Blogging from the Treadmill

Did you know you can do that?

You can. If you have a laptop, a treadmill, a dog walking on the treadmill, and you're really there just in case you have to hit the emergency stop button in case something goes terribly wrong. Which never happens. Duke is a trooper.

I am sooooo sore today. Yesterday my trainer - Workout Barbie - concocted some seriously fantastic potion of exercises which resulted in my barely being able to move my legs today. gah. I'm constantly stretching out those muscles in the front of my thighs because ow. ow. ow.

and no. they are not called 'quads.' or quadriceps, or whatever else. They are just the muscles on the front my my thighs. 'Quads,' or 'quadriceps' sound like something that football players would have. They sound big and ugly and not like anything i'd want.

Incidentally, i feel that way about a lot of technical names for body parts, but i won't go into that now. not that I have any of them. Just like I don't have quads either.


Who's Your Daddy?

I left the gym on Thursday morning ready to eat, eat, EAT. It was my first appointment with the trainer I will affectionately call WorkOut Barbie. And WorkOut Barbie really can whip me into shape in one hour. By the end of the hour I was fantasizing about food, my muscles were quivering, and I couldn't wait to get away from the gym.

So I took Caden-3yr and Seth-1yr to the McDonald's drive thru where I would get who knows what. I didn't care.  We pulled up to the window, and i noticed just how deserted the place was. No people in the parking lot, few cars. Just my kids, the guy at the drive thru window, and me - a hungry, shaky mess.

He had handed me my change, and Caden-3yr got VERY excited. Mike's radio commercial (advertising his new time slot for his radio show) had just come on the air, so Caden-3yr started yelling, "THAT'S DAD-DEEEEEEE!!!!"  Over and over. Then Seth-1yr started in. I joined in.  Hey, I was hungry. "Yea!!!! It's your DADDY!" 

At about this time I notice that the guy at the drive thru window  is looking really bad. Color is draining from his face. He looks sick. Eyes kinda big. Mouth a little open. Left hand holding onto the edge of the sliding window.


Oops.  I mentioned no one was around, right?

"Um. That's my husband on the radio!  That's their daddy!" I said, too brightly, and finished up with him so we could leave.

Poor guy. He thought we were driving up and declaring paternity.

I think someone has a guilty conscience...

My mother has a gift for titles, jingles, slogans, etc. Need a catchy one? She freelances.  (This blog title is one of hers.)

Assembly Required. (Muscles, too)

FANTASTIC day! How about y'all? 

Today I assembled a treadmill. Did you know that if you buy a treadmill it doesn't come assembled? Nope. I think I assumed that would be the case. Or at least, a proficient Assembly Expert would deliver it and take care of that. But no.

The first bad sign was when the instructions read: "You will need at least Two Big Strong Adults."  Huh. And that led me to wonder, 'at least?' As in, at LEAST two, but maybe... Nine 'Big Strong Adults' would be better?  or Nineteen?

I didn't have at least two Big Strong Adults. I had only myself, and very little time with which to work without three children hanging off my Not Big Strong arms.

A good thing was the very intimidating Harware Tray. A clear plastic, multi compartmentalized tray held pre-sorted hardware. A LOT of it. However, this thing came with a diagram with the code the instructions used for each screw and washer. They all looked exactly the same to me, so it was wonderfully helpful for them to be sorted and identified already. Excellent.

Right after I fully appreciated this organizational arrangement, I accidentally sat down ON the tray, and mixed up all the pieces so that they were no longer organized in the slightest and all those almost exactly identical screws and washers now had to be sorted.  Thanks, butt. 

So I sorted. Then I assembled. Then re-assembled, since some of the pieces somehow ended up getting screwed  on upside down. But here's the best part! When i finished... I got the dog to do a workout!

Did you think it was for me? pfft. I bought it (and assembled it) for Duke, our too-energetic chocolate lab. Cesar Millan puts dogs on treadmills, and guess what? I can too! (I bet he doesn't even have to put them together first.)

Duke did ten minutes at a good incline. Not bad for a first try! Yea, doggie!

So why don't I just walk the dog the old fashioned way? That would require the use of a big double stroller, favorable weather (keep in mind the wind where i live), keeping two boys from wiggling out of seatbelts and staying seated, and enough patience and energy to manage three boys, one dog, and a stroller. In other words, I'd need at least Two Big Strong Adults.

(Or nineteen.)

Yea!! We Have a Winner!

