PhotobucketThe house is finally quiet.

The chaos and energy that is soccer night but a memory washed away with the sweat and sand that circles the tub drain.







I'm already in my pj's.   It's 8:30 pm.
It's not much of a wardrobe change really.  Since I did rock the yoga pants and tank top to Monkey Boy's soccer game.


OK -  Fine - I've rocked them pretty much all week.
No - not the same pair.  sheesh.  that would be, like totally pathetic slackerish.

I am not this mom:


Kudos to Posh though for making it work.  My hats off to you.
It's probably a dirty and sun faded trucker one...sorry bout that.

Although, I do like to wear a nice strappy stiletto or peep toe when the occasion calls for it.
(it rarely does, anymore.)

I have vague recollections of spending hours to get ready for a night out on the town.   Music blaring, drinks appropriately girlie,  squeezing together to peer in that tiny bathroom mirror.   The bedroom a clothing, shoe and accessory laden abandoned war-field.   A fashion tornado had just swept through and all that did not glitter was cast asunder.     "Image first!" was our rally cry as we stood in long line-ups in freezing February in our shiny midriff baring tops.

Now?   Whatever is laying on the deacon's bench at the foot of the bed.   And there will be none of this midriff baring stuff, I assure you.    And I only want to stand in freezing cold temperatures when a hot flash strikes.    I fear my 21 year old self wants to have a serious talk with the newly 40 something "comfort over style" SAHM.    I am quite certain the first question will be, "what did you do to my ass?!"

Well, dear 21 year old me, I am trying to do something about that.

I've been doing my free weights, my lunges, my squats, and my burpees
(you dirty ##%$%$ who invented that exercise of torture... if I am not down a size in 3 weeks, I am coming for you.  and I am bringing smores cupcakes which I will force-feed to you until you frickin love them.  Love them I say!!)

Holy crap - where all those happy endorphins I am supposed to be feeling?    Oh sure, they last for a few dizzy moments after your workout is done.   But now.....it's just pain.    They told me I would feel great about myself.  That I would feel like a new me!  
They lie!    B@stards.
 I don't feel "new"......I feel old and tired, and even my hair hurts.

Why?  Why does my hair hurt?

And Left Brain.   Oh you love him, dontcha.
My super supportive bring me a coffee when I merely think of it and rub my feet DH.    Indulges me in my fantasy obsessions of too young and too big blue eyed celebs.  
Go for a bike ride, he says.    So I do.
I look totally adorable in a bike helmet - s'sly.   I'll show him.

I admit it - it was fun for awhile.    I kinda felt like I hit a groove for a moment.  The warm wind was in my hair, the sun just setting and the sky a bursting Crayola box of colour.    So beautiful.

And then I hit a pothole.   And another.   And maybe a dead bird -- I'm not sure.  I may have shut my eyes for a moment when the pain burst through me because....

....I am pretty sure I broke my vagina.

There.  I just said vagina on my blog.

See, no good can come from leaping out of your comfort zone.

In hindsight, even though they be hideous and all things spandex should be cursed and burned:

perhaps I should have opted for the padded bike shorts.
 warm wishes sign