The Hunger Games aka The Laundry, Dishes, and Dirt Piled Up

All I have read about on Twitter for weeks is The Hunger Games. Seriously. I had no clue what it even was. A book? A movie? A cult?

Yes. Yes. And yes.

On Monday evening, I decided I'd had enough. I had been out of the loop for far too long. To exist as an intelligent human being, a functioning member of society, I needed to know what this Hunger Games mess was all about.

Little did I know, from the moment I downloaded it to my iPad Monday evening until 1 o'clock today, I would cease to exist as a functioning member of society.

My plan backfired.

For 40 hours, I read whenever possible. I even dreamed about Katniss. We were BFFs.

I abandoned my position as mother and allowed Dora and the Neverland Pirates to take over. K ate breakfast watching tv while I sat by, with my coffee, reading. I allowed her to nap until 6:30 yesterday because I couldn't bring myself to stop reading. Naps past 5 o'clock are strictly forbidden when I'm on duty. Today, I put her lunch on the table and started reading, oblivious to whether or not she actually ate anything. I would have known if she had choked, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, the laundry piled up. So did the dishes. Apparently, if you don't keep up with that crap, you will run out of clean spoons and clean pajamas. Thankfully, dear husband went grocery shopping yesterday so we didn't starve during my "absence."

I'm sure the members of my house are glad I finished the book so quickly. Though, it turns out, I'm not finished. Evidently, this cult book is a trilogy.

Sigh

I am now faced with a dilemma, do I take a break and regroup or download the next book? Life is full of such tough decisions.

Let's Make a Deal

My 3 year old thinks her life is a big game of Let's Make a Deal. Except, without farm animals and appliance prizes.

"Here's the deal," I say, trying to rationalize with her.

I'll wait while everyone laughs at me trying to rationalize with a 3 year old....Okay, good, you're done.

"You can either put your pajamas on now and have time to read books before bed. Or you can dilly dally and waste all of your book reading time."

"Well, here's my deal," she tells me with much attitude and her hands on her hips. "First, I'm going to do a big jete and then a spiderman handstand. Then, I'll put my pajamas on. And then, you can read me books."

Obviously, she doesn't understand in Let's Make a Deal the audience isn't allowed to create their own deals.

"K, if you dilly dally I won't have any time to read you books. Put your pajamas on NOW," I tell her so kindly with an abundance of patience.

"But that's not MY deeeealll!"

I guess she feels my deal's a zonk.

Sweatshop

It's February 20th. Is it time to throw in the towel? I'm not really sure what's protocol in this department.

This is a photo of my kitchen table, taken only moments ago. Valentine's Day was a week back. And, yet, it appears I'm still hoping to send out cards. Better late than never, right? I did my part. I bought the supplies, cut out 12 heart cards, and printed LOVE, on each one. My husband bought stamps. All K had to do was peel and stick hearts and rhinestones and write her name. That was it. I thought this was a cake project.

Holidays can sometimes turn into a sweatshop in my house, mass producing a dozen cards and gifts for family members. I'm the boss and I generally stay in the kitchen for several hours, for several days, barking out reminders to an unenthusiastic child, attempting to keep her focused. 75% of the time it works. I have been known to help her with a few brushstrokes of my own, but projects are mostly completed by K.

This Valentine's Day I decided I wouldn't be the boss. I would take away the pressure and magically that would cause her to want to make her cards. It's seemed like a great plan. I wouldn't be stressed, she would have fun crafting. Sounds perfect!

See how well that plan worked. I'm a genius, clearly.

At dinner last night, as we were trying to find a place to sit and eat, we were discussing the failed card project. K still wants to decorate and mail them. She hasn't crafted a single card today, by the way. My husband thinks I should cut them into eggs and send them out for Easter. I think I should throw some stickers on the hearts, scribble her letters and a few "drawings", and get the ridiculous things out of here.

So, if you receive a Valentine from K this week there's a 1 in 4 chance it was made by her. Maybe you'll be a lucky one.

How to Get in Shape

It's no secret, I want to get in shape. I'm not concerned about the number on the scale. In fact, it's the same number today that it was before I had K, give or take a pound. But...things don't quite look the same. Some parts are a little, um, squishier than they used to be.

So I thought I'd share with you my personal, no fail, 23 point How to Not Get in Shape list.

1.   Stand naked in front of the mirror and assess damage.
2.   Decide with great gusto to finally get back in shape.
3.   Think about setting a start date.
4.   Notice a cool calorie counter app. Download.
5.   Track calories for 2 days. Get discouraged when app repeatedly asks you to input exercise.
6.   Uninstall calorie counter app.
7.   Locate exercise ball from the fourth circle of hell (aka the basement.)
8.   Start a nice and effective before bed exercise routine.
9.   Decide to reward yourself for your hard work with a night off.
10. Roll exercise ball out of the way. Pretend you don't see it anymore. Routine broken.
11. Let a month pass without making any progress on your original goal. Repeat steps 1 and 2.
12. Decide to finally use the Elliptical located in the fourth circle of hell.
13. Exercise for 3 days. Declare basement entirely too dark and depressing to produce a good workout.
14. Notice a Groupon for a month membership at a nearby athletic club.
15. Buy Groupon. Read it doesn't expire until July. Plan to procrastinate on redeeming Groupon.
16. Talk a good game about signing up for a 5k.
17.  Do no research and make no plans.
18. See a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in pantry. Intentionally eat the entire rest of the bag with the rationale that if they are gone from the pantry, you can't be tempted by them anymore.
19. Feel discouraged. Silently curse the person who bought said Doritos.
20. Find yourself awake at zero dark thirty. Decide it would be a great time to go for a run. Think hard about putting running shoes on. Wonder if they're in the closet or downstairs. Think about checking the weather on your phone. Check twitter instead.
21. Decide to start running another time.
22. Allow another month to pass.
23. Revisit steps 1 and 2.

I figure at this rate, I should have my pre-pregnancy body back in no time. I'm just sure of it.