Back Home Again in Indiana
Note to self: October 12th is National Burpee Day; never again schedule Orangetheory for October 12th. (80+ burpees at 5:30 in the am is just as fun as it sounds.)
Saturday Boogser woke up from his nap and told me he wanted to have fun. I asked him what would be fun, and he told me to go on an adventure. When I asked what kind of adventure he’d like to embark on, he told me, “Go get a donut.” And so we did. As soon as we walked through the door of Titus, he told us he wanted a pink donut. The cashier asked if we wanted sprinkles on it, and saying yes was my mistake. To do the sprinkles, they had to freshly ice it and you haven’t seen a mess until you’ve seen a freshly iced donut. You would think a mess like that would be right up an almost 3 year old’s alley, but this isn’t any almost 3 year old, this is my almost 3 year old. It was way too messy for his liking – he freaked out and made me wipe his hands off every time he touched it. Eventually I got smart and got a fork and knife to cut it into pieces.
One of my goals for October is to workout 3 times a week. Once upon a time this wasn’t even remotely a challenge, but now I have a small human who has a 6th sense for the days I get up early to workout and either decides he needs to be up multiple times in the night so I choose sleep over working out or decides he, too, needs to be up that early. And thus, 12 days in I’ve already failed. But like a bird without wings, a pilates class has fallen from the skies and landed in my lap which puts me at 3 workout classes a week, and since I’m one of those who will not miss a class she’s paid for, October’s goal is already done. . .except for this week. I realize I have the weekend to save it, but let’s be real – that’s probably not going to happen. Unless carrying my child around Brown County counts? Actually, that does count. That hella counts. I have officially crushed October’s goal. ::self high five::
If you have or have had a toddler, you know the special hell that is cutting their nails. I typically like to do it while Boogs is watching videos on his tablet because he doesn’t fight me as much. But earlier this week we had him cornered and they really needed to be cut last month so I went for it. It was all fun and games until I got to the last nail and didn’t get the nail so much as the finger. He was bleeding, we both were crying, and once we got him calmed down and I was putting him to bed, he recapped the whole thing and told me, “You hurt me,” and I was crying all over again. No doubt this shows up on my parenting highlight reel. In very related news, nail cutting is now man’s work. Godspeed, husband.
I had lunch with a friend and her fresh baby yesterday, and good news – even holding her baby and getting residual whiffs of baby the rest of the day didn’t make me want another one of my one. So for everyone asking when I’m having another, first of all, rude, and second of all, NOPE.