Yeah, you heard me. I am scared to death of raisins. And it doesn’t even have anything to do with the time my mom and her best friend’s dressed up as the California Raisins (think garbage bags, tights and Chuck Taylor’s) and DANCED, in PUBLIC, at a college basketball game, when I was in middle school. (Thanks Mom.)

See the other day I gave Baby Sadie a box of raisins, which falls into the category of Shut Up Foods. These are foods you give to your children which have almost no nutritional value, but keep their hands and their mouths busy so you can take care of your Mommy Bidness. (You know, important stuff like twitter, mani/pedis, bon–bons…that sort of thing.)

Anywho, I gave Sadie a box of raisins which she was not eating. She would chew on them for a few minutes then spit them out like a little, old toothless lady chewing snuff. I spent several hours that day scraping dried up raisins off of my floors, but I had a party to go to (in my HONOR, and yes- I felt VERY important and loved) and I simply had to take a shower. So if I had to scrape up raisins with my fingernails, I figured it was an even trade for being able to shave my pits.

I sat down to check my email and twitter accounts really quickly and tweeted, “Keeps picking up raisins all over my floor which have been chewed up & spit out & look remarkably like poop. I’m nervous.”

I’ll bet you think you know what happened next, don’t you?

Smart aleck.

I jumped up from the computer after a quick tweet and ran to check on Sadie. Who had taken off her diaper. And pooped a trail all over the house. Which I stepped in. Barefoot.

For those of you who came to “my” party…I did wash my hands AND my feet before I came.

The hubs has been out of town for 2 days…OK, really it’s been more like 36 hours. But it’s definitely been 2 nights. 2 bedtimes, 2 bath time routines, 5 meals, 4 trips through the carpool line and one trip to the grocery store since he left. And I guess it’s a tribute to him that I actually notice that he’s gone. (and OH, how I’ve noticed!)

My best friend Lizzie and I have joined forces since our husbands are together and we have kicked butt and taken names in a way that only 2 moms can. She cooked dinner for all 6 kids last night, and I cooked tonight. After dinner, we had prison showers. I turned the shower on and put one kid in at a time, they got about 5 minutes a piece and when their time was up, it was just up.

I have definitely noticed my husband’s absence, and would like to give a shout out to all the single parents who do this on a daily basis. My hat is OFF to you, I am exhausted. Do you hear me? Bone tired. And I’ve been ready to go to sleep since 6:30 PM.

Which was about the time, Aubrey, my 5-year old, brought me her Bible and asked me to read.
What I wanted to say: Can’t we watch Spongebob until we are all drooling, then stumble into the bed like a bunch of idiots?

What I did: Opened her Bible story book and started reading.

We read the story of Joseph being sold into slavery by his brothers and Aubrey said, “Aw man, he shoulda learned sthome karate. Then him coulda taken care of himself…”

And I smiled, sucked it up, and made it a few more hours.

Well the excitement in my life just won’t stop. This morning I was hustling to get the girls out of the door to the car so that Aubrey can get out in the car pool line and I don’t have to see people face to face looking like I went a few rounds with Mike Tyson.

Aubrey INSISTED on wearing jeans and a sweater to school today (high was about 80) because, “It’s Fall MOM! And that’s what the other kids are wearing.” Emma was huddled under the covers in my bed shivering with a fever and trying to take her own temperature in places I’m not comfortable talking about and Sadie was dead to the world.

I got Aubrey to the car and came back in to wrap Emmie up in a blanket to get her to the car. I got them both buckled in and realized I was missing a couple of things: Sadie and my keys. MADNESS ensued. If we were late I was going to have to march my bloody bruised face into the office AND get my still sleeping and my feverish baby out of the car to take Aubrey inside. We were ON A DEADLINE people!

I found a spare key in a junk drawer and just barely made it to the school in time to drop Aubrey off without anyone seeing my bloody face. And I was relieved, because when you look like somebody beat the crap out of you and you are asked, “Oh honey! What did you do to yourself?” by a perfect stranger. And you answer, “I fell”- let’s just say I have seen the words “domestic violence” flashing in neon over many a store clerk’s head this week. I’m working on a more believable story involving my next door neighbor and an alligator caught in our backyard pond, but until then…”I FELL!” Walking is hard.

I came home and did the whole wifely, writerly, mommy thing…fed people, cooked, visited with a friend, lost my cell phone, talked to my agent, (I just really like to say that last one.) and lo and behold when it was time to go get Aubrey for school my keys magically appeared. Yay!

We came home and more domestic bliss ensued. I was cooking dinner when I realized that Emma had spread sea salt all over the kitchen floor, and I hesitated. Was she just acting her age or was she showing signs of true genius? I think we can all agree that a little traction on my floors is probably a good thing.

