The Klingon

Is that a face only a mother could love, or what?

While I do admit to being a super-Trekkie nerd, I can't say I would ever really want to have my VERY OWN Klingon. The last few days, it's felt that way though. Noah's been sick again with case #478 of an "unknown virus." By now, you'd think they could name some of this crap. I mean, if they discovered shooting rat poison into your face takes away wrinkles, you'd think a little sniffling would be identifiable by an M.D.

Anyways, due to the "virus," Noah been super-super grumpy which leads to Mommy being super-super grumpy. Noah's grumpiness takes the form of 4 chubby appendages with a death-grip on my legs. He wants up, he wants down, he wants to rub his snots on the back of my leg, but for the sake of everything holy, HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE MORE THAN 2 FEET AWAY FROM ME. This creates a problem around meal times and when mommy has to potty, so I have had to call on my trusty friend Elmo for more than I would like to admit this week. The peds recommend "No TV for kids under 2." I laugh at them and challenge them to come to my house when Noah's sick. Oh and by the way, could you FIGURE OUT WHAT MY KID HAS AND ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT INSTEAD OF GIVING STUPID AND UNREALISTIC ADVICE ABOUT TV? (Sorry, will now return to using my "inside" voice.....ehm).

Usually a glass of wine (i mean bottle) and a bubble bath would solve this, but my throat is itchy too, and I don't want to make it more horrible by ALSO being sick or (gasp) hungover. Wine and I are fremenies in that I love her in the evening, but more than one glass leads to her beating on my brain come 6am, not so much fun to wake up to a toddler who likes to bang on his drums to.

So here I am friends, laying out my troubles once again on you. Thanks for listening. If I were a blues singer I would be belting out the "Klingon Blues" like Ella, but that would wake the sleeping members of my family (even the dang cats are still asleep). If I were an artist I would express myself like Dali with some freaky leeches and a big clock melting away the time or something. This sounds like fun, but there is no way Noah would let me get away with anything that resembles mommy fun. So I am here, writing at 5:30, before the little man gets up. Cross your fingers for me that he wakes up sans snot with a happy grin on his face, for both of us.

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I would also like to apologize for being comment MIA lately. The great thing about having a iPhone is that you can read everyone's latest posts from anywhere. The crappy thing is that leaving comments is not very user friendly yet. I giggle your posts at the park, I treasure them from my bed in the wee hours of the morning, sometimes I even peruse them in traffic (don't arrest me). So I HAVE been visiting you, my friends. Just think of me as one of those crazy Idol fans, peering through your window. I am there, watching and learning about your lives, but I don't leave any death threats or anything. Nice of me, huh?

My Karate Kid

Remember Noah's Jedi Training? I guess since the light saber thing didn't work out so well, he is starting him off with some martial arts. Here they are practicing in our closet:

(mmmhmm. so glad my headbands are getting some good use.....)

I really shouldn't be surprised at all of this because my almost 30-year-old HH does have a sword, which he keeps under the bed just in case ninjas attack. He also thinks Noah may need to learn how to use is someday.

Oh, and speaking of grown ups. Here are some of HH's buddies:

Something for Noah to aspire too, I guess. Brian still can't decide if Noah should be an evil-genius or a ninja when he grows up. Is is too much for a mama to ask that Noah be something a bit less dangerous like a teacher or a dentist?

Wordful Wednesday - It's Potty Time!

Remember a few days ago when I posted about my little Sprinkler? Well, after asking to sit on the big potty a number of times, mama decided to get Noah one of his very own. Here are some pics of his first attempt with potty.

Am I doing this right?

I am so proud of myself!

Anything happen yet?


Success! (Well, sort of. A lot went on the floor. My sprinkler is a sprayer!)

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This post was brought to you by Wordful Wednesday @ Seven Clown Circus.

The WTF Workout

Have you ever laughed just a little bit at Richard Simmons? I mean the dude does do cardio kicks in shiny short-shorts. However, after my experience today with the kooky instructor at the gym , I have a whole new respect for Mr. Simmons. At least he is wearing work-out attire, frightening as it may be.

After some run-ins with the "Zero Experience" childcare morons at the LA Fitness in my area, I moved onto a new, smaller gym. The plus side of the new gym is that it has great childcare. The women are all moms and actually hold crying children instead of shoving snacks at them or turning the tv up to drown them out. The creepy side of the new gym is that all the people are fantastically fit. The women are size 2 barbies and the men are way too tan and hairless. It gives you a bit of a complex after seeing their machine timers say "10 more miles to go!" and crap like that. (yes, I spy on their machines).

