Evil, you have met your match

After getting the shock of my life and realizing that I'm fat and ugly right now (at least to me I am), I made an emergency call to my pilates studio. I haven't taken a class since last June when my husband got sick and all hell broke loose. I figured maybe it would help me tighten up a little and then feel a little better about myself.

I booked my lesson on Friday with a girl I took lessons from last spring. She was a little hard core last year, but not too bad. In order to protect her privacy, I'll give her an alias. Let's call her Evil Personified, kay?

So we met at the studio, and instead of doing the typical pilates thing where they ask what your body has been doing and what level of fitness you're at, have you do some cleansing breathing, you know, all that safety stuff, Miss Evil threw me on the Reformer right away. When she said "send the carriage out" and I could barely get it pushed all the way out, she admitted to me, "yeah, I pumped up your springs a little."

Many of you may have no idea what I'm talking about right now. I will give you an analogy. It's a bit like a personal trainer meeting a client who hasn't stepped foot in the gym in 8 months and then loading up their benchpress bar with an extra 100 pounds.

Things with Miss Evil went downhill from there. Was she mad that I'd disappeared for eight months? Did she think I'd been cheating and taking classes at a different studio? I'll never know. What I do know is that she actually had me doing things like one-armed pushups when my form was so bad I had to tilt my body towards the ceiling just to keep from falling down. Did she correct my form? No.

I could barely walk yesterday. One of my boobs actually hurt. Boobs typically do not hurt after exercise. The muscles underneath them, yes, but this was the actual boob. My husband and I went out to dinner last night to celebrate his new job (yay!) and while walking to the restaurant I lost control of my leg muscles for a second. I didn't fall, don't worry.

Today, the legs are a little better. I can pick up my son again today, that's a plus. My left boob no longer hurts. I'm supposed to go back into the studio tomorrow for a chair class. My options are 1) Call the owner of the studio and threaten to sue them for hurting me and employing a dangerous teacher, or 2) Go to the chair class because my butt is in horrible shape and the chair really whips it into shape and I'm superficial enough to only care about my looks.

I've got a feeling I know which way this is going.

- H

Eat or be eaten

When my life starts to eat me up, I start to sew. This is something I've realized about myself over the past few years. It's important to note that when the seas are calm and the weather is warm (this is a metaphor, people) then I don't sew.

Even so, sewing should be a practical and fun diversion from the reality of being ate up, right? So if'n I'm gonna sew, let it be something useful that I might need. I have lots of coats. I even donated lots of coats this year and I still have lots of coats.

I also have many pairs of jeans. Five piles of pairs piled up in my armoire. I believe five piles means plenty. And, I want to sew. So I should choose something I don't have too much of, right?

Uh-huh.

The problem with being ate up is that you're ate up!

So I'm going to make a coat.

And some jeans.

Wish me luck.

Oh! I almost forgot! I lost three pounds my first day and half of torture. Isn't that awesome? Yeah. It didn't make today's forfeiture of all pleasure in my eating any better, but my jeans weren't so tight so that was a plus.

- H

Not dead yet

Day One, Sugarbusters Challenge.

Otherwise known as "I got fat and I'm going to torture myself to get the fat off and then probably go back to drinking Pepsi and get fat again."

For the first day, I'd say it was a success. I am still alive. Always nice to focus on the positive, right? And I do feel thinner or maybe that's the sucking feeling of an empty stomach howling for sugary food. It's hard to tell.

I was supposed to bust sugar by avoiding all sweets, sugary drinks, bread and potatoes and otherwise white foods.

So I didn't so much bust sugar as kick it off the couch and tuck it under the coffee table. I had a bagel at breakfast. It was whole grain! And lunch was super great except for the half a teeny tiny baguette from Bread Company (Panera). It barely counts. Oh, and there were four to seven pretzel sticks stolen from Griffin's cup after dinner, when the worst of the hunger was almost unbearable. I was literally eating my roasted chicken salad for dinner and starving at the same time. How is that possible? I was dreaming of sucking down a Pepsi, that's how.

So breakfast was fine. Lunch was fine. No snack in the afternoon and by dinner I thought about eating my own arm but it wouldn't have been sugary enough so I settled for salad with chicken. And water.

