A wish is a dream your heart makes when it's busy thinking about cake

Oh, hey there, internet. What's happening?

What's happening with me? That's so nice of you to ask.

Let's see.... My kids both had birthdays in the last couple of months, but did I blog about it? Noooo. So let's make up for lost time, shall we?
Chicky turned five, FIVE, had a pirate-themed party at home where I made the cake...

Idea for the cake courtesy of Fairly Odd Mother
Made with my own two hands.

and we invited 16 of her closest friends, thereby cementing my desire to never have an at-home birthday with that many children ever again. Not that the children were not lovely and well behaved, because they were, but because my poor, weak heart can't take that kind of pressure again. And as we all know, it's all about me and my poor, weak heart. Wishes of adorable preschoolers be damned!


And speaking of preschoolers, Chicky no longer fits into that category. She, as she loves to tell everyone who will listen, graduated and is on her way to kindergarten in the fall. Or next week. She has a questionable grasp of time.

CC, on the other hand, has one more year before she can start preschool as she only just turned two, TWO, last week.

I am happy to note that after her most recent well visit she is now on the growth charts and is nice, healthy and average sized... for an 18 month old child. S'alright though, because what she doesn't have in size, she makes up for in sheer will and attitude.

She is a blur, constant motion, and I am unable to take a decent picture of her because even those super powerful, state of the art cameras that wildlife photographers use aren't fast enough to catch this child. She runs, she jumps, she climbs like a monkey. She has no fear, except of loud noises, and I can't get anything accomplished because I always have to have one eye on her, lest she find a new and interesting way to cause bodily harm to herself.

She is, in a word, awesome.

They're both awesome. And they both deserve their own post. I should get on that.

But until then, I will go remove the tiny Playmobil toy from CC's mouth. Again.

We interupt this blog with a special "I Hate Mother's Day" announcement...

I still don't like Mother's Day very much.

However...

There are others who hate it with a white hot fiery passion for reasons only they can explain and those people deserve to be recognized.

*getting on my (wee, tiny) soapbox*

*really, it's more like a palette than a box*

*okay fine, it's a bath mat*

Last year I wrote this post about my feelings about this upcoming Sunday.

(If you haven't figured out what this Sunday is, that would be Mother's Day. Please catch up and don't forget to hold onto your travel buddy's hand. Wouldn't want you to get lost again. Poor dear.)

Since then, many, many people have Googled the words "I Hate Mother's Day" and have ended up here. To you random web searchers, may I offer you a hearty welcome and a scone? Because gurrl, we've all got some issues to work out, now don't we?

As I said last year, I am more than happy to open up this safe place as a virtual support group for fellow pseudo-holiday-for-those-of-the-maternal-persuasion haters. Please, if you're here because you found your fingers flying over your keyboard in a fit of rage, feel free to vent 'til your heart's content.

(Ooh, that rhymed. Sweet.)

You obviously need a space to express your feelings about your mom, your wife, your husband/boyfriend/baby daddy, or yourself and motherhood as a whole. I applaud you for having the guts to write it out, even if you did so anonymously. I hope it helped a little. Here, that scone wasn't very big. Have a cookie.

If, however, you feel more comfortable lurking in the shadows might I suggest you have a gander at some other, very passionate comments on that post and know you are not alone.

Or if you're one of those well-adjusted types - I hear rumors of that strange breed walking amongst us, those with not a hint of chip on their shoulder or darkness in their heart - maybe you could impart some wisdom upon those of us who would like a glimpse into the mind of someone who doesn't go through the day with a grudge, a whimper or a sigh.

As for me, when I used the word "hate" I may have overstated my feelings. Mother's Day makes me sad and I hate to be sad, but I can't hate a day set aside to honor those women who nurture and love those in their care either through biology or other avenues. I can hate the hype but I don't hate the day. Besides, today is beautiful and it's hard to muster such strong feelings of loathing when the sun is shining and the air is warm.* And my husband sent me cupcakes. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend but cupcakes make me smile too. They don't make me sparkly but they make my stomach happy.

So please, go, vent, bitch, cry... Whatever you need to do. Or leave kind, reassuring words. It's all very cathartic, ain't it?



*If you're wondering where the glass-is-half-empty Tania is, come see me tomorrow when it's dark and stormy and I have a cupcake tummy ache. I don't think this life is beautiful crap is going to stick.

Ramble on

So... yeah.

I've been moping. My dog, Lana, has been moping. We've been mopey. Moper McMopersons. My cat, Nina, aka Jabba the Cat - who is trying her best to lose that nickname, now that I've just found out she has a hyperthyroid problem and is losing weight super fast and Hello! More vet bills! *sigh* - however, has been thrilled there is one less slobbery beast to steal her food and fight for position near me on the couch. And the kids have been fine - Chicky likes the shock value of talking about death and CC only once stepped into the sun room and asked "Where Fisher go?", which broke my heart into ten million tiny pieces... But that was a week ago. And your comments and emails and words of love were so very welcome and filled my cold, dead heart with warmth until it turned black and inky again. So there's that.

(That's me saying Thank You, by the way.)

To get me out of this funk, and possibly kick start my writing again - did I mention Chicky had a birthday? Three weeks ago? No? She's five now. I should probably write something about that... before she's 15. And CC. Where do I even begin to write about CC? - might I suggest a little audience participation?

Wait! Don't go. It's painless, I promise.

I poseth to you, dearest reader, this question -

At what age do (did) you feel comfortable allowing your child(ren) outside to play alone and unsupervised (except for the surreptitious viewing out the window by overprotective parent, oh, every five seconds)? Does your location factor in to your decision? And how far will you let them go out of view? Next door to the neighbor's house? Two feet from the front door? In the backyard, but only if tethered by a ten foot leash and only if Child Services isn't looking?

What sayeth you?

4/19/02 - 4/26/10

We'll miss you, buddy. You were loved.

The Fisher King

My dog is dying.

I don't mean to sound fatalistic, but it's the truth - Fisher, my beloved yellow lab, will be dead soon.

Actually, if I'm being completely truthful it's not that simple. He is not technically dying as there is not one illness that is ravaging his body and leading to his inevitable demise. There is no cancer spreading through his organs causing failure, no disease that will stop his heart at any moment. Instead he is cursed with a number of ailments which individually would allow him to live much longer but together will force us to make that difficult decision no pet owner wants to make - when to consider euthanasia. So I was wrong. He's not technically dying, just close to death. Six of one, half dozen of another - the result is the same, it’s the way he gets there that’s the kicker.

