Category Archives: Exercise

Hey you guys!!!

Posted on January 26, 2013 | 32 comments

It’s not my best look. I call it “just rolled out of bed not even wearing my cute glasses wearing my favorite sweater and only two sips in to a cup of coffee” chic.

I just wanted to sit down this morning and say Hey you guys! Yesterday afternoon yours truly was Freshly Pressed and with that comes scads (gobs? hordes? what shall I call you?) of new readers that deserve a little shout out.

It didn’t seem right to get all fancied up and try and be something I am not and dazzle you. So. Here I am. This is where I usually am. In my chair with the kiddo on the boob. This morning is cold so I am enjoying one of the four (four!) cowl neck scarves I have recently crocheted. Yeah. I am a woman that crochets, guys. I don’t know how it happened. Sometime this winter when I realized I had watched everything on my DVR and every single series on Hulu I decided I needed to find something else to do while Lucy slept in my lap. So, yeah, I crochet. And I am impatient. Cowl neck scarf – the four hour project – we are pals. Stick around and maybe I will send you one if your neck looks particularly cold.

I wish I had more time this morning but I am trying to get out the door.

You know when you do something that you kind of think is awesome but you aren’t sure if it is totally absurd. You’re not embarrassed exactly, but you’re not sure if people that know you would think “Oh, that is strange. You don’t really do that, do you?” When I was fourteen I bought a hot pink swing dress and purple polka-dotted tights to wear to my boyfriend’s graduation. (It was 1991, it was a hot look.) Previously I had been seen in my overalls. Pretty much every day. I thought the dress was cute. I thought it was kind of adorably Molly Ringwald-ish, actually. But I wondered if it was “me.”

I don’t work hard to stay in my “me” box. But I think we all have a type. Not long ago I was horrified when I realized I had Mom-hair but I owned it. In fact, I declared myself to be the Samue L. Jackson of Motherhood and decided that in spite of my hair I was a bad motherfucker.

So, I am yammering on because I am not sure I can admit this. I like to work out. It keeps me from being totally mental. I run. I actually love p90x. I am not afraid of the weight room and I don’t really wear “cute outfits” to the gym. I like to get sweaty. But this morning I am going to do something I have been talking about doing forever. And I might get hysterical and get kicked out but I am going for it. I am going to Zumba, guys. Zumba bills itself as a sexy Jazzercise. Take a minute to chew on that. Sexy. Jazzercise. I hope they serve margaritas. I am going to need one. Or four.

So, a big fat “hello” and “happy to meet you” and “what took you so long let’s be best friends!” to the new readers. I gotta jet. Get my sweat on. Oh, and shake my moneymaker. Because apparently when I am not busy being a bad motherfucker or crocheting I go to Zumba. Sigh. The latter half of my third decade is going to be weird. I can feel it.

32 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Nonsense, Parenting, Pregnancy

Tagged Breastfeeding, Exercise, freshly pressed, healthy-living, mental-health, motherhood, Parenting, SAHM, stay at home mom, style, wordpress, zumba

GTFO, Sad!

Posted on December 6, 2012 | 27 comments

Sometimes I feel inside out. Like the parts that are supposed to be on the inside are on the outside. When I was 18 I got the cartilage in my ear pierced and it didn’t hurt when the needle went through. It didn’t hurt when he put the earring in. But when I went outside it stung. Maybe it was the chill in the Boston air. But the way I explained it to myself is that a little bit of my insides were exposed to the air. And it stung.

I live with my insides on the outside. Lucy called me Mama this week and I wept. Emily realized that I want every single extra minute she will give me and I held her hand tight and tried not to cry. The littlest moments make my heart sing. These moments don’t have to wind their way down deep in to my heart and soul to touch me because my heart and soul is right underneath my skin. Sometimes it is even on the outside of my skin holding itself together with nothing but sheer will.

When there is this much good, this much joy, this much Christmas spirit and this much love in your day to day it is harder to reconcile when the Sad rolls through. Usually I exercise the Sad away. Bicep curls make me feel like a bad bitch. Even if I do those bicep curls in my living room while I watch Rikki Lake and listen to Katy Perry somehow I still walk away feeling strong. Because I made the time. For me. Because I am important.

I have been busy. I have run errands. I have made Christmas ornaments and cooked holiday meals and wrapped gifts. I have not exercised much at all in ten days. And I have cried. Holy shit, I have cried. And I have lied by omission. “How was your day?” he asks me when he gets home from work.

