He said, she said

Right about now I am wishing I belonged to a gym. There aren't many on my side of town and I generally enjoy going running or taking yoga classes to balance out my carb habit. It's pouring outside today, however, so the mister and I decided to do an insanity class together. We do them every now and again, but not usually together. And certainly not when there is a man in the house laying down wood in the next room over! With no door separating us!

I begged off at first due to the painful awkwardness. Doing the class solo is enough-add on the husband and the random man and it should basically be on youtube. We're sort of trapped in our living room while the child naps because of our never ending construction project (it is ending this week, hooray!). Realizing I was in it either way, I figured I might as well get reap some benefit. Cut to 45 minutes later and I don't think I can ever look our woodlayer in the eye again. I think he even stopped to stare at us at one point, though I was laughing too hard at my husband jumping up and down like a maniac to care. Insane indeed.

People, this has been a scary week of health issues for those in my world. Especially the teeny, tiny ones. I'm hugging my kiddo extra tight these days and appreciating all aspects of his airplane-imitating, avocado-eating, dog-hugging, thrice-pooping ways. He's talking up a storm lately, though who knows what the hell he's saying? I clearly am missing the mom deciphering gene. Yesterday at playgroup one of the little girls kept pointing at some food and saying "owl, owl." I couldn't figure it out for the life of me. I kept hoo hooing and tried to come up with owl facts. How much can you say about an owl? Finally, another mom came by, heard it once and said "she wants an apple." Oh, you mean the apple that is sitting about three inches out of her grasp? Like that makes sense. Maybe I should record some of my little's more confusing utterings and send it to my mom and my mom friends to crack the code. For all I know he's reciting poetry by now.

That's How I Roll

She stole my workout outfit

You know how people always say that the best thing to do when you're tired is to exercise? Well, I never believed them either. Why would I want to go and make myself more exhausted by working out? But, then I had a baby and was more tired than I ever knew I could be. So tired that I regularly went into the shower with my glasses on. So tired that I had the vocabulary of a 12 year old. So tired that I once fell asleep while pumping. Once. But, after I got the OK from my doctor, I dragged my tired (and fat) ass to the gym. Not just any gym, a mom-friendly gym with day care. Nothing motivates you to work harder like hearing your baby screaming in the back room and knowing you don't have to go and get him. I went with some of the other moms from my amazing playgroup (still going strong 10 months later!) and we encouraged each other. The other ladies in the class were so impressed that we could tell our little ones apart based on their cries. I still can hear that wail when I close my eyes, even though Mr. Monk hasn't cried like that in months.

I became obsessed with spin class. I loved the sense of camaraderie in the class--we were all going over that hill together. I also really appreciated the constant support and compliments the teachers gave us--I was doing a good job, wasn't I? At least I knew how to ride a bike! During those first few months of motherhood, I was so happy to not have to think at all for 45 minutes. No mouth to feed, no diaper to change and no gigantic laundry pile to stare at me expectantly. I just needed to push and pull my legs through the cycle, one after the other. The repetition was addictive. Plus, some of the teachers played some kick-ass music that got us all feeling like we were dancing on our bikes. I've never loved Rihanna or Michael Jackson more. It was my time.

I stopped going over the summer after we went away one month and then again the next. My husband decided that I had to do the insanity workout program with him because he knew he'd never do it by himself. While we didn't totally finish it, we gave it a good run. Between four weddings and lots o' travel, it was impossible to keep up with a 6 day a week workout. Too much life to live. I still do the insanity workouts every few days, but my desire to exercise has all but evaporated. Until today.

I went back to spin and it was like a homecoming. All those endorphins. All that pop music. I realized that there is something to working out around others and not just staring at a man screaming at you through your laptop. It somehow just feels more effective when others can see you sweat. And? Not even remotely tired now at 11 pm. Not sure that's such a good thing.

Off the wagon

So not only did I skip Insanity yesterday, but I also managed to consume a pie shake. Yes, pie + ice cream = pie shake. Chile pies + ice cream is an evil place. This is, mind you, after I consumed an entire plate of nachos at the parent resto, Green Chile Kitchen. When I fall, I fall hard.

I got a slice of country peach pie and a big ole scoop of Lemon Cookie ice cream. The very sweet server woman took about a million minutes to make it, as I suspect pie doesn't blend all that easily. When it was done, it was equal parts awesome and awful. I got about two inches of it down before I had to fold. My husband, ever the pinch hitter, stepped in to relieve me in my time of need. I feel a little nauseated just thinking about it. But, it hurts so good.

Let's see what kind of damage I can do at a good friend's wedding this weekend. Open. Bar.

What ice cream?

