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Does my Mom Hat Make my Butt Look Big?

I think it’s pretty obvious that things are getting rather domestic around the blog lately.

One of my friends told me (and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I totally agree) that my posts had gotten pretty apologetic for awhile there, so I’m not going to apologize for the change. . . but I am going to explain a little bit.

When I first started blogging, the label “Mommy Blogger” left a pretty gross taste in my mouth. I would always think of reading something a little like this:

“Hello friends. Today, little Thelonius pooped. After about two hours, he pooped again. Now, I know you won’t believe this, but that little ragamuffin waited another two hours and will you believe it? He pooped. Also, allow me to demonstrate to you how, with a little elbow grease, you can turn your apron into a toaster.”

Ugh. . . I hate reading stuff like that. I mean, sure, I relied on some blogs to learn about cloth diapering, and I love reading about handy tips and tricks to make my life easier, but I need some variety. . . and I don’t like to read the words of women who seem to have forgotten who they were before they became moms. My main goal when I started blogging was one of self-preservation, and focusing only on the mommy stuff would be pretty counter-productive in relation to that goal.

However.

That anti-mommy-blog-mentality was turning out to be a huge mental block for me. You can only pretend to be something you’re not for so long before it starts backfiring on you. I’m not sure exactly what I was pretending to be, but it definitely wasn’t myself.

I am a mom. I am a wife. I am still a Victorian Literature lover, but on the few reading-breaks that I get, my brain is looking for something a little easier to process. I still like Theatre. . . but I have no idea what to do with it right now, and I definitely don’t have time to do it.

What I’m doing right now is raising Charlie and being married to Paul. I’m trying to figure out how to make Charlie’s and my time as meaningful and enjoyable as possible. I’m trying to figure out how to manage our home so that Paul’s and my (very precious and rare) time together is as meaningful as possible.

So rather than trying to philosophize about crap I have nothing to do with, I’m going to turn my focus a little more inward. My writing is more enjoyable when I write about what I’m actually experiencing, rather than stuff I’d like to think I’m experiencing…if that makes sense.

I know I’m not the only person in the world struggling with the balance of domestic life and the preservation of their previous goals and self-image. Hopefully, by getting it all thought out and organized here, I’ll be able to make room for the other stuff I’d like to accomplish. . . and I hope that I’ll provide a little help to anyone else who feels the same way.

So, that being said, look out for more toddler activities, calorie (and mouth)-friendly recipes, non-boring (hopefully) stories about our days, and personal musings. A little different, and, hopefully, a little better.

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Glow Bath!

Happy February!

I’ve got another totally awesome, totally borrowed from Play at Home Mom, totally inexpensive bath game:

Rave Bath.

. . . or you can call it “glow bath” if you want, too. . . that’s probably more age-appropriate.

Anyway, bathtime around here is usually (unless Charlie’s screaming his lungs out because we tried to play with his bath toys) a nice break. One of us can hang out and read to Charlie while the other one can wash dishes or pick up the living room. . .or look at Facebook or read a book. Lately, though, his baths have been getting shorter and less pleasant, so we decided to switch it up a bit.

Paul stopped at the dollar store and bought some glow bracelets for. . .well, a dollar. 15 came in a pack, and for the fun that Charlie has with them, I’d say they’re pretty worth it. If you’re looking for them at Wal-mart, I found some in the birthday party section.

There really isn’t much explaining needed here, so I’ll just get on with the pictures. . .they’re not the best quality, but you get the idea.

This was one of those times where I forgot to turn off the flash. . .but I thought it might be nice to actually see what’s going on in at least one of the pictures. Please note that the grout in our tub is stained. . .it’s not actually that dirty!

Charlie in apparent awe (if you can see it) of the glow.

Glowing Shampoo Lasso of Truth!

Glow-belts are all the rage this season.

What I like most about the glow bath is that if Charlie is having one of those, “I’MSCREAMING AND I’M NOT SURE WHY AND NO I DON’T HAVE A FEVER AND NO I’MNOT HUNGRY I’M JUST SOAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNGGGGGGGGRRRRRRYYYYYYY!” moments, shutting off the lights, throwing in some glow sticks, and hanging out in the bath tub can usually make it stop.

Now, go! Go forth and spread the Glow!

. . .and if you don’t have kids, or are wondering, “Why do I care about this?”. . .you could probably still have a glow bath, too. I don’t think anyone here will judge you.

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Lazy, lazy, lazy.

