Bad Drivers, Christian Sushi and Drunk College Girls or Florida Trip: Day One

We finally made it to Florida! Apparently, the pan handle of Florida is one of those youcan'tgettherefromhere kinda places when you live near Raleigh. Who knew?! I will save you from the what-is-wrong-with-everysingleother-driver-except-me stories. But I will tell you that every driver that tried to get me to giftwrap their car with the bowtie on the front of mine, was a BMW. Not that I have anything against them, but let's just say that the old joke holds true...
"What's the difference between a BMW and a porcupine?"

"On a BMW, the pricks are on the inside."

(Sorry, Sheshe.)

As with any road trip with young children, there were a lot of questions: 'How much longer?!', 'Are we in Florida YET?!', 'When we get there, can we go to the beach FIRSTTHING?!' Most of these were answered with my traditional response, "Three days." No, it doesn't answer thier questions, but it confuses them long enough that they forget they asked.

Apparently, this is spring break as well. Since we are on a year-round schedule and the boys are out for three weeks, I no longer pay attention to minor details such as this. I guess when the beach house owner told me there was an extra $700 damage deposit due for this week, I should have picked up on something amiss. But don't worry, we figured it out awfully quickly. As we were unloading the Tahoe, Deuce came running in the house with a shocked look on his face and said, "Momma, there is a baaaaad mommy out there!" I walked outside just in time to see her loading a case of Keystone Light into the back of her Jeep and head toward the pool. Her children, who may be old enough to drink, met her in the middle of the street and she yelled, "If y'all don't get your asses outta da road, Imma gonna run you over. I'm bringin' ya the beer up to the pool!" I patted Deuce on the head and said, "Hey she isn't making them walk all the way back here for their beer, at least."

The part of Destin where we are staying, is not only convenient to almost every shop, grocery store and restaurant you could think of, but it is also the busiest. I could honestly walk to the store quicker than I could drive. (But refuse to since you then end up buying more crap than you can carry home and find yourself contemplating asking a homeless guy for help in exchange for a beer.) So we drove. As soon as we pulled in, I saw this sign:

I turned to Beesh and said, "Hey! Look! We will have to try out that sushi place tomorrow!" To which he responded, "Um, that's a Christian bookstore..." *sigh*

Honestly, the best part of the drive was when we were driving beside the bay and could see Destin across the water. I pointed to the shore and said, "Look boys! We are finally near Destin!"

Deuce: "Are we in a foreign country?..."

Bonus: "Of course we are. We're in Pennslyvania."

I have no clue, so don't even ask. Let's just say that between statements like these and the young, drunk, college girls running around in bikinis, this trip is going to be very entertaining...

He Comes By It Naturally

So far, the only perk I have found to being forced to cleaning out my closets is that it's like getting a whole new wardrobe! Thanks to my new eating clean plan and working out routine, many of these garments no longer fit. A lot of the clothes that I still liked and thought I have a hopeinhell of fitting back into, I put into a bin to 'try on when I felt thin enough'... Probably not my best move.

This morning I woke up feeling pretty good. My stomach didn't have that what-are-you-naming-the-baby look to it, so I dove into the bin in hopes of finding some gems for my Florida trip. The first dress I tried on zipped up quite nicely, but just didn't look awesome. I went into the living room, where I have a full-length mirror, to give it a good looking over.

The boys, vegged out on the couch playing Wii, paused their game long enough to critique my newly-found treasure. Mind you, I did not ask for their input...

Bonus: "Mom! That dress makes you look so pretty!"

Me: "Clothes don't make someone pretty, sweetheart, but thank you for the compliment."

Deuce: "I'm not so sure about it. The back is kinda funny in a poochy-sorta way."

The kid was 100% correct. This was exactly what was wrong with the dress. So into the donate bin it went.

Six-thousand pairs of tight jeans later, I found a hot-pink swim suit. Feeling pretty confident about fitting into this bad boy, I slipped it on. It not only fit; it fit perfectly! No tugging at the butt, no readjustment of the top with every movement. It was just right. Just to make sure, I went back in front of the full-length mirror.

Not to be outdone by his brother again in the help-mom-critique-clothes game, Bonus pipes up, "Mom! That one would be perfect if you got rid of some of that junk out of your trunk!"

Me: GLARE

Bonus: "Um....I love you?"

*sigh*

Note to self: Only try on clothes when they are far, far away.

All This for a little Cough...

