We Probably Can't Go Back To The Old Navy

Wyatt is secretly drinking Miracle Gro at night (maybe) and is growing out of ALL his pants. One day the pants fit; the next day they don't. The other day was a 'don't' day, and we had to head over to the mall to try to find the kid some pants that might fit for longer than a month (is that too much to ask?). In the mall, I decide to head over to the Old Navy. I love the Old Navy, personally. While you may feel fat in *some* stores (I'm looking at you, Forever 21), you feel just right in the Old Navy. To set the scene, Old Navy always has a lot of mannequins. You've seen the commercials, right? (If you haven't, you aren't missing much).

The Old Navy Mannequins

Anyways, Erich, Wyatt, Levi, and I are pants shopping in the Old Navy. I took Wyatt to the pants section, and Erich took on the task of trying to manage Levi. Basically, Erich was running damage control. Levi loves to hide in clothes, knock things over, offend shoppers, and just basically make sure we never take him shopping again.

Out of no where I hear, "I looooove dirls! I LOVE dirls! Dirls...."

I know this is Levi; I also know he's probably doing something bad. I walk towards the front; Levi is standing near a mannequin, and Erich's face tells me Levi did something *really* bad.

Erich: "We need to go. Now."

Suddenly I notice shoppers, employees, and passersby staring at us.

Me: "What? What happened?"

Erich: "Do you see the mannequin Levi is standing next to? Right in front of the window? Because he just felt it up. Big time. While yelling that he loves girls."

Me: "When you say felt up, you mean...?

Erich: "He felt it up, Jen. We need to go."

We hurry over to the register, desperate to get our lecherous baby out of the Old Navy. We suffered a lot of stares and some giggling before we could get out. Mind you, Levi violated the mannequin in front of the WINDOW, so even leaving the mall itself wasn't without incident.

Me: "LEVI! What is the matter with you? You know you aren't allowed to touch boobs!"

Levi: "Mom, they were fake boobs!"

Basically, Levi violated that poor mannequin in front of God and everyone. Punishments and lectures aside, I'm really not sure what we're going to do with Levi. What I am sure about is that we probably can't go back to the Old Navy.

Diary of a Chubby Runner

I call myself a runner (but I'm totally using that term loosely). Some runners make this look easy. Like, they wake up sculpted and head out and qualify for the Boston marathon. *I* am NOT this runner. I'm the runner that looks sweaty, angry, confused, as she waddles around aimlessly outside. Kinda like this:

I've taken two weeks off from running due to homework and a sinus infection. I decided to try and pull a 5K out of my ass today, and of course the universe (and my body) punished me for taking the time off.

5 minutes in: A bug flew into my mouth. I really should've just gone back home.

10 minutes in: I accidentally stepped on a dead raccoon. Or opossum. Or steroidal rat. I really should've just gone back home.

20 minutes in: Calf cramp. This resulted in me hopping around in a residential area swearing (sorry to the kids out playing basketball). I really should've just gone back home.

30 minutes in: Stomach cramps. I ended up throwing up in some ground cover. I was bent over, hot, and getting sick right when a loud Lil' Jon song came on my iPod. I couldn't really reach my volume button (or use my hands at all) and I'm standing there puking and Lil' Jon is yelling, "Shots, shots, shots!" really loud into my ear. So I did what anyone would do: I yelled, "Shut UP, Lil' Jon! Damn it!" as I was bent over. Of course a group of moms with strollers walked by at that moment. I looked pretty psycho, I'm sure, throwing up and yelling at a rapper that wasn't even there. Lovely. I decided to go home. But by this time it was closer to just keep going instead of turning around. Great.

40 minutes in: Someone passes me, running really fast (downhill, mind you). In my sweaty, sick daze I think I yelled something like, "Yeah, it's easy when you're going *that* way." I really am an angry runner. Good thing I was almost home.

45 minutes in: I'm home. Not a moment too soon.

The good news? I think if you throw up, those calories don't count. The bad news? 45 minutes to run 3.1 miles really doesn't make you speedracer. And now I need to clean my shoes. And brush my teeth.