I fell off the exercise bandwagon a little this week. I still exercised, just not every day like I had been doing. My goal for the next week is to get at least 1/2 hour of some sort of exercise in every day. Ideally, I'm going to try to get in at least 30 minutes of yoga in 3 times as well- in addition to the other exercise.
I still have a couple of weeks (just over 2 to be exact) until I can become a 'caloric minimalist', but I will be picking up a notebook while out running errands today. This week I'm going to go ahead and begin writing everything that I eat, so I can have a better idea of where I need to improve in the nutrition department. I just won't be tracking calories at this point.
While at the grocery store this week, I made the mistake of picking up these little teeny tiny rice cake snack packs, with caramel drizzled over them, and a cinnamon streusel kind too. I won't be making that mistake again. They were too good, and didn't last long when they went face to face with this dieter. 90 calorie packs are great, if you can have just one. Unfortunately, they were so good, I could (and did-guiltily-but I still did) eat 3 packages in one sitting and that kind of gluttony no longer adds up to 90 calories. So, little scrumptious rice cakes, you have been banished from my home.
I still need to work on the water. The good news is that I haven't been drinking soda this entire time except for diet, and I've cut way back on the diet. It's been several days since I've even had one.
Even with my few shortcomings, the news is good this week. I'm completely happy.
-3 pounds exactly.
I'd love to pull Biggest Loser numbers, but know unless you are in that type of situation, its near impossible. Every little bit counts toward something larger (and healthier) and that is my ultimate goal.
I'm fortunate to have Bonehead supporting me. I think the sweetest words I've heard in a long time are the words I heard this past Monday when he called me to tell me just after Critter went down for his nap, "I'd rather see you go work out than have a clean house."
On Thursday night, I found myself hiding out behind the door to my minivan, pretending to be casually looking around for anyone who might be able to see me, and stealthily (about as stealthily as a dog on ice) reaching up under the bottom of my sweatshirt and pulling a Late Thanksgiving Day maneuver. I unbuttoned my pants- much to my relief, and it felt like I'd won the lotto. But in order to understand WHY I would be so desperate to unbutton my pants in public, I should start at the beginning and not the end.
It was a brilliant idea, really. The best idea I'd had all week, not to be topped by any other. After showering and making myself presentable for the fundraising pork chop dinner for Smoochie's wrestling club, I had an epiphany. I'm on a diet. Pork chop dinners made by one of our local barbeque places are probably not the most flattering diet food. If I put on my 'skinny' jeans and wear them to the fundraiser, I would not be tempted to overeat. In fact, I'd probably be tempted not to eat at all and that was a great feat since I was already half starved. So I put on jeans I had to shake and shimmy (and hold my breath, suck in my cheeks, jump up and down, and wow this is a workout all on its own) just to get into, and camouflaged my muffin top with a giant baggy sweatshirt.
I should have known something was amiss when I had to ask Bonehead to tie my shoes for me. I should have taken the hint when he raised his eyebrows at me and stated the obvious, "You know you will have to sit on bleachers at the wrestling meet after dinner, right?" Which interprets to "Hey dumbass, why don't you go put on some pants you can BEND in." Apparently my Bonehead to English translater was broken because I didn't get it.
I was not prepared for the throng of people there, because seriously, who watches high school wrestling anyway? Apparently, when its the last dual meet of the season, and the moon is three quarters full, and the opposing team is our rival neighbor town, its like a scene from Friday Night Lights. And of course, having taken my minivan, the stroller would be in the back of John's car.
So to bring the situation up to speed, I have an 11 month old who is rapidly gaining weight, a large crowd of people who seem to think stopping directly in front of you is funny, a throng of high school kids behaving like overhormonal monkeys, and pants that are causing me to turn blue from their overzealous squeeze.
I found us a table while John and Smooch waited in an hour long line to get our dinner. The wait was seriously an hour, it is not an overdramatization or an embellishment of my story. An hour at a crappy fold up cafeteria table with a baby who thinks looking at the world upside down is so cool he will throw himself backward at the drop of a hat any time he gets the urge.