And the prospect of doing it all again tomorrow. I never realized how much I really enjoyed my life before today.

- H

Sugarbusters. Also known as I have lost my mind.

Tomorrow I will embark on the Worst Week Of My Life, with the exception of a few other notable weeks that also sucked royally.

I was lamenting to my work friend Christine about my gigantic floppy belly and inability to magically watch pounds evaporate off my body when she suggested I join her and her sister in a Sugarbusters contest.

Contest is a strong word. It's more of a challenge. We have to commit to avoiding sugar and working out six days a week. Six. As in, almost every single day I will have to abstain from my first love in life and will have to actually put an effort into my daily walks with Ruby and possibly even break into a jog.

I got dizzy and don't remember much else except the part where I told her I would do it and gave her sister my email address so she could check up on me every day.* I still contend that it's possible I had a stroke somewhere between when I said "I just can't seem to lose the weight I put on blah blah blah" and when she said "Sugarbusters challenge." Oh, and I forgot the best part.

She does Iron Man.

Seriously. Christine has done three Iron Man triathlons. I don't even run. She tries to be all oh-I'm-just-like-you and pretends to eat pie, but I know we're deep down different. That's ok, though. She was injured once and couldn't run for nine months (gasp!) and instead of running the Oregon Trail she did Sugarbusters. She said her body totally morphed and looked so much better. That's all it took for me, that's when I blacked out and decided it would be worth the pain and if I don't survive it, well at least my kids knew I loved them enough to try to lose some extra flesh flab so I'd be a healthy mom.

So anyway. It was nice knowing you all. Or not knowing you. When I surface again, I shall be lithe. I shall be supple. I shall be healthy. And I shall not eat pie. If I do survive it, I will attempt to share my experience here because if reading about someone else's torture doesn't serve to keep you from eating that last few cups of Cheetos, then nothing will.**

*Do a couple sugar packets in my morning iced tea count as sugar?
**Do Cheetos have sugar? Cause Cheetos sound really good right now.

- H

Candy is the Devil

Whew. I'm alive. I have officially survived Sugar Week 2010.

Last weekend we had an action-packed birthday party for my oldest son, who turned 4.

Photo highlights for your viewing pleasure.

Then two days later his actual birthday fell on a weekday, so I was obligated to bring treats to school. Then Easter, and I swear there must have been three or four different baskets and candy-collecting stations around here?



By last night I barely recognized the wild-eyed, sleep deprived monsters that used to resemble my children.

Why is it that every single major holiday is somehow celebrated with candy? I think it's a conspiracy.

I also decided last week to take a few days off work and paint the kitchen porch. Maybe I'd lost all of my faculties when I made that decision, because the kitchen porch consists of thousands and thousands of white spindles. All that time and pain (pain, I tell you, I can barely walk today), and I've only just primed it all once! I still have to actually paint it.

Yesterday I was such a genius I left on my MBT rocker-walker shoes when I started painting. I'm going to give you a heads up, in case you own those shoes or you're considering painting or you're just curious - do NOT, I repeat, do NOT wear MBTs while painting that requires any sort of up and down motion with your legs. The added effort required to walk around in them will cause your back to break and your buns to become steel and all of this includes a lot of pain.

By the time I was done priming yesterday I was having back spasms.

Yeah, I know. I could have taken the shoes off, right?

I guess I was too caught up in what I was doing. Cause priming spindles is some seriously zen-type fun.

But the good news is my butt is firmer, my legs are firmer, my kitchen porch is white (even if it is just primer, it's white primer), and my kids are back to school today without any candy or sugar packets stashed in their pockets. I think. I didn't check them, I was so tired when I sent them off.

P.S. So far I've lost 7 pounds on Jenny Craig. Not bad. Mostly water weight, but I'll take it.

- H

My friend Jenny makes the best cheese curls

I finally asked Jenny for help today. I woke up, stepped on the scale (ok, there were like three other steps in between but whatever), cried a little, drank my Metamucil, and called Jenny.

They've put me on a plan.

Apparently admitting there's a problem is the first step. I heard there are eleven more, but I wasn't really paying attention because I had a headache and was wondering when we'd get to the important part where I got to pick out all my food.

