Things That Violet Wishes For

Violet has been on a kick lately....a wish kick. She will randomly express her equally random wishes apropos of nothing. The result: Pure Bobcat Magic.
While making meatballs just now, prompting me to write these things down:
"Mom, I wish we were all elephants."
While getting ready to watch a movie:
"Mom, I wish there was a button right here on the wall that would turn our house into a giant bouncy house. With balls. And a slide that would be right here."
Getting into the tub:
"Mom, I wish our house was made of rainbows."
At Walmarts in the dairy aisle:
"I wish I had pink teeth."
In the same vein, she has wished for pink hair, a pink skateboard, pink feet, and on one memorable occasion, she wished my Kitchen Aid was pink.

Two recurring favorites: "I wish Grover could talk" and (sadly) "I wish we could all move in with daddy in his big house with the playground" (Ummmmmm...Daddy lives at his shop, and there is no playground, dear)

I will capture more of these, I know I have forgotten a couple...the point is this: I too wish for a house made of rainbows that would turn into a bouncy house. My hair IS pink, and I wish my Kitchen Aid was too. Violet is wise beyond her years. I'm not so sure about the elephant thing, though.

"I wish I had some pink goggles."
"Mama, I wish all the world was matching."
"I wish it was fishing Christmas." Me: "What????" Vi: "Fishing Christmas, so Santa would bring me a princess fishing pole."

Bring It!

Ok, so I have made it to day 5 of P90X, and let me tell you, this workout is AWESOME. I have an update on my stick-to-itiveness worries......I have been crippled with the worst cold I have had since the swine flu, but I am showing up anyway, and doing my 'best' which translates to about 70% of my actual best. If I can do this beast with this raging cold, then I guess I can do it next week without....and the week after and so on and so on and doo be doo be doo be. I am thrilled with the workout videos, since every day is different, and some I can rock out and some leave me weeping and puking on the floor. You know it's a real workout when the guy leading you on the video starts the workout with "Welcome to Plyometrics, I hope you have your little bucket handy". And that dude ain't joking. Hopping till you puke never used to be my idea of a good time, but I am bound and determined to work harder next time. This whole program is so up my alley. Like I said before, I want to KNOW that I am working out, and this thing lets you KNOW! Getting up at 5 am is less fun....but I am trying to find a time when I can be completely alone - these are long intense workouts, and they are harder to do if you are putting on another show or fetching someone a cheese stick in the middle...kind of breaks up the old concentration. Next week it will be 4:30....ugh. Got to get it done before school....but like I said before: EXCUSE LIMIT ZERO!

Don't Look Now, I Have Turned Touchy Feely

So this weekend I get my wish: a REAL workout. I have issues with treading on a treadmill or ellipting on an elliptical or barely working up a sweat when I work out. This is not to say that I am in shape, I just like to FEEL like I am working out when I work out. So the other half of Team Beer Pike (that is to say the Pikes) bought P90X, and promptly gave it to my hub for his birthday. Now if that ain't a kick in the taint I don't know what is....KIDDING. We all decided that it was time to not go gently into that dark night simultaneously, and if you read my blog, you know that I want to be HOT (or at least hottER), then Renee bought the shit, and before I could give her our half, it was a birthday gift....million thanks, by the way, we love you! So tonight marks my last night of having a guilt free drink for a week(I am officially giving it up, aside from Friday nights) tomorrow is my shopping for workout clothes, a chin up bar, new dumbbells, as well as the dreaded FIT TEST which I am sure will prove that I should just give up and lie down in my grave. Then it starts on Sunday.......I am excited and nervous. Nervous because I am doubting my own fortitude and / or stick-to-itiveness. Excited because I want to be that mom where people say "HOLY SHIT you have four kids????" not "You look good, I mean, you've had four kids". It may not seem like a big distinction, but it is to me. I have to take measurements (ugh) and PICTURES (double ugh) but I don't have to weigh myself, which is good. I am fundamentally against scales outside of the deli department. I weigh what I weigh. I know when I am heavy, and I know what weight suits me, and it has NOTHING to do with height weight ratio charts or body mass indexes. People who knew me for the brief period wherein I weighed what the charts would have me weigh were worried and tried to hook me up to a cheeseburger IV. I'm not saying those charts are wrong for everyone, they are just wrong for me. I owned a scale once, and when it had a nice warm coat of dust, I threw it away. Weighing yourself is for accurate medication dosage, and that number should play no part in your self image. Easy to say coming from someone described recently by her oldest friend as having this attitude "I'm Patty. Look how hot I am." I cannot argue with her, because she is true. As I am barfing out this blog entry I am thinking, "Why am I saying these things?" The answer is because beautiful is how YOU feel about it. Not what someone else thinks. This is backed up by the unwritten blog entry "How my Husband Ruins My Efforts at Losing Weight". I stand in front of the mirror, disgusted at myself, he thinks that is a mating signal. I pinch the fat roll at my side, he sidles up to me and purrs. It has nothing to do with anything except for one simple fact: In his mind I am, and will forever be, 27. Hairstyles and colors will come and go, wrinkles multiply, breasts head south....in his mind, I am at my peak of awesomeness. I only know this because that is how I think of him...the black and white photo I took of him when we lived in the apartment on Hampshire Street, wearing a black tee shirt with his arms over his head leaning into a doorway. Full head of jet black hair (OK, as full a head as James Beer has ever had) no wrinkles, no stress induced white peppering his head, children still in the future...head filled with going to the bar with his hot new wife and then taking her to bed that night. We all need to remember this: We may have a different picture of ourselves in our head that our physical selves may or may not match, but the people who love us have a different picture too. One that reminds them why they fell in love with us, that is etched on their hearts. Man, I need to stop...that turned all squishy really fast. Have a great weekend!

Enough Whining

I came to a realization the other day: I have it pretty flipping easy around here. I whine a lot about not having my man around, and I whine about wanting to move, and I bitch incessantly about the kids, and all the people I love tell me I am doing a great job. Yes, I have 4 kids with whom I spend all of my time with in a nothing little town where I know almost no one and interact with less people than that. I know that 4 days a week I am a stay at home single mother with all the weight of the world on her shoulders. We can't sell our house, I am so alone, I want to be near my hubby and my friends........BLAH BLAH BLAH. Here is the real deal - I am going to be honest with myself and everyone else (Renee) that reads my blog. I am living an easy easy life. Yep, I have the horde to deal with breakfast lunch and dinner, and there is cleaning and homework and issues and pooping....but when those things are out of the way, I am on my own. I can do whatever I like all day long. Here's to the women who go to work...I think of difficult things to cook for fun. Here's to the REAL single moms out there....I wait for Friday (Thursday if I am lucky) and hand off the horde to a willing and able man who is happy to cook and let me nap. Here's to the women who work AND have kids...God bless you, no one cares if I get dressed in the morning. My kids help me clean, help me take care of them, and generally make things pretty easy for me. Do they drive me crazy? YES. But they all go to bed every night and then I am alone. All these things would actually change if we ever DID sell this house. I would have another mouth to feed, for one thing. I would have more laundry. I would no longer be able to completely pass the kids off to James every weekend. I would have to get dressed, as I doubt anywhere I live would be secluded enough to let me wear my PJs most days. (especially while gardening) I would have THINGS TO DO....with no excuse to get me out of it. So this is me, thanking my lucky stars for the vacation from real life that I have been given. May as well make the most of it, I guess....I really DO have it pretty easy.