Started working with a trainer!

In the spirit of working on the fat thigh problem, amongst many others, I decided to pay a personal trainer. I go to him, he makes me do exercises that I hate, then he makes me do more of them, he finishes things off with abs- which I detest. Possibly I detest them because I am not sure that I have any ab muscles left- I believe they have all atrophied- they are shriveled prunes at this point. Mr. Trainer seems to forget this little aspect and treats me as if I have abs! How dare he?
To sum things up : I wasn't feeling bad enough about myself, so I sought out a personal trainer, gave him MONEY to make me do things I hate. I leave there wth jelly legs and I can't lift my arms over my head. I'm paying someone to immobolize my body. Last time I checked, there were people who would be willing to do this for free. I could just wander over to the local projects area, run when someone comes towards me (Mr. Trainer says it's important to get your cardio in first). Then they could immobolize me for whatever is in my purse (usually some change, maybe a few dollars, some used kleenex, pens and random toys from my 4 year old). End result: I can't lift my arms over my head, my legs feel like jelly and they have some new toys and possibly some change and a used kleenex! I say it's a win -win for all involved! (except for Mr. Trainer) I guess he could take the night off!

SoccerMom commits vehicular homicide

I have officially become a soccermom! I feel the urge to go out and buy a HUGE car, a Suburban maybe? I don't know the car yet, and the only requirements are that it is larger than your car so that I can see around and over you. Ultimately, the time will come, I will drive over you if you stay in the carpool lane too long chatting about Danicing With the Stars with your friend who is leaning in your window, all camped out with a morning keg of coffee goodness. She ain't leaving- so I'm driving OVER! I 've still got kids in my car, screaming to get out (or wait, is that me screaming?) Whomever is screaming is not the point (because it is probably me). The point is, I actually work, full time! I need to buzz these kids in and get the heck out of dodge so that I can drive 2 hours away to begin my day. I don't have time for your idle chit chat through car windows while you are both decked out in your cutest tennis skirts (which tells me you have nothing else to do today except chit chat and maybe play some tennis later). I have to hit the road, drive to the end of the state and back so that I can get to the JV soccer game, get home, feed kids, cats, dogs, do laundry because those soccer uniforms aren't washing themselves, teach my kid Math and force him to read. Most importantly- force him to shower, take his meds and pee before bed. Finally, laundry done, soccer uniform is ready for tomorrow, homework is completed by both kids (I still smell stinky shoes). Ahhh peace and quiet now- for a moment. It starts all over again tomorrow.
I'm not a SoccerMom- I'm SuperMom.
(Certainly that calls for a much cooler car and a little respect in the carpool lane)