the Easter bunny is a saddist

Yesterday I tried to get some writing accomplished, including this blog. Instead I found myself playing LOST triva on facebook. Then I chipped away at my son's Easter candy. He keeps asking me about the whereabouts of his Easter basket's contents, and I have to turn my back as my body spasms from holding in laughter. That Easter bunny is one saddistic prick. I have a bad habit of going overboard on the candy buying for key holidays. But if you could just see the vision of those candies in all their brilliance, bright hues of pink, yellow and blue gleaming as the light hits them in brightly colored baskets. It almost brings a tear to my eye, or was that the sour gummies?

Kickin' like fried chicken

For most of us moms, our mood changes throughout the day. I'll explain...at 7:30am I was doing great. I got up on my own terms, crept downstairs and snuck in a cup of coffee...ALONE! It was one of the greatest 30 seconds of my adult life. At 8:44am I was ready to bite off a piece of anyone's ass if they dare cross me. My carpool was running a little late, and as I breastfed while sitting on the toilet (don't knock it till you've tried it) I began to feel that mommy anxiety. You know the one where you can't believe you are having trouble controlling someone that can't wipe their own bottom. What is it about that very real anxiety at that moment? Someone once asked me (and only once I might add) for a real and very honest answer about motherhood. I could not explain it but instead turned idiot on her and spit out 3 words: love, frustration, and craziness. I felt a little blind-sided mostly because I was on my second glass of wine and because no one who is pregnant really wants to hear the truth. Oh, and did I mention she was expecting?

At this moment, I am doing well. My children are fed, clean and finally asleep with today's adventures behind them and tomorrow's adventures ahead. I hope this also finds you well.

Treadmill bitch

Took my usual trip down to the neighborhood gym. I work hard at fighting gravity into my 30s. The place was standing room only, with one stubborn bitch on the middle treadmill. I have never seen her before and don't know her name, so for arguments sake we will just call her treadmill bitch. The room smelled of BO, an overworked air freshner, and determination. I would have run outside, but I had my baby daughter with me, and she is not crazy about snow flakes up her nose.
My friend "Susan" shot me a desperate look, and I was hoping that treadmill bitch would move to the machine closest to the wall so that my workout pal and I could do some gossiping. Of course, the only good thing to gossip about at this juncture was treadmill bitch. So, we did what any other self respecting woman would do, we yelled around her fat ass. But TB would not budge. Instead, she turned the channel to bitchy women on TV (The View was on) and turned the volume up so that each person's ear drums would quake in the noise. My daughter Sage got in on the action with a little crying. I felt like I was taking crazy pills. My friend "Susan" was more subtle and just took the remote and cranked down the volume.

The moral of the story? That it's important to have friends who have your back.