To date, Fisher has hepatitis, bladder stones, occasional elevated kidney values (due to hepatitis, we think), two torn ACLs, recurring UTIs (due to his medication), constant and painful ear infections (also due to the medication but also because of his breed and a predisposition) and the latest, a slipped disc in his back. The last one may just be the proverbial straw. He's in so much pain - So. Much. Pain. - and, unfortunately, nothing is really operable. I guess it's more than slightly ironic he was named for a tragic character.

It's the pain and obvious discomfort that is making this difficult for everyone. A Labrador Retriever is a tough breed. A dog bred for icy waters and thickets and extreme activity. They do not feel pain the way some other breeds do, so to actually witness the grimaces and twitches, to see his anxious, expectant face at the bottom of our deck stairs while he waits for me to come to him so that I can help lift his back end up over the few steps it will take for him to get back into the house, to see him take a few steps and have to lay down... It's heartbreaking.

And he's not even 8 years old.

In two weeks he'll have his birthday. For months I've been saying, Please, just make it to your birthday. Make it to 8. I don't know why 8 seems more reasonable than 7, why a few weeks or months make such a difference in my heart, but they do. He's supposed to live to be 12, I'm supposed to have at least four more years with him. It's not fair, I rail to myself and to my husband and to whoever else will listen. It's not fair, he's too young, too loved. It's not fair. But dying at 7 is unconscionable.

I watch him as he restlessly paces a few steps, trying to find a comfortable place to rest. He doesn't go far, he just can't, but he's up and down often. I watch him stare at the grass from his perch in the sunroom and I can almost hear him weighing the importance of walking down those deck steps to relieve himself against the pain he'll inevitably feel going up and down. But walk down the steps he must; one of the side effects of the Prednisone he takes is excessive thirst and frequent urination. Pee-dnisone is what some call it. At least it helped him get his appetite back. And I have a couple of rug cleaners, so there's that.

Sometimes I feel like we're living the canine version of hospice, waiting for the "patient" to decide when it's time to go, but there will not be a time like that. We need to decide for him. I suppose that's where a dog has the advantage - we can euthanize if things get too bad. There will be no machines or ventilators or life saving measures beyond what we've already done, no unnecessary suffering. If one more thing happens or if he gets much worse we'll need to end his life. His vet agrees. You've already done so much for him, she counseled as I worked things out while she listened.

Fisher is a dignified dog, we will let him go with as much of his dignity intact as we can.

But yet...

That all sounds so simple, doesn't it? Like a day will come when we'll just... know? When the combination of disease and pain and, oh how I hate to say it, cost will come to a head and we'll be forced to make the appointment to put everyone out of their respective misery? I don't think it will be that easy. There are far too many factors at work.

I feed him his pills in bits of bologna, the prednisone, the pain killers, the various antibiotics and assorted medications for ailments I do not understand, and sometimes I think, it would be easier if he were gone.

God help me, it would be easier.

The expense, the damn expense, would be gone. Oh, the expense. You'd choke on your tongue if you knew. No more yellow dog hair covering every square inch of my house, both inside and out. I'd get my sunroom back, since it would no longer be the sick ward. The constant smell of urine would abate. The trips back and forth to the vet. The looks from the vet techs when they see I'm there again with Fisher. Fisher's here! We love him, he's such a good dog, they say as they scratch his head. Ooh, he's even worse this time, poor Fish. However, he still wiggles with happiness. He somehow musters the strength to reciprocate the love. He still gets excited about meal time and treats and the occasional marrow bone. He stares expectantly when I come near. My puppy is still in that beaten down body. Somewhere.

But I fear the morning I'll wake and find Fisher unable to move on his own and I'm terrified I'll have to deal with it alone because my husband is off on a business trip. Will I be strong enough to physically move him and emotionally to hold it together in front of my kids? I think of these things far too often.

So go ahead and tell me he's just a dog. I will passionately disagree.

He's is a good dog... no, a great dog. Cranky, yes, and sullen occasionally but a lot of that can be chalked up to his chronic liver problems that were there long before we knew about them. He's not perfect by any stretch but perfect for me. I'll miss looking into his deep, knowing brown eyes. I'll miss him at my feet in the evenings and absentmindedly letting my hand fall to stroke his side. I'll miss rubbing his ears and hearing his satisfied groan. I'll miss the bent tip of his tail, the silly tricks he does for a treat, the way he snaps to attention when he knows we're "working". He's my dog and he is important.

I miss him already and he's not gone yet.

But I'm preparing and while we wait I'll spoil him. I owe Fisher that. He was at my leg when I cried for my mother. He was there when I needed someone to help me off the couch when I was hugely pregnant. He helped me in my somewhat crazy choice to become a dog trainer. I owe him more than I've been able to give back so the least I can do is give him the best now while I can. A scratch, help up the stairs, a marrow bone and a comfortable spot to rest his painful body and someday soon, a kindness that at this very moment brings me to tears when I think of it.

Marrow bone, not a pound of flesh but it will do.

Hello friend

You know how you can have a really good friend, have lots in common, and really enjoy talking with them - and do, regularly - but then you lose touch with that good friend for months and months because life gets in the way and you feel like you just don't have a minute to dedicate to catching up or commiserating or asking for or offering help but you miss them and think of them often and would really like to talk with them again and you know you just need to set aside some time to catch up because it's so important but so much time has gone by and you start to feel really awkward about picking up the phone or sending an email because all that time has passed so you think about it and think about it and wonder how you would start the conversation after so much time has gone by?

....

Hello, friend. I've missed you. How have you been?

I don't know how I do it

Hey there, blog. How have you been? Me? Oh, I've been a little bit busy. I'm working on a new/old endeavor. I have two kids who won't give me a moment's peace. I have a husband who travels extensively for work, leaving me with even less peace than I would normally get.

(If you're playing along at home, we would be up to 0% peace. Scratch that, .5% peace. Sometimes I lock myself in the bathroom and wait for the savages to stop beating on the door and begging for snacks/television/books/someone to wipe their butt. It's called "Self Preservation".)

My family and I, we make it through the day the best we can and some days that best is not so good. But funny enough, friends and acquaintances, upon hearing about my group blog or latest trips Mr. C has taken that require him to away from home about 75% of the time (true story - in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, my husband was gone something like 16 out of 21 days. Yeah, that month sucked.) say to me, "I don't know how you do it."

Want to know my secret, how I "do it"?

The dishes are basically done...
Except for the stack next to the sink that never seems to get smaller.

And the house is reasonably clean.
Just don't look under the couch. Or in the corners. And pay no mind to the pet hair stuck to the furniture. And for the love of Pete, DON'T LOOK BEHIND THAT CLOSED DOOR.

