How I love my family.

They all look so innocent, don't they? Playing there in the pool, watering the lawn with the leftovers. "Tra la la", they're probably thinking. Well don't be fooled. The people up there in that picture, are the cause of my recent claim of insanity. Them and the cat, who 2 days ago decided to run away (quick Spooky, get out while you still can!) and is probably never coming back. One down. Three to go.

Hold on. Gotta switch out the laundry.

Let me pull and each and every one of them aside for a second, to give you a better idea of what they're capable of.

Miss Eleanore. Miss, I'm almost three years old and I don't have to listen to anyone, Eleanore. Shes the worst. Yesterday, while putting together a package for her new Canadian pen pal, she pushed me past my limits. I could have easily strangled her, but instead- wait, let me back up. Starting over now... ahem. Recently, I've put up with her carelessness, I've put up with her hitting, I've put up with her screaming. I've punished her by putting her in time out, I've sent her to her room with no lunch, I've dragged her in the house kicking and screaming. And just when I thought she was finally getting the point, that I'm the boss, and shes the kid, she gave me a great big shove, into a messy pit of motherhood rage. Responding to a polite request to please pick up her crayons, she screamed no at me. I politely asked her again. She repeated the scream of no, and threw the crayons of which I was speaking of. I calmly (the scary kind of calm) explained to her (for the millionth time) how we pick up after ourselves after we make a mess. I asked her if she understood. She said yes. I asked her, one more time, to please pick up her crayons, and rather than learning and following directions like a good little girl, she looked me directly in the eyes and mimicked the same scary-calm voice that I was using with her, and said "No".

And what happened to that little girl, you wonder? Did she make it out alive? ...Yes. Shes alive alright. Rather than flipping my crazy switch, I kept it cool. I went and grabbed a chair from the dining room, put it in front of the window, and gave her her options. She could a) pick up the *#&@ing crayons, or b) sit in the chair facing the window for the next two days. Sitting in the chair would mean no toys, no movies, no friends, and no fun other than the fun she could provide herself with her over active imagination and the hours in which to use it. She chose option b. And as for the heap of toys that are sitting unplayed with? I'm selling them. Well, not all of them. Some of them I'm going to set aside and wrap up for her baby brothers birthday in December. Yep. I'm really doing that.

Moving on now...

To Charlie. The baby. The 6 month old with a plan to bring down his Mama. How could someone so squishy looking, cause such a ruckus? Oh it comes naturally for him. As you can see, Charlie isn't anywhere near starved. Quite the opposite, actually. Most 6 months old by now, sleep through the night. Their parents lay them down in their cribs at night, and don't hear a peep until the sun comes up. OK maybe they hear a toss and a turn, maybe they have to go in for a midnight soothing, but generally, babies at this age sleep through the night.

Well not my baby. Not Charlie. Charlie seems to think that his body requires food every 2-3 hours. And not just food, but Mommy's food. This doesn't apply to just the daytime hours, its in effect around the clock. So just as we're getting to sleep, finally settling down and drifting off to sleepy land, Charlie makes his needs heard, loud and clear. It starts with a quiet whimper. Christopher goes into his room, tries to soothe him, rocks him, sings to him, cuddles him. The whimper soon turns into a whining. The whining into a cry. The cry into a scream. Everyone in the house is now wide awake, the baby's face is bright red, and I'm leaking milk all over the place like a water bed attacked by an army of poorly made pin cushions. We can only take so much of this, before Charlie, the cute chubby baby that everyone ooh's and aaah's over, gets his way.

During the daytime, he refuses to take his nap. Correction; he refuses to take a nap anywhere other than my arms and lap. I put him down in his bed, and it works for about 10 minutes, until he realizes that hes not in my arms and starts up with the purple faced wailing. In fact, hes currently in the pack n play, behind me as I type this, going off like a freakin' fire alarm at a no smoking prom (haha, what?). And guess who gives in? Me or him? ...Me, obviously. I end up sitting on the couch in the most uncomfortable of positions, while hes fast asleep in my arms. Well not today Mister, you can scream until your lungs explode, I am not picking you up. You are making me crazy!

And lastly...

My husband.

Christopher.

The man that I married (yeah he might look good with his shirt off, but beware).

I've been working out hard, these past couple of weeks. Really hard. Every week I push and push, but my weight loss results have been less than I hoped for. Yesterday I weighed in, after a week of extreme dedication, only to find out that in the past two weeks, I've only lost 1 pound. I'll take what I can get, but, things just weren't adding up. With the way that I've been eating, and the way that I've been going at it physically, somethings gotta give. Well last night, after a 2 mile walk on the track at the gym under 102 degree skies, I sat back and relaxed on the couch to my nightly bowl of stevia sweetened berry sorbet. My reward for working so hard. Every night Christopher makes it for me, and every night I eat a bowl the size of my head. I gobble it up, suck it down, toss it back and absorb the vitamins as if I'd die without it.

Last night as I was going on and on about how good it was, the topic of ingredients came into play. How many calories was I eating, I wondered? Since it was only berries, ice, tofu, and a no calorie sweetener, 300... 400, max? So I ask my loving husband to add it up for me, just for giggles. As hes writing down the components, hes saying them aloud. "One cup frozen strawberries... a half a cup frozen blueberries... a half a cup peanuts"- WAIT, WHAT?! Back up. Did you just say, a HALF A CUP OF PEANUTS?! He was joking. He had to be joking. A half a cup of peanuts was enough to feed a small country, and he wouldn't do that to me. Everyone knows that peanuts, are high in calories and fat. The good kind of fat, but still. And I knew that he knew this, because he had individually packaged bags of nuts to eat while he was at work, and in need of a calorie boost to counteract the ridiculous sweaty days that hes been working around.

Silence. Complete, silence. When it gets silent like that, I know that he isn't kidding. I know that hes serious. The thought of consuming an additional meals worth of calories started sinking into my head, just in time for him to announce the grand total to me. "Do you really want to know?" he asks me.

No. But...

..."950 calories" he spits out.

Now, its common knowledge to me, that if you want to lose a pound a week, you cut out 500 calories a day. I've heard it from several people, doctors, websites, experts, whatever. I've been keeping serious track of my food intake, eating the right amount of the right foods, evenly spaced out throughout the day. Its been a huge pain in my butt. I feel like I'm eating constantly. Either I'm eating, or I'm preparing food. And all while watching my calories, to make sure that I don't fall under, or go over, I've been making sure that my husband, dear Christopher, has been getting more than enough to maintain his needs. I bake him cookies that I can't eat. Cookies that are full of brown sugar and chocolate chips and walnuts. I cook him giant pots of spaghetti that smell so good I could dive in and do laps in the tomato base. I sit in the shadows and eat my dip sized bowl full of protein packed salad, while he eats his delicious home cooked meal followed by home baked cookies. None of this bothered me, it actually made me feel good. I like taking care of my husband. I like taking care of my family. And then I find out that all of my efforts that I've been putting towards myself have been a waste, because of my husbands sabotage?

He claims he didn't know peanuts were high in calories, even though that's what he takes to work to fill up when he needs a calorie boost. He says he didn't do it on purpose, which I partially believe. But the smile that he got on his face when responding to my dramatic reaction, was enough to stop my heart. The last thing I wanted to see on his face, was a smile. He has been overfeeding me 5-600 calories a night, and then smiled about it? No sir, you're not crawling into bed next to this lady tonight. Go find some peanuts to cuddle with.

Ah, my family... how I love my family.

*This ridiculously long moment has been brought to you by Ibuprofen and swear words*