It's a new year, which means it's time for a few goals. I don't want to get overwhelmed, so I've decided to keep things simple with just a few quantifiable and easily achievable resolutions: get in shape, get organized about housework, be a better mother and wife, and be more in tune spiritually. Then, once I've wrapped up those things, I'll potty train the twins and write a book. Totally doable, right? I even started off on the right foot because I ate a salad for lunch! And it was actually delicious because I smothered it in bacon and Italian salad dressing.
Okay, so I didn't exactly respond well when I stepped on the scale for the first time in six months and the scary number made me turn my head to see which toddler was hanging on my leg. Unfortunately, (and inexplicably) for once I was alone in the bathroom. Two minutes later I was standing in the pantry downing leftover Christmas candy in an I-have-to-start-a-diet-tomorrow panic. (Luckily, Stop Procrastinating is not on my list of resolutions, so I can legitimately delay the healthy-eating thing).
The good thing is I actually lost more than 10% of my body weight last year, so I know I can do it again. But that means I also have a clear recollection of how miserable it was. I feel like I still need time to mull over the sad memories of declining a cookie while I work on a big bowl of brownies and ice cream.
The horrible thing about losing weight is that when you're "done", you're not done. It's not like you can get to your goal weight and put in a standing order at Krispy Kreme. You have to keep eating well and exercising forever. And let's face it, however wonderful forever might sound when it's paired with marriage or family, it sounds horrible when it's chained to a treadmill and a green smoothie.
Pass the sugar, please.
It doesn't help that I'm constantly handing out food because Michael is a bottomless pit these days. Five minutes after lunch he is asking for another apple, and some toast, and some carrots. Then, after eating the human equivalent of six bales of hay, he says "Mom, I'm STARVING." And Matthew is a grazer who would live on crackers alone. He spends half the day in the pantry saying, "Daddy! Cracker!"
"Daddy's at work, Matthew," I say.
"No, that Daddy," he says, pointing to me. Then he tries to stuff goldfish crackers in my mouth. I hate it when my kids try to force feed me. If I'm going to waste calories on goldfish crackers they better taste like the Cheese Fries at Outback.
Mmmm... cheese fries.
Did I say I was going to start that diet tomorrow? I meant next week.