I am a Warrior

I've got to set the scene for you. Are you ready to turn on your internal soundtrack? 'Cause, to read this post, you really need to be hearing Pat Benatar's "I am the Warrior" in your head. You getting there? C'mon, "shooting at the walls of heartache. Bang, bang. I am the warrior." Got it? Ok, let's do this thing.

Months and months ago, I heard about this crazy run called the Warrior Dash. For some reason, I thought it would be awesome to run a 5K with obstacles interspersed and a guarantee to get dirty. So, because I thought it was such an awesome idea, I also tried to convince almost everyone I know to do it, too. Hey, spread the misery around, right?

I wasn't fully comprehending the whole concept until about a week or two ago. Then, I became convinced that I was crazy for signing up for this thing. Really, who runs an insane race with obstacles at 1pm on the last weekend of July? The heat was really freaking me out. I am strictly a morning runner. I am always finished running by 8 or 9 in the morning, and those are late mornings. Most days, I'm home from my runs by 7:30am. So, the thought of running in the middle of the day on July 30th was really quite daunting to me. And, well, frankly, the thought of jumping into a mud pit was also weighing on my mind.

My precious little petri dishes

Petri dish #1

Petri dish #2

When you are pregnant or a new mom, everyone loves to give you advice or warnings about having children. There are few things in life more annoying than these so-called "helpful hints."

Well, actually, it was also incredibly obnoxious hearing, "Wow, your belly button has popped, you must be done!" Like I was a freakin' turkey ready to pulled out of the oven. In fact, my belly button popped out at like six months, thankyouverymuch, I still had a long time left to cook.

Yes, my belly button had popped out and I still had over 2 months to go.

Anyway, my least favorite helpful hint was "enjoy your sleep now, because you won't get any for 18 more years!" Really?!? I was huge, uncomfortable and getting up to pee every hour during the night as it was. And, there was no going back. The kid was coming, so why would you purposefully make the parents-to-be dread their baby's arrival? It's just cruel, that's what it is.

Betty Crocker does not live here

The other day, while sitting around the table eating dinner, Molly looked up from her plate. She turned toward me and declared, "Mommy, this is the best dinner you've ever made!" Now, for most moms, this would probably be a moment of great pride. This comment would puff them up (rightfully so), and they could strut around knowing that they pleased their 3-year-old's picky taste pallet.

Me? I burst out laughing.

I wasn't laughing at Molly. She was being completely sincere and earnest. And, I did appreciate that she was actually eating her dinner. I laughed because the meal she was raving about, the meal that was the height of my culinary expertise, the meal that she asked for seconds of? That meal? Yeah, that meal was a pre-made rotisserie chicken from Target.

Yup, pretty much exactly like the one above. I can't even claim that I prepared the thing. It grosses me out to cut the meat off the bone, so I made Cory do it. And, I didn't even make any of the vegetables or bread that went with the meal. Cory did that, too. So, pretty much all I did was pick it up off the shelf at Target, put it in my cart, pay with my credit card and bring it home. But, according to Molly, that was the best cooking I had ever done.

Daddy's little girl

The other night, Cory and I got an evening out when both girls spent the night at Cory's parents' house. The next morning, we went to go pick them up. Now, I'm used to Molly not wanting to come home from either of her grandparents' houses. She loves spending the night - spending the night anywhere. When we try to convince her to come home, she will cry and pout. I'm fairly certain this is the result of grandmas playing constantly with her and letting her get away with more than mommy lets her get away with. (I promise, she will not fall asleep watching a movie, no matter how long you let her!) I try to see this as a good thing; it's a good thing she loves to spend time with her grandparents and that she can see them so frequently because they live so close. Some days it is easier than others, especially when she is crying and screaming, "I don't want to go home. Home isn't fun!" (Really? All those toys you got for Christmas and all those hours of tea parties and puppet shows? Not fun?)

OK, so, I've prepared myself for this reaction from Molly. I've even prepared myself for her to completely ignore me and keep playing. Yup, I'd readied myself for all of these possibilities. Here's what I hadn't prepared myself for: Charlotte, my baby girl, decided the only one she wanted was Cory. We walk in the door, and she immediately puts up her arms for Cory. Not me. In fact, when I tried to take her out of Cory's arms, she immediately contorted her whole body and strained, practically jumping from my grasp toward Cory. Again, I try to tell myself that this a good thing. And, really, I know that it is. I know it is a good thing that Charlotte perks up and starts squealing from the time she hears the garage door open until she sees Cory walk up the stairs. I know it's a good thing that I'm not living as a housewife in the 40s or 50s when men just didn't help raise their own children. I don't think I would've made a very good 50s housewife for a myriad reasons, really. (I'm sure they'll be more posts on my shortcomings in homemaking skills later, so stay tuned.)

My head knows it is a good thing. My heart has to be convinced. Here's what my heart is saying: I carried you for 9 months. I threw up practically every day of your pregnancy. You were 9 and a half pounds, and I delivered you. LOVE ME BEST!

Because she doesn't seem to care about these things when I try to remind her of them, I have to learn to be happy with the current state of things. I smile, eyes watering, and hand her back to Cory. And, she gets a ridiculously cute grin on her face. I will learn to accept my place in the family hierarchy for now. Because, I can take heart knowing that when she's a teenager, Cory will be scaring the crap out of her boyfriends (or, knowing Cory, grilling her boyfriends about their financial stability). When this happens, she will come crying to me ... and I will finally be the favorite.

Daddy and his little girl.