Short one today. I need a little help from you guys again.

You see that cute kid over there? The one lazing about in his pajama pants watching tv? That’s a pretty good representation of how I’ve been feeling.

The past couple of weeks have been seriously lacking in motivation. I have (holy crap, thank goodness) developed plenty of motivation for blogging again, but I’ve lost it for all of the other stuff I was doing so well at. (I realize that a preposition is dangling at the end of that sentence. . . but I tried it the right way and I don’t like it as much. So there.)

Counting calories has become tedious for me, and since I’ve lost so much weight already, I’ve gotten complacent. By the time Charlie goes down for a nap in the afternoons, my motivation to exercise gets entirely thrown out the window.

For awhile there, I had all of these plans to get organized (I even went so far as to drive to Family Dollar and buy a bunch of plastic totes) and keep the house clean. Now there’s a pile of dishes in the sink that almost hits the ceiling.

I’ve been to all of the “clean your house in 15 minutes a day!” sites, and I know how to get organized…it’s just a matter of feeling like doing it.

Do any of you have some good motivational websites up your sleeves? I’m not even sure if I know what I’m asking for here… Some kind of site that isn’t syrupy-sweet and “dance like no one is watching”-stupid, but will make me want to GET THE EFF UP OFF OF MY BUTTand get stuff done?

Thanks, in advance, friends. I think the entire Bonk household will be appreciative of your input.

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Back to Beginner

Something happened today. Something I wasn’t expecting. Something. . . painful. Let me set the scene:

It’s the middle of the afternoon. There’s cilantro-lime chicken in the crockpot, which is making the apartment smell like food, which in turn is making me want to do anything but exercise. After reading a few extra blog posts and pinning a couple workout-motivational images on Pinterest, I was ready to try one of the new exercise DVDs I had gotten as a late Christmas present.

I didn’t feel like doing cardio or kickboxing, but the “sculpt-ilates” video sounded just about right. Cue the surprisingly healthy/normal-looking fitness expert (Robyn) on the TV screen. We start out slowly, doing some nice stretches and a little stepping to get the heart-rate up.

Robyn makes sure to remind the beginners to follow Kelsey over to her left, who’s doing slightly modified versions of the exercises, just to prevent injury.

Well, thanks, Robyn, but I’m cool. Sure, I’ve never done this DVD before, and I’ve probably done Pilates maybe twice before in my life, but it’s pretty much just like Yoga, right? No offense, Kelsey, but I’m good.

Let’s fast-forward a little bit…and by a little bit, I mean 4 minutes. As we’re still in warm-up mode, I bend down and do some kind of “saw” move. . .and I feel a little bit of a twinge in my right thigh.

Huh. Interesting.

Next, we bend down and point our fingers towards our toes and. . .

Ow, ow, owowowowowow! Son of a—

(Insert hushed swearing so as not to wake the sleeping Charlie.)

That would be about the time my body was like, “Oh, heeeeeeeey there. Remember me? I couldn’t help but notice that you’re being a big old jerk to my friend Right Thigh over here. Poor Right Thigh isn’t a 22 year old Right Thigh anymore, and would probably appreciate it if you sucked up your pride and followed Kelsey over to Robyn’s left. BUT since you were a jerk today, you can just go ahead and sit today’s exercise out. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

And, grudgingly, I guess I have.

Now, before I hear a chorus of “Oh, pshaw! You’re not old! You’re 26 for God’s sake! Quit whining! Poppycock! Balderdash! Rabble rabble rabble!”, I’d like to just say, “Hey. Just let me have this 5 minutes of bitching. My leg hurts.”

My poor, poor leg is getting older. I am getting older and since I haven’t been a super-athletic workout junkie for the past . . .well, ever. . . I should probably listen to the lady when she says, “Beginners, follow Kelsey over here.”

Am I old? No. I know that. Am I getting older? Well, shyeah. (The “sh” in front of “yeah” is intentional. Say it out loud with a little bit of a 16 year old ‘tude. You’ll get it.)

Everyone reaches one of those humbling moments when they have to come to terms with the fact that they no longer fit into the “nubile young teen” category. This was mine.

That’s it. That’s really all I’ve got. Charlie’s about to wake up and I’m about ready to dig into my crockpot. I need you guys to make me a promise, though. If you’re experiencing even a hint of uncertainty, just give in and follow Kelsey. There’s no shame in being able to stand upright and finish your exercise.