nap) and said "screw the gym if all I can do is swim.  I'll just sleep until I have the baby, and then I'll get hot again."  Part one of that plan worked beautifully..........

The point of that narrative is that prior to October 2008, I had fought a hard won battle to conquer the elliptical.  I say hard won because the very first time I got on an elliptical, it defeated me and threw me off and laughed in my face after about 2 minutes.  So, it took some humility and determination to build myself up to thirty minute work outs on the machine. I don't have any pictures of myself on the machine, but I imagine I looked something like this at the time (I totally didn't, but you've never seen me leaning on an elliptical in a sports bra, so I could have been pretty close and you'd never know the difference):

Picture of a girl in really good shape leaning on an elliptical in a sports bra to sell shoes - Reeboks if you're interested

Anyway, last night was my first encounter with an elliptical in more than two years.  I'm sure you want to know who won the battle.  Well, I did not get thrown to the floor in a puddle of sweat and defeat after 2 minutes.  No, I heaved and gasped valiantly for 6 minutes, which was one minute past what I predicted I could do before I started (holla!).  Then I begged for water and moved myself into the position I felt least likely to hyperventilate and die in and waited for R to deliver the water.  So, all things considered (all things being what terrible shape I'm in), I'm going to call it a victory.

Mommy's little brain ninja

 Sigh.

Maybe Silas is trying to wear me down.  He is a master strategist, and I've stopped trying to decipher his motives.

Last night, I was trying to run down the street two blocks with my friend Randi, and Silas threw the most dramatic fit in history and pleaded to go.  It kind of broke my heart.  So, I spent more time putting his carseat in Randi's car than we spent going to the store we were going to, which was obnoxious, but it also secretly made me feel good that Silas wouldn't let me out of his sight (because normally he could give a flip what I'm doing).  

Then he brain-ninja'd me this morning.  I was (falsely) under the impression that Silas was on one of his "I love my mommy" kicks (you know, because of the being upset if I walked in another room or tried to leave the house without him the night before business).  So, on the way out to the car this morning to buckle him in, I said something like "give mommy a kiss" and maneuvered my cheek next to his mouth.  He slapped me right in the face, y'all.

All you could hear as I buckled Silas into his carseat was the sound of me grinding my teeth and Michael saying, "way to go Silas, now we all have to suffer."