“It was great! I hung the stockings!”

But it was not great. It is hard to throw yourself a Pity Party when you are married to a realist. This morning I gave up the act. I tried to tell him this morning about my bad case of the Sad and without forethought I blurted out “I don’t feel special.” Before I could stop myself I pointed out that he will surely tell me that no one is special and we will all be eaten by the worms some day.

Sometimes when you lean on the people you love they give you what you need. The last time I felt paralyzed with fear MQD gave me just what I needed. He gave me strength. I was trying to mentally wrap my mind around having a baby last January. I was in labor and I was scared. “You’re a bad ass, Kelly. You just can’t be too much of a pussy today to be a bad ass.”

This morning I was wallowing. “But the worms will never have had a meal JUST LIKE YOU,” he said.

He’s right.

Hey, Sad! Yeah, you with the swollen eyes and the runny nose and the bad mood, I’m talking to you, Sad. I have seasonally inappropriate toenails now and I am taking back the reins. You can kiss my ass, Sad, my sweaty ass while I do a million jump squats in my living room and evict you.

Even if it is sixty-some degrees outside it is Christmastime, Sad. I have a sweet, sweet husband and a big girl that makes me laugh. My baby girl has started saying mama and she kisses with tongue. Things around here actually pretty great. You gotta roll out, Sad.

27 Comments

Posted in Bad Mood, Exercise, Family, Nonsense, Parenting

Tagged Bad Mood, Exercise, Sad, therapy

Exercise Your Right!!

Posted on November 6, 2012 | 10 comments

Exercise your right to vote. Please.

I can look back on the last 20 years in a number of different ways. The Clinton years, the Bush years, the Obama years. The college years, the beach years, the Chapel Hill years.

This morning I noticed that the last twenty years of my life can be divided up in to the teeny, tiny bra top years, the wind pant years (coinciding with my Sporty Spice phase) and the more recent running skirt phase.

I won’t keep you. I’ll make it quick. Trashing the ancient teeny tiny running tops, donating the wind pants, keeping the running skirts.

Now go put on your exercise clothes and exercise your right to VOTE!

10 Comments

Posted in Exercise

Tagged Exercise, keep trash donate, vote

Down, but not out!!

Posted on July 19, 2012 | 11 comments

Kelly at 22. Heading out to a party a 80’s Barbie. I was ironing a kimono. For a vry good reason, I am sure.

I think I was about twenty-two when I started doing that thing that the young people do – start acting irritated by the even younger people. After all I had been hanging out at the Leafe (my favorite bar) forEVER. How was I supposed to tolerate these kids turning twenty-one and acting like children in my favorite bar? Insert eye rolls. Looking back I know that talking about how terribly old I was probably just made me sound so young.

What I would not give to be twenty-two again. In body, certainly not in mind. A fairly good argument could be made that I am not too terribly far off from twenty-two in spirit, so there’s that.

This week I have felt old. And not a seasoned, experienced, wise and sexy salt and pepper hair George Clooney old. More like a can’t get her creaky body out of bed in the morning, anti-inflammatory gobbling, “back in my day” saying, can’t run with the kids anymore old.

The feeling began last week in my ankles. I’ve been sore. And sore does not make this girl happy. Skipping out on my exercise routine makes me homicidal. I have two very strong personalities at play in my head and heart. I am, first and foremost, a mother. Second, I am an addict. As a mother I give and give and give of myself. That hour that I spend with Lucy zonked out in the stroller, Em riding her bike, I need that hour. It is mine. A selfish hour. I turn my mind off and I sweat. For me. So I can give and give and give the other twenty-three hours of the day. And as an addict? I need the endorphin rush. If I skip a day by four o’clock in the afternoon it is like day three without a cigarette in our house. (Which if you have ever quit smoking you know is the day are you are most likely to fly in to a homicidal rage.)

Zero runs at my target distance or speed. I guess I can be proud of listening to my body. I guess.

Lately the body has been conspiring against me. I have woken up in pain more often than not. I have been lazy with rescheduling my chiropractor appointment (edited: I went yesterday!) and my back has once again been sending up flares to remind me that I need to give it some love or it will stop letting me do the things to which I have grown accustomed. Things like getting out of bed, retrieving things from my refrigerator, picking up my baby, walking around.

