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broomAn abandoned broom and dustpan litter the floor along with a few more crumbs Gwen didn’t pick up with her fingers.

I blame Heath.

Backstory: I noticed my slippers were crunching with nearly every step I took between the kitchen and dining room. I mentioned something about needing to sweep again. Heath suggested that most of the crunchiness was probably concentrated in front of the dishwasher. That’s where Gwen was keeping the graham cracker house she made at her friend’s birthday party yesterday. She has been slowly decimating the house one piece of frosting glued on candy at a time.

Gwen went to the closet. I thought she was going in there to pout so I had a mini freak out. I honestly can’t remember if we hid any Christmas treasures in there. I think we only thought about it. Nevertheless, I have loudly told two of my kids to stay out until after Christmas!

Gwen emerged with the broom and dustpan. My freak out turned to loud praises. Heath finished dishing up stroganoff and I finished delivering drinks and plates to the dining room. I sat down with the boys and Heath started in on Gwen who was literally on her hands and knees hand picking up crumbs to place in the dustpan!

Heath: It doesn’t have to be perfect! Why don’t we just eat right now?

Unfortunately she never returned to her “sweeping.” The girl who has never before touched a broom for anything other than to ride it around the house as a pretend witch, finally used the broom for its intended purpose. The allure of dinner distracted her and the broom was left on the floor. In his defense, Heath did finish the job for her. She told her dad that it’s on her to-do list for tomorrow – to finish sweeping after she does all the rest of her chores. She plans to finish it all by noon so she can play with friends.

Lately I have been upset about my squishy body. I have been riding a stationary bike every morning in an effort to better control my blood sugars and to increase my heart health. Secretly I want to lose weight too but I can barely get through the shortest prescribed workout. That’s another story for another day.

My legs, my nicest body asset, look awesome! What’s on top of those legs can only be described as leftover pizza dough spilling over. I am the very definition of muffin top. Nothing like checking the box for body type: Gru from Despicable Me. When I first noticed that the bike was really only stellarizing my legs, I decided to finish each morning workout with my cartoon Wii trainer, Devon.

I popped in the disk and attached myself to all the Wii-motes and sensor bands. Only nothing was happening. The little finger on the screen wouldn’t move no matter how much I danced around the room pointing and clicking. That’s when I looked at the top of the screen and realized what was happening.

I blame Steven’s eyes.

Somehow Steven’s eyes (the Wii sensor bar) had fallen down behind the TV. They stayed on their dark and dusty vacation for a period of time more lengthy than I care to admit to. Heath became a contortionist for me in order to get those blasted eyes back in place. It was not easy! Now I guess I’m out of excuses. Tomorrow morning’s leg burning workout will be topped off with some upper body work as well. I think …

Last story.
I got an email about Gavin’s online activity over the last week. These emails used to come weekly for all three kids but now they come sporadically for Gavin. The other two don’t do anything online anymore. I blame the death of the homework laptop.

Anyway, the email always shows some of the recent search terms. This time the list was quite interesting. There were two separate searches for “is Santa real?” and one for “did pigs fly when the Cubs won the World Series?”

Gavin happened to come out right when I was laughing at the email. I asked what he learned about the reality of Santa. He was confused at first. Heath explained it and asked if pigs flew when the Cubs won the World Series. Gavin said that no pigs flew.

Then he blamed Parker.

He said that Parker convinced him to type the searches. Which only makes me laugh that much harder. My kids are crazy.

I blame their parents.

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