The kids are well taken care of...
When was the last time I gave them a bath?

and are well fed.
I always serve vegetables with their boxed mac and cheese. And sometimes they eat them.

And occasionally, after everyone is cared for, fed and put to bed...
Please sleep through the night for once, baby. Mama is begging here.

the pets are attended to and medication is dolled out...
When was the last time the dogs had a walk? And is that the cat box I smell??

emails are sent...
Only five people I forgot to email in the past week? Not bad!

toys are picked up...
thrown in a box/kicked under the couch/thrown in the trash.

phone calls are made...
Damn, when was the last time I spoke to my Nana?

and I've written something for my other blog and attended to that business...
So what if I stay up until midnight to get things done? That's why coffee was invented. WEEEE!

I get some time to relax and take care of myself.
Work out? Psssh. How about five minutes with wine and Nutella? That's, er, not too unhealthy.

But is that really any worse than how most have it? Sure, most parents I know have another spouse around to help out but that's not my life right now. Mr. C has to travel for work and that's not going to change any time soon so we make do the best we can with the time we have. We're surviving, it's not optimal but, in the immortal words of Tim Gunn, we make it work. And if that means feeling incredibly guilty for wanting to have an evening out with friends, so guilty that it leaves a slight black mark on the occasion for me, or putting off that yoga class I want to take because going means less time together as a family...

Bottom line? This time in our lives kind of sucks. Not entirely - the kids are great, Mr. C and I are happy together and at least one of us has a job that put food on our table and keeps a roof over our heads - but life is difficult right now. However, I get by knowing it won't always be like this and I am buoyed but the fact that I'm not alone. Um, right?

In the meantime, there's caffeine and chocolate. Now I only wish I could find them. Maybe they're under the dishes...

I totally should have put a Furnunculus curse on that bee-yotch.

I know, I know, it's another link post.

But I would be selfish if I didn't tell you about how I almost got into a fight at the Harry Potter exhibit at the Boston Museum of Science - and how to avoid almost getting into a fight at the Harry Potter exhibition. Because fist fights in front of the kids is just wrong. Deserved, but wrong.

Wand fights are way better.

Regardless, if you were planning on going while it's in Boston or when it comes to your area (Canadians, I'm looking at you. I guess it's headed your way next.) I did all the hard stuff so you wouldn't have to. You're welcome.

And if you're a New Englander and you haven't checked it out yet (Ahem) we have this huge roundup of First Night celebrations from all around New England guaranteed to satisfy all your First Night celebrating needs. Well, not those needs. Sicko.

I do this for you, because I love. I love hard. Not that hard. Sicko.

Seriously? Wow. I'm very disappointed in you. Petrificus Totalus, and stuff.

All I want for Christmas is...

Some very small physical modifications. That's all. Really.

Oh and world peace.

And maybe universal healthcare everyone can live with. But we probably missed the boat on that one, though.

Anyway. Maybe acceptance is the way to go. Be grateful for what we get, yada yada yada. As Chicky's preschool teachers always say, "You get what you get and you don't get upset." Which, you know, is fine for 4 year olds but always kind of bugged me.

*sigh*

(But Merry Christmas anyway! I hope Santa fills your stockings up good... and I mean that in a totally non-dirty way. Maybe. Ho ho ho!

You dirty ho, you.)

Some might call it luck, I call it threats of dismemberment.

Only seven more days until Christmas, and you know what that means...

Um, no. I mean, yes. But no, I'm talking about something else. Try again.

Well yeah, that too. But that's still not what I'm referring to. One more guess.

You've got a point. But no... Let me help you out. What's 4x6, comes in your mailbox and causes me great fits of angina every year?

Right! Holiday cards! You're so smart.

Every year I have a slight (read: HUGE. MASSIVE. EPIC.) hissy fit trying to get the perfect photo for our holiday cards. I don't know why, it's just what I do.

Except this year it was remarkably pain free. On a beautiful warm day in November, Mr. C and I dressed the girls up in matching clothes, brushed and washed them until they sparkled and then propped them up on a rock in our yard in the hope we would get one picture where they weren't pulling each others hair and no one was missing an eyeball. I positioned them, threatened them with bodily harm if they moved and then stood back, screaming "TAKE THE FREAKING PICTURE!!" at my husband while the kids planned their first trips to the therapist in their heads.

And wouldn't you know, the first picture we took was a keeper. Not just a keeper, but suitable for framing. It was the first damn picture we took! We were so ahead of the game, it was spooky.

I know. Where's the drama? Where's the goofy faces? Where's the screaming??

Well, there was screaming but that was coming from me. Come to find out, scaring your kids silly will result in a good holiday card picture.

*jots that down in my "Things to always remember" book*

So without further ado, I give you our family's 2009 Holiday Card.

The bottom is cut off because I wanted to gray out our names but my computer hates me and Photoshop especially hates me today so I just did a hack job on it and... Let's move on before I throw this piece of hardware against the wall.

I know, you're just as disappointed as I am. They actually look happy! They're smiling. No one is trying to kill the other. How am I supposed to be expected to work under these conditions??

It's bad enough that I've become one of those people who dress their kids up in matching outfits, but now I have a decent photo card. Next year I'm sticking them with pins.

I'm sorry Chicklets, if you want holiday drama with a side of conniption fits I suggest you go here first to read our history of the holiday photo session, then try this post, this one, finally ending with this one. I reread them because all of this happy happy made my left eye twitch.

God bless us, everyone. Now where's the nog?

----------

In other news, I'm writing with more regularity. But it's not here. It's there. I'd love to know how you feel about perpetrating the Santa lie myth with your kids because I'm having a little bit of a hard time with that one.

WWJD? Probably roll his eyes, turn some water into wine and eat some lobster stew.

An elementary school in Massachusetts is making national news this week because school officials sent home an 8 year old boy after he (allegedly *wink wink*) drew a picture of Jesus on the cross for a (alleged *nudge*) holiday assignment. Being a former Catholic and survivor of seven years of parochial school, of course I had to weigh in. What do you think about all the fuss?

(Oh, and there's an awesome recipe for lobster stew. How bad can that be?)

Like a busy bee with a slight case of ADD *and* OCD

Busy, busy, busy.

Running hither and yon getting my Christmas shopping done; chasing after children who never stop, EVER; solo parenting; finding time to see friends; starting a meat CSA today (glad I waited to see Food, Inc. until this past weekend. Yikes!) and getting the New England Mamas up and running again.... Busy, busy, busy. Like a little bee with ADD. Bzzzz.