I loaded up with various food-looking items and came home. This was, of course, after stopping at Culver's for a Last Meal of cheeseburger, cheese balls, and Pepsi.

No wonder their scale read super high. Twenty pounds over my regular weight.

I knew I'd been getting larger this year, but when you go to the bathroom monthly, you just kind of assume all those extra pounds are just poop. And then there's the Lexapro, that didn't help. Wait, it helped in that I was able to function and return to human status, but it also helped me sit around and eat a lot without moving.

Sooooo, I'm on a plan. I ate the world's smallest penne pasta entree for dinner. When you are suddenly reduced to eating a specific food and nothing else, chubby little two-year-old fingers plucking precious noodles from your dinner plate can be seen with a certain amount of panic and protectiveness. Not that I didn't let him eat them, I'm not a horrible mother. I just made him eat them one by one while I speared ten at a time and shoveled them in my mouth. I wanted to be sure the balance was on my side.

Then later I got to eat my nighttime snack of cheese curls and you know what? They're pretty good! Just like regular cheese curls, except a little less obnoxious.

So far, Jenny's been good to me. I'll keep y'all posted because I know that a) there's someone out there reading this that's curious what Jenny Craig is all about, and 2) I like to write about the stupid little details of my life cause I'm a loser or I'm about to be one! Get it? Loser? Biggest loser? Man, I crack myself up.

- H

If bloating were an Olympic Sport, I'd totally win the gold

Everybody's gotta be good at something, right? I can sew a little, and I have a green thumb.

But bloating. Yeah, puffy belly prize goes to moi. It sickens me, really, the degree to which my stomach can protrude. It has gotten so bad lately I look in the mirror at my profile and compare it my belly pics when I was four or five months pregnant with the boys.

I don't know how to get it to go down. I've been drinking water. I took prescribed diuretics for a while, for my acne problem which is a whole different complaint. I eat prunes. Nothing helps. My tummy just poofs out more.

At this point, I am desperate. Willing to try anything. Seriously. I have no answers, this is mostly a post asking for help, just like my previous post about Blogger that no one seems to have an answer for.

My mom has already suggested I try crunches, but that would require exercising and I don't so much like exercising. I like activity. Not exercise. I like doing stuff. Not working out. See?

Yeah. So.... I guess wolfing down Taco Bell in the car whilst driving back from Hannibal today was a bad idea? [SIDEBAR: I want it on the record that I ordered three soft tacos and instead they gave me three soft tacos supreme which includes the nasty (but delicious) sour cream, so I'm sure that didn't help matters any. Except that it wasn't really my fault, it was Taco Bell's fault, for whatever that's worth. And I only ate two of them, instead of three.] Do you think my body is trying to tell me something? I've also had this weird tongue thing going on, where my tongue gets all sensitive like I've burned it or something, only I haven't. I called my trusted friend Cindy, who is a trained nurse, and she said that can be from eating too much sugar. Hmmmm....I haven't been eating sugar, but you know what I drink?

Pepsi. Full strength.

Ack! I wonder if my bloating and my tongue are from my beloved Pepsi??!!

Pray for me, people. I don't know if I'm strong enough to take on my Pepsi addiction. Although I did just try an iced mocha coffee drink with whipped cream for the first time in my life recently. I guess I could start drinking coffee instead of Pepsi?

Man, why does life have to be so hard?

- H

Crap. The wagon is rolling over me.

OK, second day in a row that I've failed the Pepsi Challenge. Which, in case you're curious and in case you're younger than, oh, thirty three, is a not-so-veiled reference to those Pepsi Challenges that used to plant themselves in the malls of America and let blinded people try to tell the difference between Pepsi and Coke. Hello?! That's not even a challenge. That's just free drinks.

I know I'm supposed to be officially quitting Pepsi, but once again I succumbed to my weaker side (which actually makes up about 92% of me cause I'm not strong nor do I have any willpower whatsoever) and drank half a soda with my McDonald's burger at lunch today.

What other choice did I have? I had two small boys in the back who were surely going to die of hunger and an acute lack of stimulation if I did not pull over that instant and equip them with food in a colorful box accompanied by a plastic toy made in China and coated with lead paint.

And it's rude to watch other people eat and not eat yourself. Right?