I had to make a choice. Feed the mind or the body. I decided to take care of the body, since it appears to be aging faster than the mind. I cut way back on the jogging. Took it sloooow. I even walked. And skipped days. And did not kill people. I have used my new found love of Pinterest to scour the interwebz for low impact high intensity exercises one can accomplish in their living room.

But it is not my aging ankles and back that were the greatest blow to my ego this week. It was an awful, slow, painful realization that happened at the pool.

It was hot out. Really hot out. The kind of day when you stand in the water all day because sitting pool side for even ten minutes is out of the question. It was just me, two life guards, Em and her buddy and Lucy. It was hot enough that even the life guards were in the pool.

As the day wore on we all got to talking. The kids started making up a game where the guards chased this ball and there were points received for certain achievements. Aside from the fact that two of the three children in the pool actually entered this world via my vagina and that technically I could have given birth to both of the life guards it was exactly like a scene from my own teenage years. For a moment I let myself go there in my head. It felt so good. Goofing off. Making up games. Teaching the big kids to play Jump or Dive.

And then a mini-van pulled up. And a lady and her two kids came to the pool. A lady I actually like well enough. She waved at me as she put her things down on a table, in the shade, by the baby pool. And it hit me. I belong over there. With the Grown Up.

For two hours I was a girl in the pool in a black one piece and a stylish summer fedora. And now I was Mom again, in that black one piece with the side ruching that fools no-fucking-body and a hat because my post partum hairloss means that my head gets sunburned if I don’t.

And then it hit me again. For two hours I had actually been that Grown Up hanging around the teenagers. That Grown Up that lingers.

I was a life guard forever. For years and years. So, I know. Even the Cool Grown Ups. Two hours?? That qualifies as lingering. I’m gonna need to take them some food. And not something I baked. Because “Look, I baked these for you” does not a Cool Kid make.

If griping about being “so old” when I was twenty-two actually made me seem young than maybe complaining about my aging body at thirty-six will make me seem youthful. Right?

Either way, it seems my bad case of Old is catching. MQD has only been twenty-nine for two weeks and he found a grey hair in his goatee yesterday. I’m not sure what the anti-venom is for a bad case of Old. Beer? Vitamins? I am hoping that it is letting your six year old pick out your nail polish.

Note the age spots on my shin. Oh. Didn’t see them? Mesmerized by my sparkly fingers and toes? My plan is working!!

11 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Family, Nonsense

Tagged Aging, Humor, Life

Polishing a turd

Posted on July 12, 2012 | 12 comments

I have a weakness for talking animal movies. Babe. Dr Dolittle. Beverly Hills Chihuahua (that might be the most embarrassing thing I have admitted here.) I suppose I watched either too much or not enough Mr. Ed as a kid.

Emily has inherited this love of mine. Together we were watching Racing Stripes, a plucky little film about a zebra named Stripes that thinks he is a race horse and the young girl that believes in him!

I was doing situps while watching this fine film and entertaining Lucy as she lolled about on the floor.

“You’ve been training Stripes haven’t you?” said the TV.

I started to laugh. Why yes, yes, I have, how kind of you to notice. I have been training Stripes. If by training Stripes you mean trying to embrace my wicked stretch marks and do something about the dangly skin they occupy. Progress has been slow. I know, I know, it took nine months to stretch the skin it will take at least that long for it to tighten up. But the greater truth? I have never exactly had anything resembling abdominal muscles. I’m not aiming for a six pack. I don’t expect to be able to sit down and not have pudge. I am 36. I have two kids. And I love beer, wine and peanut M&Ms. But it would be nice if my stomach didn’t hang over my jeans while I was standing up. That is a realistic goal, no?

And this friends, is how you polish a turd. Urban Dictionary defines turd polishing as “The act of trying to make something hopelessly weak and unattractive appear strong and appealing. An impossible process that usually results in a larger, uglier turd.”

I beg to differ. I think you can polish a turd.

Exhibit A: The Turd

Note the stretch marks, the muffin top and the beloved elastic waist maternity jeans. I know I should retire them. But they are so damn tasty, those jeans. And they love me so. It is my hope that in writing this I will shame myself in to letting them join their friends in the giant box of maternity clothes in my attic.

Exhibit B: The Bright & Shiny Turd

Lucy shall henceforth be named The Turd Polisher. It’s really all about your point of view. As she approaches six month’s old in July I am reminded that I will have ninety days to make good on the old “It took nine months to gain it, it will take nine months to lose it” rule.

