Oh Look A Kitty!

6 year old kids playing T-Ball is frickin hilarious.

I mean, I thought Dylan's soccer team was funny when there were a bunch of kids just running with no real rhyme or reason, only a couple (thankfully this included Dylan) actually getting the point that they must kick said ball into the little nets on either end of the field.

But T-Ball, is hysterical.

It's also an easy way to notice the attention span (or lack thereof) of kids.

If they are not batting or running, it's like watching a 3 Stooges episode. Kids all over the field, attempting to entertain themselves while they try to figure out what's going on.

I have no idea how the coaches do it.

There was one little boy at practice yesterday who was literally bent down picking worms out of the ground, somehow the way he was positioned while doing so allowed the ball that was just hit to bounce right into his glove. He was much too occupied with the worms to actually catch and hold on to it, but the image of it going right into his glove while he wasn't paying any attention had every parent on the sidelines roaring with laughter. It couldn't have been done again if he tried.

It made me feel so much better about Dylan, watching all these other kids, twisting in the outfield. Spinning around, standing on one leg and watching the "big" kids on the basketball court across the parking lot. Dylan was probably one of the most still. Which is shocking.

My kid isn't the only one who has to get asked to do something a few times because he gets sucked in to whatever he is doing, or sees something else and completely forgets what I had just asked him to do. I am not alone in having to ask my kid to pay attention to things. I felt vindicated.

Of course, it's comical when it's someone else's kid, annoying as hell when it's your own. But it made me feel like I am not such a terrible parent after all. That my kid is normal in that regard. (I mean he's still an odd duck, but he's normal as far as this stuff is concerned).

Watching other people's kids run when they weren't supposed to and inadvertently steal bases, watch them have to be asked by the coaches ad nausea to pay attention to the ball when someone else is at bat. Having all of them watching what each other is doing rather than actually attempt to play the game correctly.

And that was only practice. With his team. Throw another team out there with them double the kids, I can only imagine how that's going to go.

Tonight is Game 1, and if I can get a video of their Bad News Bears-esque style of playing, I will be sharing it for all the world to see. (And giggle).

Hilarity.

I Ate Like I Had a Tape Worm

Yesterday I ate like I had a tape worm.

Holiday's with my family are a literal smorgasbord of every delightful delicacy you can imagine. Easter is no exception. We are for all intensive purposes, a bunch of foodies.

Now, of course my fat ass (and I don't mean in the literal sense, I know I am not the largest lady on the planet, but I use the term "fat ass" when it comes to eating, and eating, and eating...you get the point) doesn't just take whatever the caloric recommended portions are. Nope. I pretty much sample a little of everything. And I am sure that within a 45 minute span of time I have fulfilled my caloric intake for the entire upcoming week.

It's a beautiful display really. Elegantly sliced ham, sweet potato casserole (with brown sugar, so healthy), Mendon carrots (with butter and cinnamon), twice baked potatoes (with cheese), some variant of pasta, the works. All on their own innocent enough in moderation, but piled mile high on my pastel colored Easter plate and BOOM! this is binge eating at it's finest.

And that's just dinner. (or Linner actually since it's more of a backwards brunch...not breakfast and lunch, dinner and lunch. You know, Linner.)

Then after what should be a brief respite (in all actuality is just the time after cleaning up the Linner mess) the desserts come out. In all their glory. Pastries and cakes and pies and cookies and bread puddings. A little something for everyone, or in my case a little of everything for me.

And now the aftermath.

Since no more gorge-worthy holidays lie on the horizon (i.e Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter....the Fat Ass Mega Feasts) I look at the calendar and low-and-behold, the next holiday is Memorial day. The kick-ff of the summer.

Summer.

Meaning less clothing. Meaning more of my squishy self to be shown to the world.

UGH!

Now in a mad dash to try to either fit into my warm weather wardrobe from seasons past (or *wink wink* but myself some new clothes...) I must make like a snake and shed this wintry skin. And by skin I mean fat. And by fat I mean all the area's on my person that could mimic jello.

Now in the grand scheme of things I am not actually fat. I am also not actually skinny. I reside in the lower end of average, but not in shape (unless you count round,...round is a shape right?). I mean sure I still house some muscles somewhere (like somewhere you need an X-ray machine to find). My legs have always erred on the side of solid. (Years of soccer are likely to thank for this one, so THANK YOU SOCCER)

Now comes the diet. The calorie counting, the smart snacking (if at all) and the attempting to burn said calories whenever possible.

I have already sort of started. In an attempt to look fairly ok for my friend's wedding a little over a week ago, I had been doing (thanks in part to a friend texting me my regime) these random arm exercises. (Strapless dress, arm wobble; you do the math)

I would use little hand weights, I would do push ups, I would do these awful triceps dips that make me feel as though my arms are going to come alive and beat me to death for putting them through such pain.

It seemed to be working. Now I just have to keep doing it. And I SUCK in the self-motivation department. I am like a kid with ADD that way. You need to constantly nudge the hell out of me, snapping me back into the reality that I am the one that wants this in the first place.

I used ot be good, diligent even. When I was out of work a couple years ago (although I am VERY glad to be working now, just saying) I would drop Dylan off at school and go to the gym. For 2 hours. Every day.

I felt great, I think I looked great (no conceit here, just an observation....ok maybe a little conceit). I would do cardio and random circuit machines. Being in a gym environment made you want to work out. Keep up with the Prosti-tot on the treadmill beside you. (granted when I was 18 and still had a metabolism that didn't loathe me, I would have been able to look good with minimal effort too, but that's a decade and some change plus a kid in the past so...)

So now, with a work schedule and T-ball and the hopes to keep a life seeing my Love and the outside world, I need to figure out a balance.

Hopefully the food will be enough for now. Or the lack thereof.