It's the Holiday Season

A good friend of mine sends me the following commentary: "I have come to the conclusion that I need to buy a new belt. A new belt that's a little bit longer. I am sort of OK with that."

I feel her pain. I've worked hard to gain the weight I've put on in the last three months. Cripe. I've EARNED it.

As soon as I finish reading my friend's message, I sprint out the door. Carpool time!

As I am backing out, I notice the gate opener is not in its usual place. I search the other visor, the console and the passenger seat. No controller.

I jam the car into "Park", run back into the house and shout "MIKE! Do you know where the gate opener is?"

His response: "In the seat?!" The answer is more than laced with sarcasm.

Not one to back down in the sarcasm-response department I yell back: "So you mean to tell me my butt* has gotten so big that I couldn't feel the remote when I sat on it?" My voice creates a nervous, pseudo-laugh as I yell this.

Response from somewhere in the bowels of the house: "YUP."

I don't have time to argue the point about him thinking my butt is big, given his response.

Now back in the car, remote returned to its upright and locked position, I listen to a news report. I hear that a man has been arrested for pinching the butt of a lady in line ahead of him. Problem is, the posterior he chose to squeeze is attached to a female cop. IN UNIFORM. Um, DUH?!?!

To this very odd little person who needs an education on uniforms I say: Mister? If you feel the need to pinch a little arse, you really should pick someone like me.

Someone whose bottom is so buried in fat that it has surpassed the ability to feel the remote I just sat on.

To my belt-challenged friend: I salute you, sister of the traveling Oreo ball! I feel your pain during this calorie-laden, fat-inducing season. And I'm 100% behind** any ideas we might come up with at lunch tomorrow*** to get control of our wayward bodies in 2010.

But we must be quick--BEFORE someone decides to get all fresh with me and my larger-than-life hiney.



*Not the word I used. I'm attempting to tame the cussing beast and am starting with the written word. Before it costs me quarters. Starting in a measly 15 days.

**Pun only partially intended.

***Dessert not optional. It's Christmastime, by golly!

I'm Thinking...

I just defined oxymoron last night when I was eating strawberry cheesecake and derby pie covered with caramel/chocolate sauce and walnuts while simultaneously watching an episode of THE BIGGEST LOSER.

I'm hoping I burned some calories lifting the fork to and from my mouth.

Eating My Way Fat

"I'm gaining weight the old-fashioned way: I'm eating too much."

That would be my commerical for Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, or The Biggest Loser. Right now I feel like I could be a walking "before" ad for any of these fine establishments.

This morning I stared at the scale and saw a number that is my "Holy Crap! Who's standing behind me pressing down with their toe?" weight. This is the number that I saw when I was "going up", rightfully so, during pregnancy and one I saw when I was "going down", when I was making every attempt to look un-pregnant after I wasn't. Somehow, my weight, as of late, has looked like a revolting line chart in a business with completely erratic earnings.

And, as I've expressed in previous posts, I haven't even hit the high-eating zone of the year yet. That commenced with The Texas State Fair, which kicked off this weekend.

Fortunately for me, unless Julia Child returns from the dead and pronounces this year's stomach-acid-producing, cholesterol-raising assault, FRIED BUTTER, a "gastronomic tour de force", that's one less thing I'll be eating at the Fair.

Corn dogs? Can take 'em or leave them*.

My downfall? Turkey legs, cotton candy, candy apples, and funnel cakes. I'd participate in a a girl fight in the baking barn if they'd actually allow spectators to try the baked goods that are entered into the contests. Most of those recipes would make Paula Deen's baking look skimpy in the butter department.

Sadly, there just isn't enough walking to be had at the Fair to warrant the lack of restraint I've been known to show on Fair Day.

So, this year, I'm trying a new tactic. I'm going to drink. Water**. And I'm going to let my boys enjoy whatever makes their hearts sing. Yes, I'll be jealous. Yes, I'll be cranky. But, hey, at least I won't gain any more weight.

Because I really don't like that Jillian woman on Biggest Loser. She's a little too much like Hitler, but with boobs and no mustache***.

And if I end up needing her, I end up in a two-piece workout uniform on the TV.

Frankly, I like my friends too much to make them throw up.


*Yeah, I'm wierd. I'd rather gnaw on a turkey's skinny legs than a pig's snout/butt/whoknows. OK, maybe NOT so wierd.....

**If you instantly thought "She means booze", go to the head of the line. I stopped in Baptist land for quite a while but I've been back in the land of drinkers ever since.

***Though she may know someone who does a hellacious wax job.....

Height and Weight, Please

At what point do you stop wanting to get TALLER and HEAVIER and get excited that you aren't getting SHORTER and THINNER?

I started thinking about that this morning when, for the fiftieth time in two months, I measured a son who is desperate to get out of his car seat.

Of course, he was almost tall enough to make the move BEFORE the law recently changed. But, we won't bother telling HIM that lest we have hari kari committed against Mom and some random politician from our district*.

