Here’s me!

I've moved, I've gotten a new name.

After reading over past posts, I realized that my blog had morphed a bit *away* from being about triathlon training, and *toward* training of in other areas: potty, ettiquette, life in general.

girl, because I am one.

monkey, in reference to what I do for a living, what I call my children, me in general.

You stay classy, blog reader. Thanks for stopping by.

Notes from my first swim lesson

Instructor: So you do triathlons and you don't know how to freestyle?
ME: No.
Instructor: What do you do?
ME: I sorta sputter and sink.
Instructor: I meant what stroke.
ME: I do the breast stroke...I think.
Instructor: (pause) You.. I ... uhmm... are you serious?
ME: Yeah...

(I'm in the water now)
Instructor: How long have you been doing triathlons?
ME: Just this past year.
(I take my swim cap and attempt to put it on my head but it gets stuck, covering just the top of my head. I feel like a Conehead. My bun and most of my head straggling out of the bottom)
Instructor: Let me show you how to put this on.
(I try to remove the swimcap and remove half the hair on my head in the process. I hand it to the instructor.)
See this part? This is the front. You were putting it on side-to-side.
(I swallow pang of embarrassment as I realize I'd been wearing my little swim hat backwards for the last year.)
You grab here, and stick it to your forehead. I will pull it over.
(SWONK! My eyebrows, along with everything else, are pulled tightly inside the cap. In one fell swoop, I have become a Kojak twin with a surprised look on my face. Botox couldn't get my eyebrows looking this good.)

(Later, after demonstrating my breast stroke)
Instructor: Yeah. So that's what you've been doing in a triathlon?
ME: Yeah.
Instructor: Okay. Well, that's uhh... Let me put it this way: The breast stroke is more... (does aerial impression of something completely different)
ME: So I was more doing "the frog" then.
Instructor: Okay, sure-- we'll go with that.

Strange days

I went to bed last night at 9:30 and had a dream about those Dutch wooden shoes.

Vivid, detailed dreams.

They haunt me.

No joke: It’s April

Seriously. Another whole month has passed, and I stare with incredulity at the calendar, wondering a) when did March get shorter than February; b) did I just sleep through March, and c) what the hell--I actually sleep?

Other realizations:

I don't know at what point it was that I ceased caring about the state of my dispicable home, but I have completely reached that point. I actually allowed someone into my home when there was a sink filled with dirty dishes and baskets (note the plural) of clean wash sitting on my coffee table, waiting to be folded (and where they had been waiting for some 2 days now). I would have put the laundry on the couch, but it was already cluttered with newspaper and plushie toys.

I will not describe the state of my floors, but I will mention that I blame some of it on my dog. What kind of lazy dog leaves crumbs on the floors? Seriously.

My bathroom is often where I potty train my daughter. She is now a sleep-only diaper wearer, which is really bittersweet. I mean, I love the $30 extra bucks per month, but kinda dread the fact that she pees every 20 minutes. And now the potty is a bedtime-avoidance trick. She'll announce she needs to make a visit, and then announce while sitting that she needs to make it a longer visit, and then, some 20 minutes later when no actual "movement" has taken place (if you catch my drift), she banishes me from the room in a sudden burst of need for privacy.

When I peek back in she is sneakily loading the toilet with paper.

To go to an earlier point about the state of my dispicable home, wet toilet paper is really clingy.

So that's my house. The finer points, anyway. Whenever friends ask what I want for my birthday/holiday gifts, I always mention a visit from a cleaning service. Nobody thinks I'm serious.

Now it's a challenge. Come on over for coffee. I dare ya.

__________________
Miles
Weekend total: 48