An hour or so...

Since I'm at home with both kidlets on maternity leave, I've been making dinner each night, cleaning the house, washing the clothes, 'general housewifey' stuff that is pretty much foreign to my normal 'uber tired work wifey just order a friggin pizza' stuff.

I was quite proud of myself as I chopped veggies and placed chicken into a marinating baking bag for dinner yesterday morning.

Tuesday's are also trash days and I didn't want the smell of chicken fat to reek up the house so I cleaned the kitchen and ran the garbage to the container on the street before the trash truck arrived.

In my efforts to have a spotless kitchen, I accidentally threw away the directions for the chicken... the important part like how long to cook it.

I have NO idea how long to cook chicken.

Chris and Cash take a swim class in the evenings and before they left I asked, "Hey hon, how long do you cook chicken at like, 350ish?"

"Uhh.  An hour or so?" Chris said while running out the door.

Hey.  So.  You DON'T cook a chicken breast and three small thighs for an 'hour or so'.

But, I got to use that new Domino's app on my phone...

Pass the Nestle Crunch Bar...

While pregnant with Cash, I worked out the entire pregnancy.  I ran, I did yoga, I did sit ups.  Even while on work trips, I brought workout videos.  I gained 30 pounds.

After he was born, I jumped right into working out.  A full week hadn't gone by and I was logging in the miles on my jogging stroller.  After several weeks, I had dropped all but 10 pounds and was happy.

Baby number 2?  Didn't work out.  Not even once.

Total weight gain? 23 pounds.

Post delivery, I dined almost entirely on Hershey Nuggets and cherry Coke.  Exercise?  Sure.  If you count going to the grocery store to buy more nuggets and Coke as a workout.

I've got 4 pounds before I hit my pre-pregnancy weight.

There is a God.

My Own Guantanamo?

Sorry for the lack of updates.

I'm...

tired.

No one tells you that kids (plural) are awesome...

and you'll seemingly never sleep again.

For your first, every moment is special.  Sure you don't sleep at night, but you nap together during the day.  You spend your waking moments treasuring those tiny fingers and toes. You stare endlessly into those beautiful new eyes.

With number two?  Dear Lord.  All you want is sleep.

Detainees at Guantanamo underwent sleep depravation for up to 72 hours...

I'm thinking of moving there.  Sounds like a spa day.

I called my sister (mother of 4) and asked, "Please tell me it gets easier"

Pause.

"No" she responded seriously.

Do you know what you should never tell a mother to a 2 year old and a newborn?!?!!?  That it will never get easier than right at this moment. The moment both kids are screaming at the top of their lungs and the house looks like an alien baby has puked everywhere.  The moment when you put on shoes INSIDE your house, not to protect your floors... but to protect your feet from cheerios, dog food, and yesterday's dinner that your toddler threw because he didn't like it.  The moment you haven't showered since, since, since...hmm, when did I shower last??  The moment when you are listening to the 249th viewing of Calliou and can't recall the last adult show you got to watch.  The moment when you just got back from Costco after buying $150 in diapers and 15 frozen pizzas because that's the best you can do for dinner these days (hence the dinner throwing incident). The moment when your husband walks in the door and asks "What did you do all day!?!?" when staring at the messy house and your fingers twitch reaching for the cleaver.  The moment when euriheurnqeiughjvniuomneuheuithn zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.............