I took the first picture yesterday. I was going to write about my progress towards accepting my post-second baby body. Yesterday, in my maternity jeans and feeling hard on myself I didn’t feel like I had made much progress at all.

This morning as I dressed to go for a jog Emily said “You know you could just wear that bra, it is like a running bra, so it is okay to not wear a shirt.” And I looked in the mirror with Lucy on my hip and I thought maybe she was on to something.

I think I am gonna ditch those jeans. And I am getting dangerously close to being the lady at the pool with all the tattoos that pees in the shower and wears a bikini even when she probably shouldn’t. If you can’t tone it, tan it.

12 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Nonsense, Parenting, Pregnancy

Tagged fitness, maternity, mommy blog, motherhood, stretch marks, weight loss

Easy like…

Posted on June 24, 2012 | Leave a comment

Sunday morning.

It’s easy to skip out on exercise when you’re on vacation. The single upside of an addictive personality is that when you create a positive habit you’re like a junkie for that, too. I peeled Sleeping Beauty out of bed and popped her in the stroller at ten after seven. Big, blue eyes and duck pajamas. We took off for a short two mile run through the neighborhood. Vacation or not, we were jogging. I needed my fix.

The promise of an empty stretch of sand in the morning motivated me to cross the highway and head for the beach.

The beach in the morning. Running on a perfectly flat road. Standing at the beach access and smiling. Making the decision to run an extra mile because I could always take a break and pop back up another access.

These are the things I was grateful for this morning. These are the reasons I will run again tomorrow morning.

I miss the ocean.

The Diva

Posted on June 15, 2012 | 5 comments

So, how did it go with the new Bridge to 10K app?

It really could not have been better. The new app is helpful, a little learning curve as I was used to the robotic “Run Now” of the Couch to 5K. I was anxious about the run ten minutes and walk one minute idea. Once I stop jogging and start to walk it is sometimes hard to start again, to keep going. In the first 45 seconds of that walk I can think of a thousand reasons I should just stop altogether. And four cycles of walking means four opportunities to convince myself that I should stop, that Lucy looks too warm or that I need to make a phone call.

But I didn’t stop. Even when the diva was not cooperating.

*Chest clips unbuckled in the stroller. It is our version of a wild and crazy time, letting loose. Clearly it was overwhelming.

Not this diva. She was a dream.

And the big little diva has a new best friend in less than five minutes anywhere and everywhere. A few people have asked me what I do with Emily while I jog now that she is home from school. She plays on the play ground at the local park. Or she rides her bike on the trail. She wears a light blue helmet. When she rides I can see her little helmet whizzing down the trail ahead of me. She has mastered riding slowly enough to keep me company but she doesn’t usually stick with me for very long.

She likes to go fast. She loves to swing. She will swing and chat up the mommies at the playground for an hour if I let her. Sometimes I don’t see her for a moment. And then she comes around the bend. Or she pops put of the tube slide. I am unafraid. She is smart. She is careful.

We have two rules. She never goes in the bathroom without telling me. She waits for me to pass by and I circle around near the bathrooms until she comes out. If she crashes on her bike, and she did often for a while there, she is to wave her arms. If she can move she will live, and I need to know that from 100 yards away so I don’t have an aneurysm on my way to inspect a scraped knee. But aside from that she is free. And she is thriving. At almost seven years old I was at the creek. I was riding bikes to another neighborhood near mine. I was free.

I didn’t think about it much. I am raising her like I was raised. I didn’t think there was a name for it. But as the helicopter parents got a name so, too, did kids like Em. Free Range kids. And before you read me the riot act or tell me that things aren’t like they used to be, no, they are not.

But anyway the diva. I think I’ve griped about this already. I am in that small percentage of women that get their periods back even though they are nursing around the clock.

Diva cups come in this discrete fabric bag. And you get a pin, perhaps so you can warn your loved ones as to the arrival of Aunt Flo.

After Emily’s birth when I first became more aware of my lady bits and how I treat them I fell in love with the menstrual cup. That is a bold statement for a product designed for use during your period. But it is amazing. I didn’t get my period back after Em was born for more than a year. After nearly two years without it I was loathe to return to the tampon. Enter The Diva. Not only is it a one time expense but you don’t need to mess with it more than once or twice a day. Good stuff in my book. (If you are already icked out by this you might want to stop now.)

