(You can read version 1.0 here.)
I am supposed to be working out right now--doing lunges and crunches and the elliptical machine. Or, even better, lounging by myself poolside. But, instead I am heating up bagel bites and drinking Sam Adams (Hefeweizen). It was just one of those days.
It all started out fine, but then Becca did one of her famous Nap Strikes That Make Your Mother's Ears Bleed and screamed and cried for 2 hours instead. "I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! My boo boo hurts! I'm not tired! My boo boo hurts! I need ICE! MAMA! I need ice!" You know. The routine.
Fine, I thought. I will just load these rugrats up and head to the gym where I can drop them off with people more in the mood to deal with irrational small people. People who get paid (a lot) to do it. There, I will workout a while, then go out to the adult pool and swim and read in the sun and turn my chair towards the trees and not look at anyone. Ahhh. I can indeed survive this afternoon. Yes I can. I will come home, refreshed, and make a healthy chicken and whole wheat pasta dinner. Life is good.
Once I arrived, I realized I forgot my bathing suit. Oh well. I decided to just get started on my workout. Ahhh. Music is on. Life is good. For 10 minutes. Until I hear "Will Katie *last name* please return to the nursery?"
Game over. Baby is screaming uncontrollably.
So I did what anyone would do. I loaded everyone up and drove by the liquor store on the way home. And now, once we eat our bagel bite dinner, they are all going to bed. And I will have a few moments of sanity. Right? Riiiiight?