I can't even.

Sing it with me:

When I woke up this morning I was unfortunately, NOT kissing Valentino by a crystal blue I-tali-an stream. oh no. I was simultaneously being smothered by my husbands Canadian goose snoring and the chirp of my 3 legged cat looking for a warmer spot to sleep because apparently on TOP of my person was inadequate. I had to pry myself out of my gak encrusted down comforter and feel my way in the darkness all the way to the closet, where I put my Kate Hudson workout pants on BACKWARDS. 3 times. To my defense - it was 5 am. And the only distinguishing factor to determine the front from the back of those black leggings is a microscopic Fabletics Insignia on the left bum cheek. This particular pair of pants is tight to say the least - they fit like a second skin. Some days I count the physical act of just getting them on as my actual workout. So to apply them incorrectly more than once was both hysterical and exhausting. Every time I put them on and stood up, the back waste-band was suspiciously low, and the front was freakishly maternity-like and came up past my belly button. And then I would have to sit down, pry them off, and reapply. The only somewhat silver lining to this episode is that it gave me the genius idea of keeping diet cokes in my closet from now on....

By some miracle I made it to Pure Barre WITH my pants on the right way, and by the time we were through the warm up all of my glorious Advocare supplements were running full boil through my bloodstream. I had a pretty good workout (which just means I made it to the end without taking 3 bathroom breaks), and consequently am now unable to pry myself off my couch. Why WHY do I do this to myself????

Because I'm as hopelessly devoted to Pure Barre as Sandy was to her virtue.

Or , maybe more specifically - Im hopelessly devoted to being able to button up my jeans while eating as much Indian food as humanly possible.

In other important earth shattering news: my 3 year old honey badger has pneumonia. Which roughly translated - means he coughs spasmodically until he barfs and we run around trying to catch it in a variety of mixing bowls. He has to do nebulizer treatments which chemically equate to him snorting cocaine and literally turn him into an animal with rabies. Two days ago while on one of his energy binges he somehow got ahold of some Gak (which he calls "glue") during nap time - and managed to get it stuck in his hair and terminally smeared all over my down comforter. (You may have seen a small video snippet of this on my Instagram). He tries my patience this one.

And just for fun, my 6 year old also came down with a bug and also threw up all weekend... so I've just about lost my mind. My good friend Kristi knew I was on the verge so she dropped off mercy salads from Cafe Rio to help me endure the house arrest. I opened the door and frantically screamed "TAKE ME WITH YOU!!" and she quickly got back in her car and raced away - because I think she could tell I wasn't joking.