Butter chicken cleanses and submarines

Where did the weekend go, have any of you seen it? One second it was here right in front of me and I blink my eyes for just a second it seems and it’s gone. Sigh. If only I could live in a soap opera, where everyone seems to be independently wealthy and always has great hair.

I did get a lot accomplished this weekend from cleaning out the fridge, which had seriously bad garlic breath, to cleaning out my bedroom closet. I also managed to clean the house, weed the garden, help my sister pack boxes and even went out for dinner. I know, what can I say, I’m amazing.

Speaking of dinner, we went to the All you can Eat Indian buffet not too far from us. It always makes me feel better when I go to an all you can eat with Scott, because he seems to take that as a personal mission, to eat as much as he can possibly stuff in his face. It doesn’t make me feel so bad for not doing that. Although it makes me a bit envious, how he can shovel food in like he’s saving up for hibernation and not gain weight. Me, I look at the food and somehow it’s already relocated to my hips.

I had my favourite, butter chicken, mmm, mmm, mmm good. I still stand by my theory though, that butter chicken works wonders in cleaning out the colon. The morning after eating it my body seems to say “evacuate, evacuate!” I should patent the “butter chicken cleanse”.

I got up at five am this morning to go for a walk. It was a lovely morning, just slightly sprinkling with rain, light, birds singing, cars starting to make their way to work. I must be completely mentally unbalanced. This weekend I decided enough is enough. I was sorting through the giant pile of clothing that doesn’t fit and decided I needed to fit into them again. Cramming my body into them as is doesn’t work, trust me, I tried. Apparently there is no other way besides the whole diet and exercise thing so I guess that is what I’ll do. Again.

Speaking of being active, Finnegan is growing up too fast! He is saying new words every day and some of them I can even understand! He got a new toddler bed this weekend and loves it. By new I mean recycled from my sister, who had it in her garage. It’s in the shape of a VW Bug, with holes in the sides, ends and top. He climbed into bed last night, pulled up his covers and smiled at the daddy as he waved goodbye. He really is the cutest toddler, with his giant eyelashes that Tammy Faye Baker would be envious of.

Toddlers may be adorable but they are still gross. Finnegan was in the bathtub on Sunday morning and decided to take a poop, and not just a little poop but a giant log. One minute the kid is squatting (hey don’t judge me, I thought he was playing!) and the next minute there is a giant submarine floating in the water. Apparently he thought it was gross too so he picked it up before i could stop him and hucked it out of the tub onto the floor. That is when I did what any sane mother would do. I yelled “HONEY!  Come deal with your son!”

We went swimming last night, the outdoor pool in our townhouse complex opened this weekend, and the kids were raring to go. It was pretty nice out so we decided to try it out. I sent Scott and Meghan on a scouting mission to see if the water was okay. They came back to say it was fine so we all made our way over to the pool. I’m not sure what Scott’s definition of “fine” is but the water was colder than hell frozen over. The man is seriously delusional. I jumped in and I swear to god I couldn’t breathe. After swimming laps for a couple of minutes it wasn’t as bone chilling but it was cool. After about twenty minutes Finnegan’s teeth were chattering so loud it sounded like Morse code.

I’m thinking though, that since Scott said it was “Fine” but it wasn’t, maybe he really is beginning to understand the code of woman.