While one son is bucking to sit on solid leather, the other end of the spectrum is dying to drive a seat without a back. He's 1.5 pounds shy of freedom. He's practically singing George Michaels**, he's so stoked. Of course, if he eats measly meals like he did this morning, he'll end up needing to gain 2 pounds instead. Eat, boy, eat!

As usual, the middle child is just along for the ride. He has said nary a word about butt-on-leather nor did he do the happy dance the day he moved to a booster. Some people are just satisfied with life, no matter the curveballs they are thrown.

Me? I'm pretty satisfied with my current height but my girth is expanding as the days pass. MUST.DO.SOMETHING.DIFFERENT. And a car seat incentive isn't going to do it for me. Unless it is a new CAR, a shiny convertible, that I would only fit in should I lose the requisite 15 pounds.....

"MIKE!!!!!!! I have an idea."***




*Son: "HMMMM...car seat or juvy at a tender young age?" Hard to determine the right answer when you are PISSED.

**The catchy chorus from the song "Freedom", in case you aren't up on your George.

***This always spells imminent danger. As in "Danger, Will Robinson."

360 degree hour glass

I have come to the mind-numbing realization that my shape, now that I am 43 and have gained back all the Weight Watchers weight I previously lost*, has never been defined for publication in a journal for any profession that keeps track of such things.

I've become a 360 degree hour glass.

What is a 360DHG shape like? Well, it requires a little history to explain.

Back in the 80's, when I worked in the local Burger King, I ate the same meal every shift, probably, on average, about three times/week: A Whopper with cheese, extra mayo and tomato, an order of onion rings, with mayo for dipping, and a vanilla shake**. Do you recognize the magnitude of calories in this "meal"? Villages in Vietnam survive on fewer calories in a YEAR.

What did I do for exercise? Aerobics, which were just coming into fashion***, and tennis****. Weight? Constant. Brother's friends? Gawkers, much to bro's disgust. Stomach? Flat as a pancake. Body shape? Perfect hour glass. I had reached the peak of hotness not realizing there was nowhere to go but down.

In college I gained the requisite poundage but managed to avoid eating by drinking at fraternity parties*****. Strange how that paradigm works. Hour glass figure maintained by beer and shots. AHEM.

After college I found a friend who loved to run. Not just around the block, but around the world, ala Ironman triathlons and such. She whipped my post-partying butt back into shape with 5Ks. I could see the hour glass again!

Then I met, married and had babies. Each subsequent munchkin added his own brand of tattoo to my body: stretch marks, varicose veins, cellulite. I had reached a low point in my body's ability to bounce back.

So, when I looked in the mirror today, and did the "twirl" to see what Mike might be seeing, I was aghast. I was still an hour glass head-on, but when I moved from due North to due West, there was ANOTHER hour glass. This one was accentuated at the top by a view of my sagging breasts and at the bottom by my protruding post-birth tummy in the front and my J-Lo-challenging hiney in the back! The waist, an ever consistent, smaller part of my body, was the anchor in the midst of the storm. Truly, the more I twirled, the more I realized I was just ROUND at the top and at the bottom, just like a REAL hourglass.

I twirled more. Maybe the movement would change things!? I rubbed my eyes. Surely, this wasn't happening to MY body? When did it become so, so, FRUMPY?

In case you aren't understanding, ladies, try this exercise at home:

1. Strip buck naked.

2. Look in the mirror.

3. Use your right hand to close your jaw. Yes, that's YOUR body.

4. Examine what you see facing forward. The world wants an hour glass--think 36", 26", 36".

5. Tell the world to "GO TO HELL!"

6. Turn to the side. If your tummy isn't as flat as a board, your bottom has dimples in it, or your nipples face South, put on your robe, find one of your children, and spank him/her. He/she did this to you. Good luck finding the other culprits, time and gravity.

Needless to say, I fail the criteria for a "perfect" body. Even my skin has decided to revolt and go through puberty again. Just last week my face presented me with a zit worthy of the night before prom. WHAT gives?

In just a few weeks I'll be seeing my doctor. I've made the decision that I am going for "healthy" this school year, not just thin. So, I'll have blood drawn, and listen to a lecture on all the things I'm neglecting and should be doing for a woman of "my age". I might even act on some of these things.

But, more importantly, I'm going to listen to what Mike says and be as happy as he is with what is left of my once stellar figure. I won't pass up every bite of cake or glass of wine or worry about getting to the gym every day just to try to keep nature from taking its toll.

As Stuart Smalley would say, "I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and, Doggone It, People Like Me!"

Even if my body resembles a 360 degree hour glass.




*NEVER move and try to renovate two houses all at the same time. You'll find yourself eating out at places that have a steady stream of grease being pumped in their backdoor and straight into YOUR meal.

**I always restrained myself and got the medium size.

***I looked really cute in my leotard and leg warmers. Not Flashdance cute, but close enough.

****Yes, I was on the team. Until I had bunion surgery my Senior year. What a dope.

*****Hate to break it to you, Mom and Dad. It wasn't all about the studying....