John and Smooch finally showed up with the food, and then fate decided to kick me while I was down. After the first bite or two I developed gas. And boy howdy, wasn't that nice? Being in a throng of people with enough breeding to try my hardest to be polite and not let any escape, I began to bloat. Because I had ALL THE ROOM IN THE WORLD to bloat. I made my hubby tie my shoes for crying out loud, could fate be any crueler?
Because after dinner, it was time to go sit on the forwarned bleachers. With no back rest, a baby now ready for bed, a 7 year old boy who is incapable of sitting still, gas, too tight jeans, and trying to keep a smile on my face through it all. By that point in my evening I probably resembled the toothy Jack Nickleson looking through the door in The Shining.
We left early, thank goodness, not to put me out of my misery, but because it was already bed time for Smoochie. I tried to sprint to the minivan in the parking lot, but the best I could pull off was a Gumby-esque move and pray to make it to the van without passing out from lack of oxygen.
Which led me to my executive decision behind my minivan door on Thursday night. Aah, sweet relief. I drove home with a renewed appreciation for air and wondering if my muffin top might have actually been swelling from the tourniquet around my waist.
I should really look into getting my Bonehead to English translater fixed.
1. The Right To Have Fat Pants In Your Closet: Come on, ladies, you know the pair. The ones that make their appearance once a month when every other pair of pants feels like a choke hold on your mid section. Without our treasured pair of fat pants, we might be forced to actually rip someone's head off.
2. The Right To Hang Onto Skinny Pants Like Your Life Depends On It: Who cares if you can't get them up past your thighs? They're YOURS, and you'll wear them someday (as soon as you take off the three kids, dog, and husband weight you'll rock them like its 1999 again you swear) even if you have to make a quilt out of them to do it.
3. The Right To Have Shoes That Match Every Outfit: We all know there is no such thing as 10 pairs of black shoes. There's black patent leather with peep toe shoes, black buckle Mary Jane shoes, black ballet flats with polka dot bow shoes, and so on. If they were all the same, they'd LOOK the same by golly.
4. The Right To Lock Yourself In The Bathroom: Because lets face it: You have 3 kids, a husband, and a dog. The only way you will get any privacy this century is by locking the door.
5. The Right Not To Have To Explain Yourself Over And Over And OVER: Because I said so is already way too much of an explanation. Just do it before my too tight skinny pants force me to pop you like a pimple.
6. The Right To Alone Time: Even if you do have to obtain it while grocery shopping. It's a complete hour when your thoughts can finish each other before being interrupted.
7. The Right To Hate The Hair That Is On Your Head: There has not been a woman in history that actually liked her own hair. That's your right, you were born with it. Go ahead and covet thy neighbor's hair. Embrace it, because there's no changing the fact you physically want to shave your head AT LEAST two days out of every month.
8. The Right To Cry For Absolutely No Good Reason On The Planet: Even if members of the male species don't believe there's no good reason for it. Go ahead, cry like there's no tomorrow. Just be sure to pop a couple of Tylenol for the crying hangover that happens a little later.
9. The Right To Have Adult Conversation: Mary Had A Little Lamb only gets you so far. No, stop that gets old after the thousandth time. Adult conversation is a blessing from God, even if it is only answering the question, "Paper or Plastic?"
10. The Right To Your Own Personal Happy Hour Daily: A glass of wine. Or two. A cup of coffee, or tea. Whatever your poison is, pour yourself a little relaxation and enjoy for 5 minutes. Ah, what the heck. We're women. We've got nothing better to do. Take 10.
I worked hard this week and miraculously enough was able to stay focused. I put lots of miles in on the bike and tried very hard to pay attention to portion sizes.
I do need to work on drinking more water, though. I was very good with my water earlier in the week, but for some reason the past couple of days I haven't been good at all. So this week my goal is to get at least my 8 glasses in, if not more. And of course, keep exercising and trying to eat smaller portions. I'd also like to get at least a couple of yoga work outs in this week.
I made some changes to my side bar, including what I lost for the week as well as the total.
I can't drag this out any more because frankly, I'm too excited. My weight loss for the week?