Ok, y'all! I'm so pleased for all of you doing your self breast exams each month, and checking in here. WAY TO GO! We're ALL winners. (re-read that with your smarmiest voice. good.)

But the REAL winner of winners among us? Nicole of 4 and counting!  YEA, Nicole! She will be receiving a darling canvas Esprit bag, complete with wintry scene. It's off season. Clearance priced and Waaaay Cuter than Clearance. Yee Haw!

She's a fellow Texan stay at home mom of 4. Um, that sounds familiar. (She's younger though. All info I got straight from your profile, Nicole. I'm not stalking.)

Also, all of you who want a super cool Blog Button, don't forget to get one if you've already particiated in Club 17 once before.


They're not usually that big. That's supersized.

(See here for details on getting your own!)

Note to the TWO of you who asked: No. The cutie in the blog button is NOT ME. Clearly. I do not have... her... anything. Desert Diva created the button not based on my likeness in any way. (and obviously the two of you who asked have never met me in person, and it is therefore not as absurd as if you had. forgiven.)

Note to Stephanie: YES! dark chocolate m&ms are THE BEST. You eat fewer of them. Or I do. And that's a great thing. you know me so well!

Happy 17th to You!

It's St. Patrick's Day. Sure!  Have fun in your celebrations. I am co-hostessing (yes it's a word, i said so) a baby shower tomorrow at my house and the living room is simply festooned with decorations. festooned, indeed.

The color scheme is turquoise and yellow, with lots of rubber ducks. (don't worry y'all. i don't think the guest of honor is a reader. she'll still be surprised!) There are gorgeous baby themed garlands with yellow balloons.

My co-hostess is amazing with her creative talent for turning curling ribbon into something far more interesting than curling ribbon. you should just see. (or better yet, I'll take pictures.)

I outdid myself by blowing up way too many yellow balloons and tossing them out onto the newly vacuumed floor. Then we taped them up everywhere, and guess what? That newly vacuumed floor? COVERED IN CHOCOLATE LABRADOR RETRIEVER HAIR.

and worse? Yellow balloons LOVE - positively ADORE - chocolate Labrador retriever hair.  They go together like two sides of Velcro, sealed with superglue. I canNOT get them to separate. 

So. Gorgeous turquoise and yellow, rubber duck baby shower with curling ribbon works of ART, and then Duke's own little personal signature - gross furry balloons. Great.  Nothing welcomes an expecting mother and her precious son into the world like a lot of brown dog hair taped up around your house, right?

Are you wondering what is wrong with me? usually I get right to the point! (ok, i don't. but someone might be new here, and they might want to think that. ahem.)

It's the 17th y'all!!  Do your BSE and come back here and say you did it in comments. The drawing for the random BSE-er will take place TUESDAY night. The prize is a really  cute wintry bag from Esprit that I bought especially for this month's winner!

You are ONLY eligible for the drawing if you claim you DID THE BSE. Not just, 'hi, good thing here.'  Nope. That does not cut it. Although that's a nice comment, and nice comments are always welcome, what i'm really after are those proclamations of examinations, ladies.

If you have a sidebar button, you might consider highlighting Club 17 on your blog. If you'd like one, or have other questions, go here

See you in the Comments!

  in Club 17
We Named the Blogger! And Just in Time!


You remember when you were in the womb and there was much conversation about what your parents would name you....?


well, I bet it was a lot like the warm fuzzies I got reading the comments on the Name Me post. Thanks for even caring, or suggesting, or offering to do geneological searches! (wow, Lorie! And skip the next little paragraph, because the geneology buff in you will faint.)

So I think the consensus is Kilgore.  (I like it too. Someone in my family please remind me of whose name it was. i think I know. But I'm not sure.)

I sort of slipped that bit of information in - about the book contract - sort of... offhandedly because it had been 'in the mail' but not yet arrived. It's here now. It's real.  I can officially be excited! And I needed a name in place before I could sign it, so thank you.

I think i'll go to bed now, assume the calming relaxing fetal position, and sleep. This baby's got NAME!

(BUT COME BACK do yourself a favor and already have done your BSE, 'kay? Cause I'm feeling feisty, and the nagging started early this month!)

Name This Blogger

Mike, the 3 boys, and I are going on a little spring trip. where exactly? ummm. don't know for sure. When? yeah, that's still up in the air, too.  We're leaving tomorrow, probably, but is anyone packed? ummm. no. I have created mounds and mounds and MOUNDS of unfolded, clean laundry, but that's as far as my pre-trip preparations have gone. I frequently say of Mike and I, "We're last minute sorts." And we are.

