Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Karma - ain't it a bitch

Aaah, February 1st! The start of a whole shiny new month! I don't know about you, but I treat the start of every new month the way most people treat January 1st. That's right, it's Resolution time (note the capital R). My grand and optimistic resolution for February is (drumroll please) to get up at 7am.

What??!! That is a REALLY HARD one for me! I am a stay-at-home-mom/slug who doesn't get out of bed until both of the monsters are chanting "Breakfast! Breakfast! Breakfast!" so obnoxiously that I either have to feed them or kill them. And let's face it, pouring two glasses of juice (not the SAME juice, mind you - god forbid they both drink the same kind) and two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios (because I draw the line at making different breakfasts) is MUCH easier than trying to bury two bodies, no matter how small they are. It is winter after all and that ground is HARD!

(intermission - I am listening to internet radio and I would just like to say, how could you NOT like Supertramp? Come on! And Men at Work too! How can you not like Men at Work? I'm down with anyone who can put "vegamite" and "zombie" in the same song.)

Okay, so on your average weekday, we roll down to breakfast about 9 (the official breakfast hour of lazyasses and hung-over people worldwide). After about half an hour of refereeing table skirmishes, fast-forwarding Scooby Doo through any and all commercial breaks (see accolades for TiVO below) and reading the Scene section of the paper (including a good amount of eyerolling at the ball-less clueless wonders who write into Dear Abby) I meander into the family room for about an hour of TiVO'd yoga.

Oh TiVO! Oh TiVO! What did I ever do without you? TiVO should be a gift from the hospital upon the birth of your first child, "Congratulations! It's a boy! And TiVO!" They are probably worried that the dads would drop the newborns on their heads in their rush to glomp on to the TiVO box.

I workout in my PJ's, because how much closer can you get to yoga attire than a skimpy skinny-strap tank and drawstring/elastic-banded pants? Somewhere between 10:30 and 11 I hit the shower. By the time I've hosed off, shaved/exfoliated, gotten dressed, put on make-up and beat my hair into a semblance of submission, it's the crack of noon and lunchtime. Then off to school to drop of Monster #1 (half-day Pre-K). If I go a little crazy and decide to tidy up or start some laundry somewhere along the way, I end up giving him the bum's rush at the curb to get out of the car before someone realizes I'm just wearing a jacket over my PJ's and driving in my socks.

All this leaving me to any errands I might need to run for after school (as "School Time" for Monster #1 is "Nap Time" for Monster #2 and "Computer/Blog Time" for mommy and I ain't messin' with that!). Afternoon, specifically late afternoon, is the WORST time to run errands with small children. So I'm basically screwed there.

So, you are now seeing the beauty of my "up at 7am" scheme. I could go down and get my workout done before breakfast, which itself would probably move up closer to 8 since the kids would no longer be laying in bed with me watching cartoons until hunger works it's way up to their vocal chords. And the planets would align and all would be right with the world - thoretically.

Needless to say, I have already biffed it. I can FEEL your stunned surprise and that revelation. I skipped the whole "dance of the snooze button fairy" and went straight to the shut off. Take the fact that it's freezing and add a little Monster snuggled up to me (since about4am) and my thimble full of will power is down to nil.

Here is where our friend Karma comes in.

First I get a package delivered (it was from philosophy - wah hoo!!) and I'm answering the door in my tiny tank with my nipples, which could be seen from space, going "What can we do for you?". THEN my dad calls (to tell me that my step-sister's daughter fell off her bike and broke not just one, but BOTH arms, and I'm telling him how my best friend was in a car-totaling accident when she was turned around backwards in the passenger seat holding a barf bag for her son and only the air bag kept her from flying out the windshield) further delaying the shower portion of our program. AND THEN my favorite neighbor pulls up in my driveway and sends her little Monster to the door asking if my Monster pack and I would like to join them for lunch.

So here I am at the door AGAIN, trying not to let my nipples terrify her son - or any passing cosmonauts - while trying to juggle the phone and keep the kinderbeasts from making a break for it. So I end up at Chick-fil-a (aka Mommy Central due to it's decent food, clean play area and free balloons) wearing my glasses (you know, the cheap frames I picked because "I'll never wear these out of the house") and my hair sticking up like I've been rode hard and put up wet (which considering that last night was Mommy's quality time with the Jacuzzi tub, um, I guess I kind of was). All the while I'm using my yoga quasi-flexibility to kick myself repeatedly in the arse and inwardly railing against the cosmic forces, "Why didn't I just get up at 7!!?? I would have been pretty and wearing pants that I didn't wear yesterday (so that now the ass portion looks like JLo wore them last)!! I swear!"

Karma, Karma, Karma. You sucka, sucka, sucka. Apparently there is some helping-little-old-ladies-cross-the-street in my future to even things out a little. Or even, more diabolically, maybe spending more time with the wee fiends and less time reading - drat it!

Oh yeah, and I'm getting up at 7 tomorrow, FOR SURE!!!