Trust me, there's dancing going on in my little corner of the world today. Tune in next week for the next installment of my journey.
It has come to my attention that it has been a while since I shared an embarrassing moment on my blog. And since I'm all about sharing embarrassing moments, I thought I should whip up another installment.
I grew up in Southern Michigan, in an area riddled with lakes. There were easily 10 lakes within a 30 mile radius of my home. My grandparents lived on a lake, and I learned to water ski at an early age. It makes sense that I got my very first job between my Freshman and Sophomore years of high school (at the ripe old age of 14) at a marina.
My marina job was the best job of my life. Sure, I was a peon who had to clean the showroom boats, clean the rental cottage, mow the lawn, and pump the gas into each and every boat on the lake, but 98% of my time that summer was spent outside in sandals, shorts, and a bathing suit top. And my boss was cool- he gave his employees free reign to the pop machine outside. All you had to do was grab the key and open it up. The hardest part was choosing what kind you wanted. Now that I'm an adult, I realize that was his way of insuring we all stayed as hydrated as possible in the summer heat, but at the time I was all like, "Woooooah, man! Free pop!"
I was the only female employee, outside of the owners fiancee, who was beautiful but also engaged to the owner. Dave, the owner, leaned toward hiring college boys for help because most of the work (outside of what I helped with) required strong young tanned and shirtless muscular men to help with. Looking back, that was probably just the opinion of a boy crazy 14 year old girl, but I'm glad I stayed hydrated because little 14 year old me? Yeah. I seriously spent the summer wiping drool off my chin.
The one problem with me having this job (full time for the most part) was the fact that the marina was located about 15 miles outside of the town I lived in, and it had funky hours that didn't allow my mom to take me in the one and only family car because she had a job that supported our family and all. My parents put their heads together and solved this problem by purchasing "My Thing".
"My Thing" was a purple Yamaha Jog, and I adored it. It was a joy that I had never known before, and I commuted each day on back country roads that were rarely traveled, filling my lungs with the freshest, freest air I have ever felt.
I had one of those hip half helmets with the face shield that snaps onto the front, and promised my parents to always wear it. Plus, it was the law. One bright and free summer day, I was on my way to work and decided since I had glasses on I would remove that face shield(but still wear the helmet- I was a good girl).
I was almost out of town, in a corporate area that bordered the edge. Beyond that was nothing but miles and miles of country and fresh air. Farms, corn fields, and free range dogs aplenty, but I wasn't concerned with them because I was able to go 45 mph. What I was concerned with was being able to watch college boys muscles ripple in the sun when I got to work.
Just as I passed the very last factory on the way out of town, it happened. I was happily doing my 45 mph, and WHACK! something hit me on the side of the face, in between the helmet and my cheek. And it stung quite a bit, too, like the hefty sting of a fly swatter on a bare leg. As my mind was processing what it was that could have hit me, I felt it start moving further down under the helmet.
As I felt this thing crawl on my face, I couldn't stop my thing and get my helmet off fast enough. And I couldn't, either, because as I was yelling, "No, No, No!" the damn thing, WHATEVER IT WAS, was crawling into my ear. By the time I was able to get the helmet off, it was fully inside my ear. And buzzing. Now I did not see this bug, and for all I knew it could have been a bee, or even worse, a wasp that can continue stinging and stinging and stinging when riled up.
Now the 14 year old girl in me wanted to lose it Mommy Dearest style, screaming like a banshee and flailing like a freshly caught bluegill. But some coherent part of me realized that I was on the edge of town, and there would be no one around to come to my assistance. As I tried to figure out what to do, I realized that I had just passed up the last factory on the edge of town. So slowly, I turned my thing around, my eyes as big as saucers, trying not to cry and loose my cool, and listening to the periodic buzz of the Boeing jet engine inside my ear.
I rode back to the factory, walked in through their front office door and up to the sliding glass partition that usually has someone sitting behind it. And thank the good Lord, at this time, on this day, it did. A really nice looking woman, who noticed my approach.
It was at this moment I had to do one of the most embarrassing things in my life. I watched her slide the glass open as I shook like a pager, and I looked her square in the eye and said, "Excuse me please, but I have a bug stuck in my ear."