Now, you'd think that the buff and beautiful would have no mere mortal for an instructor. I was thinking, "shoot, the classes here must be taught by Hercules!" I expected Hercules, I got more of a Medusa.

The teacher was an angry, freaky, black-wigged wearing nutcase. She showed up not even wearing workout clothes, but jeans and bare-feet. She also chose not to wear a mic, but to "yell" her instructions, which started with,"Ok! Get going! 5 minutes to warm up any way you want to. Come on, start going. You over there do some jumping jacks or some stretches. Do whatever your body tells you it wants to do."

After that tirade my body was saying, "Let's go home and put the pjs back on," but I am glad I stayed, because she only got funnier. After the fake-warm up we did one-sided leg squats for 5 minutes, then she skipped doing the other side, so that "our brains would be tricked." We jumped from lifting weights to rolling on the ground in one minute all so that our bodies would be "continually surprised and ready for action" Sweet! We were being trained to be ninjas! She talked (and never instructed) the entire class about her outlook on life and menopause and a host of other personal things. She was also very into the phrase, " This is not a McWorkout!" Whatever the hell that means.

The whole time I kept thinking I was being punk'd. I thought this mostly because the other people around me actually seemed to be buying into her jargon. They had to be actors, I mean how did they know what to do without any instruction? Everyone was just jumping around like confused monkeys, but no one else seemed bothered about the fact.

After the class I shook my head in wonder as I walked out and caught a glimpse of one woman (yes, only ONE WOMAN out of 30) doing the same. I rushed over to her and asked," Um, was that weird to you?" She whispered back,"I don't even know what to say. You think there is something wrong with her?" Uh, clearly.

Next week I think I am skipping the Friday morning Cardio Blast! class for a good old run on the treadmill followed by some free weights. I guess that makes me a "McWorkout" kind of girl.

Writer's Workshop - The Anxiety Apple

Describe a moment when you felt afraid.
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I wish I had one ultimate moment to describe to you. However, if you knew me in real life, you would know that the general consensus is that I am a big chicken (yes, by consensus, I mean you mom and dad). I like to think of myself as sensitive, but I can understand where I get the "rap" from.

About 9 years years ago I was diagnosed with GAD. It's a vague diagnosis that basically means you are afraid of a lot of crap, a lot of the time. Here are just some of the things in my "fun-bag" of scurred:

• Being alone in the dark (Haven't stayed alone without another adult in the house in YEARS. It makes my husband's business trips just that much more interesting)
• Being late to meetings or activities (especially movies)
• Not being prepared (Hello, did I mention I make TO DO lists in my sleep? Sometimes 2-3 times per night)
• Being attacked (I have a great thing about parking lots)

And when I say "scurred," I don't just mean a little nervous. I mean the sweating, rapid breathing, stomach tightening, insomnia and the ridiculous (but infrequent) panic attack. As an added bonus, I not only experience these symptoms when I am actually in the above situations, but even thinking about them sets me off. It's gotten better over the years with a little cognitive therapy, exercise/yoga, and by being married to the calmest person in America. It's gotten better, it really has.

It's one things for me to be all anxious, it's quite another when you see your personality affecting your child. Up until now Noah's been in the normal zone of fears. He was afraid of the vacuum and the hairdryer for a while. I took other's advice and just kept on doing both with some added comforting and Noah got over it. Now he actually plays with the hairdyer. Remember that picture of him "styling" his Panda? :)

Lately, my sweet baby has been waking up with nightmares (about once a week) and calling for me. Weird things like garden statues, certain stuffed animals or parts of kid videos will scare him and he will think about it all day. You even mention the word "statue" and the kid starts to tear up. I am not sure if this is Noah simply becoming more aware of the world around him or if he is really suffering from anxiety.

Now, it doesn't take a genius to know that your child learns some of their behaviors from watching you. You act freaked when kiddo takes a spill, they cry even harder. You acted scared of something and its going to make them wary too. For this reason, I try to keep my anxiety on the DL. I don't want Noah learning my bad habits. However, there is only so much I can do when it comes to genetics. Will my baby be doomed to suffer from anxiety simply because it runs in his family?

So I guess if I am afraid of just ONE thing, its that I will pass my anxiety onto my sweet son. It pains me to think I might be the cause of any of his fears or take away any of his innocent view of the world. Only time will tell.

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This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.