So I had a cheeseburger.

And everyone knows you can't eat a cheeseburger without a soda. Cheeseburger and iced tea? Gag. Besides, I'd already downed a gallon of tea while avoiding Pepsi this morning.

So I ordered a small drink. You all know those small drinks at McDonald's are really freakishly small.

And I only drank half of it.

So that's good, right? I'm definitely on the right track. Either that or I'm hanging by my fingernails to the train that's on the right track and I'm trying super hard not to fall off it and have the wagon roll over me.

You know the worst part? It wasn't Pepsi. It was Coke.

Oh, and I gained another two pounds yesterday.

- H

I've already fallen off the wagon

Three days into my Pepsi-free lifestyle and I lapsed today. I got an iced tea at breakfast, which is so lame it makes actually going to Bread Co. every morning almost a ridiculous waste of time. In a moment of weakness at the cups and napkins station, I took one of those little water cups they have and put a shot of Pepsi in it. I drank it.

Then Griffie and I went out running errands while Cooper hung out with my mom on His Special Day with Grandma, and we went through Culver's drive-through for lunch. I ordered a Pepsi.

I only drank half of it, so that's cool.

I guess a half a Pepsi plus one shot in three days is still better than what I was drinking before. Sucks that I've gained three pounds during these three days. It's not exactly helping my motivation to be getting bigger, you know?

I will carry on, though. In the name of all that is healthy, I will carry on.

Oh, and remember my new thing? How I was going to start running? I've run once. Maybe twice, although if I ran twice that second time is blocked from my memory. I think maybe I thought about running a lot and I'm confusing it with actually running.

Sheesh. What a loser.

- H

Quitting crack is really hard

I imagine it's super hard to quit real hard drugs.

Cause I quit Pepsi the other day, and I'm going to share a little secret with you. I think I might be dying. I'm weak. I have a headache that kind of makes me dizzy. Either that or I'm dizzy and it feels like I have a headache. And I'm cranky.

I feel hungry like I could eat the couch but we just ate dinner at 54th Street Grill. Where I ate my entire meal plus snuck bites of everyone else's food. And I'm cranky, did I mention that part?

I didn't really want to quit my beloved Pepsi, if I'm being truthful. It had just gotten to a point where my flabby belly was starting to look like those young teen girls who are drinking too much sugary drinks and wearing huge love handles over their ridiculously low-rise jeans. You've all seem them at the mall. I couldn't lose weight for love nor money but no one had offered me any money to try. I was considering joining Jenny Craig but I knew in my gut that the first thing they'd say is "well, you have to stop drinking soda." And then what's the point of eating their food if I can't wash it down with a cold bubbly fountain Pepsi?

Then there were all the food snobs who would say things like "oh, golly, I never drink soda because it's just so bad for you. All of that sugar, there are like seventeen thousand teaspoons of sugar in each ounce, did you know that?! And the chemicals could melt a bolt. No, I just drink pure water from a private spring in Switzerland or this all-natural neon green concoction of grass juice and wheat juice that's been fermented in a cow's belly that will totally boost your immune system. But soda, ick! It's so unnatural." Usually after one of those conversations I'd want to puke. Not because of my Pepsi. Because of that cracked out green powder they were pouring into their bottled Evian that's supposed to make them healthier or younger or prettier or sexier or richer or whatever.

Most food snobs are more run of the mill. Like my mom. "Honey, you have got to cut back on the soda. The chemicals in Pepsi have been found to leach your system of all its vital nutrients like calcium! Oh, and your kids don't drink enough milk either." I've known her for 37 years. Milk has been her hot-button for oh, about 36.75 of them.

I have just come to the honest realization that I am one of the unfortunate few who does not have the taste for healthful eating. I like fast food. I think it's tasty. I like Pepsi. It's my friend. I like pizza and cheeseburgers. This may also account for my stellar physique. But alas, if giving Pepsi up for a year or two weeks or however long it takes for me to fit into my jeans from last year (yes, almost the entire pile are shockingly tight or even *gasp* un-buttonable), then I'll do it.