To which she started to smirk and look around in the manner of "Who put you up to this, little girl?". I was sure she was thinking someone had to be pulling a prank on her. Either that, or I was mentally unstable and needed the assistance of the local authorities. And frankly, in my mind, the more authorities the better in case I wound up getting stung in the ear drum 19 gazillion times.
I tried to get her to see the seriousness of the situation. "I'm really not joking, there is a bug in my ear, and a big one, too."
"How big?" She asked me, probably thinking I was getting shaken up over a freeking gnat. Being an adult now, I'll give her that one, too. 14 year old girls do have a habit of being melodramatic.
"I don't know, I didn't exactly see it well, but please PLEASE help me."
She actually came through her door and walked into the little reception area to take a look. As she put her face closer to my ear, the bug let off a particularly nasty buzz.
She heard it. And she jumped back a full two feet from me as her eyes grew round and she realized I, in fact, was not a paid participant in a joke at her expense. "Ok, I'll call someone to help, hang on."
Before she could finish the sentence, the bug delivered me from my torture and crawled its self back out of my ear.
The glass window lady stood there, fully not believing what she was seeing. Some sort of bluish green beetle bug flew from my ear and around the little waiting room. I was so relieved I wanted to collapse. She let off giant exclamations of disbelief that that bug could have actually FIT in my ear canal.
I thanked her for her time, went back out to "My Thing", SNAPPED MY VISOR SHIELD BACK ONTO MY HELMET, and finished the drive to work.
I was almost 45 minutes late for work that day, and showed up with the excuse, "I'm sorry I'm late for work, but I got a bug stuck in my ear." And then of course I had to tell my story.
Those college boys I spent my summer drooling over? They filled my head with thoughts of that bug laying eggs in my ear (apparently Star Trek style) until I insisted somebody douse the whole side of my face and ear in both rubbing alcohol AND peroxide.
Oh yeah, and they spent the rest of the summer buzzing at me.
It is once again time for the excruciating soul sucking reality check joy that is known as Weight Loss Wednesday. I have worked hard this week, trying to stay focused. My goal for the week was basically to keep moving, which I have pretty much done.
Thanks to Joeland his horribly warped and twisted sense of humor kindness, I have introduced my body to the joy that is known as intervals. Let it be known that Joel has been called the devil in this house on more than one occasion this week, and at one point I thought I might need one of these to make it back up the basement stairs because of the intense pleasure that is known as the interval workout. I can count my lucky stars and be thankful he chooses to focus his torture death ray on Bonehead and merely offers me helpful advice.
Quinoa was introduced to our home last night, and the way Bonehead made it, it wasn't too bad. He has this home-brewed way of doctoring up black beans to make them very tasty, and we put that on top. I thought it was actually pretty good, although we still need to tweak a few things. Once it's tweaked and tested, I will share the recipe.
I know I have stated that I can't truly cut the calories until Critter reaches his first birthday due to the nursing situation, but for this next week, I am going to focus more on portion sizes. I am going to try very hard to remember and drink a big glass of water before my meals so that might help me out.
I would like it to be known, for the record, that I am ready to beg FADKOGfor her Starbucks knock-off recipe- due to a solid two weeks without any kind of Starbucks drink whatsoever. At one point a few days in, Bonehead pointed out a trip to Cariboo (it was in the same parking lot we happened to be in) and I EVEN SHOT HIM DOWN. But I would sooooo love that recipe for a once a month home made treat. And I'm pretty sure that, given another week, I would be willing to lose a pinky toe for it.
In other news, there is a weight loss website called SparkPeople that can be very useful to anyone trying to improve their health and lose weight. It's free, and it has all kinds of tips, tricks, and reference materials to help a person get motivated, eat healthier, exercise, stay focused. It's pretty cool.
And before I wrap things up with the unveiling of my weight loss total for the week, I would like to say that if anyone out there would like to join me in my Weight Loss Wednesday endeavor, I would be happy to post a link to your blog as well. Just shoot me an email me at merydianatcomcast.net and I'll post a link to your blog with my next Weight Loss Wednesday post.
