Coming clean: I'm a dirty eater.

First off, can I get an "amen" for two blog posts in less than a week? I must be a mom with three kids in school {haaaaay}.

Second, I have a confession to make. It's something that I've been wanting to get off my chest for a while now, but I was worried that I'd be judged for it.

Here goes...

I don't buy {or eat} organic. {Gasp}. I know. {Cringe. Are you still there?} But, really, this should not come as such a shock to some of my longtime readers. AS IF CMCP {cheapy mc cheaper pants} would pay MORE money for fruits and veggies that our kids aren't going to eat anyway. And I have to tell you, I kind of agree with him here {but don't tell him I said that.}

I know, I know. I'm damaging the tiny humans with pesticides and what not but no one is growing a tail or sprouting a chest hair yet so we must be ok, right?

Here's the deal, some {most} days I'm lucky to even get a meal into Saxon, let alone a well-balanced one. Truly, if it's not of the nugget variety, chances are he's not eating it. So before I give him a $2 bite of broccoli that he's going to give me the middle finger over anyway, I'd just as soon get the middle finger and save a few bucks in the process. Why add insult to injury?

It's actually kind of hard to admit seeing as how I live and work in the land of fitness and health. But, if I'm being honest, the reason that I live and work in that place is really so that I can enjoy the finer things in life like In N Out and pizza. Can I get another amen? Anyone? Bueller?

Don't get me wrong, my friends who live vegan and gluten-free lifestyles and nosh on quinoa for snack time are rock stars and I envy their will power. I just don't have it. And I bust my ass almost daily on a spin bike or a yoga mat so that I don't have to have it...And because quinoa tastes like poo. Just ask Sax. He's had both. And both times, I got the finger.

The closest that I'll ever get to a juice cleanse is a Nektar acai bowl - which I'm pretty sure is the equivalent of eating a king-sized candy bar for lunch just based on the sugar count alone. But I actually don't even really want to know about it because the acai bowls and the burgers and the french fries and wine {oh, wine} make me really, really happy. And you know what? I deserve it dammit.

I did a 24-day challenge over the summer and I literally would have cut a bitch for a sip of booze and a tortilla chip - if Eric hadn't removed all the sharp objects from the house ahead of time knowing that I would cut a bitch for a sip of wine and a tortilla chip. Such a love that guy. He knows me too well. I cleansed for 10 days {cleanse, btw, is just a code word for poop your brains out} - meaning no booze, coffee, dairy and limited {oh, gee, thanks for that} complex carbs.

"Yay! a brown rice cake. What a treat! Has anyone seen a knife so I can cut a bitch?"

That was kind of the sentiment on days 1-10. Then, at the end of the 10 days {in hell}, you get to have dairy. Hallelujah. It was at this time that I considered buying my own cow and creaming my own cheese. See, I'm just not very good at moderation. Ugh.

In total I lost 7 lbs, 4 inches off my hips and 2.5 inches off my waist. And after I recovered from my colossal hangover from literally diving off the wagon head first on day 25 {moderation, is that you? hello?}, I realized that I'm ok with those extra 7 lbs. I look pretty damn good with those extra 7 pounds and I am the happiest version of myself with those 7 pounds. Hear that? Angels singing.

If I want a burger, I'm going to have a burger. Pizza? I've got the number saved in my favorites. And in the morning when I wake up feeling guilty, I'm going to hop on a spin bike and pedal my little ass off until I don't feel guilty any more. {And hopefully I don't grow a tail from all the non-organic food...because having a tail on a spin bike could be problematic and, well, ouch.}

That's kind of the way our world works around here. And I'm good with that. And I hope you are too.

Ah, I feel 7 lbs lighter from coming "clean".

I went ahead and linked my spin class schedule so that we could work off the burgers together. Would love to have you in one of my classes. I'm teaching at YAS in Costa Mesa on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6am and Equinox in Newport Beach on Sundays at 8am.

Oh, and in light of this new found "honesty" I'm going to start a new tradition called "Confession Fridays" on the Three Before 30 Facebook page. If you haven't "liked" me. Please do. It's good for my ego. And then you can join in too. Every Friday I'll "confess" a "sin" from the week. It's the closest I'm going to get to "cleansing" again.



The Potty Diaries. Chapter 2.

I've said it before. Parenting is poo. And what I mean is parenting involves poo. Lots of it. If I had known how much poo I'd be dealing with, I'd have asked for a raise. And then I would have hired a nanny with said raise to deal with all the poo. It's everywhere. And it never stops. Just when you think you've graduated to a non-poo related stage, the kids come home telling poo jokes. Shit.

And when it comes to po{o}tty training, I get an F. For reals. I hate it. I wrote about it here a few years ago when we were beating training Sawyer. So now I can't believe that we are knocking on the potty training door for Saxon. Well, we aren't actually. It's less of a knock on the door and more of a lock ourselves in the panic room type of sitch.

He's not ready. At all. He's 2.5 and if there was a kid who cared less than Sawyer about taking care of business on the potty, it's Saxon. Double shit. So for now, I'm enjoying my final months year as a mom with a kid in diapers.

Or so I thought...

...because it happened. I had heard of it happening before. I had felt sorry for friends who it had happened to {and secretly thanked God that it had never happened to me}.

And then it happened to me.

With the end of my diapering career in sight and nearing the finish line I kind of thought I was going to escape my early parenting years without having to deal with this, er, mess.

I walked into Saxon's room yesterday mid-nap time - and I saw what I thought only happened to my friends.

That's right. Saxon was PLAYING WITH HIS POO. And was ok with it. He was not upset. He was not grossed out. Actually, he was smiling now that I think about it.

MY SON TOOK OFF HIS DIAPER AND PLAYED WITH HIS POO!!

I don't really know what else to say about it because I'm still so disgusted.

Here were my initial thoughts:

OMG.

WTF!?

Who do I call?

Dammit. Where's the nanny?

Shit. We don't have one.

I really need a raise.

Is there a hotline for this?

There should be a hotline for this.

Call the pediatrician?

Too early for boarding school?

He's grounded.

Does he need a tetanus shot?

I really should have cut his fingernails last week.

OMG.

{Gagging}

And so on...

Really!? Three kids and it was bound to happen with one of them...what started as copying Daddy with one hand down his pants had turned into Columbus discovering new log land.

It was EVERYWHERE. So I did what any other mom would do.

Me: Eric! Get in here!

Eric {out of breath from sprinting to Saxon's room thinking that there was a real problem}: What! What is it?

Me: It's fucking shit. It's everywhere Eric!

Eric: Why are you yelling!?

Me: Because it's disgusting and {gagging} I'm upset that our kid plays with his poo. It's obviously your fault.

And then we {and by we I mean Eric} cleaned him up and {I} poured a glass of wine. And duck taped his diaper shut and pulled out the baby mittens. And went online looking for support groups.

Just when you think you've got this parenting shit down...