Okay, so the title may be a bit of an exaggeration. But do any other moms out there just feel like their patience level is completely drained by the end of the day? I want my children to have the very best of me all the time, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen. I’ll be the first to admit it.

We’ve had this bedtime routine with Gracie girl that just keeps getting longer. Three trips back to the potty, constantly thirsty – she’s really just trying to delay going to bed. She knows that. I know that. But the song and dance happens every. single. night.

I’m doing my best to encourage independence and establish good habits. But at some point, as sad as it makes me, I snip at her. And then I feel like the worst mom EVER. She looks up at me with those sweet little eyes peeking out from underneath her mop top of curly brown hair, and she asks me not to talk to her so loud.

So I take a deep breath. I smile at her. I give her the big hug she needs. I remember that she is just trying to figure out her boundaries. She’s constantly learning, constantly growing, and constantly changing. Soon she won’t NEED me when she has to go potty. Soon I won’t be there for her to giggle up at me after I realize my error and make a silly joke to her. At some point she’ll get up and do it all on her own and go back to bed, and I’ll be none-the-wiser.

Each day I do my best to grow. Each day I try to be a better parent than I was yesterday. Some days I feel successful, some days I don’t. But every single day I put my head on the pillow knowing that I am doing the best I can, and I sure hope that some day they see that.

So…I haven’t blogged in about 8 million years. I know, right? Kind of ridiculous for someone who wanted to start her own blog for like 5 years. So here I am. BOOM. Hello, world!

I know why I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague for the same reason I’ve been avoiding the mirror for about a week and a half. I have Beachbody Summit this week and I am scared. to. death.

Why? Because I’m not at my goal weight. *GASP* Not a shocker to anyone who knows me. And yet I’m terrified to meet most of these fellow coaches in real life. I KNOW they’ll be nice. I KNOW they won’t be judgmental, because everyone started from somewhere. But the little, insecure 7th grader inside me just keeps saying, “But what if they think I’m fat?”

There are times when my self confidence SOARS. When I’m able to help other people reach their goals, or when I reach goals of my own. I feel more amazing than a bag of potato chips could EVER taste. And yet I can’t get out of my own darn head.

So wish me luck, folks, as I bare my soul (and my upper arms) to over 25,000 amazing Beachbody Coaches. This is me. This is who I am. I’ve fought really hard to lose over 85 pounds and keep it off. I have a heck of a lot more to lose, sure, but I’m PROUD of how far I’ve come.

Get ready, Nashville – I’m coming for you!

Thought of the day: judgmental people kind of stink. CRAZY thought – I know. But honestly, why are there so many Judgy McJudgersons in this world?

I feel like I had two separate instances today where I was BIG time judged. And we’re talking before noon. Yeesh. They were for totally unrelated reasons. One business, one personal. And the people may not have even realized they were being judgmental (though I doubt it). In one case, it was a complete pot-calling-the-kettle-black type scenario, which makes it even cooler. Sigh.

Why is this the way we live? Why are we in a constant state of judgment on one another? Why do we think that OUR opinion, or our way of doing things, is the only way that matters? Why do we talk behind other people’s backs, instead of being up front and honest?

All good questions, in my opinion. I guess for now I’ll continue to live my life as an open book. I’ll continue to ask the questions. I’ll continue to present the problem. And if people decide to talk to others about it instead of just talking to me, so be it. Truthfully, it makes THEIR life more complicated – not mine.

Hmmm. But maybe these deep musings are just coming to the surface because of a trying day with my little lady. Toddlers sure test their limits, eh? You can seriously tell how good of a day we’ve had based on how many of her toys are being held hostage on top of the fridge. I absolutely hate taking things away from her, but it feels like the only thing that helps teach her lessons lately. Parents of toddlers, is that just me?!

So today? Meh. But tomorrow will be better. It always is. No judgments here.

When I woke up this morning I did NOT want to run. It’s been forever since I did a race (since last October, to be exact) and my stomach was in complete knots. But then my awesome sister-in-law picked me up, and then we went to pick up my other awesome sister-in-law, and at that point I was starting to get excited instead of nervous. We joked about the pre-race poops, and everything felt back to normal.

So picture me on this run. It’s the 4th of July. It’s getting muggier by the minute. I’m on mile 4-ish of a 5-mile run, and I see some teenage jerkface who was helping out with the race start to PICK UP THE FREAKIN’ CONES from the street. Okay, fine, so I was like 3rd or 4th from last place. I never claimed to be The Flash over here. But COME ON, dude. We were STILL RUNNING.

There seriously couldn’t have been anything more discouraging to me at that point. Tears welled up in my eyes. I gave a very stern mom look to the guy doing it, plus the driver (for good measure). And then I cranked up my tunes and I RAN.

Because guess what? People suck sometimes. People who are just trying to do their job can go right ahead and you’ll feel like they’re stomping all over you. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. You have the CHOICE to either let their actions affect you, or to go on your merry way and keep. on. running.

I chose to run. In that moment, I chose to picture my sweet husband and two little kiddos who were waiting for me at that finish line.

What will YOU choose?

I went for a run as my workout the other day because I’m training for a 10k. Yep, a whole 6.2 miles. And I am NOT a runner. Perhaps crazy, but not really a great runner. My comfort zone for workouts is in sloppy workout gear, sweating profusely along with my bestie Autumn Calabrese and my main man Shaun T. Alright, fine, they’re the trainers in my workout DVDs. But I feel like they’ve seen me at my worst, so can’t I call them friends at this point?!

Anyway. Running. I was talking with my REAL friend and it makes me laugh that she loves running the most at the exact same point I do – when she’s DONE. I never would’ve thought that a seasoned runner, who does marathons and other crazy stuff like that, would feel the same way. But it was kind of comforting in a strange way.

