This morning Muffin was decidedly not absolutely delightful.

Every step of our morning was a battle. I was already feeling weary by 8:30am, when we got in the car to go to baseball camp, where I was absolutely delighted to unload him.

Things were better after I turned on the car radio to drown out his whining. He starts bopping and singing and I start smiling, giving myself kudos on how I brilliantly redirected his annoying behavior. Then it happens.

Out of nowhere, my cute little cherub bleats out “DAMN”! Then before I can get my wits about me, he does it again! “DAMN!”

Really? Did he just say that? Twice!

“Where did you hear that word?”, I asked. “I don’t know. Damn!”, my 4 year old songbird bleated again.

At this point I explained to him that “Damn” isn’t a nice word for a 4 year old to be saying and that he should say darn instead.

“But that’s not what the song says, Mommy. La la la, DAMN!”, he sings happily.

“No, way Mister. This song certainly does not use that word.”, I state (with conviction).

“La La La, DAMN!”

Stop doing that!”, I growl.

The song ends and he switches from profanity back to whining, continuing the theme of the morning. As I drop him off at camp, I give him a lecture on turning his attitude around, which I am sure is falling on deaf ears.

As I’m leaving camp, the same song comes on the radio. Sure enough there are several “damns” in the damn song.

Oops.

When I come back to pick him up I see that he’s delightful with his coaches and fellow campers. Oh good! His mood must be better now, I think.

Really, Rookie?!

Really?

Have you learned nothing in 4 years?

As soon as I get him away from the field he’s once again reverted to whiney (I think it’s reserved for mommy – I feel special). As I’m trying to get Muffin and his little sister into the car, he’s being extremely uncooperative. “Please get into the car.”, “No, don’t climb through your sister’s side.”, “Please sit in your car seat.”, “No, don’t reach into the middle console – there is no candy.”, “No, you may not have candy.”, “Please get in your car seat, NOW.”, “Get in your car seat!”, “IN YOUR CAR SEAT! NOW!”

So then he replies, “I’m too busy!”

What?!?!

“No, Mommy. I’m too BUSY turning my attitude around.”

Evidently.

If this isn’t a clear illustration of fashion genius, I don’t know what is.

Typically I choose the daily dress for my little Muffin Man, but clearly I should be letting his inner fashionista shine through. For this delightful ensemble, he whipped off his pants, turned his shirt backwards, put on mommy’s boots and…wham! Fashion brilliance.

Recently Muffin has started to become particular with what he wears. For a long time, I used to be able to dress him in whatever I wanted and he wouldn’t say a peep. Except for that one time when he was a toddler and I tried to put a jean jacket on him and he shrieked, “No pants! No pants on my arms!!!!”

Then I realized how far a marathon was.

And how close 30 years old was.

Well, now at over30yearsold, I have been inspired by my friend who is running her half off, training for a half marathon. And doing awesome, I might add! So, now I’m training for a half marathon myself! I’m not sure I’m actually going to do the half marathon, but I want to train for it and know that I can run one.

Yesterday a 5 miler was on the training schedule. And not only did I complete it – I felt great doing it! It’s the fathest I’ve ever run before. Huge hills. I went 5.09 mi (yes, I do want accolades for the .09 mi extra) and did it in 51:25 minutes with an average pace of 10’06″! This was the end of my second week of training! I know some of you may be thinking 5 miles is nothing and a pace of 10′ is lame, however I am so proud of myself because I started out two weeks ago at an average pace of about 12′ per mile and that was for a 2 mile run with only one average hill. I don’t have a running partner but my Nike GPS app is my running partner and it’s awesome. It records all my stats so I can track myself and compete against myself. In order to keep to my training schedule, I have even gone out running occasionally with Madam Poopsalot (who is now 20 lbs) in the single Bumbleride stroller. I have always seen myself as a slow runner person who sometimes runs. Now I am becoming a runner and I’m proud of myself!

And this brings us to the title of this post…

About midway into my run, I passed a snail. About 3 miles later I passed the same snail. Mr. Snail had only gone about 1/2 a foot in his journey, while I had run 3 miles during that time. So, it’s official, I am now faster than a snail. Wooohooo!

Anyways, I recently read that she is a regular at the classes at the Physique 57 studio in NYC. I suppose that NYC is a tad out of my fitness radius, but Physique 57 does have a workout video and guess who is now the proud owner of it?! Oh, yeah! Goodbye Butt by Nutella!

The goal of the Physique 57 workout is to really fatigue the muscles by working them with small isometric moves and then stretch them out. The way the muscles are worked and then stretched is supposed to give you long lean muscles, like that of a ballerina. All you need is a high-back chair, light weights, and a playground ball. The video moves quickly with very little downtime in explanation, which I like. The burn is pretty intense.

Even Muffin likes the videos. Here we are doing the Arms & Ab Booster.

Unfortunately, Muffin’s interest lasted about 60 seconds and then he was climbing all over me, making completion of the video impossible.