Good Lord, if quitting Pepsi is this hard, imagine how hard it must be to quit crack or heroine?! [sic - I misspelled heroin but I kinda like the way it turned out, so I'm leaving it] That's a really good reason not to ever start taking drugs. Not to mention the other added benefits of not frying your brain and not going to prison or ruining your life or health or dying early. You know, the regular.

Say a little prayer for me as I travel through the DTs into the unknown. I hope to report back next week that I'm off the sauce and I'm thinner. I'll let you know.

- H

What are you working on this weekend, Heather?

Oh golly, I'm glad you asked.

In my spare time, which is sooooo plenty, I'll be pressing my multitude of Anna Maria Horner good folks fat quarters so I can cut them into six inches strips and sew them together to make my stripwork fabric!

I'm so excited. I have a feeling it's going to end up looking very euro-chic, very credit-card-hippie if you know what I mean? Then I'll take the fabric I've made and make a skirt out of it. Or maybe a little hippie camisole tank or a little sundress or something. Or all three. Cause I have a lot of fabrics and by the time I strip them all together I could probably make a caftan.

Then, let's see...I'll also be finishing the multitude of crayon rolls and zippered bags I started this week. Perfect little Mother's Day gifts, and Teacher's Appreciation Week presents.

Oh! And I'll be announcing the winner of the Great Mother's Day Skirt Giveaway tomorrow morning! I'm combining two posts' worth of comments to come up with a random list, I'll plug it in to random.org and announce the winner in the morning. Then we can confab on your measurements and I'll get to work trying to get it right this time! My track record is a tad shabby, I seem to make things super big for some reason.

Yep, that about covers it.

Oh, and I'll be shredding myself again tomorrow and Sunday. Anyone want to join me? We can complain about the pain together?

What are you up to this weekend?

- H

Jillian Michaels is the devil

I grew up Lutheran so the Devil really doesn't play a big part in my life or my religion. Until today. I have had a sudden epiphany.

The Devil exists, and his name is Jillian Michaels.

I bought the 30-Day Shred. I shredded myself this morning.

Honestly? I thought Big Mama and Boo Mama were exaggerating the pain. Seriously, how could a twenty minute workout that rotates between weights, abs and cardio be that freaking hard? That's what I thought.

Uh, let me just tell you that it can be that hard, and I am in that much pain. My muscles are actually a little quivery. And then she [THE DEVIL] has the nerve just when I wanted to skip one jumping jack to berate me for NOT TAKING A BREAK DURING A TWENTY-MINUTE WORKOUT, YOU WUSSY!

So I guess I recommend it, if masochism is your thing. And flat abs. And quivery muscles.

I guess I'll keep it up. I should probably write down my stats from today, and then compare them in a month when I'm sufficiently shredded, right? That would be the smart thing to do, I guess.

- H

Busted

Well, my day of reckoning has finally come.

My darling son, the three-year-old, was sitting cuddled up next to me on the couch this evening, when he uttered the words I knew were on his mind.

I've seen him eyeballing me. I've seen the question on his face but he's so easily distracted he never asked it.

Until tonight.

"Do you have a baby in your belly, mommy?"

So I'm back on my diet, dammit. And not happy about it.

- H

White dress pants are the bane of my existence

I love white dress pants. There's just something so white about them, so clean and sharp and pretty, plus they make whatever you're wearing on top pop.

The problem? They show absolutely everything under them. Pantylines. Cellulite. Everything. The girls who think wearing a thong will solve the problem are just kidding themselves. I see thongs showing through white dress pants all the time, too.

Every year I'm on a quest for a white dress pant that doesn't show all that stuff. And you know what I've finally figured out? I just have to wear Spanx under them. I bought a pair at Nordstrom the other day that I really like, but once again with the pantylines and pockets showing through. They were lined, and it's not like lining can resolve the problem on white for some reason.

So I bought those Spanx that don't have feet, and today I wedged myself into those. Then I put on my fancy pants. Voila! No VPL. No cellulite. No air flow, either, and I felt like I was trapped in a net surrounded by fancy pants, but whatever. It's the price I was willing to pay for being able to wear them!

And when I got home? The hems were dirty.

Lovely.

Maybe my love of white dress pants is a little like loving pumps with six inch heels? Pretty, but not really made to be worn.

