HE HAS BALLS!

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I caved. You know those Gymboree/My Gym/Rollie Pollies type places? I was all, I'm a SAHM. We're on a limited income. I don't need that for my toddler - we're Alaskans, I take her to the park in 20 degree weather and get death stares from other moms in parkas. Oh wait, no other moms are there - it's too cold, and the parkas come out at 45 degrees. Or, I thought - I can come up with ideas to do at home from pinterest or facebook or something.

I was lying to myself. Do you know what toddlers do? Toddlers RUN. A lot. Do I look like I run, a lot? Don't answer that. The point is, C NEEDS Gymboree like I need chocolate chip cookies, which is obviously a lot. My elastic waist pants agree. Because after five seconds of painting the sidewalk with water and tearing all the books off the bookshelf (not found on pinterest, that was a self-discovered activity = gold star) and forty-seven thousand hours of pinning toddler activities on pinterest that made me feel like a crappy mom because I don't cut my kids sandwich into a different shape every day...I caved. Mostly it was because of the expense. It's not cheap. But then I decided  that money was either going into therapy for both Clara and I until spring or it could go to Gymboree...and I used that as my bargaining chip w/ Ian. Also, I talked to another SAHM friend who had just signed up and that helped.

So that bring us to today. Two weeks into Gymboree and a we have little bit of mommy's sanity replenished, and a happily napping toddler. Yay for us. The first day, I made a great first impression by unknowingly wearing my berry smoothie all over my face the entire time. Awesome. The second time, I had a Disney Princess sticker on my butt the entire time (plus for two errands afterwards.) Even BETTER! But today...today was the best. Today proves why I cannot bring myself to compete with the pretty, yoga pants wearing SAHMS and I'll always be the frizzy haired, sweaty SAHM (happy, but not necessarily cute.)

I was making cute small talk (!!!) w/ another mom while our kids "played" together. Clara got upset that the little boy, G, was playing with two inflatable balls that she apparently wanted to be playing with the very second he picked them up (convenient, huh?) She started fussing and I said excitedly, in an effort to make this a teaching moment...

Wait for it...

.....

"Yep, he has big balls!"

Awkward silence.

Inwardly (and probably outwardly) cringing on my part. Do I dare look at his mom? I want to laugh. It's funny, right? The kid is even carrying the two balls...correctly, per my statement. Ha, ha , right? Wait, she still isn't saying anything. Maybe this isn't awkward for her. Maybe she's not a 12 year old boy and that's not where her mind immediately went. Like mine. I'll just let it go. No, I can't. Yes. No.

*Chuckling awkwardly* "That sounded bad, hehehehehehehehe." OMG WHY DID I NOT JUST LET IT GO?

I nervously glance in her direction. Yep, she's cringing now too. And backing away slowly.

This is my life.

Still awkwardly laughing at myself after Gymboree, Clara and I invent a game of putting goldfish into an empty spaghetti box. Rather innovative, I'd say. ;) C is digging it big time. So of course, what do I immediately start singing? It popped into my head right after I said "Put your goldfish in the box!"

"Put your fish in a box...have her open the box...That's how you get...FISH IN A BOX."

MOTHER OF THE YEAR AWARD OVER HERE!!!

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