{via}

This ice cream is so good. Cannot. Stop. Eating. I've somehow confused the relative properties of food poisoning and decided I should eat Mr. Schneed's portion as well as my own since he's still ixnay on oodfay. Unfortunately, he's been illin all day today too. Food poisoning is one crazy ride. The one and only time I ever experienced it was when I was 17 and spending my last semester of high school in Israel. I left my program for the weekend and was visiting the home of the friend of a cousin of a family friend. Or some absurd nonconnection like that. Basically, I hardly knew these people but I defiled their bathroom for all the wee hours of the morning. I remember waking up the next morning and wanting so desperately to do the walk of shame home but I was literally in the middle of the desert. The lady of the house offered me some coffee and I threw up in her sink. Never saw her again. I am fairly certain that memory has remained repressed till just this moment.

Fast forward another lifetime and Mr. Monk and I learned more than we ever wanted to know about daddy sights and sounds over the past 48 hours. I started looking up the symptoms of E. coli bacterial poisoning and freaked us all out. Our soap dispenser has never seen so much action. I had to go to work and was terrified that he would pass out from dehydration. But, he's acting less zombie-like tonight, so I think the tide has turned. Hooray.

Though I'm just realizing that him getting better means we may have to start Insanity again. I have been abstaining for the past few days in solidarity. How could I go and get ripped without him? Damn you, three twins.

In other news, Mr. Monk has decided that he likes the sound of his voice. A lot. LIKE SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS ALL DAY LONG A LOT. Fun. How long does this phase last? Well hello, boyhood.

That's My Monkey

When I was a kid, my mom used to comb my hair with her fingers to calm me down. It was such a sweet and simple gesture but it always made me so happy to lay my head in her lap for my treatment. I haven't asked her to do it in years but just the thought of it now makes me feel better. My husband loves having his back scratched. I even put it in my wedding vows that I would give him a scratch at least once a day (he usually asks for one every hour). This evening, when I was putting Mr. Monk to sleep, I kissed his sweet head, rubbed his little back and wondered what will his soothing vice will be. It hit me hard that I will be the one to comfort him for as long as he needs me. Right now he seems to really enjoy the stomach zerberts, but that might get old when he's in high school.

Man, The Hangover is still funny even though I've seen it at least five times now. Definitely not as funny as the first time but still delivers the laughs. Or maybe I'm just too lazy to change the channel since the Insanity workout kicked my ass tonight. I seriously can hardly move. I feel like we made a deal with the devil and his name is Shaun T. I am sort of maybe kinda starting to see the outline of an ab or two, so maybe all this sweating of buckets is worth it. Perhaps.

When I pump late at night before going to sleep, I always fear that the teenage boy living next door will accidentally see me through one of our windows. Believe me, I keep the shades drawn for his benefit as much as for mine, but I'm still afraid of scarring him for life. Or turning him on. Eek, which would be worse?

Insane in the Membrane

Mr. Schneed and I are now on Day 6 of the Insanity workout. Only one more day until we get a break! How did this happen?! I have never worked out six days a week in my life. Even before my wedding I only kicked it up to four and I felt like a maniac. I just keep thinking that this is the best (only?) time for me to do something like this since I'm unlikely to have a break while the boss naps at my next job.

My main issue, other than that it is the worst pain I've ever willingly felt, is that I hate doing it with the mister. He talks out loud during the hardest parts! Can you imagine anything more annoying? The last thing I want when I am sweating more than I ever thought possible is for my husband to tell me that he can't believe how much I am sweating. Listening to him moan and groan, not to mention watching him flail out of the corner of my eye, makes me laugh. And sometimes I pee myself from laughing and moving so hard. Just a little. But still. Childbirth- the gift that keeps on giving.

Let's Go Crazy

After seeing so many beautiful bodies and beautiful people at this beautiful place, my husband decided that he needs to do something drastic to get in shape. And by he, I mean we because he isn't so good at the self-motivation. So, I was informed today that I will be doing the insanity workout over the next 60 days. My first thought was um, no. But, I have started to realize lately that breastfeeding isn't quite the workout it used to be. Apparently, the jig is up and I can't keep eating muffins and cupcakes every day and expect it to go right to the baby. I enjoy myself a good old endorphin rush now and again, so I figured I might as well try it. How bad could the first lesson be?

Pretty damn nuts, as it turns out. Before you start the program, you are advised to take a fitness test, which consists of 25 minutes of pure torture. Ostensibly, you are supposed to keep track of how many reps of each exercise you complete so that you can compare your results with any subsequent fitness tests you perform after beginning the regimen. Unfortunately, I was too concerned with the act of breathing while my heart was exploding to remember how to count. Basically, I failed the test. Guess that means I'm not ready for insanity, right?

The thing is, I kind of want to challenge myself. Since having Mr. Monk, I have regularly been going to spin but haven't stepped it up at all. This might actually be what I need to tighten things up without a trainer. Trainers scare me. I just hate the idea of someone telling me what I am doing wrong while I'm wearing shorts. That sounds like my worst nightmare--and then to pay $50/hour for that pleasure. No tanks. I'm not making any promises about finishing the 60 days, but I think I can at least try the real first day. That is, of course, assuming I can walk tomorrow.