Blood, Sweat and Yogurt

Last night, we hit hit yet another "developmental milestone." (And yes, that's still code for crap Brynn does or learns that makes my hair go gray) My child is a daredevil. She climbs like a monkey (like a drunk, slightly suicidal monkey) and loves to throw herself down stairs, ladders and slides, hang off of safety gates (ironically, NOT very safe), cribs, and shelves, and throws herself head first off of couches, laps, car seats, and change tables.

In other words, my child has no fear.
None. Zero. Zip. Nada. Squat. Bupkis. Squadouche.
She stares fear in the face, rips off its nose and eats it as a snack while humming a happy tune.
That's just how badass she is.

Last night, I'm in the kitchen cleaning up from supper. There was yogurt EVERYWHERE. Brynn was feeding herself and by the end we both looked like some kind of epicurean experiment gone horribly wrong. Imagine some food scientist asking, "What do you mean the yogurt exploded?" and you get the idea.

Then, I hear her titter. hee hee And in my head I'm thinking: eh, no big deal.
I hear her giggle. tee heeheehee But then I begin to wonder: hmmm.
I hear her laugh. hahaha Then I get that sinking feeling in my stomach: uh oh.
I hear her bust a gut at the top of her lungs. Bwahahahahahahaha And BAM! I know, whatever is going on is going to age me at least 10 years.
I look up from the sink to see what is so funny and my 15 month old is standing - no, RUNNING - like that drunk, slightly suicidal monkey from one end of our sectional couch to the other laughing so hard she can't breathe, let alone keep her balance.
When did you learn to climb our couch??????? Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen?
The next few seconds played out like a slow motion "nooooo" from just about any cheesy movie you've ever seen.
Happily, she didn't fall...or rather I broke her fall...with my face...which bled while she laughed and poked at the blood. Yup. It was awesome.

Jazz Hands for Fitness?

Ok. I know I already posted today but I gotta share this RIGHT NOW.

I went to the gym after I finished my post earlier today because it was quite literally the only way I could avoid actually ordering a pizza for delivery right here at work. Of course, the fact that I followed up my workout with Corn Nuts was probably counterproductive, but that is beside the point.

So...I'm at the gym. Jogging away on my treadmill dreaming about melty cheesy and pepperoni goodness while waiting for some random chica to get off MY machine. (My gym has this machine called The Wave that is kind of like a cross between an elliptical, a stair climber and speed skating and it is AWESOME. I lovelovelove that machine but they only have one and I can't tell you how bitter I am when I arrive and someone else has dared to profane it with their presence.) So back on topic...I'm on the treadmill, trying not to give this dumb broad the stink eye for being on MY machine when she busts into this slowmo jazz hands/mreow kind of movement like she's a refugee from Cats who can't quite remember how to act like a cat or a woman trying out for the part of a senile cat doing a rain impersonation.

She did it for 10 minutes straight.

I deserve a prize for not falling off my treadmill 'cause there just isn't comedy anywhere as good as that, my friends, nosiree.

Gym? Who The Hell is He?

I'm trying to lose weight.
Try-ing. sigh
I weigh less now than when I got pregnant buuuuut I set a goal for myself and I'm stalled about 10 pounds above that magic number. Sadly, every time I get myself motivated - eating right, going to the gym, feeling good - I get sick. I get the flu, I get food poisoning, I catch a cold, I get lazy. I know that "lazy" doesn't technically count as sick but it is rather addictive and given our society's tendency to label addictions as illnesses, I think it might slide in as an illness one of these days.

Maybe one of these days, we'll all be watching Dr. Drew's "Sluggishness Rehab" or "Celebrity Goof-Off Club." I know I'd tune in. Sitting on my couch. Wearing my fat pants, eating a bag of chips with a diet coke in hand and calling over Brynn to pick the crumbs off my shirt because I'M TOO LAZY TO DO IT MYSELF.

