Seasonal Depression

I'm having an off day in the mother land today. Instead of feeling guilty, I figured I'd write about it. So if you feel like being being a judging Judy, go away. Please.

This morning I accidentally dressed Gideon in newborn pants and a 12-month onesie. I've yet to change either due to lack of desire. I have been operating his swing with my left foot this afternoon because the batteries are dead. As I'm sure you've guessed, I am also lacking the needed energy to locate the screwdriver and batteries needed to complete the task of changing said batteries.

Grayson had granola dumped on the end table for breakfast. Later this morning, we colored a picture for Daddy, and when he wouldn't give me the purple crayon, I put them all up out of his reach. That'll learn 'em. He then dumped the rest of my water on the floor. That'll learn me.

There has been a faint aura of poo in the air today, but it cannot be specifically linked with either child. Normally each offspring would immediately be bathed because exceptional hygiene is high on the to-do list around here. Today, though, I've just decided to chalk it up to gas. All-day, all-encompassing, constant gas. Harmless.

I would give my right arm for them to take a nap. Hell I'd probably even sacrifice THEIR right arms if they'd pass out for just one blissful hour. I've let Grayson watch Cars three times in a row and I let Gideon skip tummy time. I've spent more hours on Pinterest today than all the other days of my life combined. Grayson had four Go-gurts for lunch and a can of Sprite Zero. I couldn't muster up the will to battle him. BIG SURPRISE...he spilled the pop down himself so he currently has NO shirt on. I'm sorta okay with that decision. No cute pictures have been taken today anyway. Probably cause that would involve too much work. We've had plenty of smiles and laughs here today (mostly at Mater), but momma's just not feelin it. I'm blaming it on the dreary ass weather.

Grayson threw a block at Gideon and, later, Gideon retaliated by kicking Grayson square in the nose. I laughed at both. Today I have not cleaned or disciplined. I have only changed diapers when I could no longer bear the guilt (I can hear you judging). The only thing I have accomplished today is planning a date with my husband for Saturday. I may not be nominated for Mother of the Year, but I'm a shoe in for Wife of the Year. So enjoy your accomplished Tuesday (or is it Wednesday?). And know that whatever the hell you did today, it's surely better than the shit show around here.

Please, call me Mrs. FattyMcFat

Before you read...this topic tends to make me certifiably nuts.  If you can't handle a little language, a little grossness and/or a little crazy, this blog is definitely not for you. Go read the last one about my sweet baby boy :)


I struggle with my weight. Not necessarily losing or maintaining. As I've gotten older I know how my body works. I can't eat whatever I want and skip the gym. In fact, just the opposite is true for me. I avoid pastas, pizza, chocolate and basically all carbs like they are chasing me with a chainsaw. I rigidly stick to my daily workouts and vary my routine regularly. It's just what I have to do to be able to look at myself in the mirror (in my skinny jeans).

Let me paint you a picture of obsession. I have 300 outfits, all in my size, that will fit better when I lose ten more pounds. Really? My husband tells me I'm beautiful. My response? "Yeah, if you're the kind of guy who LIKES fat asses." That usually earns me a crazy look cause most guys do, in fact, prefer a little fat ass. Trust me. But does that really change the way I feel? No. A big, fat NO!

The other day I asked my husband how much he weighs. And do you want to know what that idiot did? He went straight to the bathroom and STEPPED ON THE SCALE! Mid-day, fully clothed, pre-poop, post-lunch. Oh my gosh. Insanity. And do I buy into this whole mom-body business? Nope. Neither does Giselle. Yeah I compared myself to Giselle. You got a problem with that?

Fact is, I'm in the best shape of my life. This apparent obsession has me twenty five pounds lighter than when I got knocked up with my first kid. No fad diets here. Just hard work and good decisions. Occasional Nutter Butters and Alfredo. But I still stress about that number on the scale. Does everyone? Does it really freaking matter that much? If you are one of those non-nutso persons who threw out their scale, good for you! I commend you. But I will never be you. I can't live in "only thing that matters is how your pants feel" la-la land. That's crazy talk. How are you supposed to know if you lost a half a pound if you don't get on the scale? I've come to terms with this lifestyle and I think God did too. That's why he gave me boys. To break the psycho cycle. Butttttt....I've decided I'm going to post it anyway. This morning the scale said 147.6. Whew....I feel better. The scale doesn't own me.

All My Love

In a million, ba-jillion years I never woulda ever thought I would be on such a short leash. I'm not allowed to leave the house alone. I can't have a conversation on the phone in private. My shower is performed with the curtain open. You don't even want to know how public any other business in that particular room is accomplished. It's degrading. I never sit in a chair alone. Hell, I can't even have my own damn sandwich. I share my iPad, my bed, my tv, my keys, my blanket, my cell phone and my underwear. YES. My underwear. Hitler likes to run around the house with my (freshly laundered) underwear ON HIS HEAD. I can't deal.

He has no boundaries. In his mind, we are one. As long as I am within his view, all is right with the world. If I go into the bedroom to put up the laundry/hide my skivvies he runs through the house yelling Ma! Ma! Ma! On a side note, what kind of child in the 21st century calls his mommy Ma?

That's psychoface waiting patiently for me on the bathroom floor.

That's my stalker wearing my sunglasses.

Crazytown sleeping sideways in my bed.

I love and adore both of my children. Gideon and I went to hell and back together so we will always have that (sick, twisted) beautiful bond. There are aspects of each of their personalities that are my favorite. Likewise, some things they do make me seriously consider dropping one or both off at the nearest fire station. But my oldest owns me. He gave me the beautiful gift of motherhood. He will always be all the "firsts" in this journey. He is my teacher, my heart, my conscious, my drive and my love. And I am his Ma.

'Til Death Do Us Part

Someday, these kids are going to leave me. These little brats are just going to walk right out that door and move into their own dorm or apartment. Maybe marry some little chic with an attitude problem. And they're probably going to think this is completely acceptable! Like all the hours I've spent cleaning them and feeding them and playing with them and worrying about them doesn't even matter at all! Like it's a normal thing to do...just grow up and move on. They're gonna leave me with nothing! NOTHING AT ALL!!!! Oh shit.......I'm married.  I always forget that.

It's not that I don't talk to my husband daily. He doesn't work out of town or spend 90 hours a week at the office. He just gets put on the back burner. A lot. I'm cheating on him emotionally with these two little babies that seem to run my life.  He is an excellent father and I watch him with our boys and my heart swells with pride at how much they love each other. Grayson cries when daddy leaves in the morning and watches at the window for his return. My sweet husband checks on them throughout the day and includes them in everything he does when he's home. He adores them! And the feeling is mutual.

 I complain when he wants to go on a date with me. I whine when he wants the kids out of our bed. I get angry when he talks of going out of town for a weekend, just us. Lord knows I need a break from these adorable little monsters. And these kids love going to their grandparents house. So what's the hold up?  I want to be married forever. I don't ever want to live a day without being married to this man. So why do I refuse to work for it? My marriage is a full time job. We are two very difficult, opinionated, high-maintenance people. This ship isn't going to stay afloat without us paddling. And I've just been coasting. I choose to try harder. I choose to do my part. Because I want to. Because I deserve to be this happy. And my husband does too. We started this family. We are the foundation for it.  And when these little ones run screaming toward their independence, I want it to be okay cause we still have each other day in and day out. Maybe I'll let him plan that weekend away after all :)