I guess I've made you wait long enough, I should list my total weight lost for the week....
Not quite the 2+ pounds I was hoping for, but its a step in the right direction. I'll take any kind of loss over a gain any day.
In other news, I have no idea why the stupid blog writer won't allow me to change FADKOG and Quinoa to black like Joel and SparkPeople, but I have a baby who's ready for breakfast so I'm going to let it slide. It doesn't mean I like you less, FADKOG and Quinoa. It just means I have a feral Critter and ran out of time.
I've already stated that when I first got married, Bonehead was in the Navy. Anyone who knows anyone in the military (and probably most who don't) know that military life = lots and lots of moving around. We have moved a grand total of 12 times. I am currently experiencing the longest period of staying in the same spot in my entire married life.
It was a big deal when we bought our first home and moved in with the sole intention of 'putting down roots.' And of course, no one really knows their neighbors when they first move in. That relationship takes a while to establish. But then again, that was 5 & 1/2 years ago now, so we've got a pretty good idea of who our neighbors are. All except one that is.
When we first moved in, there was a little two bedroom house across the street. It was really tiny, a bit unkempt, and pretty much the neighborhood eye sore. Shortly after we moved in, it was torn down and rebuilt. The house is still small by today's standards, but it was sold in all it's newness to a single owner.
At some point I had one of those 'eureka' moments (the kind that blasts you upside the head with such ferocity that you can't believe your neurons haven't made that synapse connection before) and picked up the phone to call Bonehead at work. At that time I was still a stay at home mom to Smoochie, who was maybe 3 years old. We'd lived in our home for at least a year and a half.
I picked up the phone to call Bonehead, and calmly explained to him that I firmly believed we were living next to a serial killer. And of course, like the doting husband he is, he told me I was one hundred percent certifiably full of bean dip. But I insisted that he hear me out.
"We know SOMEONE lives in that house. His lawn is always mowed, his sidewalk and driveway are always shoveled. We see the TV light radiating from within after the sun sinks from eyesight. There's a car parked in the driveway at times, and at times not. There are no weeds in the yard, the house is well kept. We've lived in our home with him across the street for over a year now. But have you ever SEEN this man? Can you tell me what he looks like?"
And he could not. Neither of us had seen his face, and I had spent a great portion of time outside. I'd never even seen him shovel his walk or mow his lawn and yet somehow it was always done.
We've lived in our home for 5 & 1/2 years now, and I still can not tell you what he looks like. I have seen him less than a handful of times, but always from the back. I've even driven by him from the opposite direction in his car, but its almost as if there is an invisibility shield around him because I still couldn't tell you what his face looks like, AND I WAS LOOKING. I find it hard to believe that someone could be that unmemorable, but I could physically bump into him at the local grocery store and wouldn't know it.
We spy him maybe twice a year, and each sighting prompts the robust exclamation, "I saw the serial killer!" And is immediately followed by the question, "What's he look like?" And always the same answer: I don't know. No Clue.
I spotted him a couple of days ago, outside his home. It was the middle of the day, and he was brandishing a shovel. By the time I crossed behind my home to my driveway, he was gone. Quick enough to make me question my sighting, but not quick enough to make me wonder just WHAT exactly was he doing with that shovel, anyway? He'd probably like us to think he was clearing his sidewalk.
Before anyone tries to be the voice of reason and states the obvious, like why don't I just go over and introduce myself with a neighborly pie or something, I don't like pie, and therefore don't own any pie tins. Plus there is this paralyzing character trait of shyness that I have (Seriously, I would still be wondering who that cute neighbor next door was if he hadn't introduced himself to me) that leads me to believe that is never going to happen. Not even if I buy a pie. Plus, what happens if he answers the door wielding an axe?
Just let it be known, I'm onto you, neighbor dude. You shape shifting, lightning fast moving, invisible cloak wearing serial killer dude, you.
Yesterday, as I sat in my living room typing with laptop in hand, Bonehead happened to be home sick. With Smooch off at school and Critter busy napping, we had the living room to ourselves. And so we did what we do best- sit 6 feet apart from each other in a comfortable silence, using Google Chat as the need arose.