The Zebster came home to find a loverly dish of Chicken Enchiladas waiting on him and he didn’t even have to worry if the bottoms of his feet were too slick to get him from the stove to the table. After he ate dinner I asked him to help me find my phone. (We have very defined roles in our marriage. I am the loser and breaker of all things, he is the finder and the fixer…if I had a nickel for every time that boy found my contact lens…)
Me: Will you go look in my car?
Zeb: (sighs exasperated but putting his shoes on to go anyway.)
Me: I found my keys all by myself. (I said this veddy proudly.)
Zeb: Where were they?
Me: Oh. Um, I don’t remember.

I got the full eye roll as he walked to my car. If you have any insight on how to find a phone in your own house that is on silent…holla at your girl. (Via email or my home phone, of course.)

Wellll, since inquiring minds want to know what the hell is wrong with me, I’ll go ahead and tell you. I went out to dinner last night with some of my girls (you know I love them because I wasn’t at home in my pjs watching Grey’s Anatomy.) I got home close to 10 and couldn’t decided whether to watch Grey’s uninterrupted (my munchkins were all asleep) or wait until today.

My love of Grey’s won out, and I sat down to watch it. I was covered up with my favorite chenille blanket and actually fell asleep in the chair 45 minutes into the show. (Unprecedented Robin Behavior) When I woke up and realized I wasn’t really watching the show anyway, I decided to go on to bed. I stood up and the blanket fell to my feet. As it did, some of the fringe got wrapped around my right foot, so I switched all my weight to my left foot to shake the blanket off.

When I stood on my left foot, though, I unknowingly stepped into a plastic Tupperware lid that one of the girls (Emma) had been playing with and left in the floor. I face planted in the living room floor and was so out of it from being asleep I didn’t even use my hands to break my fall. (It’s ok…you can laugh…this is what I get for laughing at people falling down my entire life.)

The fall knocked the breath out of me, chipped one of my teeth and busted my chin wide open. The husband (once I was finally able to yell and wake him up) walked in the room and said, “WHAT did you do?” I mean I guess it was a fair question…I was lying in the floor in the middle of the night in a pool of blood…”Um…I was just walking.”

My mother’s response to this story…”BLESS your heart.” She’s grown accustomed to my inablity to perform the simplest of tasks without hurting myself.

My fabulous neighbor, Nana came to the rescue and taped me up with Steri-strips and I am on my way to the doctor to see if it needs to be stitched up. I promise I didn’t do this on purpose so I could go to the doctor without my kids again…but it is a silver lining…

So I’m back to the workout grind. I was perfectly happy being fat for a few more months until I got a card in the mail from my little brother’s fiancee asking me to be in their wedding, which thrilled and horrified me at the same time. I can wear a sarong at the pool all summer, but would probably look suspect walking down the aisle that way.

I have reluctantly started back to the gym. My feelings about exercising when breastfeeding are about the same as they are when pregnant: It’s pointless. When I’m pregnant I’m going to gain weight no matter what. When nursing my body fights to hold on to my body fat like I’m going to be hibernating. For example…my sister has lost 9 pounds in 2 weeks on weight watchers, I on the other hand have gained a pound and a half going to the gym for a week.

Please save the muscle weighs more than fat tirade for someone else. When I exercise while breastfeeding I am RAVENOUS and will eat anything in sight. I end up consuming more calories than I burn. Maybe I can convince Anna that ALL of the bridesmaids should be in sarongs…

Dear Clothing People,
I am 31 years old. I am not yet a Mee-Maw, and no longer a 14-year-old-hoochie (Read “skinny enough to wear short-shorts). I would like to purchase a pair of shorts that cover all of my privacy without also covering my kneecaps. If I was a size 2 or a size 18+ I could find shorts a-plenty on the racks of stores everywhere. But I am not. I am an average American Mom, still working to lose some baby weight and not ready to move on to the “culottes” phase of my life. Please. For the love and comfort of mothers across America, stop with the mass manufacturing of coochie-cutters, and HELP A SISTER OUT!

I finally broke down yesterday and bought a bathing suit. I was hoping against hope that by some MIRACLE I would be able to wear one of the million I already own, but no dice. I couldn’t fit Sadie’s meal tickets into anything I already had.

I went to Target, and bought a “Big Girra Bathing Suit.” I flattered myself with the first size I chose and MADE it go on to my body, with Lycra snapping and crackling as I pulled, stretched and sucked it in. After seeing my reflection closely resembled an Italian sausage I’d seen once, I was forced to get another size.

This should have meant that I took off the suit and put my clothes back on to go get a new suit. If you’re shopping for clothes somewhere you can also buy an ICEE or a foot-long-hot-dog, you need to realize that NO ONE is going to come knock softly on your door to see if you need another size. I’m lazy though, so I put on the swimsuit cover-up I was trying on and walked to get another size, dressed for the pool.

I’m NOT going to tell you what size I got, though I will say it had a “W” behind the numberS. (Plural. As in there was more than one.) Not that I care. There will be plenty of time to lose weight after I finish breastfeeding and my body stops fighting with me to hold on to these last 20 pounds.

I called my sister while I was checking out and she texted back, “I’m in Weight Watcher’s can’t talk, call u later :)” I texted her back, “How many points are a Butterfinger and a Coke cuz that’s what I’m eating RIGHT now?”