Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Daily workouts relieve stress?

My husband and I have a contest going on, to see which one of us will have the better set of abs, by the time he returns from deployment. As I was getting dressed this morning I found myself studying my abs. I actually have nice abs. Unfortunately they are scared of cold temperatures, and are bundled underneath a nice warm layer of, what I like to think of as "The ab quilt".

So while I stare in dumbstruck wonder as my freshly cleaned living room is demolished, within mere minutes of letting the small ones loose, a little demented voice in the back of my mind chants "Tighten your abs Tighten your abs. Tighten your abs.". And, like any self-respecting mother on the verge of sobbing, I do exactly what the little voice tells me.
I tighten my abs as I remove the glass hurricane lamp from the grasp of the visiting 13-month old (while wondering how she manage to get it off the shelf 4 feet above her head).

I tighten my abs as I wrestle wooden blocks and duplos from the dog's grasp and replace it with the nylabone, that clearly isn't as much fun as legos.

I tighten my abs as I scrub peanut butter off of the walls, and search through a sea of k'nex for the right piece to the 4 year old's pirate ship.

I tighten my abs while I prepare 18 snacks for two children.

I forget to tighten my abs when the 13-month old starts eating the dog food, and table dancing.

I forget where my abs are when the 4 year old has a nervous breakdown because his stuffed dog wandered off.

I cannot comprehend the meaning of the word "tighten" unless it is in reference to the grip one child has on another child's hair.

By the end of the day, as I'm sitting down, with my feet propped up, indulging in something containing dark chocolate, I decide before we take off our shirts to compare abs, my dear husband has to drink a 6-pack.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Helpful Household Hint #1

White grape juice is not a suitable alternative for floor polish.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Dear Heloise,

I can't begin to explain how much I appreciate your column in the local newspaper. As a matter of fact I subscribe to the paper just for the pleasure of reading your column and the comics. I have to be careful with how much "news" I actually read, as I have an overactive imagination, and a deployed husband. I'm sure you can understand my reasoning.

I'm getting off topic though. I'm not entirely sure if it's because of the uncanny resemblance you have to my previous preacher's wife, or just because you seem to be reaching out toward slightly-inept homemakers like myself, but I feel a certain camaraderie with you. Well you and Christopher Lowell. Maybe it's because the two of you seem to have the perfect philosophies for Flylady dropouts, again, like myself. One huge cleaning and purging extravaganza a la Christopher, and expertly paired with your household hints. It's wonderful.

Unfortunately I just can't seem to get the knack of being on top of everything. At the same time. As soon as I clean one room, two more need to be condemned. The laundry never stops, and let's not even get started on the pet hair. Forget horror films like "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", a true terrorifying movie would focus on science experiments in the refrigerator, pet hair in places you never imagined it could be, and workout clothes that were forgotten in a gym bag for much too long.

I think my one redeeming quality is that my house does NOT smell like pets.
The truth is, I'm just a May Paring aspiring to be a June Cleaver.