...and it's only 12:15...

In the past 2 hours, I have humiliated myself, made my son cry, and lied to my daughter...and it's only12:15. Before you judge, please read on:

I got my willpower back and faced the gym (1st time in...too long). Went to my usual weight class where I was planning on taking it easy re:weights, but my instructor decided to throw a curve ball..a very big, bouncy curve ball.

Ahhhh, yes, the invention of the Exercise Ball -- the coordinated person's revenge on the rest of us who could do prat falls for a living (I mean, they've got to be jealous that no one laughs at them on a daily basis due to klutziness, right??) Anyway, have been using said ball for sometime now, but really, it never does get better. While I am experienced at weight training and aerobic exercise, this balancing thing escapes me. I can out run many an "athlete" on the treadmill(all the while managing NOT to knock myself out with my own breasts, thank you), and am no shrinking violet when it comes to sharing the weight room with nasty, sweating, grunting men-folk. I can even master a few good ab exercises on the damn ball. But when you get my whole body involved in moving while suspended on an unstable anything, well, it's definitely a recipe for trouble. I especially love it when they come up with some new-fangled way to use the Ball of Embarrassment, like today, when she had us do dips on our benches while keeping our feet on the ball, our back straight, and engaging our abs (read:sucking in). Okkaaayyy. She might as well have asked me to start break-dancing, because that's essentially what happened. Cut to me wobbling, falling, laughing to shake off nerves, trying again with tongue prominently stuck out, wobbling some more, ball slipping out from under me, laughing cause now it's funny, struggling to try again, only to have ball bounce into lady next to me, attempting to ignore snorts of laughter emitting from those behind me, laughing to avoid crying, & finally getting back up in time to complete last 3 dips with rest of class (They had already done 22 while I was putting on my little show). Whatever. I showed up, and that's half the battle, or something like that...

So now we are at the house, having JUST walked in, when Jax starts his thing. First there is whining, the Ryan whines back at him (she thinks this will make him stop), that just pisses him off more, so then he starts crying. I pick him up while trying to make Ry her peanut butter-banana hot dog (on a sugar-free whole wheat bun, I might add), all the while promising to read that damn Cinderella book as soon as I finish making her sandwhich. This is clearly a mistake, because now Jax has seen food, and starts doing his Cookie Monster imitation ("me want foooood!!!", only in very piercing baby cries). So, I set him in his high-chair, mix some baby oatmeal and water, sit at table with both kids, and then Mr. Man starts SHOUTING at me. Yes, that same shout he gave to Deacon Dan at his christening. I give him my " Ummm, excuse me, who the HELL do you think you're talkin' to??" look, at which point his little lower lip starts to quiver and he begins to wail. Great, now his feelings are hurt. So, I do what all women do when we want to soothe our men -- I feed him. Yeah, this time it's not working so well, 'cause he just keeps crying in between spoonfuls (Dear God, has he caught on already???)

Meanwhile, Ryan has not forgotten my promise to read her Cinderella, and is thrusting the book in my face. I take a deep breath, hold the book in my lap with one hand, continue feeding Jax with the other, and begin to read. "Ugghhh!! Mom!", says Ryan, "I can't see the pictures!!!"

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me now...

"Well," I reply curtly, "I am feeding your brother and cannot hold the book, blah blah blah" (Supermommy isn't THAT super, people). Luckily, the heavens hear my plea, and at that exact moment we catch a bit of intereference on our kitchen baby monitor. Apparently, some other supermommy not too far away is also doing battle with evil, cause this baby is not even coming up for air. Ryan hears the distant cries, and is suddenly quietly alert. "Mom...what is that? It can't be Jax, he's right here..."
"Oh, that's our Ghost Baby." I reply nonchalantly. Yeah, I lied, and I'd do it again if I had to.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we have ghosts in the house, and one of them is a baby who lives in Jax's room when he's not in there."
"Oh. My. Gaawwwd."
Hee hee. Hey, it got her to sit quietly and eat, and Cinderella was completely forgotten. Plus, when we walked upstairs just now to put Jax to bed, she got to be his very own Ghostbuster -- jumping into his room and declaring that "all ghost babies had to leave 'cause Jax is ready to take his nap!"

;)