Back in March I courageously admitted that I was a Bumbleride addict and professed my love and decided to leave Bob (that’s “Bob” of the stroller-variety).

Well, this weekend something happened and I thought our torrid love affair may be over. For months I have been somewhat annoyed by the fact that the “crotch-pad” (for lack of a better word), the cover that slides over the belting system at baby’s crotch, keeps slipping off every time my preschooler gets out of the stroller. It’s not so bad with the baby’s exit because I am taking her out, but my son just slides out and with him goes the crotch-pad. I have been thinking for a while now that this is the one flaw of the Bumbleride Indie and Bumbleride Indie Twin and have been annoyed each time it happens. However, the infraction wasn’t enough to end the love affair altogether. You know, it’s kind of like how a husband’s weird quirk grates on you…like how when he flosses his teeth he licks the flossed bits off the floss! Ewwwww! Well anyways, my point is, while it’s highly irritating it’s not anything to get a divorce over.*

And this crotch-pad thing is kind of like that. However, on Sunday the “floss” finally almost broke the Bumbleride Addict’s back. As I was outside of Von’s I let my son out of the stroller and we go in to shop. After shopping, I go to put him back in the stroller and notice that the crotch-pad is gone! OMG!!!! A tragedy of epic proportions!!!! Okay, so some of you may say, “Big deal!” but for someone who has OCD tendencies towards her strollers I freaked! We spent 20 minutes retracing our steps and asking at the lost-and-found but there was nary a crotch-pad to be found. I went home dejected, completely annoyed, and with a few choice words for Bumbleride (and myself)!

Fast forward to this morning when I called the San Diego office of Bumbleride. I told them how I had lost the crotch-pad because it falls off so easily and asked if they could please send me a replacement. “Of course”, they said! They would be happy to! The woman was so nice and friendly and she even told me how to prevent another loss! I told her how I had been thinking of jerry-rigging the stroller so the crotch-pad would stay put better but hadn’t yet gotten to it. She suggested sewing some tacking into the back of the crotch pad to connect it with the strap inside. That way the crotch-pad (or “belt- cover” as Bumbleride more eloquently calls it) can still be easily removed for washing by simply cutting the tacks.

So, in addition to top-notch strollers, Bumbleride also has top-notch customer service. I am impressed and still deeply in love.

*Dr. McCutiePants no longer does this. Once I pointed out the sheer grossness of it (and refused to be within sight or sound of him when he flossed his teeth) he quickly changed his ways.

Muffin (holding his baby sister):
“Madam Poopsalot will be my friend when she grows up.”

Madam Poopsalot:
“Tooooooooooot!”

Muffin (very serious):
“That’s okay. She can poop on me.”

Now that is dedication and enlightenment! I am so proud.

Then I hold my breath and wait for the answer.

Thankfully, so far each time he responds with, “No, I like my crib”. There is in fact a God! We just came back from a 10 day trip to Canada and since Muffin is too big for a pack-n-play, we were forced to go the big boy bed route on the trip.

For the first time ever.

On our “vacation”.

Stupid? Kinda.

The first night we were staying with my friends in Vancouver, where we were sleeping in the same room as Muffin. OMG – nothing to contain him and sleeping in the same room? I knew that was to be a recipe for disaster. The first night went something like this:

8:00pm – Put Muffin and Madam Poopsalot to bed.
8:02pm – Muffin gets up out of his AWESOME Taun Taun sleeping bag and comes upstairs where Mommy, Daddy & friends are trying to eat a kidless dinner.
8:45pm – after taking Muffin back to bed and lying with him a while I go back upstairs to eat my cold dinner and drink my warm wine
8:50pm – we hear strange noises coming from muffin’s room. I go to investigate and find all (and I mean ALL) of our hosts children’s toys scattered on the floor with Muffin in the eye of the tornado, playing happily.

I marched Muffin back to bed and the dance continued for hours. We finally gave up and decided to go to bed ourselves. Muffin was, of course, delighted and still awake and wanting to play. The rest of the night was even more painful. His Taun Taun sleeping bag was beside our blow up mattress on the floor. I closed my eyes and tried not to engage him but he’d come up and try to pry my eyelids open while whispering (within an inch of my face), “Mommy, are you awake? Mommy, are you sleeping? Mommy, let’s play”. Aggravatingly painful – I was so tired and just wanted to sleep!

That night I got about 3 hours of sleep and so did Muffin. As you can imagine we were both very pleasant the next day. Actually, he was fine. Energizer Bunny – remember? I, on the other hand…

Mercifully, that was only for two nights. Then off to my mom’s house where we had a different room for each child and ourselves. This went much better. Though we still had some issues. With no toys in his bedroom at Grandma’s, Muffin now had to be creative.

He dug deep.

