I'm a Winner! (or not)

From the myspace archives.

I'm a Winner! (or not)
(written January 8, 2007)

Right now, I am sitting at my computer. I hurt all over, my hair is a mess, and I have five gold stars stuck across my chest. Why? Because according to my daughter, "You's a winna, Momma."

I hurt all over because I've been working out like a crazy woman, and I went to the gym with a friend. I've worked muscles that I don't get in my normal routine. So, I'm convinced that I need to join an actual gym rather than doing this at home all the time. However, that is beside the point right now. It seems like basic training for Mommy-hood. I need to be strong, fit, tough, have the energy of ten three-year-olds . . . Until you are lifting said three-year-old with sore abs, arms, thighs . . . groan . . .

My hair is askew because I have been snuggling in bed with my kids, reading and having quiet time together this evening. I couldn't take watching another Disney movie and I wasn't up for playing games after a full day of taking my daughter to work so I could leave and take her to a doctor's appointment then go pick up her brother and head home to make dinner and put away the laundry I folded last night and clean and . . .

Taking my daughter to work today was great on one hand. I love having the time with my kids. She is such a good girl, and played quietly by my desk all day. Still, I was constantly distracted by the "Mommy?" "I have to go potty." "Can I have a snack?" "Did you bring my other coloring book?" I got very little done in the few hours I was at work today, but I felt more exhausted than normal upon leaving at half day. Then, off to the doctor for my daughter. She's had a bit of a cold for about two weeks now, but it has been getting much better. In the last few days, I have barely noticed anything at all. However, she began telling me her ears hurt. Better safe than sorry, I took her into the doctor only to be told she's fine. Sigh . . . Since my girl was hungry and had been so good at both my work and at the doctor, I treated her to her favorite meal, pepperoni pizza. After we finished eating, we headed back toward home to pick up my son from his after school daycare. He was napping when we arrived. He was so knocked out, I had to carry him to the car. He's getting so big. I won't be able to pick him up like that much longer. And did I mention, I hurt all over? At home, we sat down to go over the contents of my son's backpack.

Afterward came dinner. I made omelets. Now, as far as I can remember I have loved omelets, but I have been largely unsuccessful at making them. They turn into scrambled eggs with stuff in it. However, thanks to a friend of mine treating me to breakfast last weekend (smooches! thank you!), I decided I needed to give it another shot. So, I did. And the omelets came out beautifully. I put them on my children's plates. My daughter says "What's this?" My son promptly replies "Eggs with stuff in it." I was crushed. My first real, beautiful omelet and it was still just eggs with stuff.

After that, we read quietly snuggled in my bed. I read a short story from a collection I'm reading right now. The kids flipped through their own books. When I was finished with my story, I read each of their books aloud to them. When that was done, I laid out toothbrushes and jammies and let them get ready for bed. My daughter got ready quickly and came to sit with me in the office while I was checking email. She got out a card and a pen and started scribbling, telling me she was writing her name. Then she starts singing a song about what a pretty, nice mommy she has. My heart melted for a minute. Then, my son reared his ugly anti-bedtime head. I went into battle. When I returned, my daughter was singing that I was a winner and started putting gold star stickers all over my chest. She handed me her fairy wand, telling me I was a winner and I got to keep her wand. My son stood in the office doorway, smiling. I smiled back. My daughter turned to her brother and said "Mommy is a winner. Isn't she?" My son just looked at me and said "No. I don't want to go to bed."

Sigh . . .