Also, by the way, the sound in my head right now. Bzzzzzzzzz....

But even though I'm busy, I took the time to scour Etsy looking for perfect holiday teacher gifts so you won't have to. Because I love you that much. No need to thank me - unless you were planning on sending chocolates. Then you can thank me all you want.

Bzzzzzz...... (also the sound of a sugar high. fact.)

It would have been quicker to script, record, and edit my own infomercial, but here you go - my weight loss secrets in two easy (pssh) steps.

(Sorry, it's a long one. Grab a healthy snack and settle in.)

I've had more than a few people ask me what I did to lose twelve pounds in 6 weeks.* I'd like to say it was as "simple" as working out and eating right, but anyone who has ever buckled down and changed their lifestyle dramatically knows it's anything but simple.

Y'all, those six weeks were wicked hard, but it wasn't impossible. Big distinction there. The key to my weight loss came down to the one/two punch of diet and exercise, and by "diet" I mean watching what I ate, not some crazy I'm-only-eating-kiwi-and-I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter-for-six-weeks diet.

Let's start at the beginning:

Food

I really like to eat; I love a well prepared, multiple course meal with a glass of wine (or three) and maybe some warm bread with good olive oil and a sprinkling of sea salt... and oh my gawd, my tummy. It is rumbling. But I particularly like to snack. I love chocolate, and Nutella, and salty chips, and Nutella, and cookies... Made with chocolate and Nutella maybe with a side of salty chips and is anyone else hungry right now? Giving up the snack foods was more than I could bear so I compromised - I ate smaller, more frequent meals that were heavier on the protein and fiber and lighter on the carbs so I could have a few pieces of chocolate at the end of the day when I needed it most.

The important part to all of this was that I counted calories obsessively. I kept a food diary and wrote down the approximate calories for each meal and tallied them as the day went on. If I wanted 120 calories worth of chocolate**, for instance, I needed to eat 120 calories less a day than I normally would. Or I would work out harder. More on that later. As the weeks went on I became really good at guessing how many calories were in a particular meal.

For six weeks I kept my calories between 1000 - 1400. If I exercised I could consume closer to 1400 and still lose weight, if I didn't I was stuck to around 1000. Believe me, I exercised.

Okay, a typical day's menu:

Breakfast:

Small bowl of Kefir with homemade granola (that way, I knew exactly what went into it. Mine always had almonds in it. Mmm, protein.) and either berries or a few pieces of sliced banana, a cup of coffee with skin milk and a touch of sugar, followed by the first glass of water of the day.

Alternate: Piece of whole grain toast with tiny smear of peanut butter, fruit, coffee, water.

Super busy morning breakfast: Egg and cheese breakfast wrap from Dunkin' Donuts and a small iced coffee with skim milk, no sugar.

Not allowed: Lattes. *sigh*

Snacks:

100 calorie pack of almonds (I almonds on me at all times. They really help with the crashes.), or carrots or celery or fruit. I never want to see a carrot or a piece of celery for as long as I live, or until I need to put some in my Chicky's lunch box.

Lunch:

Usually a spinach salad of some sort. I found lots of ways to eat salad - with fruit or berries, nuts, seeds or a few pieces of chicken breast, touch of vinegar and oil. Done.

Alternate: A turkey burger (no bun) from Trader Joe's, topped with two tablespoons of jarred bruschetta, also from Trader Joe's, or
A portion of a chicken breast with the same bruschetta (I heart Trader Joe's bruschetta and no, they didn't pay me to say that. But if they ever want to send me a lifetime supply of the stuff... Hey Trader Joe's - Call me.) and a side of steamed vegetables.

Dinner:

Very similar to lunch. I was eating a lot of simple foods and since my kids are suspicious of anything that they can't recognize, making dinner was pretty easy. I also made more vegetarian meals and cut out red meat almost entirely. One of my favorite vegetarian meals was this one. So. FREAKING. Good. And no butter or oil needed. Healthy, FTW!

If I was time crunched and needed something substantial to last me a good amount of time - say if I missed lunch and it was 2pm and if I didn't eat something good I'd eat all my kids' snacks, my kids, and then I'd eat dinner - I'd fry one egg in Pam, top it with a half a slice of cheese (or if I wanted to be wild and crazy, a full slice. Somebody stop me!) and put it on a plain whole wheat english muffin (no butter! NO. BUTTER. Can you imagine?). That was roughly around 225 calories and kept me very sated for a long period.

Gratuitous picture of edible baby, eating.

The thing to notice here, chickens, is that I did not eliminate carbs from my diet. Carbs are your friend, but the kind of friend you only like to visit with once and a while. You love them but you know if you spent too much time with them you'd end up passed out, drooling and burping on the floor with your shirt off. Everyone has those friends, right?

Eating out was pretty much out of the question. If I didn't know exactly what went into it and couldn't count the calories, I didn't eat it. That meant I had to shop more (quick aside, why is eating healthy so damn expensive? WHY??) and cook more but overall I'd say the money we saved from not eating out more than outweighed the money we spent on more healthy groceries.

As for alcohol, that was off the menu too. Mr. C and I would split a bottle of wine a week and that was about it. I'm not going to lie, there were a few nights I cried. Instead, I drank water. Much water. So much that I had my own undertow.

The first three weeks were the hardest, after that it got a little easier every week until, toward the end, it got to the point where I simply could not finish a Dunkin' Donuts' egg and cheese breakfast wrap. My body had gotten used to eating small portions it refused to consume more. And because I eliminated the majority of processed foods from my diet, I felt better, my skin looked better, and I was happier. Refined white flour and food additives are the devil. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The bad part of this challenge food-wise was the day, toward the end of week six, when I Googled "How many calories in grapes". I didn't eat the grapes because eating them would have pushed me over my limit for the day. That's just wrong, necessary to do anything I could within my power to win, but wrong. Now I eat smarter; I eat almost anything I want and almost always in moderation. Except for that jar of Nutella I consumed the day after the end of the challenge. And the week of Thanksgiving. And that chocolate orgy I had last night.

I'm back on the wagon now, okay? Moving along...

Exercise

Speaking of The Devil,


I practically lived on this thing. Or maybe it just felt like that. I was on that elliptical trainer for 30 to 40 minutes pretty much every day. I started slow on the manual setting so I wouldn't hurt anything (I still ended up with sore knees during that first week but nothing three Advil couldn't handle) and gradually worked up to doing intervals on level 5. On my machine that means the lowest setting, when my body was "resting", was actually on level 7 and at the highest it was at level 11. It felt a lot like running on really soft sand. I can't even describe how much that sucked but toward the end I was practically running for 40 minutes while singing basterdized military cadence. Which pretty much came down to me humming "I want to be an airborne ranger" like John Bender in the Breakfast Club (WHY is this video not on the internet somewhere??) while shaking my fist a lot and shouting Hooah! I'm not proud of any of that but, damn, it felt good to go 3 miles without passing out.

