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Mother of the Year Goes to.... Not Me

Every morning I go to the gym to exercise. I love it because I have a lot of friends there (it's my adult interaction for the day...hahah...but seriously...), endorphins are released, I feel powerful and strong....etc. Fast forward to about 10 minutes after I arrive home.

Kids are fighting over who grabbed the box of cereal first.

Tears are rolling down cheeks from, "Cameron looked at me in a mean way."

Fights are breaking out between who has to be the flippin' monkey in the middle...

You get the idea.

So pretty much all the good I do at 5:30 in the wee early morning hours gets completely undone. (Perhaps I should schedule my workouts to after the kids leave for school instead?)

Anyway, today was no different. The kids actually all got ready on their own really well without any fights. They had a good 20 minutes to kill before we had to leave for school. They decided to play a game (but not the blasted Monkey in the Middle game...No! No! I banned that game [and 'jinx&#…

"1,2,3!"

Every phone conversation with a member of our immediately family ended like this, "1,2,3!"

You might think that's code for something, but it wasn't.

Dad called Mom every day from work around lunch time. They would say their, "I love you's," but afterwards neither one wanted to hang up first. (So cute, isn't it? At least that's how I remember the story...Unless they lied to me...haha) So they always counted, "1,2,3!" and then they could be sure to hang up at the same time.

As kids, we subconsciously picked up on it, too. We began to say, "1,2,3!" when getting off the phone. And even if it didn't have the same meaning for us as it did my parents, it kind of became a catch-phrase around the Banks Home.

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