There is a learning curve. And somehow in the year of being pregnant I had lost my touch. I didn’t quite have it in right. So how was my now 50 minute exercise experience? It was good. It was great. But I did have a baby not long ago. And everything is not exactly how it should be just yet. So, even though I have a size 2 (post childbirth size) Diva Cup, it didn’t feel quite right. But on I ran. For fifty minutes. While doing kegels. If you’re wondering how I fixed this issue (since sadly fifty straight minutes of kegels did not immediately fix my .. issue – flip your menstrual cup inside out if it is slipping, it will be perfect, I promise.

That’s my two cents for this morning. Let your kids outside. They’ll be fine. And get a Diva cup, or a Moon cup or my personal favorite brand name the Lady Cup. You’ll be glad you did.

5 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Parenting

Goals

Posted on June 13, 2012 | 13 comments

I’m big on setting goals. Measurable goals. For as much as I pick on MQD and the SCIENCE (imagine I said science with jazz hands and a hint of feigned terror in my voice) I love a good graph.

When I decided I was ready to hop back on the fitness train I returned to Couch to 5K. Couch to 5K is a training program designed to take you from the couch (no way! Me? the couch? I didn’t gain almost sixty pounds with this pregnancy at the gym!) to running a solid thirty minutes without stopping in nine weeks. I have a tendency to overexert myself. A training program is necessary to keep me from deciding to try and run six miles after three leisurely strolls around the block has me thinking I am in tip top shape.

The trouble with the Couch to 5K? It ends. After nine weeks where do I go from there? Without the magical iPhone telling me to Run (which is laughable as my jogging speed has been known to be slower than my walking speed, but whatever!) I am lost.

But something crazy has happened to me. I remember when Em was teeny. She wasn’t big on napping. I decided training for the OBX Marathon was a good idea. The jogging stroller was my idea of a vacation. Every day, no matter what else happened, I had an hour on Bay Drive. If you go to the Outer Banks and you have never driven down Bay Drive and admired the homes and the sunset and the sound side living you are missing out. (Oh, how I miss you, long, deliciously flat Bay Drive…) It is happening again.

I finished the Couch to 5K on June 5th.

And then I did it again, every day for the next FIVE days!! I am keeping it up. I am motivated not only by the health benefits and the uninterrupted Me time, I admit. The number on the scale has me a little freaked out. I haven’t ever said that number out loud here. I showed you my stretchmarks, but that number? It is like pooping in front of someone. I don’t do that.

But I am done hiding. I weighed 226 the day before Lucy was born. I’d hit an all time ten year low of 167 before we got married. I weigh a lot, and I am okay with that. I have size 10.5 feet and D cups, they come with a price.

I avoided the scale immediately after Lucy was born. I know my tendency to get antsy about my weight and I knew I needed to be eating well and frequently in order to establish and maintain a milk supply those crucial first six weeks.

My six week post partum visit greeted me with a 197. What the shit? I’d had a baby six weeks ago!! I was horrified. I hit the ground running, literally.

And then shortly after I hit the ground, I hit the store. I wrote about my new shoes. But I haven’t mentioned my new found love of the running skirt. It makes me feel like a cheerleader. I never was a cheerleader but I imagine this is what it felt like. “Hey you, my ass is almost showing but it is all in the name of sports!! Check me out! But don’t talk shit, I’m an athlete, bitches!” Did I say that out loud? So help me, I am wearing day glow running skirts and I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.

This morning I downloaded the “Bridge to 10K” app. I need to keep going. I have to keep going. It might take me longer than the six weeks it suggests. But I’ll get there. And if you look at the screenshot on the right, in the top corner, it’s a graph!! A GRAPH! I am as happy as a pig in shit. Or a middle aged, 184 pound mom of two in a hot pink running skirt. And let me tell you from my experience, that is pretty happy.

13 Comments

Posted in Exercise

Tagged Exercise, fitness, jogging, minimalist running shoe, motherhood, postpartum, running, weight loss

P-A-R-T-Y or I Love Kale Chips

Posted on June 8, 2012 | 9 comments

Yesterday evening I posted a picture of the three, yeah, three bags of kale I selected to receive in our CSA box this week. My friends and a good portion of the internet has been abuzz about the deliciousness that is the kale chip and I thought I’d give it a shot.

I over indulge. Even on vegetables.

I tagged the picture with a few of my kale loving friends, mostly just to give them a chuckle. I go big. Think you might like kale, well then get three bags!

