Today, I choose to take pride in my 1 minute and 37 second work out because working out is something of which a mom should be proud, even if its duration is less than two minutes.

In the 45 seconds I’ve been sitting responding to messages and emails, Josie has gotten out of bed 3 times because she’s a hippie and found a ball that is more fun to bounce in the kitchen than in her room or bed, (so maybe “checking email” should be added to the “proud” list too?). The most recent “would you like to be tied in?” scared her, so I think she should stay and allow me to ignore the 34 million cheerios on the floor and type instead. During that initial, uninterrupted, 45 seconds, I came across three different Facebook messages regarding my half marathon race bib that I tried to sell a month ago. At the time, I found it odd that no one wanted it, as I should have, because, in fact, three different people tried to buy it from me, three people, to whom I never responded because their messages went in the weird “other category” that I accidentally clicked and never actually read. My apologies to the runners I left hanging, but, to quote hip young people, “sorry, Im not sorry.” Sure, I ran untrained and with an injury, and slower than I would have liked, and much slower than my initial post-baby #3 crazy crazy crazy time goal. Nonetheless, I actually enjoyed every single mile, and even though Jim forgot to pick me up on time and sort of made me walk an extra two miles to find his car full of children hungry and in their pajamas, it was a wonderful, sunny morning full of purposeful sweat, time to pray, and strangers cheering for me. I thought back to those miles and thought of the fun and the cheers. Then, I looked back at today, and thought of the poop and the disappointment and realized: working out is hard to do and all moms should be really proud anytime they figure out how the heck to get it done. This morning, as 1 minute and 36 seconds flashed before me on the treadmill, I wanted to cry, because I knew it was all the time I had before someone was really going to lose it or be lost or fed a quarter, and I woke up with really high aspirations to work out well today. How frustrating it can be to have the will, the interest, to find the fun, to set aside the time, only to have it thwarted by a two year old shoving toys down toilets, feeding the baby money, smashing blueberries, and the all time grossest, pooping on the floor. My first effort to hit the pool before the monkeys awoke from their slumber was thwarted at 1am when accidentally woke me for much too long looking for his phone charger, and the early morning swim was traded for sleep. My second effort was well thought out and organized and I was convinced it would work. Step one: I set up a super interesting activity for James. Step Two: Nurse Rita for a nap with Josie by my side. Somewhere mid-milking Josie walked to her room, and since I could hear her, I thought it was fine. Not fine. Within roughly 48 seconds, she took off her diaper and pooped all over a curious george sticker book and her carpet. I try not to judge those who can’t seem to control their bowels and are still having trouble putting together sentences, but…. Maybe she was trying to get to the toilet? Or maybe she’s taken by the hipsters and toilets seem to limit her freedom. Whatever her reason there was poop all over my favorite cream carpet and the sound of Maria’s ever wise, “are you sure you want cream in the kids rooms?” obstructed my ears. Cream I picked, and poop it was. When I finished scrubbing, the baby was awake and no miles had been run. I tried a baby seat for Rita because maybe she would stay in it and bounce and not be scared of the treadmill pounding? She lasted for 47 seconds, and Josie went to her aid and fed her a quarter that she found who knows where. James walked in to see the commotion and took the quarter and hit his sister for almost choking his other sister and proceeded to jump on the bed, which was abruptly interrupted by falling off the bed, and no matter how many times we read that book, he misses the moral, and he continues to be the monkey to jump on the bed and fall off and bump his head. And that was all she wrote for the workout and all I’ll write about it. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not, and since 1:37 is my new standard of pride, things are looking good an thats the way they should look, and we all are doing great.