So on this run that kind of sucked the other day, I decided at the last minute that I wanted to run up a pretty serious hill in my neighborhood. It’s kind of hardcore, and at that point in my run I knew it would be a challenge by the time I got there. Buuuuuut I went for it anyway.

So I make the turn onto the path where this hardcore hill is, and the wind hits me like a load of BRICKS. It was miserable. There was a LOT of grimacing going on. I started to get disheartened. But there was kind of no other option at that point but to suck it up and RUN. So I did. I ran through that stupid wind. I ran up that darn hill. And the whole time I was listening to Raffi on the toddler radio station to placate the little girl sitting in the double jogging stroller I was pushing. Raffi? NOT so motivational on a run. SERIOUSLY.

But HEY! I did it! I survived. I knew I would, even though I felt like giving up about 12 different times. It felt like a major accomplishment.

I bet Raffi himself would have been proud. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, because heaven knows he’ll be joining me on another run sometime soon.

Yep, you read that title right. My daughter. And her wee-wee. Before you freak out, here’s a picture of her sitting on it.

She’s called it that since she could talk because we’ve always said, “WEEEEEEE!” together whenever she rides it. Makes sense, eh? Trust me, I’ve tried to get her to start calling it her giraffe. Or her rocking toy. Or honestly ANYTHING other than her wee-wee.

But wee-wee stuck, so wee-wee it is.

The more I thought about it the worse I felt about trying to make her change the name she came up with for her toy. Just because it’s not “conventional.” It’s not “normal.” It makes me blush a little bit when we have company over and Gracie asks to play with it. Or when I have to use it for leverage, and say something like, “Gracie, Momma’s going to take your wee-wee away if you don’t stop coloring on it! Remember, sweetie? We only color on PAPER.” (Put that right at the top of things I never thought I’d be saying to my 2-year old daughter.)

Shouldn’t I be celebrating her creativity? Or at least encouraging her to tread her own path, come up with ideas, and stick to her guns? Or something like that? Probably.

But for now, I’ll likely just hope that Parker comes up with a different name for it. Fingers crossed.

“Momma, I’m huuuuuuungry tooooooo!”

This was said, ever so dramatically, by my almost 3-year old toddler, Gracie. I honestly don’t know WHERE she gets her flair for the dramatics from. Not like I EVER pitched fits when I was little. Ever. Naturally, I was perfect. (Cough.) We were on our way to a baseball game today and even though the car ride was only an hour long… a LOT can happen in an hour. Especially in the life of a toddler.

For real, though. She’s adorable. And sassy. She’ll pitch a fit like you wouldn’t believe, but then she’ll run up to you and throw her arms around you in a way that only she can, and everything will be all better. She’ll nuzzle her little head into the crook of my neck, and I’ll smell her sweet, sweaty little head on a warm summer day, and I’ll remember that she’s two. She’s just figuring this big world out. She’s testing her boundaries, and seeing what she is capable of doing on her own. Today she decided that she needed to eat RIGHT THAT SECOND.

I’ll be the first person to admit it: I’m NOT a perfect mom. Or a perfect wife. Sometimes I lose my patience. Sometimes I’m trying to get somewhere in a hurry and my temper rears its ugly head. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is.

So on this hour long car ride, which in theory should be no big deal, Parker (my 1-year old little dude) apparently realized he was about to starve to death. Then Gracie was flipping out because seeing her brother eat made her realize she was also clearly on the precipice of death due to starvation. Despite the full breakfast she ate that morning, and the box of raisins she just finished a half an hour prior. Obviously I never feed my kids.

So I lost my cool. I’ll admit it – I snapped. Not my best moment. I yelled at Gracie to settle down, and told her she will get to eat her sandwich in 15 minutes when we got to the game. I had a knot of regret stewing in the pit of my stomach when my husband asked if I wanted to sing a song, and burst into a version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in his goofy baritone. And all of a sudden everything was better again.

Was it the last time I lost my cool today? Nope. Will it happen again tomorrow? Maybe. But I’m not perfect, and I’m not pretending to be.

It’s okay. Just take a deep breath and forgive yourself.

“Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn’t know it so it goes on flying anyway.” Mary Kay Ash

A good friend of mine from high school loves this quote. Me too. And it came to mind this morning BIG time when I got out of bed and felt like I had been tackled by an offensive lineman. I felt ALL of my 30 years, plus an extra 55 or so for good measure.

I realize how lame I sound when I say this, but I’m only this sore because I mowed our lawn for the first time yesterday. In my defense, we have a big backyard. And a big hill in front of our house. But yes, I admit that it appears as though I’m kind of a wuss. I also realize that most adults who are homeowners have mowed their lawn for the first time before their fourth decade of life. OOPS. I’m a wee bit spoiled having been with my hubby since I was 16 – he’s always taken care of this sort of thing! (Thanks, honey.)

But anyway… me = sore this morning. And the absolute LAST thing I wanted to do was work out. But I knew it had to happen. I’ve got goals, yo. So I put on my game face and my sports bra, and laced up my flashy, glow-in-the-dark sneakers.

As I got into the groove of my workout that quote popped into my head. Because you know… I SHOULDN’T be able to do some of the things I’ve been doing on this fitness journey. Physically, as an obese person, my body just shouldn’t be capable of some of this stuff. But I kind of just decided to ignore that. To set my goals and push past my limitations anyway.

Why CAN’T you fly, dear bumble bees? Why CAN’T you reach your goals? Get out of your own head. Get out of your own way. Flap those wings, darnit.

You’ve got this.