After almost dying working out on the elliptical, I would follow up with crunches - many, many crunches - and light weights for my upper body. And that's about that.... Except, I should mention here one thing. It is really difficult to find time to exercise when you have two really demanding little kids and a husband that travels constantly for work. /whining

The trick now is maintaining. I'm sad to say that after last week I am now up 2.5 pounds but I am committed to losing this weight to get back to my lowest and maybe even losing another 2 or 3 pounds. The weight doesn't matter to me, however, as much as toning does. I've never had muscular legs so I'd really like to lose more of the jiggle in my thighs, to say nothing of the junk in my trunk. I'd also like to firm my arms and shoulders and strengthen my core, back and shoulders. And cure cancer, pass the healthcare bill, save the world's starving kittens and help David Hasselhoff kick the booze. I think it can be done.

When I started this challenge I had a terrible pain in the left side of my abdominal muscles that started soon after I had CC and even went as far as having an ultrasound in that area to rule out any internal problems. After week 4, the pain almost entirely went away. Ditto most of my back problems. I have a history of severe back pain so this made me very happy. My physical therapist was right all along - strengthen the core and the pain goes away! I mean, wow, this is revolutionary. Everyone should know about this! I should write a book or something.

Before this, I also had a constant upset stomach unless I ate something. It was a lot like how a lot of women experience morning sickness - if I ate something the nausea would go away but if I didn't eat every two hours I'd get pretty sick, close to vomiting. (Sorry for the visual) I'm going to chalk that up to 18 combined months of severe hyperemesis followed by some pretty spectacularly bad eating habits. It's all but gone now. I've got it under control.

Weight loss and fitting into my skinny jeans was all a wonderful side effect of this challenge but the ultimate victory was getting myself on the road to health. Also a kick ass result? A couple of my girlfriends are competing in a weight loss challenge of their own. These two are too. I'm a mutha-effing role model! Hoo-ah!


*Reading that sentence after watching the Biggest Loser last night really makes me feel like a slacker. They lose 12 pounds in a week. A WEEK. I'm clearly not doing something right. Why are you still reading this?

**Individually wrapped chocolates. They's your friend.

Winning is its greatest reward. Winning, not having to wear spandex AND eating a jar of Nutella the next day is better.

Whoops. I might have missed posting about a little something last week.

That bet I had with Matthew? Ahem... [totally doing my best impression of Elle Woods when she finds out she got the last intern spot] I WON!

Oh yes I did.

I lost 11.5 pounds in six weeks! Boo-freaking-yah.

I went from 139.5 to 128. I'm still in shock that I was able to pull this off, especially - and don't tell Matthew this - since I really effed off during the first week. It was apple cider doughnut season and I refused to go an entire year without partaking of that manna from the heavens that is a fresh from the fryer apple cider doughnut. I have this thing about doughnuts. It's a problem I have no desire to get help for. So during that first week I may have eaten four doughnuts...

Okay, five. Five doughnuts...

Six, I ate a half dozen doughnuts. Are you happy? I was, until I checked the scale and I went up at least half a pound. So actually, I lost 12 pounds.

I don't have any before pictures because I forgot to take them and I don't have any after pictures because every mirror in my house is in a really dark room and I can't take a decent photo. I'm going to try to remember to take my measurements later and compare them to some measurements I took late this summer but my jeans are saying I lost some serious weight. From now until I save some money to buy some new pants, you can call me "Saggy ass" because my booty has gotten so much smaller it swims in pretty much every pair of jeans I own.

But the first thing to go, I'm sorry to say, was my chest. A moment of silence for my breasts please.

.....

That's a cruel twist and especially not fair to those of us who didn't have much in the chesticle region to begin with. I'm really wishing I hadn't thrown away all those Miracle Bras I owned.

However, I fit into my goal jeans now! And most of the time I need to wear a belt with them!

You can't see me but I'm doing my happy dance right now. It looks like a slightly less coordinated seizure.

Our weight loss challenge came right down to the wire and in the end I only beat him by something like .06%. I have to admit there was a small part of me that felt bad when I told Matthew how much I had lost. I know he worked his ass off (pun intended) and I also know I gave him the impression that I was not doing so well. That was not completely intentional. I knew it would mess with his head a little bit but I was totally on the level with him from the beginning. For the longest time I seemed to be stuck at 8 pounds lost. I couldn't lose any more than that damn 8 pounds and normally I'd be fine with that but for the sake of this challenge I had to get over that hurdle. And I did but don't ask me how. It's a mystery.

Then I broke my toe, the same one I broke back in June. But this time I didn't accidentally kick a foot stool. No, this time I accidentally kicked the five pound weights I had left on the living room floor. How's that for irony?

No pictures of me in all my skinny glory but I've got a big picture of my discolored broken toe for you. You're welcome.
But ain't it purdy?

Then I got the head cold from hell. The only bright spot in that last week of the challenge is that, thanks to the cold, I had no desire to eat, which came in handy because I couldn't work out for three days due to the sickness and the toe. But those last few days before our final weigh-in I stuffed my angry toe into my sneakers and I did intervals on my elliptical trainer until I was practically in tears and hacking so badly I needed to sit down or risk passing out. I was NOT going to let him beat me.

Stubborn? Who, me? Why yes, yes I am.

If you haven't done so yet, please go gaze upon Matthew in all of his spandexed glory - that was our bet, after all, loser wears spandex and posts pictures for the world to see - and while you're there tell him what a great job he did because I never could have done this without his motivation.

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For more on my love of doughnuts, I have a review up at New England Mamas about a Sweet pastry shop and dessert lounge. If you're a local and love a good pastry, you might want to check it out.

Because no one else understands my obsession with Ralph Macchio like she does

My heart hurts today.

I'm going to just cut to the chase - My friend Anissa Mayhew had a stroke yesterday and today she is in the ICU. I am completely devastated by this news. Anissa is a new friend, I only just met her in July at the BlogHer conference, but I feel like I've known her forever. If you know her you probably feel the same, she just has that way about her - instantly likable. As news spread of her condition over Twitter and the internet the outpouring of love from the people who know her, both online and off, was amazing and inspiring. She is truly a loved person.

