I've finally got it figured out: I'm someone who HAS to exercise first-thing in the morning, or else I simply DON'T. So, ever since Myrtle Beach (and my unmentioned nightmarish bout of jean shopping - from which I'm still scarred), I've been dragging my ass out of bed at an ungodly hour that most still consider MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT and trudging down to the basement to work out with Jillian, who says pleasant things like, "I want you to feel like you.are.going.to.die" and "By the time this 2 minutes of cardio is over, you should be gargling.your.heart." You know - lighthearted fare for 5:oo a.m.
And when Jillian's done barking at me, I get on the bike for 20 minutes and watch the morning news. All in all, a decent morning workout. In a quiet Trenches. Free from any mommy guilt that I should be spending time with the boyz. Because they're all still nestled in their beds, slumbering away.
But the bad news? Mornings are a bit more rushed for me. As it is, I'm getting up at (brace yourself) 4:45 a.m. Once I've done my workout and have
Here's the thing though: I have to be out of the house by 6:45, at the latest. Or else I miss my train. Usually by the time I'm done getting ready, Hubby is back upstairs, and is getting himself in the shower.
So this morning - this was the scene as I tried to extricate myself from the premises (granted, it wasn't a typical morning because usually all 3 of the boyz have school on Tuesdays and there is some semblance of a routine: eat breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed. Today is a teacher in-conference day, so there's no school. Thus, no morning routine. More like a free-for-all.):
Middle (my couch potato) was watching something on Cartoon Network that was most likely NOT age appropriate;
Eldest had just done some sort of "project" involving glue and tiny pieces of construction paper at the kitchen table (I have no idea where he found the glue. Come to think of it, I didn't even realize we had any glue.);
Baby was whining for pancakes while stomping around in high heel boots that he pilfered from my closet;
I grabbed my multivitamin and coat and noticed that it was already 6:43 - shit!;
Baby saw me and wanted a vitamin. As did Middle, who came rushing in for an orange Spongebob vitamin; Baby wanted MY vitamins, not Spongebob ones. More whining. For adult vitamins AND pancakes.
Eldest was rummaging through our junk drawer, searching for something for his project;
Baby was reaching in the junk drawer behind Eldest, trying to grab the stapler;
Eldest tried to shut the drawer, hip-checking Baby onto the floor where he sprawled, still wearing the high heeled boots over his footie pajamas.
Middle was suck-sucking away on his thumb staring zombie-like at the Y7 cartoon; Eldest was yelling; Baby was crying;
Hubby was in the shower;
And Momma ran out the door.