During Thanksgiving break, we always go to Knoxville to spend it with my family. This past year, the holiday seemed to bring more sickness with it than usual. Bonus, especially, was pretty deep in the throes of a nasty sinus infection. Once we returned to North Carolina, I took him in to the doctor as he just wasn't getting better. Upon examination, the nurse practitioner declared he had asthma gave him a breathing treatment. In total shock, since no one in our immediate family has asthma, I began asking 1,642 questions allatonce. The NP patted my shoulder, as she was pushing me out the door with an inhaler and a 'Welcome to Asthma' booklet, "Listen, we don't have time to go over all this today, but when I see him back in three days I will answer every question."

That? Is not good enough for me.

So, I called the local allergy and asthma specialist who agreed to see him the next morning. This man? Is my hero. For weeks, he would email me daily to inquire on Bonus's daily condition. After months of trips and tests, Bonus has been declared as NOT having asthma. He does, however, have a severe dust mite allergy and has been on Zyrtec and Nasonex daily since January. I have also hired the cleaning fairies to give his room a good scrubbing weekly to knock down the allergens.

I tell you all this to explain this picture:

You see, when we decided that ripping the carpets out and putting down hardwoods was best for Bonus, we decided to do it while we were out of town for a wedding. My job was simply to empty the four bedroom closets, which may or may not have still had boxes in them from our move three years ago... (Said boxes may or may not have contained clothing that only my tiny, gymnast friend Sheshe can wear and also a few maternity outfits.)

Being the skilled procrastinator that I am, I started on my closets Saturday. I will proudly admit that these three huge bags of clothes and big box of shoes is off to be donated! (I may or may not have kept the leather pants and the suede pants, you know, justincase I ever wear an 8 again...)

So today, when they dropped the wood, the Hispanic gentleman explained in broken English that they would return on Wednesday to rip up the carpets....

WEDNESDAY.

We aren't leaving until Friday.

And I have A LOT of BIG, HEAVY, CRAP-LADEN FURNITURE!

And no where to sleep.

And I have to pack.

And make another 3,000 of these:

I have 16 finished.

I may cry.

And I may be using this blog to procrastinate.

I will return...oneday. *sigh*

Gym Anomalies

I have some hilarious gym-based stories to tell you, but first I have to explain what the hell I am doing in a gym...

A few months ago, I decided to finally buck up on my 'getting healthy' plan. I had been lamenting for months to mycowherdingcousinRachael about my weight and how I just needed to find the motivation. She used to do figure competitions and had been giving me pointers on ways to shape up and get healthy, but I had found an excuse for each and every one. You see, I had gotten to the point where my tummy flab, muffin top and cottage-cheese thighs were just another thing to complain about. As we all tend to do with things we do not want to face, I was finding ways to blame it on others, "I gained too much weight with my pregnancies." and "A muffin top is a mom's forever treat!" or "Cellulite is God's way of saying we need more texture in our lives." I was using humor to hide the pain that was my weight gain. Now mind you, I am not severely overweight; I just wasn't happy and knew I was being lazy about it.

The epiphany moment came when Mycowherdingcousin and I were trying on clothes in her favorite store and I said, "Dude. You have GOT to help me lose this weight!" She paused and said, "I would, but I don't know how to motivate you." This struck a chord with me. Not only was I looking for a quick fix, I was being negative when she gave me suggestions. I vowed right there in that dressing room that I was no longer going to make excuses for my body. I was going to either put up or shut up.

That night, I changed my eating habits and found my motivation.

Dorkfish listened to my constant whining occasional suggestions and bought me a fitbit. I named him Sven. In addition to being cute, he holds me accountable for all my activity for the day. He tracks my distance in steps and miles, the number of stairs I've climbed and estimates my calories burned. He is a great little tool for pushing me on the days I don't feel like being pushed! Not to mention, he sends me little messages like "WALK ME AMO" or "VAMOS AMO" and even the occasional "LOVE YA AMO". He is a cutie.

But we all know that in order to lose weight and get healthy, you have to make sure your fuel is good for you too, so I started eating clean. I don't look at this a diet, but rather a 'lifestyle change'. I am not going to get into all the details of it, because honestly no one really cares, but I can tell you that I have seen a HUGE difference in how I feel, my complexion and even my sons' moods. So, there is definitely something to it, in my opinion.

So, to get to the funny part of the story...

I have finally found my way back into the gym. Apparently, paying atonofmoney for a year on a building I never enter, has finally gotten on my nerves. Let me tell you, once you start going on a regular basis, a few things happen:

1. You start to miss it when you don't go and feel bad about yourself.

2. You learn the peak and low times of the gym and when that annoying guy is there.

3. You get better at remembering things. (Like not forgetting your ipod after the time the same old dude insisted on talking to you through your entire workout.)

4. You figure out that if you forget your ipod, the old ear phones in your glove box will be a good deterrent as long as the cord doesn't fall out of your sports bra letting everyone know you don't really have it plugged in.

