The other night, while engrossed in a spirited game of monster, I chased them in circles around the house, stopping only when they begged to rest and drink water. I removed my socks for better traction and continued the pursuit.
After thoroughly tiring myself out, (which meant they still had loads of energy) I stole away up the stairs to the quiet sanctity of my craft table.
A few minutes later, Colin came upstairs to report that there was blood "all over the carpet" downstairs. HUH? We tried to figure out where it could have possibly come from until I looked down at my own feet and whaddya know? The chair mat (and partially the carpet) under my big toe was a pool of blood. And true to the report, there were smeared blood stains All. Over. The. Carpet.
Growing up, there were four of us teenagers in a small mobile home. We used to rough house so much that we'd put holes in the walls. Literally. We called it the cardboard house.
Our house has certainly suffered under the proverbial weight of children, but blood stains all over the carpet trumps spilled formula on the couch or vomit soaked into a mattress.
I'm constantly reminding myself to live in the moment with my children instead of stressing out about the condition of my house.
I want my girls to remember their mom letting loose and having fun with them, not worrying about messes. I can do that after they've gone to bed.
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Does this count as exercise?
