I wouldn’t describe myself as selfish. I mean I have two kids and often use the bathroom with one of them in the room with me, if not both. I know selfish people. The real, honest to God, I only care about you if you are talking about me kind of people. I am not that girl.

That is not to say I don’t have selfish tendencies or desires because, well, everyone does. So I want things for myself and I do things for myself sometimes without putting other people first. I know, the shame of it all!

When you are a wife and a mom your “me” time ends up being such a small percentage of your overall life time. I really believe that in order to get any time at all you need to take it when you can, schedule it and hold it sacred. It is this time that can keep a person sane. There are already enough times throughout the month, week, day, hell, hour when I am losing my shit going all “mean mommy” on my kids. I don’t think it is bad to take a break, for myself.

I am aware some people don’t get this and judge my decisions to do this. By me going to the gym and dropping my kids in the play area while I workout, or even by leaving them home with their Dad, I get criticized. If I have a hair appointment and haven’t been in 8 weeks, I get criticized. Dinner out with my friends, once a month? I hear about it. I am reminded that if I was home more I could stay on top of things like housework, homework, cooking and making sure my kids weren’t running wild. 

You didn’t know an hour or two away from your family a day could make you such a bad person, did you? Me either. What people don’t understand is that by taking care of myself both mentally and physically I am actually worth a lot more to my family. Me being frustrated by my kids and stressed out about the ins and outs of parenting AND working from home AND cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping and and AND - the list would never end, I am not a better person.

I need to take care of myself so I feel capable to take care of others, which is what I do all day long. I need to feel good about myself physically so that I am a happy person who feels healthy and loves herself so she can love others. If that makes me selfish, then I am guilty as charged.

BUT, and this is the key, but that also makes you ignorant for judging me.

Winning and Losing

There are no winners in marriage.

I know that sounds bad, but it is the honest to God truth. I am speaking from experience. I am part of a marriage that generally "keeps score." You know what I mean, I changed the last poopy diaper so it's your turn or I got up last, you get him this time. You went out last night so tonight is my night "off" from baths and bedtime. This is my weekend to sleep in because last weekend you stayed in bed until 9:30 uninterrupted (which is totally like noon in parents time.)

So yeah, in my life and marriage there is a whole lotta keeping score. I feel entitled to something, like a night off or a break from the kids and my husband feels the same. He thinks it is his turn.

I will tell you the facts. My husband is an incredible Dad and an awesome husband. I don't want to brag but he probably puts your husband to shame. He does A LOT around here, for me and the boys. He is present and participating in our family life more than most Dad's I know.

Another fact: He will still never one-up me on the score card because come on, I, as a mom, do more of the crap jobs around the house and with the kids than he ever does. This is apparently just the way the world works. Life is not fair but at least I win.

For instance, tonight when he was relaxing watching football and hanging out with Jack discussing why we can't cheer for the Packers, ever, I am coloring and decorating feathers with Joey for his Indian hat project for school. No big deal you say, the decorating involved glitter glue. I WIN.

Jason and I have been known to play rock, paper, scissors for most of the keeping score type things in life. Picking up the dog poop on the walk, rochambeau. Changing diapers back in the day, rochambeau. It is as fair as any score-keeping method could be and I never, ever, win. It is like Jason has some sort of special voodoo rock, paper, scissor magical powers. He gets in my head and I choke at the last second.

Even when the score says I win, I still lose. We are both pretty competitive so winning is important to both of us. The longer we are married the more I am getting used to just taking one for the team. The important thing is I know I am winning and deep down inside he knows it too.

He just doesn't want to admit he's being beat by a girl.

So although neither of us can really win in this marriage, it is still game on around here and I'm bringing my A-game.

Leg, Shmeg

I am back after a little time away and I wish I could say I am all happy and shiny and new with a complete attitude adjustment, but I am only kinda, sorta a few of those things. Some are better than none, right? Let's not get greedy.

Remember when I told you about my diet and my nutritional counseling and all that torturous jazz? Well as part of that plan my trainer / food nazi had me running a minimum of twice a week. One pace run and one sprint run. I hated running and was not a runner but the more I did it the farther and faster I could go and it didn't make me love it, per se, but I did feel good when I was done. I felt like I had accomplished something really good for me. I was exhausted and sweaty and felt fit. I started dreading the runs less and less and learned to love them since I knew by doing them I had a direct life line to additional calories I could consume - or more pounds lost. So I ran..and ran some more.

