Sorry Tiny Man.

Tiny Man to Violet: "Bica, do you like me?"
Violet to Tiny Man: "No. I like Mommy."

This may sound familiar to some of you, as an eerily similar exchange occured earlier this year between Violet and her father. Who was, let's just say, less than impressed.

I swear to God I don't teach her these things. Or even encourage them! Don't worry, I'm painfully aware that the love won't last long and that I'll suffer for it mightily in her teenage years.

But for now, I am enjoying my tiny fan club. Even if the rest of the house suffers a little for it. (Sorry guys.)

Mommy and Violet, Christmas 2011

I don't kneed you anyhow.

So my beloved routine was destroyed a few weeks ago during an unfortunate training incident when I strained a tendon in my right knee. I thought it would be a quick recovery, but it's proven much longer and much more annoying than anticipated. I've tried not to get discouraged or to dwell on the fact that the progress I'd made in fitness to that point was starting to feel substantial. And that I was feeling really good and more like...myself. And now I feel flabby and tired again, and my knee hurts too, to boot.

Boo.

So I'm going to try again, but I'm going to do it a little differently this time. I'm gunna get back on that nose-flaring horse we know as Jillian, but I'm going to spend some hours in other things too, just to make sure I'm not setting myself up to get hurt too quickly again. (She's a ball-buster, kids, but her technique is imperfect, in my sub-professional opinion.) I'd do the gym thing, but family-time and being home is paramount this quarter. So I'll have to stumble along until a new routine develops.

Tiny Man is four and a half now, and y'all might recall that the last time I was really in shape was about the fourth month of my pregnancy with him. (At which point I stopped running and the rest is history.) 5 years is a long time to de-condition, especially when you've had not one but *two* pregnancies in its first two years. (That's right, friends. Tiny Man was 10 months old and barely weaned when Stinky's ovum was fertilized.) That kind of work is really hard on an old bod. I'm lucky I can still walk upright.

Don't get me wrong. It was totally worth it. I love my kids, love how close they are in age and I think back on those years of pregnancy and nursing with much fondness and warmth. Being Mommy is awesome, and I'd do it again the same way if choosing again. But, the work it will take to get even close to the place where I started from is hefty, and setbacks like tweaked knees are harder on my confidence than they ever would have been before I first got pregnant. I don't need to be that small again. My body is different having brought life into the world, and I am okay with that. But I would like to have more energy, and to feel more comfortable in my skin. I want to feel like I remember feeling then -- fit, spry and like trampolines weren't the enemy.

So. My new mantra. I will not be discouraged! I will take care of my body! I will love it even when I still have a pooch six months from now! And the next time I tweak my knee, well, I'll find some other way to keep my routine on-track. Even if it involves a shake weight.

Me, pre-babies. Sigh.

I punch babies.

Those who know me well know how much I love to punch babies. Yes! I punch babies! In their bellies! Sometimes IN THEIR KIDNEYS! And you know what? They totally love it. I have yet to meet a baby whom I have punched who hasn't giggled with glee (or at the very least tolerated it graciously and stoically).

I come from the parenting school of "beat your children from birth". Okay, that's not our official name, but it could be. Lest you fear I actually *beat* my kids, rest assured I don't, but I do occasionally step on them or sit on their heads. Or drop them from tall heights onto couches or beds. Or cross their arms gruffly, pinning them to themselves while sing-songing "Wylet loves herself, Wylet loves herself".  It's cruel stuff really, and wonderfully awesome.

Strangely, my children love this rough play. And I've found that it's great training for the surprise wipeout. My kids rarely cry when they trip or crash. When they fall, it's as if they really do bounce. And while that is probably a result of us laughing our a$$es off every time they do (hey, it's funny), I think playing with kids like they aren't made of porcelain is a really good thing. It builds, to borrow a term from my studies, "self-efficacy".

One of my PT courses this quarter is Pediatrics, and we're learning about child development. A key point from today's class was that tiny infants' vestibular systems (think balance) are stimulated when their caregivers bounce them, pat them, rock them. All those movements of their tiny little bodies begin the cascade of developing motor skills. What I took from this (aside from the fact that God made us wonderfully, indeed) is that all babies want to get punched. Yes, in their tiny kidneys.

So go to it folks, go punch some babies and do them and their vestibular systems a favor.*

*No babies were harmed in the making of this blog post.

R to the Ou to the Tine.

The past four mornings I've maintained a set routine: wake up, pop Jillian in the player, succumb to her punishments for 25 excruciating minutes, wallow in my own sweat until feeling returns to my limbs, dress the kids, take them to school then shower. Shower! Every day! I've even been wearing makeup and...earrings. I know. The madness cannot possibly continue...sweatpants and dirty hair are surely on the horizon.

But for now, there is something so calming about this routine, even though it begins early and painfully. Keeps the rhythm of the day set at "cool", and keeps me happy. Keeps the kids happy. Keeps us all happy, which is nice if we're going to stay a family through the duration of [the Shred] grad school.

Now I'm sipping my caramel americano with my organized little binder ready to learn. It's only day 4, so this "routine" will change over the next couple weeks, but for now...couldn't be more perfect.