Stinky Flowers

It was a great family day of sleeping in, lounging in our PJs and a huge wrestle / tickle fest. Nate proclaimed, “Wew, Daddy I’m sweaty!” and he pulled off his shirt. Not to be outdone, Zeke yelled, “No, I’m sweaty!” and pulled off his shirt. More wrestling, more tickling. Then Nate threw his arms around Mark’s neck and his little sweaty arm pit made a “toot” sound on his Daddy’s shoulder. Uncontrollable, gut-wrentching, roll-on-the-ground laughter ensued for many, many minutes. Nothing like a “toot” joke, folks.

Then it happened. Mark pulled off his shirt and said, “Hey, boys…watch this!” and everything went to slow motion. I saw him reach his right hand towards his left arm pit. I shrieked (also in slow-mo), “NnnnnOoooo!!!!!” and dove over my son’s to shield their eyes.

But it was too late.  ”Ppppfffffttttt!!!” He showed them the  arm pit “toot”.

As soon as he did it, Mark realized what he had just unleashed. He looked up at me with wide-eyed horror and mouthed, “I’m soooo sorry.”

Life as I knew it… is over. {sigh}

I apologize to everyone in advance for my son’s behavior.

…and I’m going  to the gym.

Supposedly, everyone’s “rock bottom” is different and you have to hit “it” in order to make the big life changes.

I’m not a drug addict, alcoholic or compulsive gambler. Heck, I’m not even over weight. I AM, however, out of shape. Huffing and puffing and gasping for air every time I lifted my son up onto the potty was my first red flag.  Huffing and puffing every time I lifted myself onto the potty was my second.

It’s easy to put off the gym when you’re still in a size six. Even though I swear my arms are going to fly off my shoulders when I push my sons on the swing and I’ve put a harness on my dog to help me get up off the floor… the number six on the tag in my clothes lulls me back into denial…until yesterday:

I decided to take the boys to Animal Kingdom and get them out of the house. They’re on Thanksgiving holiday, Mark was at work and the cleaning company had just waved their wands over my castle and everything was sparkling. The weather was perfect and we were having a great time. The daydreams of no one at my house, messing it up drowned out the noise of brothers fighting over a Lego guy’s gun. Waiting in line to meet Pooh, Eeyore and Tigger was pretty good. Lots of things to look at and the excitement of meeting them was passing the time. When it was our turn, I took the boys by the hand and led them over to Tigger. We all bent down and I reached out to shake Tigger’s hand. Nate gasped liked he saw a ghost. “MOMMY! Your arm turned into rubber! Why did it do that? Does it hurt? (wiggle, wiggle, wiggle)”

Right before I hit rock bottom...and punched Tigger for laughing.

So.  Yoga.  Monday.  9 AM.  Join me. I’ll be the one wearing long sleeves.

I will admit some fault.  I did choose 2 days before Halloween to change my hair color.

None-the-less…

Being asked by SEVERAL women, “Wow! You really go all out for Halloween, huh?” still felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Thanks, “Sistas”. Way to make a girlfriend feel “Witchy”.

This is my hair color before. (Yes, that's a real gator & snake...help me, please.)

After. Sure, it's bright, but Halloween? Really?

Sometimes a Super Hero has to hide their super powers and not use them for petty selfish reasons…

Superman doesn’t use his X-ray vision to peep where he shouldn’t; Spiderman doesn’t use his web to wrap up Mary Jane and keep her as his love-slave…ehem…but I digress…

When I received this comment, I didn’t use my super heckler come-back power to say, “No, it’s not for Halloween…it’s your husband’s favorite color.”

With great power, comes great responsibility…

Sometimes it’s really hard to be burdened with this ability and only be able to use it for the good of all mankind.