And that sounds ultimately better than 'we procrastinate.' 

So. I have to clean, pack, plan, organize um... everything, and i haven't 'pre-blogged' anything of course. But! I don't want it to be all quiet around here while I'm gone... so. Will you help?

When I started this blog my purpose was to build a 'name' that would be familiar to future readers of my many hilarious, as yet unpublished and sooooo inspiring novels.


But. I didn't really WANT to put my name on my blog. So I'm known simply as Kelsey. And HolyMama. But I've refrained from putting forth my entire name. 

And it turns out it just might be time. There might be a real need to have an author type name out there, as a book contract is being mailed to me even now!

In light of the whole privacy issue, I humbly ask you to name me.

Let's keep the 'Kelsey' part, but what about a last name? Not my maiden name. Not my real last name. But I hate to toss out the name I love - the name I got the day I married Mike.

This thought process led me to 'Kelsey Michaels' as an option, but I think there are already a lot of So and So Michaels, and even a Casey Michaels, which sounds almost identical. Mike says, 'keep the last name or use your middle name.' It doesn't sound terribly writerly though. (Kelsey Elaine.)

My mom suggested 'Kelsey Kilgore.' It's a family name, alliterative, and I like it. But it doesn't have the Mike Factor (as opposed to the Max Factor) that I was going for.   

Toss out those pseudonyms, y'all!  Name me!



Mike just said we can't leave until Saturday since there's just NO way we'll be ready. Yeah. We're last minute sorts.

Thought Fragments

how can i possibly not have scissors? I scrapbook, for pete's sake.

how do i get a discount code for dillards for a soo cute, but overpriced dress?

how do you get a baby to stop doing his Happy Dance in the bathtub? it's darling, but just not safe.

did i really tell you that i like to smell myself sweat? when did i become that person?


if cesar millan can put a dog on a treadmill, i can too, right? 

love, respect, keeping peace and still having an opinion that can somehow be shared

fairy dust in my carpet from the latest craft-y project

a white hanger on a bedroom door

glue peeling off my fingertips

pseudonyms and namesakes and house pins and geography and little boys who will just not stay in bed no matter what

dead ram heads and old apartment complexes in other towns and investments and stuff that bores me

stuff i don't understand

if it looks and smells like a huge debt, why is it really an asset? my brain just doesn't get that. why sign up for that?

and why on earth are there 3 pairs of nail clippers in my purse and none in the bathroom?

THAT i really do not understand

there are onions molding in my fridge and diapers stinking up the garage

there's also a hairball in the garage and i hesitate to remove it because the kids leap over it enthusiastically every morning and yell, "Jump over the Myow Myow Poop!"

And that's cute because - as my uncle says - isn't it easier to just say cat?

the hairball is ecru. in case you were wondering.

i bet you weren't.

how can people talk on cell phones in public restrooms?

more importantly, how can you possibly twinkle when it's going to be transmitted somewhere else via cell phone?

so not worth a penny, huh?

that's ok. these thoughts were free.

Okay, so I'll Tell You...

I didn't want to say anything, because I was sure I'd quit right away and then end up feeling silly for saying something. But. I am new to the Exercise World. It's true.

I LOVE my gym.

The kids area is FANTASTIC, and so are the women who work there.

The lady at the front desk didn't even laugh too hard when I had to confess that I got my lock stuck on a locker yesterday. (Maintenance cut it off today. Oops.)

I often stink and I'm starting to like it.

I like to sweat, and when I get to that point in a cardio workout where i can SMELL how nasty I am - well, there's actually a thrill in that. It's the beautiful (not) scent of burning calories, melting fat, and building muscle.

When I drop off the kids at the Kids Area and walk away, it's a really big thrill. I'm off for an hour of sweating and watching Dr. Phil. A grown up show! WHOAH!

A really nice grandmotherly sort usually exercises in the same vicinity as I do. When I"m done I disinfect the machine I use, in case I sweated on it. She always smiles and nods as if we're the only two people who know how to do this little hygienic ritual. (And I think she's right about that) 

When I go get the kids, 2 of them throw their arms around me as if it's been ages since they saw me. The other one throws himself down in a dramatic, totally fake show of hysteria - even interrupting his play and fun in order to do this. Then he kisses me, and doesn't even mind that I smell.

I love that.