About 30 mins after we put him to bed, he comes out of his room and says he’s not tired. Admittedly, in Vancouver in the summertime it is light out until about 10pm, which Muffin is not used to. So, as I gently turn him around to walk him back to bed I see what has been keeping him busy for the past 30 mins. He’s got his blanky and baby bear and puppy and flatopotamus stuffed into his pajama bottoms. Although, not conducive to our tactical plan to get him to sleep, we had to allow ourselves a good laugh and stop for a photo on the way back to bed.

A few weeks ago, I had a couple of fillings replaced at the dentist and I actually enjoyed it! Being able to lie down in the middle of the day and close my eyes for a whole 60 minutes! Uninterrupted! Never mind that that glorious hour also included multiple needle pokes and drilling of teeth. Beggars can’t be choosers. If the baby doesn’t stop crying by 3am, I’ll be forced to begin continue the nightly ritual of chocolate-snarfing in hopes of more downtime in the dentist chair!

Isn’t it?
Right?
I’m right, aren’t I?

Who would think pairing a monster and a nightlight would be a good idea? Apparently Circo does. And my husband.

I sent he and Muffin to Target last weekend to pick a nightlight out because as of the past week Muffin has wanted the lights on when he sleeps. Well, Dr. McCutiePants came back with this….

When questioned by my raised eyebrow, he said that it was the one that Muffin picked out himself and really wanted. Hmmmm, okay. Well, we’ll try it but Mommy is thinking a glowing green monster is not going to help him get over being afraid of the dark. Astonishingly, it did! I thought I’d have to eat my words.

But then Muffin saved me the trouble.

The second night I could tell that there was some unease starting to bubble to the surface. So, that night when I tucked Muffin in, I also tucked Monster in and even gave them both a kiss goodnight.

About an hour later it happened.

I hear a blood curdling scream coming from Muffin’s room. I’m talking a scream that would put Psycho’s Scream Queen, Janet Lee’s shower performance to shame. At that moment, I knew Monster was going back to Target.

Dashing into Muffin’s room, I found him quivering in the far corner of his crib staring and pointing at Monster saying, “He turned! He turned!”. Meanwhile Monster was just staring back with his vacant eyes and sharp-toothed smile. No amount of convincing would make Muffin realize that Monster is in fact friendly. In no uncertain terms Muffin requested that Monster be immediately banished from the bedroom and returned to the store.

Muffin has not asked for the lights to be left on, or for another nightlight since. Thanks Circo, for helping my child resolve his fear of the dark and saving me fifteen bucks.

Okay, so back to Mother’s Day and the post that I have been wanting to write for the past month. It’s about mother-in-laws. Specifically mine.

Mother-in-laws have a bad rap. Whenever I talk to my friend L, she brings up her mother-in-law, whom she loathes. In a gush of verbal diarrhea, she will list her mother-in-law’s most recent offences: she showed up unexpectedly, she stayed for hours, she “reorganized” the kitchen drawers. Then, pausing a moment to catch her breath, L will say, “Oh, you know how it is,” as if all daughter-in-laws belong to some anti-mother-in-law (not-so) secret society where we rage and commiserate about our inherited misfortune.

Well, here’s the thing: I do not belong to that club. I am one of those rare women who happen to love their mother-in-law. I got a good one and I fully recognize it. I am lucky, yes.

My mother-in-law is one of the savviest and generous women I know. She doesn’t deserve the bad rap that so many MILs get. I’ll admit though, I was a little worried before I met her. It was while Dr. McCutiePants and I were still just dating. Upon being “prepped” for my first meeting with her I was told that she was very assertive and very frank. “She’ll tell you exactly what she thinks,” I was warned. I wondered if she’d size me up and then announce brazenly, “Nope, not for my son!”

Our first time meeting each other was at a local dive bar in downtown San Francisco. The restaurant at which we had intended on meeting wasn’t yet open and so this was the closest thing open that served alcohol. They had just finished a round of golf and were fresh from the course and thristy. Later I would learn that she was chagrined that this was the venue of our first introduction. Well, maybe only slightly chagrined…she thought it was terribly funny.

That evening I realized that Dr. McCutiePants was right: his mother was very direct and unmistakably in charge. I was instantly captivated. She was strong, self-assured, and engaging. She was not afraid to speak her mind…and yet she also was very aware of the feelings and situation of others. Best of all, she had raised two boys to be very good men.

During the 6 years that I have known her, she has taught me a lot – everything from how to fold a fitted sheet so well that you’d swear it was a flat sheet to how to make the perfect yorkshire pudding. But more than anything else, she’s shown me a picture of a devoted and successful wife, mother, and woman. Although we are different in many more ways than we are similar, occasionally my husband will say, “Boy, sometimes I think I married my mother!”. I can’t think of a nicer compliment.

Sadly, she passed away from cancer last September. She fought hard and bravely, and with grace. Her funeral had over 250 attendees and was standing room only. She touched the lives of many and was very loved. I didn’t get enough time with her. None of us did. But her huge strong personality lives on, guiding us and still making us laugh.