With the quiet opportunity, I attempted blogging, trying to create a sweet and thoughtful entry. For some reason I had a difficult time.
About one paragraph in, Bonehead decided to create a certain ambiance in the room. I spent the remainder of my blogging experience listening to his special serenade.
The remaining paragraphs from my previous blog entry were typed with the sound of lewd rap music blaring from his laptop speakers while he giggled like a school girl.
And that's your in depth look for today of what goes on behind the scenes of My Neurotic Spot. Stay tuned for future sneak peaks into our inner mechanisms.
I have stated previously that I have known Bonehead for a very long time. In fact, I met him when I was fifteen and moved to Chicago's Northwest Suburbs from a rinky dink town in Southern Michigan. I was the naive country girl who had an immense shy side and he was the rebellious punk teenager who's specialty was pushing the envelope.
We never dated, which is a story in its self, but the fact remains that before our 2 month engagement (during which we were separated by most of the country), my husband and I were never considered "boyfriend and girlfriend."
We did spend an exceptional amount of time together, though. This may or may not have had something to do with the fact that our parents lived 3 houses apart. We got along, he was fun to hang out with, and the proximity to his home made for a ready made friendship. We went to the high school dances with other dates, but always together. We had the same lunch hour and always went to lunch together. He made it his goal to get me to shoot Coke out my nose (which burns a great deal by the way) and I usually caved and ruptured like Old Faithful. In later years, he would travel to Michigan with me (and Mom and Sister)to hang with my family for a weekend here or there.
One day after school he asked me if I wanted to go to a local mall. They had a shop in their food court that had the best strawberry shakes, which I had never had. I have always enjoyed hanging out with John so of course I agreed. Looking back I believe it was one of the first times I was alone with him, and not with our group of friends also. We climbed into his mile long pea green station wagon, ducked to avoid the saggy ceiling fabric, and headed out to the mall.
I remember quite a bit of the conversation but not exact words. We made it to the mall, where the promised strawberry shake turned out to be strawberries, sugar and ice. I remember thinking, "Where's the ice cream?" as I watched the people behind the counter run their blender. It was well worth the ice creamial sacrifice, though. It was, without a doubt, the best strawberry shake I would ever have. We walked the mall, talking and just generally hanging out.
Then again came the car ride home. I had lots of thoughts on that particular ride. He's kind of cute. I really like hanging out with him. Neither one of us had a boyfriend/girlfriend of any officiality at this moment in time.
And then came the moment in his garage. That moment just after the engine gets turned off but before the movement to get out of the car begins. A brief evolvement of a new relationship in which the boundaries had not been set yet. The moment of quiet when it would have been easy to lean over, just a tiny bit, and offer up something new, test the waters with a kiss. I wanted to,I thought about it, and I almost did.
And then reality set in and I realized I had a great friendship with the Bonehead sitting next to me. And though I was truly young and naive I knew enough to realize that kissing just complicated things. And I might have chickened out, too (just a wee bit). But no matter what the reason, it became the kiss that wasn't.
It would be years before I even considered it again...
I have been unkind to me. I have been eating whatever I felt like rather than what was good for me, and exercise has become my arch enemy. I don't have to be a genius at math to know its a fairly simple equation: Cheesy Italian Beef + Soda Galore (and not the diet version either) + No exercise= Weight gain.
And I was already in a position where I really couldn't afford to be gaining even a single pound. So, of course with the new year, and resolutions, yada yada yada, here comes Weight Loss Wednesday.
This time it's a little more serious. It's quickly approaching Critter's first birthday and instead of losing the baby weight I'm heavier than I was even 6 months ago. I know exactly what it takes to remove the weight, and until I get off my butt and do it, it's never going to happen. I'll be adding a few things to my blog to keep me a little more focused. I'll be adding a pounds lost/gained (please Lord no) tab to my side bar, as well as some sort of exercise tracker, I think.
It is also my intention to try to journal this time more of my thoughts and feelings as I struggle to take off what it is so easy to put on. I will share excerpts from my journey, which will more than likely be a long one. Any tips or tricks I find that work I will pass on.