Two weeks ago, I was doing just that, running, when I felt a little off. It was my usual day for my sprint run (which is a 1 mile warm-up followed by a 30 second sprint at a super-human speed then 30 seconds off, rinse and repeat) when I hopped on and started my run I noticed my left leg felt funny - and not funny in a ha, ha kind of way. It was tight and felt sore almost like it didn't want to go. Since I am no quitter and my legs have tried convincing me they didn't want to go in the past I did what any person who needed the 450 calorie burn would do. I kept on running.

There I am running along and it is time to start the sprint portion of the run so I set the incline at 2% and jack up the speed so the treadmill belt is humming along below me. When I hop on for my first round of 30 seconds I knew my left leg was not happy. During my 30 second rest I stretched it out and got ready for round two.

The pain has been slowly increasing with each set but I am still thinking I can just keep pushing through and make it through the workout - which is anywhere from 4 to 5 miles. Fast forward to round five of these sprints (I generally do 10 -15 sets) and I am now literally begging my leg (in my head, of course, I am not the crazy lady who talks to her appendages while exercising) to keep moving - we're half way there! Only my leg has decided it wants no part of this party and then BAM! Just like that my leg whips back and the stabbing pain that shot down my leg and straight into my lady parts was paralyzing. I simultaneously grab my crotch and the treadmill so I don't literally fly right off the back while trying to hit the big red emergency STOP button (the one no one ever things they will need to use) with my elbow so I can stop the track of death from turning.

While all of this is going on I am actually kind of quietly yelping, still holding my crotch and bent over the treadmill actually leaning on the display. The guy running next to me is eye cornering me in a way as if to say what in the fuck is wrong with you lady while also pretending like he is minding his own business and that there is no a girl holding her vagina on the treadmill next to him. Nope, nothing to see here!

One of my trainers walks in, sees me doubled over, hand on my crotch and it only takes me a second to explain I was stabbed in the vagina and OMG my leg won't move on its own. The treadmill killed my leg and lady parts! He was kind enough to try and calm me while asking me to please stop yelling crotch and vagina and asking how about we call it a groin, okay? He was clearly not getting it. I gave birth to two children and it never felt like I was being knifed in the hooha. Kicked in the crotch with a steel toed boot, yes, that I was familiar with. Stabbing, um, NO THANK YOU.

So it has been two-weeks and since that horrible night I have not been able to run, at all. No jogging, no trotting, hell I am hardly able to walk briskly. I kept attempting to do my other workouts (TRX, kick-boxing, spinning, etc) and all of them were causing me pain. The general consensus was a pulled groin. Jason said I needed to rest it completely and see a doctor, I ignored him and tried to workout. My husband always has to be right and I was totally thinking I could just work through this. I am no sissy, dammit.

Still, no luck. It wasn't getting better so last week I gave in and went to the doctor. It was bad news and he promptly sent me to a physical therapist. It turns out I have a 2nd degree partial tear / sprain of my groin and hamstring where they attach to my pelvic bone (aka my crotch)....I know all you heard was blah, blah, blah, right? Me too. Out of all of it all I heard was you can't do any leg workouts for the next two weeks, if not longer. My therapist kept talking and I zoned out and envisioned all my hard work from the past 3 months piling back on to my belly. Without exercise I would, without a doubt, gain back every pound I'd lost and lose every mile I had worked myself up to running.

I would have to start over. When my leg healed, I would have to start over. I went home and cried. Jason thought I was crazy for being so upset and reminded me it was an injury and I wasn't dying. He was also quick to offer me up a big dose of I told you so with a side of I'm always right. Sweet, I know. Since it was Halloween week I was lucky (or unlucky, in the long run) enough to have a shit load of candy to sit and eat while wallowing in my own pity party - with ice on my crotch.

Life lessons I have taken away from this so far (two therapy sessions in and still walking with a slight limp)? Exercise is over-rated, treadmills ruin lives and there is very little in life a Butterfinger can't make you feel better about.

I will be rocking some winter weight in no time.

The Things They Say

I have had numerous talks with my boys about how you can’t always say every single thought that crosses your mind. They are like loose cannons with diarrhea of the mouth. You just never know what is going to come flying out of them.

The tendency for my boys to spew out whatever they are thinking has taught me so much about how simple their minds are and also how I never was really, truly embarrassed until I had children.