Workouts

I feel I need to say something before I begin. What's new? I always have something to say, correct or clear up. That's my nature. Always dwelling on what I said or did wrong. It's so fun to be me. Wily, pronounced WHY LEE, is another word for crafty. I Googled it because I wanted to be creative in my wording & apparently I didn't Google it good (or should that be well?) enough.

I haven't been talking about this blog to my DH. He thinks I spend a tad too much time on the computer & thinks this blog is a crock of crap. What does he know? He doesn't even know how to email. Behind the times much? This morning, while he's rushing around to get ready for work, I inform him that my crock of crap blog got it's record number of hits yesterday & I even got a few hits from outside of Facebook (you might ask me why that matters...well, hits outside of Facebook are people who don't know me & aren't humoring me).

My DH asks nicely, "Thought you weren't blogging anymore?" To which I reply, "No, I just don't talk about it."

DH chuckles, he finds me humorous on most occasions, & asks what got all the hits. "My Wily Wednesday"...I said it all excited like I had come up with the most clever name ever & also informed him what Wily meant. Obviously I should have known that he, of all people, would already know this. He's like a walking dictionary, which is annoying in itself.

He says, with a bit of banter in his voice, "Yes, but it's like the coyote, Wily. You know from the cartoon. It's more like cunning or sly. So are you using it like a play on words?"

UGH!!! WHY DO I TALK TO HIM?? I hate it when he's so damn smart. So for all you others that are smarter than me, YES that is what I had planned all along....sue me, I'm not a writer & I never claimed to be....(PS I love my DH & I love that he razzes me. I wouldn't have it any other way, in my blog tho, I have to give us personality).

And now for the real post.....

It's official. I've lost my mind. Send me the phone number to the nearby loony bin. Honestly I'd prefer a vacation to the furthest away tropical island. I can see myself sipping fruity drinks while the sexy cabana boy fans me with a palm. I don't mind if you wanna tag along, but lets leave the kids at home. Deal?

What has my life become? I don't know if I'm coming or going. Yesterday I tried to get a workout in while DH made a trip to see his parents. RD tagged along w/DH, HC just laid down for a nap & BAM!! Gala wakes up. I didn't mind much that she was awake. I figured she'd have fun working out. I've had to go to the "at home" workout.

Not that I've EVER gone to the gym. I don't even know what I'm talking about. I have rarely worked out in the last 5 years other than an occasional walk. Get off my ass, I'm not a fitness queen.

OK. Right...back to the workout. I wonder if I fell & bumped my head thinking I'd get through the whole thing. It started out great but went down hill fast. Gala started screaming, since her cup of milk was empty, that she needed "Gaba" (Yo Gaba Gaba) on. I tried to persuade her to join me. No dice. Fine. I offered her "fishies". An agreement. This is nice. I keep w/the beat & walk (I'm doing a walking video) myself to the kitchen, grab a bowl & fill it with "fishies". I make it back in, start w/my leg lifts & wouldn't you know it, I hear "pawie" (that's potty, for those that can't decode toddler lingo). Here we go, marching to the beat into the bathroom. I just CAN'T lower my heart rate or this workout was pointless. Gala's peeing & I'm marching. She keeps staring at me. I know she thinks I'm nuts. She even asked me to stop. I make it back yet again & jump in with the lovely Leslie Sansone. We're walking 2 steps forward & 2 back when I step on 100 "fishies". Maybe that's an exaggeration but at this point, I don't care. She dumped the whole bowl on the floor. UGH! What do I do? I yell for the dog. No time to stop in the middle of this...I'm going to finish my damn workout if it kills me. Yeah, no, I didn't. I made it 2 out of the 3 miles. Which I guess is better than nothing.

Today, it's just as bad. I am torn between 3 kids that need me for one thing or another. I'm so proud of Gala w/her potty training. She even takes her panties off for me when she needs to go. Bad thing about that is I have to locate them when we're done. She just came in & needs to go. I sit her on the pot & hear her going. I ask if she's done. Ah (yes, in Gala speak). I go to wipe her. Guess what? Her underwear are still on! Yep, she went. She even went on the potty. Mommy's just too frazzled stupid to check for panties.