birdy

i am in need of a beach, a cold beverage, and a good book...in that order. (holy hell.) yesterday i set off the fire alarm while i was cooking dinner, carrie wacked herself in the head with a toy piano (and screamed), and ella told me she was going to "fly away, like birdy" because i didn't get her ketchup fast enough. this all happened in a 10 minute span of time. i assured ella that someone in the house was going to "fly away, like birdy" and it wasn't going to be her. butch works later on mondays and tuesdays, so when i get home from working an 8 hour day...i have sole responsibility for the kids, making dinner, and doing the other 32 hundred things that need to be done on a daily basis around this house. i think i know why mothers go crazy...because there is so much CRAP to do. all. the. freakin.' time. (end rant.)

anyway, i just joined a gym (too cold/dark after work to run outside), but the only weeknights i can go are wednesdays and thursdays. also, even though it's 2 hours out of the WHOLE WEEK to myself...i still feel guilty. (makes no sense.) i know other mothers must feel the same way, so that's why i'm sharing. last sunday, i even made dinners for wednesday and thursday night so that butch can just put them in the oven. granted, one of them is a frozen pizza (ha!)...but still. as soon as i got home at 4:30, i was immediately feeding carrie her dinner, making sure ella didn't wrap the dog in an ace bandage (that really happened), and consoling my husband because he said he was "really behind" at work.

holy friggen christ...pour this girl some wine. (or not.) ok...so that's the other thing. maybe i feel like a wacko also because i stopped drinking during the week. (gasp!) i set a goal for myself about a month ago, that i would like to wear a bikini this summer...rather than my patented tankini. (anyone that knows me just spit out their drink.) my ass isn't excessively large or anything, but it certainly does not belong in a bikini. after having two children, shit does not go back in the right places. (shit is everywhere.) anyway, i set this goal...so i'm trying to attain it and i feel it's within reach. if i succeed, i'll share. if i don't, you know i'll share that too. however, my box of wine a week habit was not helping my cause...so it had to go. am i saying i am not going to drink at ALL during the week? hell no. but am i going to plow through a box and a six pack? um, no...because i'll be dustin' off that tankini as fast as you can say ass fat. sidebar: fen told me to do some youtube AB exercises and i'd be good to go. (one of the many reasons she is my friend.)

meanwhile, butch decided to do a coupla things for himself lately. they are as follows: 1. grow a beard (a big one.) 2. wear long johns around the house. (all the time.) i'm not quite certain why or how these things came about...but they are happening. he was dressed in head to toe gray the other day. shirt, pants, shoes, socks...all gray. i must've given him a look and he just said, "what?" i said, "you got alotta gray going on there." he replied, "50 shades, baby!!" (and then proceeded to laugh hysterically...i just shook my head.) i love you warren, but you are a far cry from christian grey. also, i read the trilogy and at no point does mr. grey turn into a long john wearing lumberjack. (dear god.)

and so, it's only hump day and this weekend can't come fast enough. another weekend of no plans. (that'll make 2 in a row!) i never thought i would look forward to weekends without plans, but i find that these days it is much more relaxing (and i can actually get done the 32 hundred things i have to). i won't be flying away like a birdy anytime soon, but taking wine out of the daily equation sure isn't helping matters. i have so much more respect for my own mother (and every other mother), now that i am one. it's really hard...but totally worth it. and so, i raise my (water) glass to all of my mommy friends tonight, for i know your struggle and feel your pain. if you are not trying to get your ass into a bikini this summer...please have a glass of wine (or five) for me.