Inspirations from cheese in a can. joey, kelly, danny, and charlie

This is going to be quick and dirty, y’all, because honestly I should really be cleaning, napping, or more fully parenting right now instead of blogging. But I feel I have a civic duty to fulfill, a little something I like to call “walking birth control.” I’ll try and make this a regular feature. We’ll see. I at least need to tell you about last week’s outing to the pizza place with three under three. Remind me: that story alone should provide a good two-three months worth of free, totally organic birth control.

As I’ve mentioned before, my strategy to make it through having a toddler and a newborn with all of our faces intact is to keep moving. To that end, I signed Danny up for a gymnastics class through the county. We had our first class this morning, and I have to say: what a deal. I’ve taken him to a similar class, privately run. Not Gymboree, but similar. Today’s class was much like that class, for about one fifth the cost. Awesome. Here’s where it becomes slightly less than awesome: when you are expected to corral your young gymnast, handicapped by a 15 pound lozenge of irritability taped to your front side. I didn’t think to take a picture of the top of Charlie’s head, but here’s Danny enjoying an interpretive dance:

Danny was extremely excited by all this class had to offer…he was surrounded by the glory of Cobb County’s gymnastic facility. He didn’t want to be confined to the “baby” stuff, oh no. Kid thinks he’s Mitch Gaylord. Also, he’s a very independent two (read: the teacher already knows his name, halfway through the first class). Sooooo, by the end of this class, I am red-faced and sweating more than he is, and twice he completely vanished in the gymnastic complex before I even knew he was missing. And before you think that this class will provide me with some aerobic health benefit, let me assure you I destroyed any possible benefit by going immediately to Dunkin’ Donuts to get an iced coffee, a bagel with cream cheese, and a few Munchkins just to round out the meal. But I digress….fortunately, his playgroup signed up for this class en masse, so I had plenty of help chasing his naughty little butt around. Otherwise, he would probably still be hanging from the rings that he was begging to use. Or perhaps he would still be in the foam pit (Miss “Wegan” didn’t get in there for her own health, I assure you.)

And it’s not like Miss “Wegan” didn’t have her own bundle of happy fun to be corraling….here’s Tinkerbelle herself in time out:

So, kids, in summary: try to avoid producing more children than you can control personally. Unless you just can’t help it because they’re so stinking cute that you want forty-leven in a row. Go ahead, procreate if you must. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, when you end up red-faced and sweating in the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through.

Zoe says: GO FOR IT.