Pancakes Are the Devil

MONDAY, APRIL 26, 2010

I’m on a bit of a health kick right now. We’ll see how long it lasts, but for right now, I’m realizing that I’ve got a few post-two-babies pounds to shed before I can even pretend like I’m comfortable in a bathing suit. Or in a trash bag for that matter.

That said, three of my coworkers have signed on to do a mini “Biggest Loser”. We’ve got a password protected spreadsheet and everything! Our goal is to lose 1 pound per week for 10 weeks. Sound easy? Yeah, it won’t be. We took our baseline weights this past Friday. For an added uber ego boost, one of the “Losers” starting weight is 2 pounds LESS than my end goal. Fatty fatty boomba latty.

Now here’s what I’m doing about it. 10lbs in 10 weeks is gonna be hard. But I’m commited! I ate salad for lunch today. BLAMO! And downloaded a Podrunner thingy to my iPod called “Couch to 5K”. (Not taking any credit here, it was another “Losers'” idea and I’m jumping on it.) Basically, over the course of 9 weeks, I’ll gradually work my jelly up to being able to run a 5K. Without stopping. Running. The whole time. Three miles. Sound easy? Yeah, it won’t be. Did I mention I HATE RUNNING? But I’m doing it.

Also signed up on It’s an awesome… yet not overly user friendly… website that tracks everything that goes in your mouth and every form of excercise you can imagine. You can put vacuuming on this thing, if you really want to. (And I’m sure I will at some point.) So I added the pancakes I had for dinner tonight. HOLY HOLY HOLY COW! Pancakes are the devil. Carbs… fat… calories… sodium… DE-VIL. Obviously I wasn’t thinking that popping a pancake was like eating a fruit basket, but for crying out loud!!! No more pancakes for me.




So here’s the soccer ball update. We’re two weeks in now and so far, so good. Peyton, for the most part, is still in to it. She even scored two goals at her first game! One was for the other team, but whatever. It was exciting. And, oh, it was also FREAKIN’ FREEZING! It was about 34 degrees, windy as hell, and at one point, hailing. I gotta give it to Peyton, she didn’t complain. She even took her gloves off at one point. I like to think it was because she’s a warrior and wanted to show the other team how incredibly tough she is. In reality, it’s because her Mother of the Year didn’t pack her own gloves, so she had to use the 5-times-to-big version that I just-so-happened to have in my coat pocket. Ugh. But back to the action….

Three and four year old soccer is kinda like watching a swarm of bees running around the field. In one giant clump, they make their way up and down, back and forth, over and over. The energy at this age is *almost* endless. (I say *almost*, because even a 4-year-old has her limits!) But for almost an hour straight these kids run. And run. And run. And… WATER BREAK!!!

The water break has become Peyton’s favorite part of soccer ball. The kids’ faces light up like Christmas morn when the coach yells those magical words. “WATER BREAK!” It’s a mad dash to the parents for a quick refreshment, then we’re back to it.

Peyton loses a little focus at practice. This week I caught her sitting on her ball with two friends playing Patty Cake or some dumb crap while the coach was running the drills. Yeah, that ain’t happening on my watch! So I got up, walked over, and told the girls to respect their coach and do the drills. Then quietly made my way back to the cheap seats for the remainder of the evening.

You never stop teaching. I totally want to be the parent who sits back and let’s the coach run the show, but it’s uber hard for him to keep up with 30 little 4-year-olds. This poor guy can’t be putting the kibosh on every Patty Cake game that breaks out, so I made the assist.

Sports are about respect and teamwork. So far, Peyton is doing beautifully and I couldn’t be more proud. She scored two more goals today…. both for her own team this time.

Dancing with SB


The snooze button (SB) is one of my best friends. We’ve got a fantastic relationship, SB and I, and we do this little dance every morning which goes something like this.

I set my alarm clock for 5:51am. This allows me one SB smack down before the alarm then goes off again 9 minutes later. Precisely at 6:00am. In my brain, this feels like a great start to my day. I wake up on the zeros and proceed to a perfectly timed morning. Seriously, how awesome am I?!?

Until I start rationalizing that hitting the snooze button one more time is only 9 more minutes, which doesn’t even yet get me in to double digits after the 6!


It’s now 6:09am and I once again hear “akkkk! AKKkk! AKKKKK!”. (SB gets louder if I don’t tend to her immediately.) I wake up… again… and this time start having a much deeper conversation with myself. Eh, really? What’s 9 more minutes?


Continuing to rationalize, I decide that at this point, I’m no longer on the zeros anyway and who really cares about double digits? So I’ll stay awake and stare at the clock until it goes off again. Yeah, cuz then it’ll be 6:18am and THAT’S when I’m really ready to start my day. I’ll just…. lay…. here…… and stare at…….. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”.

6:25am. Panic ensues. Holy crap, I just overslept. Now for those of you doing the math at home, SB should have taken me to 6:27am, but alas, I’ve now co-mingled alarms!!! 6:25am is when Mike’s day “begins”. I have no choice but to bid SB a fine farewell by way of snoozing Mike’s alarm and shutting mine off. I get out of bed and start on my way.

So why do I do this to myself each morning? It’s such a pathetic attempt to just get a little more sleep. To maybe lay down for just a tiny bit little longer. To delay the inevitable of going to work. Maybe I’ll try to work on it. See if I can at least keep it to under double digits……