Anissa is a mother of three, a wife, a fellow blogger, founder of the fabulous community blog Aiming Low, Ralph Macchio's other biggest fan, and the most wonderful person you'd ever hope to meet. Like most, I'm worried for both Anissa and her family. If you feel like I do there are things you can do to help.

First, pray for her. Or if you have a hard time with praying, keep her in your thoughts. I believe in the power of positive thinking in times like these so send her some good juju.

Second, go here. A PO Box has been set up to receive any items you may went to send to the Mayhew family. Gift cards are important right now to help defer the cost of keeping her children occupied and fed. Anyone who has had a loved one in the hospital for an extended stay knows how difficult and disruptive it is for the family, especially small children, and home cooked meals are hard to come by when you're eating on the run. Please consider giving something, even if it's just something that will make her laugh. She loves to laugh.

Anissa is the most magnificent person with a smile that could light up whole cities. Last night was a dark one. I missed seeing her in my Twitter stream desperately.

I love you, Anissa! If anyone is going to make it through this, you are. Ralph Macchio is counting on you!!

Sometimes a cough is just a cough and not the end of days

Flu hysteria is solidly upon us, and by "us" I mean the country. I'm still only mildly concerned, but as the season progresses and more kids get sick (Hello, my town's high school was closed for five days due to an outbreak of what might have been H1N1. Freaking out? Me? Nooo.... Um.), mildly is slowly making its way toward moderately. If I watch another 60 Minutes expose on this flu I may be purchasing child-sized hamster balls dipped in Purell, but for now I'm still walking on the mild side.

In my house, we can't even get the flu shots, whether seasonal or H1N1. I did manage to get the seasonal flu shot for CC last week but as of today there are no boosters. Who knows when they'll get more. We're on the list. I'm starting to resent "the list". I have no faith in it. "Lists" can not be trusted.

As for Chicky, I have had no luck in getting her any flu vaccine. The kids' pediatrician simply does not have any for the 3 year and older group. According to the medical group's website, as of last week they had ordered 40,000 doses of the seasonal flu vaccine but so far have only received 1,400. I check their website regularly hoping for an update and we're on another notify list when the shots become available [*grumble*], but it all comes down to who gets an appointment the quickest. And don't get me started on flu clinics in the area dolling out the H1N1 vaccine. I can't, and won't, stand in line for 4 hours for the slight possibility of getting my kids vaccinated only to be turned away because they ran out.

Normally I don't fall for sickness hype. I'm not the type to watch the news and get freaked out because of the latest flu scare because I am simply too laid back about things like that, and if you got a good look at my carpets you would agree. Germs don't scare me, (some) germs are good. They build up immunity. That's why I let my kids lick the dogs, they're working on their antibodies. Also, I know that despite my best efforts to keep everyone's hands cleaned (which I do now, obsessively) and surfaces properly Lysol'd, we'll probably end up with at least one if not all of us sick this year. I have one child in school and the other who has a strong need to taste the world, no matter how gross and germ infested. I also have a husband who travels extensively, and as everyone knows an airplane is just a flying petri dish rapidly growing new and interesting viruses. Will we get sick this year? Oh, you betcha. At this point I'm hoping we won't get as sick as we possibly could.

But what about other sicknesses not related to any sort of flu virus? Like, say, the common cold?

Mr. C told me about a satirical cartoon he saw in a magazine, where a sign was posted outside of an eating establishment that read, "No shoes, no shirts, no service, no children under 16 with a cough." Or something to that effect. Satire, yes, but this seems to be the prevalent mood in most public spaces since news of the H1N1 virus caught fire. Every major news outlet is running stories on the so called Swine Flu and the devastating effect it can have on a person's body. Vaccinate your kids! Vaccinate yourself! Stay away from sick people! Every time I turn on the TV I see the same thing - Chicken Little in a conservative suit and heavily sprayed hair clucking about the flu.

Maybe I'm exaggerating a little but honestly, I'm surprised there hasn't been a color coded alert created for flu outbreaks posted on the front doors of public spaces.

As parents, where do we draw the line between keeping our kids safe and healthy and making little Timmy cry because he has a runny nose and can't go to playgroup?

Back in late September Chicky had a low grade fever, a cough and was sneezing so I kept her home from school for a couple of days, as I was supposed to do. You just don't mess around with a fever, especially when combined with other symptoms. She was fever free for a couple of days but still had the cough so I continued to keep her home.

After five days of being quarantined I thought it would be safe to send her to her weekly gymnastics class. I waffled since she still had the cough but I had something to do that morning and after discussing it with my mother in law, who was taking Chicky that day, we decided she was definitely well enough to go. When she was brought home later that evening she was very quiet and not herself and it seemed like it had nothing to do with her getting over a cold. It took me awhile but I finally found out that the source of her sour mood was the lecture the entire gymnastics class got about not coming to the gym while sick.

I asked her if any of the other girls were coughing and she said, No. I asked her if her coaches talked to grandma and grandpa and she said, No (My in-laws later confirmed that). I asked her how she felt about what her coaches said to her class and she shrugged without looking at me and said she wanted to go to bed. She clearly knew they were referring to her.

I was livid.

Not then and not since has any of the gymnastics coaches, and there's three of them, talked to the parents directly about when to send the kids to class and when to keep them home due to sickness (or anything else for that matter, but I won't get into that right now). There are printed guidelines that were given out at the beginning of class and I followed them to the letter, and yet my child was made to feel like she was doing something wrong because she had a cough. A cough, I might add, that she still has more than a month later. A cough, I will also add, that her doctor doesn't seem to be all that concerned with because it's just a damn cough. She didn't have any sort of flu, she wasn't even going to pass a banal head cold off to anyone else. And if she did, so what? It's a cold. The sky is not falling. A little bit of clear mucous, yes, but the sky? No.

I don't think we'll be returning to that gymnastics center when this session is over.

So where does the hysteria end? Are we going to start ostracizing kids with a history of sniffles? Hand out masks at play centers and schools and any other place kids might gather? Maybe a velvet rope and a check at the door, a la Studio 54, and turn away those who seem sick and allow only the seemingly well in? Internment camps maybe?


Obviously, I'm a little sore about the whole subject. In my mind, it's a case of common sense versus hysteria. But how do you feel about it? Would you take your kid out of a public space because another child he or she was interacting with was coughing or sneezing? Would you feel resentful of the parent for bringing their child out in public, even if you didn't know for sure how sick the kid was? Or would you just take out the sani-wipes and start spot cleaning everything around you in a twenty foot radius?

