Things I Could Be Doing Right Now...

I realize that by posting what I am about to post, I run the risk of you all thinking I'm a major slob. But, if you think that, then poo poo on you because, if you're a mom, I'm venturing a guess that your house has looked like this at some point, too. If not, then, please - by all means - lend me your supermom cape for the day. I promise I'm not a slob. Hopefully you'll see these pictures and not feel so bad about your own little messes. Or, if your house happens to be clean right now, pat yourself on the back until 6 o'clock tonight when it's a mess again.

Kaylee decided 5 a.m. would be a grand time to wake up this morning. Then she proceeded to fuss for 2 hours straight. Fun times, people. Now, this is what she's up to...

*insert Hallelujah chorus here*

So, it's officially nap time at our house, and there are a few things I could be doing right now - like...

1. Taking a shower
(oooh, or scrubbing soap scum off shower walls....)

2. Picking up the kitchen


3. Folding this laundry


4. Washing the stack of dirty cloth diapers that are inside this Diaper Genie, and that are now starting to pile on top of the Diaper Genie


5. Cleaning the living room


Nahhh. That would have been the old me - the one that had not yet learned the lesson of why God provides mamas with baby naps...the girl who thought that nap time meant "productivity time" and power cleaned like a mad woman. Yes, I could have gotten a lot done around the house, but that's not what I needed to be doing. Ya see, those messes will be there all day. That's a fact.

BUT! These moments of quiet tranquility could end at any given moment, so I'm going to savor them. I'm going to use nap time for what I believe God intended nap time to be. ME TIME. I need my quiet time - my time to sit back, relax and do something for myself. I can clean the house later when Kaylee is awake and playing in her jumperoo or something.

For now, I'm going to eat my Fiber One bar, toss back a cold glass of water, and do a little blog hopping. In my pajamas. And I'm not going to feel guilty about it. Not one bit. So there.

Can't a Girl Just Poop in Peace?!?

Seriously, people.

Never in my life have I wished for anything more (okay, you got me - that's not entirely true - it's just how I feel right now)...

So, I have my morning bowl of fiber-y cereal, so as to keep myself regular. Then I add on a chewy and delicious, gas-inducing Fiber One bar. Two minutes later, it's time to drop the kids off at the pool, if you know what I'm sayin'.

I decide to go grab a new magazine and take my sweet time. My little one is happily entertaining herself in the Pack 'n Play - there should be no issues here.

WRONG!

I get five of my ten toes out the door and screaming ensues. I remember, "Oh yes, we're in the phase where she blows a gasket if I leave the room." But, cry she must. This mama's gotta poop.

I get my magazine, sit down, and wish to high heaven that I could just read the latest issue of Parenting - seriously - 5 pages is all I ask for. Is that so much?! Apparently, it is.

So, I spend my crapadoodle doo time with the door open so that I can talk to my child in the sing-songy voice that she loves so much, just so I don't have to hear constant screaming.

A dear friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) has two kids of her own. Not long ago she was telling me that gone are the days of the Leisurely Crap. No more dawdling on the pot. No more catching up on the bathroom reading. No more private time.

Unfortunately, due to the obscene amount of fiber I choose to have in my diet, my craps are always in the morning (unless I mistakenly consume 2 or more Fiber One bars - then I'm in for it all the live long day...) - when my husband is conveniently at work. This is unfortunate because, were he home during my oh-so-scheduled poops, I could enjoy a leisurely crap.

So, how do I deal? I have fake poops. Yep, fake poops.

He gets home - I suddenly have to crap. Oh, and it takes me a good 20 minutes, too. What's he gonna do? Tell me to hurry it up? I think not. So, I sit there on the crapper and read my magazine, pretending to poop. Hey, you do whatcha gotta do to get a little piece and quiet, and if it means faking a poop, then so be it.

Embrace your inner fake pooper, ladies!