Time to Change the Channel

I have never really been a fan of kids music. The songs are too sweet, sing songy and like freakin' duct tape to my head. John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt...shoot me now. Head Shoulders Knees and Toes...poke my eye out.
B-I-N-G-O...go ahead and commit me to the asylum.

That being said, we don't ever listen to kids music in the car (for fear of me driving head on into oncoming traffic) and we just listen to the radio. That is...until today when the lyrics got in our way.

We're driving home from the grocery store, jamming out in my pimped out volvo wagon, sun roof open, windows down, be-bopping our way home. It was great. Then the little questioner from the back seat says, "Mommy, why do they want her to get down? They say she is on top, and then she should get down"

silence from the front seat

"Mooommmmy, why, why do they want her to get down? She's on top right?"

unrestrained giggling from the front seat

"it's a silly song isn't it Mommy. I thought it was silly too."

So that's how I had to throw a bone to kids music and change the station.

I'll be the one with the noise cancelling earphones driving my kids around. Now that's silly!

What $1 at Target will get you

His choice, not mine. But I certainly enjoyed pushing the two of them around in the cart at Target. We got lots of attention...some good...some bad...but we didn't care. Attention is attention in this house!

Are you kidding me?

No joke, this is what my husband thinks is a good present for our 3.5 year old son.

He claims that not all of the figures have guns. Do you see any? They must be the ones with the grenades.

Will anyone let their children play at my house anymore? I'm not sure I would.

I'm not over-reacting am I? Is he going to be a school shooter? An NRA member? A...gasp...Republican????

Penis overload

No...this is not a perverted blog, I swear.

It is just a rant about my 3.5 year old is OBSESSED with his winky, pee pee, ding-a-ling, or whatever you want to call it. And to be honest I just don't know what to do about it.

Do I make rules about where and when he can touch it? Perhaps post them on the fridge for everyone to see?

Do I ignore it and look the other way when he has his hands down his pants at birthday parties, swim lessons, and everwhere in between? This will be one way to help him keep track of his toys as no one else will want to play with them!

Do I embrace all this touching and feeling? no, no, no...jokes about this will just get totally perverse and make even me blush!

Whatever the course I take, I have to do something. All this penis exposure is just too much. He, on the other hand, seems fine with it and finds new uses for his appendage at every turn. In fact, today he realized that it was a good place to hang his swim goggles.

Just be glad there are no pictures for this blog!

weighing in

OK...seriously, who the hell am I kidding? Myself, no. The woman behind the counter, no. The people waiting in line behind me, no. And who the hell cares? Only me.

So I ask you, why do I follow the same ridiculous routine each time I go to weigh in at Weight Watchers?

• light as a feather workout gear- check
• flip flops (so to avoid wearing those REALLY heavy socks)- check
• no food or drink since 8pm last night- check
• gone to bathroom 15 times to squeeze out that last ounce of pee- double check
• stripped down to nearly naked-check

When I first started the program this fall, I swore I wouldn't go through with this routine (yes, yes, this is patterned behavior that I am very familiar with.) I arrived wearing corduroys, a shirt, and socks...big fat heavy ones...and proudly stepped on the scale. I even managed to keep it up for the first few weeks. But then I had one week where maybe I had a few too many glasses of wine, girl scout cookies, or nachos with queso (just examples people!!), so without even thinking about it, I reverted right back to my "weigh-in" behavior.

And now I am stuck.

If I go back to say...jeans...I might not show the correct amount of weight loss because those pants are so much heavier than my almost see-through, not even comfortable, but light as a feather, black yoga pants. You can spout all your rational thoughts at me, like I'll just have to suffer one week of adjustment, or the clothes don't really make that much difference, or even that eating breakfast doesn't effect your weight that much. But in my heart of hearts, this is the behavior that I embrace.

I can only change one life-habit at a time. We're working on food now, next step...neuroses