Need

CC and I went to a local children's store today to exchange a hat and mitten set I had bought for Chicky. Despite my insistence she stop growing, she seemed to have had a growth spurt and needed a larger size. We were just going to run in, get the next size up, and leave because I had many more errands to do before we needed to head back to preschool for pickup when a family caught my attention on my way to the hat display.

There was a woman about my age with her two young children, the oldest barely out of infancy and the little one around 4 months old, accompanied by someone I assumed to be the woman's mother. The grandmother was pushing the double stroller, casually picking up whatever full price item she liked and adding them to the already huge pile of clothing hanging from the stroller's handle, while the younger woman looked over the racks of discounted 6 month-sized outfits.

"Do the kids have matching Christmas pajamas yet?" she asked her daughter, and without waiting for an answer she added two more pairs of pajamas to her stack. The daughter, seeing what her mother did, sighed with what seemed to be exasperation and went back to looking at the sales rack, shaking her head. She seemed resigned to her mother's shopping spree.

Try as I might I couldn't stop my throat from constricting and my eyes from tearing up. It was exactly something my mom would have done. I could easily put myself in that woman's place and my mom in her mom's. Mom would have spoiled her granddaughter's silly and would have ignored all my pleas to stop buying them things they didn't need. Secretly, of course, I would have loved every second, knowing how much pleasure she would get from dressing up the girls. She would have bought them little trinkets for no reason other than she saw something they would have liked and they were never far from her mind. It would never be about the purchase but what she could do to make her grandchildren happy. All at once I was overcome with longing for the inevitable bickering between us. Five hundred different emotions hit me all at one time.

I coughed, dabbing at my eyes while I knelt down pretending to look at a satin holiday dress I had no intention of buying, willing myself to not turn into a huge puddle of tears in the middle of the store. Sweat started to pool between my shoulder blades and behind my neck. I was alternately furious at the hand life had dealt us and overcome with loss, both for me and my girls. I had a hard time seeing through my anger at the younger woman. I couldn't think straight because I was too busy imagining myself in her place. Honestly, I wanted to shove her for not seeing how good she had it.

Leaving the store seemed like a very good idea at that moment. In my haste I almost forget to grab the larger hat and I would have if I hadn't snagged the arm of my coat on the rack as I rushed by. With it in hand, I pushed the stroller containing a very tired and cranky CC toward the register and waited for the lone sales associate to ring up the three customers in front of me. While we waited the grandmother and her overflowing stroller got in line behind us and CC, the social creature that she is, waved furiously at the woman.

"Hi!" she called. "Hi!!"

"Hi to you," the grandmother replied with a smile. "What a pretty hat you have. Did your mommy get you that hat?"

"Hi!" CC answered. She put her hands in front of her eyes. "Boo!" She cackled at her own game.

The older woman laughed and returned the gesture. "Peek-a-boo!" CC roared with laughter.

I didn't say anything, just smiled and tried to stop the prickly feeling behind my eyes from coming back. So many things my mom missed.

Finally it was my turn at the register. Beside it was a display of fleecy holiday pajamas. Normally I'm put off by those displays, obviously intended to entice the shoppers in line to put more in their cart, but this time I grabbed two pairs, size 12 months and 4T, and put them on the counter with the hat.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today?" the girl asked me.

You don't have what I need in this store, I wanted to say.

"Yes," I answered. In a shaky hand, I signed my name on the credit card machine.

The grandmother smiled at me as I gathered up the shoe CC had thrown while waiting for me. "She's beautiful," she said. "I bet she'll look really cute in those pajamas."

Tears were threatening again. "Thanks," I mumbled over my shoulder as I turned to leave.

I placed the bag with the Christmas pajamas on the handle of our stroller while CC yelled, "Bye bye!" all the way out the door.

*Insert voice of an adult in a Peanuts cartoon here*

Okay, I need to address the elephant in the room - Why I'm not writing anymore.

What? You don't see an elephant? It's right there. It's soiling the rug as we speak. It's an abomination! You just see a lumpy, smelly couch in need of replacing? Elephant, old couch. Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe.

Yeah, I'm busy. The kids are kicking my ass. They take up so many more hours than I was prepared to give up and most days I just don't have the time to give to my own creative outlets. Blah, blah, blah.

Honestly, I just don't have the words. I use so many words every day - words to admonish, to soothe, to share, to order, to read countless board books and sing even more songs - but mostly my words seem to bounce back at me, refusing to stick to the intended receiver. It's maddening. So when I sit down to write I find that I have no more left in me to give.

When I started this blog my tagline was something like, Why am I always repeating myself? Or, Doomed to repeat myself. I forget exactly but that's the basic gist. It was a joke and a play on the title of the blog but I could never see how true it would become. As a dog trainer I had taught many people one of the cardinal rules of having a well trained dog was to not repeat things over and over. Give a command, mean it, and follow up if the command is not followed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Now as the mother of a four year old, an almost 17 month old, and wife of a man with a taxing job who travels frequently and always seems to be rushing out the door, I'm constantly repeating myself. Just further proof that I'm better with animals. My dogs listen to me but my family? Not so much.

These days I seem to be talking at my family more than I'm talking to them and some days - okay, most days - it gets to the point where I want to throw up my hands and say, What's the point? Usually followed by more than a few expletives but always to myself. Who's listening anyway?

I don't like this feeling of not being heard. As a stay at home mom I'm already in a position of not feeling like a respected member of society, no matter how many times Oprah tells the world how wonderful and necessary we are, so the compounded frustration of talking to people only to be ignored is not sitting well with me. Now I find myself reserving my words and saving them for when I really need them. I could have a great discussion with friends or chat up new people in the checkout line at the grocery store... Or I could save my strength for when I need to get two little people dressed and out the door, buckled in the car seats, sing Wheels on the Bus fifteen times and bark order to Don't Kick the Seat and Stop Annoying Your Sister and I Said No Snacks and NO WE'RE NOT THERE YET for the hundredth time. Lather, rinse, repeat x infinity.

And that's just when we're in the car.

I guess I should take my own advice from the dog world and tweak it just a bit for those of the two-legged variety. Maybe.

These days I feel my words bear no weight and honestly, seeing them here next to the blink, blink of the cursor is not really helping. Do they mean anything? Do they matter?

Come to find out, yes. I guess they do matter.

I took some time to go through my archives and I was surprised by what I found there. Moments I had forgotten, absolutely, and I was so grateful to my earlier self for having the foresight to write them down, but there also were actual pieces that I was proud of. There were posts that made me go, Damn, woman, you hit that one out of the park. Good for you! I was a little pissed off that I don't write like that anymore but still pleased that those words, at least for a period of time, came from me. Proof that I could string to sentences together! I'd like to say I was struck by inspiration and the words flowed like a mighty river from then on... But they didn't. More like a trickle from a leaky faucet, calcified and sort of stagnant, but I'll take what I can get at this point.