5. You learn to not get caught staring at people who grunt funny when the lift. The males think you are interested and the females think you are gay.

6. You realize that before and after the water aerobics class is the THEWORST time to go in the locker rooms. Those little old ladies have no shame in their game and aren't scared to let it all flop out, letmetellyou.

*shudder*

On Friday, I went a little later than I usually do and came across a new species at the gym. Weight-Dropping RoidRage guy. This guy is lifting what I can only describe as a bar with plates the size of the rental car they give you when you think 'mid-size' is the Buick your grandmother used to drive but realize it would actually fit in your hall closet and you have four people, a dog and sixteen suitcases to fit in it. IE: A smart car.

Every time RoidRage guy finishes a lift, he drops his weights. Fromkneeheight. Not only does it jar the concrete, but it clangs so loudly that I can hear it over the crappy music Dorkfish put on my ipod that I don't know how to change. (Seriously, Sade?! Who can get motivated listening to that?!) Each time he drops his weights with an audible "UGH", I turn to see who else is offended by this douchecanoe. I get a visual on an eye roll from the old lady on the stationary bike and a shrug from a guy who is twice the size of RoidRage. At my old gym, this sort of behavior was prohibited. If you dropped weights on purpose, you were asked to leave. Realizing that this obviously isn't the policy here, I rehearsed the conversation in my head with the intent of handling this. My speech was going to be, "Um, excuse me. If you have to drop the weights with each rep, MAYBE they are too heavy for you. If you need me to spot you, I will be right over here, NOTDROPPINGWEIGHTS." I removed my headphones twice with the intent of speaking to him when something crossed my mind. If this guy is on steroids, which anyone the size of him would about have to be, then there's a good change he could snap. Considering I am working my legs today, there is nowayinhell I would be able to outrun him... So survival skills kicked in and I vowed to get some Metallica for my ipod.

Suddenly, the hound dogs in shower caps wandering around the locker room after the water aerobics class don't seem so intimidating.

Sucktastic!

Let me begin by admitting a little something to you all. I, am no housekeeper. Honestly, I have never and will never claim to be the 'excellent stay-at-home mom'... My cleaning techniques are much like a college kid who scrubs the floors only when the parent's are coming to visit. (Except exchange 'parents' for 'husband' and you've got me pegged.)

I do cook, though. In fact, I have been cooking some quite tasty meals on my new Clean Eating plan! However, I do not go overboard with my culinary offerings. I guess you could describe it as 'survival cooking'... So far, everyone has successfully survived and we have only had one or two instances of 'whatthehellisthis' on our plates! I call that a win, people.

I tell you all this to explain the complete mystery obsession I have with a certain vacuum. You see, I have always wanted a Dyson. Nojoke. It has been that dangling carrot, that golden apple, the shiny key to unlock my inner housekeeper. I have always been convinced that my disconnect with house work isn't a lack of willingness or interest, but rather, insufficient tools. (This may play a part in my disorganization too, but I'm not going to go all Dr. Phil on you here...)

Fortunately for Dorkfish, I am frugal when it comes to certain purchases. I believe that anything you are paying to suck, shouldn't be over $200. (Leaveitalone.) We also have an appliance rule in our house in regards to gift giving, "If it plugs in, it isn't a gift." Therefore, the Dyson has always been out of reach.

*Collective Sigh*

Last week, my vacuum refused to suck. When you have four four-legged creatures running around your house and two children ages 8 and 5, this is a BIG!DEAL! I had been researching my vacuum options and trying to find the best deal, yet hadn't found one. Dorkfish came home last night, looked down at a dog-hair tumbleweed and declared that he didn't care HOW MUCH I spent on a vacuum, JUSTGETONE. So I grabbed my $50 in Kohl's cash and hit the store. I perused all the various makes and models before looking at the price tags. Naturally, the purple animal drew me in; and with a price tag of $195, I was sold! Evidently, this was a discontinued model, the DC 28, and therefore was on sale. Seeing they only had the floor model left, the store gave me another $50 off the price! (For those of you not good at math, like me, the $700 vacuum was $100 after my Kohl's cash!)

SOLD!

Isn't he beautiful? He doesn't have a ball, but judging by my male pets, balls don't last long in here anyway. *snicker*

After his first use, my friends began receiving text messages with pictures of my newly-vacuumed carpets and the message, "My carpets have more track marks than a $20 hooker!" (You're so thankful I don't have your number right now, aren't you?...)

My friend Botica responded with, "You know, everyone gets that one great deal that comes along every few years. This is yours. Congratulations."

Now I am wishing I had been jewelry shopping...