By the way, remember my bravecrazy post where I showed my actual weight (as opposed to, say, a driver's license weight that we all know is false)? Well, I'm happy to report that I am down to 151.2 as of this morning. The day after I posted that picture my scale broke. Can you believe that? What are the odds?! Anyhoodle, I hauled myself down to Costco and bought the Conair Weight Watchers scale that actually measures you in tenths of a pound. I love it. Seriously, I recommend it for anyone looking for a new scale.

So that's my update. I will have to take a picture because of my cute new pedicure with flashy red toes. Gotta get my money's worth!

It's the candy, baby

Yeah, it's the candy. It's my candy baby, this belly I'm carrying around. I had my ah-hah moment while I was changing clothes. I'd been wracking my brain for two days, trying to figure out why I'd suddenly gained six pounds when nothing else in my life had changed. I wasn't eating different foods. I wasn't exercising less {I had probably even kicked it up a notch!}.

I had put on a little weight before I went to Florida, and it melted off down there. I carefully considered what it was about Florida that was different about here.

The candy. I didn't eat any cookies or candy or any other junk while we were in Florida, and my weight went back down to normal. Plus I didn't feel like crap all the time.

So the culprit is the Candy Renaissance we've been having in this house. It's bad for me. It's also bad for my son, who is GOING THROUGH A PHASE that includes driving his mom nuts, sass-talking, kicking his brother, and all-around unruliness.

Crap. That means I have to rid the house of candy. But I love it! I love the smell of it, I love the taste of it. I love the texture and I love the way it makes me feel. All fat and happy.

Here's a bit of useless trivia for you. Did you know the gut* houses the majority of your body's serotonin receptors? There's a chemical reason we eat to feel good. And sugary foods tend to stimulate that serotonin production more, so hence my candy addiction. I'm just trying to make myself feel good, that's all. The problem is, it has had the backlash effect of actually making me feel bad, especially when changing clothes. Or wearing clothes. Or not wearing clothes.

So poopy doop, I'm henceforth giving up my habit of eating candy. All day.

Pray for me.



* The gut is a medical term. Very serious stuff here. It is used to describe anything from the mouth to the bum. In this case, it's your large and small intestines in particular. I could tell you more gross gut stories, but I won't. Just do this for me ~ don't leave your toothbrush out on the counter next to your toilet. And close the toilet lid before you flush. Thanks.

The scale, she is not my friend

So far this week, Bradford Pear trees and the scale have made it to My List.

Do you know what this means?


No, it does not mean Heather needs a pedicure. Well, yes, it does mean that, but mostly it means that I have suddenly gained a ridiculous amount of weight.

Yesterday the 8 was a 1.

What on earth would have caused me to gain five pounds in a day? Yes, I can do math but when I first weighed myself I didn't have my shirt and pants on, so I'm giving a little leeway for them. When I first weighed myself and had small heart palpitations of shock, it read 156.5.

I took some cold medicine yesterday. You think that was it? Or maybe it was the sleeve (and a half) of Girl Scout cookies I ate when I got home? I did the calorie calculations, I didn't think it was going to be that much, I swear!

So now I'm going to post a weekly scale shot to keep myself honest. I just don't get it. I even exercised this weekend. I haven't been eating too terribly bad (if you don't count the cookies, which I don't). So depressing.

Random bits and pieces

First off, I've gained ten pounds. Well, maybe seven. But it looks and feels like ten and it's ten from my ideal weight. So I'm disgusted with myself and I'm putting myself on a low calorie diet, which is going to stink. I will be very cranky, I'm just warning you. Food is my friend and without it I am lonely and angry.

I practiced one of Pioneer Woman's Photoshop tricks for making blue eyes pop. I don't know if I can tell much of a difference. Can you tell? I will crop the pic to just show his head and then you make your decision.

This is the out of the camera shot.

This is after her Photoshop tutorial.

What do you think? I think the picture looks brighter but his eyes don't look more blue or "pop" any more? I dunno. I'm unimpressed with my PS skills so far.

But is there anything cuter than a baby in a cowboy hat or cowboy boots? My goodness.

Lastly, I have another product recommendation. It's a nail hardener called Daby. This stuff is amazing. If you have a manicure or painted nails, it's a godsend.