There will be no whining. I got myself into this mess, and I will have to get myself out of it. No one else on earth can do it for me.
So, without further ado, here is the return of Weight Loss Wednesday. This past week hasn't quite been a full week. I weighed in on January 1st, but the exercise didn't begin until the 4th. So far this month I've ridden 18.1 miles on the stationary bike and done 2 half hour yoga workouts. While technically I can not 'restrict' calories until Valentines day, I can make healthier choices for now. By the time Valentine's day rolls around I will be calorie counting as well. And for the weigh in?
Drum Roll Please......
Tune in next week for more on the continuing saga that is 'Chas loves Double Stuff Oreos a wee teeny bit too much'.
I haven't included pictures in a while, mostly due to the fact that my Mom was actually here with us and didn't have the need to live vicariously through my blog. She's been home for a few days now, since New Year's Eve to be exact. I figured I'd give her toes a chance to regain feeling in the warm Florida Sun and then post a few of my favorite pictures of the season. Seriously, she's probably wearing sandals pool side as I type this. I hope her sandals don't fall apart. Nope, I'm not jealous. Not at all.
Anyway, here's a few of my favorite Pics.
Enjoying the freezing cold tradition that is The Christmas Train
Smoochie showing Critter 'the ropes' with his first Christmas present.
And what First Christmas would be complete without the Santa Suit?
It's probably a good thing I'm not in Florida wearing sandals. I have a desperate need for a pedicure.
I have a list this year about a mile long of resolutions I plan to keep for the new year (Doesn't everyone?) I have already decided I'll not bore you with most of them (Until another post at least), but I have a doozie that has already been haunting me.
This resolution is so big, and will be so hard for me to keep that it has me looking for loop holes in my rules. Loop holes, I tell you. But more on that a bit later.
I'm pretty sure a New Year's Resolution isn't supposed to cause panic attacks, but here it is January 1st (Due to computer problems and Child rearing duties, it is now January 2nd), and the thought of publishing it for the world to see has spent the better part of my day doing just that.
I took a long nap in order to avoid this post. The one I knew would have to happen. I curled up under my blankets and mourned the loss of a friend. A cool, creamy beautiful friend. I get a twitch in my neck every time I think of a year without it. I want to go find the empty cup from my "one last trip" in my van (if I didn't already throw it away) and hide in a corner caressing it longingly.
I'm giving up Starbucks. And I'm addicted. But as part of my New Years Resolutions, I have included two things that are not Starbucks Friendly. I need to put serious effort into living frugally- and no matter how I spin it, a 5 dollar frappucino doesn't count as a bargain. (Now a 5 dollar foot long, on the other hand...) I also need to become more healthy, and although the word frappucino sounds cool when it rolls off the tongue, it equates to "poundissimo" which is Latin for I gained weight over the holidays and the calories involved in this thing equate to an entire meal. Both of these things mean I must give up my true love.
I realized I had a true addiction when I started looking for loop holes in my resolution. My resolution is this: I will not buy a Starbucks drink for an entire year. So my brain starts whirring- I can still accept gift certificates and donations, right? Can I have my son hand over the cash? Does that technically count as "buying"? What about Cariboo, can I substitute? Do I have to include McDonald's iced coffee in the bargain?
I will not buy a Starbucks drink for an entire year. I will not send Smooch in to do my dirty work for me. I will not exchange one evil for another and therefore will keep my butt out of Cariboo. I will indulge OCCASIONALLY in an iced coffee from McDonald's, but no more than once a week. And when it comes to Starbucks, I will still accept gift cards and donations.
This will not be easy. I'm already shaking and in withdrawls. What oh what have I gotten myself into? This feeling greatly resembles the same one I had after signing my life away when we bought our house. Too late to turn back. I guarantee I am committed. I cannot, however, guarantee I will not whine about it.
35 and preparing to begin a new chapter in life as the single Mom of two beautiful boys. I'm approaching each day as a new beginning and still embracing the laughter it brings. And also, I am destined to be eternally pale.