I went to the gym on Monday. I went to the gym yesterday. I'm sitting here right now trying to talk myself into going again today but it is soooo hard. I just keep coming up with excuses.
1. I'm tired.
2. I'm tired.
3. I'm tired.
Then, I enter my workout results into my online fitness diary and it tells me I should take today off. Is this a conspiracy? I'm doing my best to look good and the universe keeps throwing Mars Bars and Licorice Goodies at me. I'm trying to dodge pizza slices and chocolate Rosebuds and my workout program says "take it easy today." Oh and guess what? I just got a damn email from Dominos Pizza. "Dear Leigha: we know you're overdue for some grease. Here's something to make it just that much harder to say no when you get that craving for pizza tonight." AAAAAUGH

I can't take it anymore. I'm heading to the gym to work off some of my pizza-induced stress.

Road Trip 2011: Highway to Hell

Needless to say, things didn't quite go according to plan on this trip.

Because we waited until the last minute, getting ready was an exercise in chaos. I couldn't find half of what I was looking for and (horror of horrors!) I didn't have the time or energy to scrub/tidy/dust/organize everything we own! Since I'm no June Cleaver, I don't quite understand where that impulse came from but thankfully it has passed and we're happily ankle deep in dust bunnies again.
Brynn was congested and her persistent, hacking cough kept her awake and - to be honest - kinda cranky.
By the time we hit Squamish, I was feeling like hell and by bedtime, I wanted to die. Helloooo, food poisoning!
For the entire weekend, Brynn would not sleep (or even stop screaming) unless her arms were wrapped around my throat or her foot was jammed up my nose. There's nothing like laying yourself down at night suffering from food poisoning and trying to breathe through it while your toddler pins you to the bed with a perfect Kimura submission hold.
It rained the entire bloody weekend *except on Sunday when we left* and Brynn and I sat around our hotel room getting cabin fever until there was a break in the clouds. By the time I got her bundled up and out the door, it was pissing rain again.
Oh and did I mention our stupid dishwasher leaked all over the place?

Yup. NOT a good road trip, to say the least.

FYI: I'm invoking the famous Worth "Let us never speak of it again" clause because I'll lose my shit if I've got to talk about this weekend EVER again.

Ahahahaha

Since the last two books I've read were Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and World War Z, this picture really made me laugh my butt off.

Wish I had managed to get a picture of Brynn doing this to one of our cats...now THAT would a picture to treasure forever.

File This Under: "What Are You On?"

We're heading out on another road trip tomorrow - to Whistler this time. This is how I envision the weekend going...cue the squiggly lines and beebley music to show this is all taking place in my imagination:

As we ready ourselves for our trip, we are a virtual ballet of graceful organization. It is as beautiful to watch as it is to experience.
We find everything we need exactly where it should be, clean and ready to go.
Brynn is a bundle of excited (yet quiet and cooperative) energy until we get on the road, when she drifts into a nap of epic proportions.
I catch up on sleep while we drive up and feel like a million dollars when we arrive.
The weather is mild and sunny so Brynn and I spend time happily wandering the town while her father snowboards with friends.
At night, Scott and I spend romantic evenings snuggling on the couch while our baby snoozes away peacefully in the next room.

In summary, the plan is that we're going to spend an idyllic weekend away, leaving on Sunday with smiles on our faces and happy memories all around.

Yeah, I'd be searching my pockets for a bit o' whatever Raffi was on too 'cause I just don't see this happening either. Wish me luck!

Stick This Under Your Bus, Raffi!

The Wheels on the Bus go round and round,
round and round,
round and round,
the wheels on the bus go round and round
all around the...

Oh to hell with this, y'all!

Did you know that Raffi was high on coke when he wrote and/or sang most of his most popular songs? Yup. According to the Great and Powerful Google, he was amped up, chasing the dragon, neck deep in da gutter glitter.

This certainly explains a lot. Look at him, I mean REALLY look at him. The man is using a banana as a phone and I seriously doubt he's being ironic. No, he's probably hiiiiiiiiiiiigh after munching on some California cornflakes and calling the mother ship to report that his effort to subvert Earth's children is proceeding apace.

Well here's my answer to you, Raffi:















"Raffi, I know you're out there. I can feel you now. I know that you're afraid... you're afraid of us. You're afraid of change. I don't know the future. I didn't come here to tell you how this is going to end. I came here to tell you how it's going to begin. I'm going to hang up this banana, and then I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see. I'm going to show them a world without you. A world without your brainwashing music and intelligence suppressing lyrics, without wheels on buses or baby belugas. A world where anything is possible. Where we go from there is a choice I leave to you."