I may bitch and moan, it may be repetitive and dull, but they are my words and someday they'll all add up to something. To that point, someday my words will start sinking in with my kids too (Dear sweet Jesus, someday they will, right?) and my husband may look away from his work long enough to acknowledge my pleas for help (That's actually already working - Huzzah!). And my words here on this blog, no matter how trivial, will become precious to me when I look back on them.

And in the meantime, I'll start talking to the dogs more. They're great listeners.

Shit, I just realized this post sounds a lot like the whining from this post. Sorry, I suck. Um... Who wants to teach their dog to balance a treat on their nose?!

I know as their mom I should have warned them their faces would freeze this way

But as the woman who vomited for a combined 18 months while carrying them in my womb, I'll take the silly where I can get it.

This is what happens when I say, "Make a silly face!" Wow.

But if I do lose I'm totally going to rock it Olivia Newton John style.

Apparently, it takes another bet to force me out of hiding and writing on my blog again, but this is so worth it.

But let me back up a bit.

There comes a time in every person's life when they see the handwriting on the wall, where it is written in HUGE BLOCK SCREAMY LETTERS -

HEY, COTTAGE CHEESE ASS, PUT DOWN THE DOUGHNUT!

I've never been one to pay much mind to HUGE BLOCK SCREAMY LETTERS, especially when they're being insulting, so I kept eating the doughnuts. Lots of them. Because I love them dearly. Mostly the apple cider type because it is apple season around here and, oh my sweet jeebus! Have you ever tasted a fresh out of the fryer apple cider doughnut? Lightly sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar?? That's a little piece of heaven on earth right there, I'll tell ya. Uh huh. A little piece of doughy on the inside, crispy on the outside, fried in lard and covered in sugar heaven...

[Insert picture of me with a thought balloon over my head with a picture of a warm apple cider doughnut and a big goofy grin on my face here]

What I'm trying to say is, I may have partook of the baked goods a little too much lately. I've gained a bit of weight (a small child) and my jeans don't exactly fit anymore (sausage thighs) and after going through all that torture to find jeans that fit, well, that's just not acceptable. Also, I'm cheap and instead of buying new jeans that do fit I'm squeezing myself into jeans that don't fit and it's amazing I make it through the day without passing out at least twice from lack of oxygen.

I wish I could say this was a gradual process and it sort of snuck up on me but the truth of the matter is, most of my weight gain has happened since BlogHer in July. I had lost some weight before the conference (mainly to fit into those new jeans and as not to embarrass myself too much in front of size 0 boutique sales associates named Kimmy) but since I've been home it has been a nonstop baking and gorging extravaganza around here. And also more than a little late night Nutella eating. Straight out of the jar. Maybe a spoon was involved, but probably not. I have no shame.

And did I mention I broke my toe in June which made putting on a pair of sneakers really difficult? It's hard to exercise when you can't put on sneakers. May as well just sit on the couch with a full jar of hazelnut spread and practice my french kissing technique.

(No. Shame.)

I'm not the heaviest I've ever been but I'm close, and this is certainly the saggiest I've ever been. I waved at CC the other day while I was getting ready when I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. My hand stopped saying hello but my upper arm flab was still flailing enthusiastically. Guess how I dealt with my sorrow.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, But Tania, why don't you stop eating so many cupcakes, and cookies and doughnuts and for heaven's sake take your head out of the Nutella jar and start working out. And to you I say,

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I love food and I love to bake, and as strongly as I feel for all things fatty and sugary I have equal hatred for working out. I hate the gym. I loathe everything about it. I lack the inclination and desire to go and honestly that steep monthly price tag for a gym membership is not enough to guilt me into dragging my saggy parts to a facility that smells like body odor to work out on weight machines that are really torture devices in disguise. Torture devices that may or may not have been wiped down after the guy with the back 'fro used it before me.

No, what I need is outside motivation - for instance, a) a team sport or b) a personal trainer who is waiting for me to show up, or c) someone to work out with each and every day who also has the same messed up schedule as I have. Since none of those are readily available since a) Team sports for women of a certain age (ahem) are hard to come by, b) did I mention I was cheap?, and c) okay, that's a possibility but that still requires actually going to a gym. And did I mention my broken toe that isn't broken anymore...? Do I need to continue? I've got a million excuses, none of them good. Bottom line, there is one thing that can properly motivate me to work out and that one thing is my desire to WIN.

And also to fit into these again.

My favorite jeans. I bought these for BlogHer '07. Then I got pregnant and haven't really worn them since. Sigh.

And maybe if I'm really good, maybe these.

Zexy. I'd like to order the ass too. Size small.

What's really not sitting well with me is the fact that I am of a certain age (ahem) and I can't shove cupcake after cookie down my gaping yap while washing it down with a big juicy steak and not expect that it's going to affect me adversely. I've been having some health concerns lately and it's high time I start taking care of myself better so that I can live long enough to be an annoying, pesky, meddling burden on my children.

Which brings me to the bet.

After chatting (okay, bitching) with Matthew from Childsplayx2 about how many pounds we've both gained since BlogHer (My misery! It loves company! Huzzah!) we realized the only thing that was going to motivate us to lose weight was our ultra competitive spirits and threats of public humiliation.

So we made a bet - Who can lose the bigger percentage of weight in six weeks.

Yes I realize I've already made a bet with him recently and I lost but this time the bet is more interesting and the stakes are higher. Much higher, and possibly wider, but without a doubt, more embarrassing.

The wager - The loser has to post a picture of himself (or herself, but let's face it it's going to be him) on their blog wearing spandex. And maybe a neon pink headband.

(Psst, anyone know where I can find a neon pink headband? You can send it directly to Matthew. Heh.)

The threat of not only stuffing my thighs into stretchy shorts but also posting photographic proof of it for the internet and friends and family to see is more than enough motivation to get my ass in gear and get healthy. Skinny jeans are a powerful motivator but fear is BETTER.

We started our bet yesterday, Thursday, October 8. I have until November 19th to lose a higher percentage of weight than Matthew. Since everyone knows men lose weight more easily than women, I'm going to need some help from the internets to keep me focused. I'll take suggestions for weight loss plans (I already know about the Shred. I lasted 3 days. That should tell you something.), diet tips, disgusting pictures to tape to my refrigerator... Anything.

Also, excuse my crankiness. I'm starving.

Wish me luck!

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Starting weight as of October 8: 139.5 lbs