From the dinner table

Over an amazing spectacular dinner of Kraft macaroni and cheese (Spiderman noodle if you must know) a witty comment from "The Bean" (age 9).....
"M-----, quit talking about queens and princesses! Think about the poor people that had to serve the queens. They had a hard life. Their life was bad!"
"Why was it so bad?" the kindergartner queries.
"Taxes," he answers, bowing his head.

Now they tell me

So (as they say in CT) I'm taking a break from eating bon bons and watching the roomba. I'm sitting at the kitchen counter flipping through my Self magazine in another attempt to inspire my new healthy attitude, when I see it.
Aha, I say aloud in my head. Now they tell me.
According to this mag, one should not "stock up" on packages of 100 calorie count treats. Seems research indicates, if you have too many of those in your pantry, you are likely to binge on them. Instead, keep only a few packets in the house at a time.
Well of course.
And yes, this plan does make you exercise. Walk out door, get in car, drive, walk across parking lot, reach for 100 calorie count package (yes, muscle work!) pay, walk back to car, drive, back into house. Repeat. Because next day they will all be gone!

ps-- yes, someday I will actually write about something important. I'm just warming up!

Use your words....

Listen people, the little spot where it says "comment" at the end of a post means comment! Part of the fun here is seeing what everyone has to say (but if you make fun of me, I'll cry). Tell me if there's a topic you'd like me to explore (and keep it clean!) Only one brave soul, Thanks Tom, has been brave enough to venture into that territory. But I suppose as long as you're reading, that's all I really care about. It's my little way of keeping in touch with all those people I don't see around town anymore and those I see around my new digs. Take care, and feel free to forward this site to others, the more the merrier - yes I know you giggled, Tom.

Call me Jane Jetson.

I now have my very own Rosie.
She arrived in a cardboard Amazon box on the front porch. My husband had been eagerly awaiting the birthday present he ordered online and literally jumped up and down with excitement when he spotted it, unopened, in the foyer.
The kids were called in to witness the unveiling of this "best birthday present ever!"
I got it mostly opened when I spotted the word "Roomba", closed the box back up and laughed out loud "You did not get me a Roomba."
According to a guy a work, this was the "best thing ever!" and now we own this item too.
It truly is a luxury item and I understand how silly it seems. But we don't own a yacht or a timeshare in the Caymans or even a Wii, so what's so wrong with owning a Roombot vacuum?
It's truly a funny little thing. It whizzes around the house in no particular fashion whatsoever, even though the instruction booklet tells me it has a carefully programmed plan. It starts in a circle then furiously heads to various spots around the room, bumping into and sometimes skimming the same place over and over and over.
The children place various pieces of scrap paper and tufts of yellow lab dog fur around the room to test it and cheer when it disappears under the round robot of suction.
In fact, the only true drawback to the thing is that we spend more time watching it (and the kids chasing it and the dog trying to get away from it) than we do going about our business, (which the instruction book says we should.)
The guy at work who recommended "the best thing ever!" warned us that we would spend much of our time trying to figure out a pattern or trying to direct it where we want it to go. But alas, this Roomba has it's own agenda and there's no controlling it. We even talk to it to no avail.
But if we just put it to work and walk away and give it a long enough time, at some point it hits just about every major dirt pile. It's my little robot duster and as long as I give it fresh water and food, I mean empty its collection bin and recharge frequently, we seem to be getting along just fine.
I did chastise my husband for buying me an appliance, and of all things a vacuum cleaner, for my birthday, but we decided that it's really more like a new pet. Except that it doesn't shed fur all over the house, it scoops it up!

Candice, you inspire me

So here’s my big idea, if I write down at the end of the night, how my day went re; exercise diet etc, I’ll either shame myself straight, or provide humor for the masses. I’ll start on a Monday, so that I can fully expose what I am up against.

