The new year is here! 2020, you don’t have to go home, but you have to get the feck outta here!!!!!!!
As is with most people on this big and beautiful planet, I love the idea of resolutions and goals every year. I am one of those weirdos that looks so forward to the feeling of a “clean slate” and a fresh start. I jump at the chance to try again to be the best version of me that I possibly can! These last few years, I have actually done pretty darn well! (Beachbody anyone?)
So this weekend a bunch of girlfriends/cousins/sisters and I started a new challenge group. A few of us in said group are doing a REALLY tough workout program. Like lots of cussing at the TV and standing there in disbelief and cussing some more and almost crying and/or throwing up tough. But, look. I am in it to win it!
Now, as you can imagine. Working out with four kids is TOUGH. Even if I start at 5am, someone inevitably comes into the basement and ruins my good time. They either need foooood or wiiiiiiiped or loooooove. So annoying.
Yesterday morning was my first day of the new workout, The Work. It started by me turning on the TV and then pausing to yell at my four year old for yelling at my two year old for ruining the obstacle course that actually just looked like a stupid path that I would inevitably have to clean up later. Take a deep breath. Go back to the mat. Hit play.
Not even 2 minutes later…
“HANK! STOP YELLING AT YOUR SISTER!!! SHE IS TWO!!!”
“Mom. She just doesn’t undewstand how hawd I wowk to keep this path clean and special fo hehr!”
“Henry. Quit trying to use my own psychology on me and let her do her thing. Or go upstairs and wake your dad up and demand a bagel because I think you’re hangry.”
And so we went on like that for awhile. I finished my workout. I came upstairs. I showered and as I was leaving for work I hear, “MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!! I NEED A KISS!!!!!!!!”
“Hank. I gave you a kiss goodbye, honey. I have got to get to work!” “But I need a new ooonnnnne!!” “Okay. Where are you?” “Pooping.” “No.” “MOOOOOOOMMMMM. I will cwy aw day wong!” “Ugh. fine.” I go into the bathroom. I almost throw up because of the smell. And I kiss a grunting, and I mean GRUNTING out his poo, four year old on the lips. I walk to the mudroom, put my shoes back on, grab my purse, put my hand on the door knob to leave and I hear, “MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!! I NEED A NEW HUUUUGGGGGGG!”
I made it to work on time. Barely.
Now we fast forward to today. Only it’s the oldest that is the antagonist of my workout this time.
First, you must understand that Ricky is my quiet child. He is a bit reserved, especially in the morning. Normally the last one to talk and the first one to pick up a book and sit quietly without me asking.
Not today, mama! So I get into the basement for day 2. I had my preworkout drink. I had my preworkout pep talk to myself. I was ready. About five minutes in, the dog comes down. So I am doing my lunges and staring at the basement door. Who is it going to be? Valerie needing a wipe and a princess dress? Hank needing Avengers Endgame on and chocolate milk? Or… Oh thank GOD! It’s Ricky! He will sit with his book or ipad and let me have some headspace.
Not today, mama! My gosh! The kid talked non-stop! “Mom. Who is the best encourager of your workout?” “Mom. How many minutes until you’re done?” “Mom. Have you ever noticed that all dogs look different like humans do?” “Mom. Do you like dogs or cats better?” “Mom. Did you know that a velociraptor could run 25 miles per hour?” “Mom. What does miles per hour mean?”
And I am answering. Or at least nodding with zero breath left to spare to anything but staying alive. And I am half enjoying this wonderful conversation with my biggest baby. And I am also halfway wishing we could have just had this conversation over breakfast. Even carry it onto the bus stop.
As I am trying my hardest to not fall over nor to ask my son to stop talking to me, he stops me with the following, “Mom. I know what all dogs DO have in common.” “Oh yeah, (deep breath), Ric, (deep breath), ky? What’s that?” “Balls. Big balls. Little balls. Fuzzy balls. Wet balls.” I stare. Trying to get enough oxygen to my brain to explain that not alllllll dogs have balls…
Finally, he says, “They love playing fetch with all sorts of balls.”
I hope this helped to start your week with a smile.
Always, Erin
Turnering Our House Into A Home 