You put it on your nails the day after you've painted them (this is crucial otherwise it gums up) and it will cause your polish to stay on forever. Seriously. I painted my nails last Saturday for my meeting. Sunday I put on my Daby. Friday night I had to take off the polish and there was not ONE chip!

You can find it at Beauty First or Beauty Brands, I can't remember which one. It's $15 and worth every penny.

Carry on about your day.

I need to go on a diet cause I'm wearing this soft sweater

I have to go on a diet. I know that. I'm not in denial about it.

It's not so much my weight that's a problem. The number on the scale is fine, thank you very much (lie, lie, lie). It's the tone. You know what I'm talking about. The tone is bad. In particular I have a trouble spot on my belly.

Let me rephrase that. My trouble spot is my belly. I feel it's genetic. My mom's trouble spot has been her belly, and I think my grandma may have had trouble in that region, too. Although Grandma's bum got a little large after retirement, too. But I digress.

You know what extra weight is sometimes? It's a security blanket. I know this because I'm sitting here at my desk, trying to work up the nerve to take some online exams and mindlessly patting my security belly. It's comforting, somehow, to know I have this fat pad between "me" and "the world." I get it now, how people can put on weight to soothe themselves. Or rather, how people tend to put on weight when life gets stressful. As in, every day. Is there ever a day when life isn't stressful?

I think the thing about my husband's recent comment that bothers me the most...you know what I'm going to say here....is that he's right. I hate that! I don't care that he said it, I'm used to all sorts of asinine things coming out of the orifice in his face. I'm just bothered by the fact that while I mindlessly ate Starburst and M&Ms like they were going to be recalled by the FDA, someone actually noticed my burgeoning waistband. My excess did not go unnoticed.

So now I have to think up some grand scheme to get back in shape, and then I actually have to do it, which is even worse! And I have to somehow not make my husband think I'm doing it for him, because that would totally ruin it.

I would take suggestions from the audience, but I'm sure they would involve diet and exercise. And who wants to do that?!

Oh and by the by, I don't think my nose is broken. So there's that on the plus size...I mean plus side.

My son broke my nose and my husband thinks I'm fat

Wow, that's a catchy title, huh? Have you ever just had a day or night be completely Crap Bag? (Does anyone else remember the Friends episode where Mike was going to change his name to Crap Bag because Phoebe wanted to be Princess Consuela Bananahammock?)

I'd like to rewind the clock on this evening. We all went out to Espino's, a lovely little Mexican restaurant. The boys behaved relatively well. Griffin struggled a bit but he's at the age where sitting still is really hard.

I made the mistake of bringing up the impending home sale in conversation at dinner. That was the catalyst to a downward spiral of conversations that ended on the ride home with my husband telling me I've totally let myself go. I need to eat better and work out.

Of course, I was quick to remind him that he doesn't eat healthy or work out, but I believe his response was "but I don't need to." That got a good laugh out of me.

Later, after basking in this pool of positivity, I was cuddling with Cooper on the couch when he decided to do a flying Walenda over my lap and his foot kicked me square in the nose. I don't know if it's actually broken or not, although I heard a little click and saw stars there for a while. It made my eyes water! No blood, so maybe that's a good sign?

And then the Mexican pizza with shrimp I had for dinner isn't sitting well with me. It can't be the shrimp. Cooper picked them all off and ate them, so I pretty much ate cheese and crust. Actually, I had two or three little slices, but now I distinctly remember the man previously referred to as my husband saying he "saw me put away my fair share, too." Hmmm..... I see a theme here.

Good times, good times. Tomorrow's a holiday! Yay for dead presidents!

Operation Whittle the Belly

OK, I started this morning. Operation Whittle the Butt aka Operation Whittle the Belly has begun! I strapped both boys into the mammoth double stroller at 6:15 and we went on a walk.

Stroller - 40 lbs.
Cooper - 32 lbs.
Griffin - 21 lbs.

Total - I pushed 93 lbs! No wonder my calves were complaining on the uphill stretches. I'm hoping to be able to do this almost every day in the morning, either with both boys or just with Griffin. I think it might help me tighten up my stomach and lose the extra 6 lbs I put on in the last two months.

I hope it helps because I really don't like working out and I don't want to have to resort to doing that!