And guys, facebook LOVES kale!! You guys came out of the woodwork to shout about the glory that is this superfood. I had planned on making them this afternoon when the kids get home from their last day of school. Last Day of School? Party down with some KALE, kids!!!

I nurse Lucy to sleep at night in the rocking chair. In theory I could go put her in bed but the great majority of the time I just let her snooze on me and I goof off on the computer or watch “my stories” (Duck Dynasty, Bravo garbage, yanno important stuff on TV) and take her to bed when I hit the hay at the late hour of around nine.

But last night, this happened.

Snug as a bug

And with my night all to myself what did I do??? I marched right in to the kitchen and started trimming ribs off kale, yes I did!!! And if that was not enough fun I massaged them with some olive oil and popped those bad boys in the oven.

Oven at 200 degrees, kale all shiny and olive oil-y with a wee bit of kosher salt and some parmesan cheese

When someone says “Taste this, it is just like potato chips!” my instinct is to call Bullshit. O’Doul’s is not “just like real beer.” Decaf coffee is not just like the real thing. The cheap, big bag of Tasteeos is not even “just like” Cheerios. I mean, come on. But kale chips???

Come on over to my house!! I will be serving kale chips. All summer. They are delicious. Crispy and light and so good. Using kitchen scissors I just folded each leaf in half and trimmed up the middle to remove the rib and what we have left was delicious curly q’s of superfood! I’m hooked. It is the Weekend of Kale Chips! I have declared it so.

If you need me any time on Sunday I’d guess I will be in the bathroom. Kale. A superfood packed with dietary fiber. What’s not to love?

9 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Family

Tagged healthy eating, kale, recipes, superfoods

Am I on Candid Camera?

Posted on June 7, 2012 | 5 comments

I did not actually make the international symbol for “Call me!” as I drove away. But that is the only lame thing I didn’t manage to do.

I am trying my damnedest to stick my neck out. Or my hand. And make friends. Mommy friends. People from Em’s class or women I see at the park. I adore the friends I have. And I don’t make the time to see them as it is, so why should I not try to add more people to the rolodex of folks I seem to ignore in favor of going to bed at quarter of eight by the light of Bravo?

Nonetheless I had said I was going to try.

And this morning while jogging an opportunity presented itself. This is not how I usually dress when I try to pick up chicks. I saw her car pull up at the park. She had two girls around Emily’s age, one with her bicycle. She was wearing exercise capri’s and sneakers and had the 2012 Mom Summer Haircut. I watched her from the other side of the walking track. On I ran, pondering changing my route so I could pass by her a few times, scope her out, but that seemed absurd. And as I finished my third mile around the park I noted that she and her girls were by the swings, which is totally near the water fountain…

So I said… “Yeah, not to say “Do you come here often?” but umm… I do… and that is how I know you don’t actually come here often… so I just thought I’d say hello.” Then I rambled on a bit about how I’d planned on running Monday through Friday in the morning, between eight and nine and maybe her girls could entertain my older daughter and we could jog or plan on meeting up “and it could be like a thing.” That is what I said. A thing. Like I asked her on a date but was scared to call it that. Or give her my number.

I can remember a hundred years ago going back to the same bar over and over again because a guy I’d liked might show up there again. All I ever got was drunk. Maybe I’ll just keep going back to the park. Only this time I might get healthier instead of broke and loaded.

So… I floundered at the end. But I was feeling kind of awesome this morning anyway. When I got out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror. And with the handheld liposuction, you know where you hold your stomach up, thereby eliminating the hanging post partum marsupial skin (note that I have spared you a picture of this) I didn’t look half bad. I felt good.

I pulled on a favorite pair of Old Navy cargo pants, elastic waist band, drawstring really, but they were pre-baby pants. I felt kind of normal. And good. Tomorrow is the first day of my summer as a mostly stay at home mom of two and it was gonna be cool. I grabbed my pita pocket sandwich, my diaper bag and my kid, slipped on my totally adorable purple flats and headed out the door. Lucy dropped her toy. I bent down to grab it and did not drop my sandwich or spill my coffee.

But I split my fucking pants. Eh. Can’t win them all. If this gal ever shows up at the park and we chat and she likes me I’m totally gonna tell her this. “So I was feeling all rad for trying to make a friend. And then I split the ass in my favorite fucking pants. You’d better be worth it.”