Morning, the kids all complain about going to school after a long winter break, but I need them out so I can get back on track with my hip hop abs. Everybody out the door, a bowl of cheerio crunch and cup of coffee and I’m ready to go. That is after a phone call from a friend down the street. Ok, then, lets try to go for a run. It’s sunny and hip hop abs can wait for a rainy day. Plus, if I can get myself to actually run more than 100 feet, I may start losing weight, it works for my husband anyway. So out I go, walk, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk for 25 minutes hoping no one has noticed I’m not really running very far at any one stretch of time. Then home to lift some hand weights while watching Divine Design on HGTV. Candice, you inspire me. (Bad Jerry Maguire reference.) I even thru in a few crunches and stretches.

Then, since exercising has indeed given me so much energy I actually get in the tubs and scrub, yes scrub, them down. Then do the bathroom floors.

Running out of time since my daughter will be off the bus soon and my son has a presentation at school on George Lucas I hop in the nice clean shower quickly, get dressed (is it my imagination or are these pants fitting just a bit more loose?) and then notice the kitchen where the breakfast mayhem has gone untamed. Well, that’ll have to wait.

After a quick lunch, Lean Cuisine me please, I get the daughter lunch, head to the school and then head off to hit a few errands including the grocery store. There I stock up on 100 calorie snacks (yep, I know I could just measure and baggie my own stuff but maybe just maybe this will work if I take the shortcut) I get inches away from the frozen food aisle only to look at my phone (really, who wears a watch anymore) to see I’ve got 25 minutes to get through the checkout and a few miles home before the bus drops off the other three kids. Yogurt milk and bread be damned. I’ll be back (Arnold Schwartzenegger)

I succeed in picking the correct checkout lane, get out in minutes and on the way I manage to eat two of the 100 calorie packs. Well, at least the math is easy this way.

I pull in the drive start to unload, get the fridge and meats put away and the bus rolls to a stop and out come two children. Where, I ask, is your brother? And while they seem unconcerned they’ve left a man behind, the reaction changes once I tell them now we get to hop in the car to go get him at school. No computer game time, sorry dudes.

I leave the groceries in the middle of the kitchen, tell the dog not to eat anything, grab a few snacks for the kids in the car (thank goodness they are laying in the middle of the kitchen floor still in the plastic bags!) and get to the school there discovering my child prostrate in the office with a serious fever. Well, it just so happens that I have a drs appt for his twin brother (long story, I swear I have a running weekly appt there) in 20 minutes, so hi ho hi ho it’s off to docs we go amidst the protests of some testy siblings. (I’m pretty sure I ate another 100 calorie pack on the way, I had left it in the dash in case I got hungry some other day)

After some confusion over the twins’ paperwork, a diagnosis of an ear infection and the handing over of an antibiotic prescription, I now take four cranky kids to the Target pharmacy. The completely miserable with ear pain son is curled up in a ball in the large part of the cart begging for mercy as his brothers keep forgetting not to bump the cart or throw items in on top of him. While waiting my 20 minutes I manage to get talked into letting each of them buy a chocolate easter bunny (hey, I resisted at the toy aisle, what else do you want) and decide that yes indeed I do deserve the pack of six chocolate and peanut butter bunnies as payment for my troubles. (I’m starting to see a pattern of stress eating here… hmmmm) We finally get out of the store and back home where it does surely look like the kitchen has exploded with groceries, but luckily no trace of the dog digging in.

As the kids finally get a computer turn, gorge themselves on chocolate bunnies and the sick one passes out on the couch, I frenetically try to get things back into shape and whip up some dinner. I will admit that only one of my chocolate and peanut butter bunnies survived that ordeal. I also managed to ingest a few handfuls of Doritos.

And so goes the first day of my diet and exercise journal and I’m pretty sure that while I started out strong, I sure petered out in the end. Literally. This yet-to-be-fab butt didn’t get off the couch all night.

Still, I must not remain deterred. Tomorrow, I tackle the saddle-bags. And go back for milk.

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yep, it's coming along just fine

Where am I out in this vast world of the InterWeb anyway?