So I had this way-cool blog entry planned out........ and then the storm hit. So, I'll have to file that one and get on with highlighting matters at hand.

 

I finally get what people with kids meant when they told me "kids are so expensive" over and over when I was pregnant. Yes, diapers and

formula were expensive, but temporary. expenditures. I could buy clothes rather inexpensively if I hunted around, and hand-me-downs were just fine with me. My little bundles of joy weren't a bargain, but they weren't as expensive as I feared.

 

Until now.

 

My oldest daughter has had so many UTI's I've lost count. I could always empathize, in that I too had frequent UTI's, beginning when I was in diapers. I understand the pain and agony associated with each and every one. I also know what helps, as far as natural remedies, and I also know that a trip to the ER for a prescription is always a good idea, no matter what time of night. As it turns out, about a month ago, she got a really bad one....so bad that her sitter called us on our anniversary night to tell us something wasn't right. I took her to the children's after-hours clinic the next day, Sunday. Her lab results were off the chart. E-coli showed up, which isn't that unusual but something in the results indicated more than a UTI. Once her regular pediatrician heard the news, he wanted to see her right away. He suspected urinary reflux. I mentioned that what he described sounded a lot like what I had as a kid. Ding, ding, ding! It's hereditary. Yea us! So within days we are at the local children's hospital at 7 a.m., checking in for testing to confirm his suspicions. Catheters and five-year-olds don't make the best of friends, as it turns out. After much yelling, crying, and panic on both of our parts, we learned that yes, she does have urinary reflux pretty bad on one side, as the infection is nearing the kidney. Surgery is the best option to correct it, and that will be most likely be sometime this month.

 

Remember the hereditary part? The pediatrician orders the same testing for the baby. Although she has not had a single UTI, he wanted to check things out now so that we could possibly bypass the need for surgery with a daily antibiotic. After even louder and more desperate screaming and yelling at the hospital, and a three-hour-plus wait in a nasty waiting room with kids vomitting to the left and right of us, we learn that she does not have urinary reflux.

 

I am afraid to go to my mailbox. Soon, we'll have four rather large bills.....from radiology and from the doctors who performed the tests.  And the oldest hasn't even had the surgery yet. This is going to be ugly. Just about the time I made peace with the fact that in the scheme of things, this isn't all that bad, I take the oldest to her regular dental check up. This kid has been going to the dentist on a regular basis since she was 2. She loves the dentist--not a cavity one in that girl's mouth. We brush morning and night. Apparently, that is not enough in that the dentist found three cavities in addition to...... an abcess tooth. The tooth is so damaged that it could crack soon. I ask my daughter if she has had any tooth pain. She says no. I can't believe it. How can she almost have a rotten tooth and no pain? Unbelievable. Turns out that on the last X-Ray, there is no indication of a cavity there whatsoever..... it was just a rapid progression. So on Monday, she gets a nice dose of laughing gas and gets three fillings and a silver cap on her back tooth. Insurance doesn't pay for white fillings for kids, knowing they'll lose those teeth eventually. Therefore, she has a semi-grill until she's about 12. I told her about the tooth with a very disappointed tone. She was concerned until I told her that it was going to be silver. Thinking she'd be horrified by the lone silver tooth, she exclaims....."Wow, how pretty!" That girls' mouth is mine from here on out -- brushing, flossing......limiting sweets.....the works. Not only am I horrified at the condition of her mouth, this little mishap will cost about $400 after insurance.

 

So when you add up medical and dental costs, lessons for this and that plus the clothes to outfit them for said lessons, gifts for every-friend-on-the-planet's birthdays, kiddie-style entertainment (i.e., last weekend's pumpkin patch, feed the animals, pony ride....$30 for an hour of fun, but a lifetime of memories!).....well, you get the point. And let's not forget what's just around the corner! Christmas! Is it wrong to tell her that Santa brought her a silver tooth and an exciting stay in a hospital for Christmas? Yeah, you're right. The hospital is a bit much......

 

Now, onto What Else........ Napa trip is in a few days. I am so excited except for once again, getting ready to leave almost....almost...makes it not worth it. Laying out clothes for each day, organizing medicines, leaving instructions, etc......laundry, packing....... ugh. I wake up this morning excited that this is my week for vacation. And then I hear the weather report. While San Francisco/Napa is beautiful and sunny for the week, the same can't be said for where I live. Severe thunderstorms are expected to roll in tomorrow night and all day Wednesday. This means one thing--flight delays.....possibly cancellation. I am crossing my fingers for neither but I would take a slight delay over a total cancellation. Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease.......I need this trip! Ok, I'll admit it, I need the wine, but whatever.....

 

Oh yeah, and speaking of money....... man did I ever spend some. On accident. I took in two rolls of film last week to be developed. I also took our digital camera. Hubby had always dumped photos off into his laptop and stored them. Well, for months, this feature hasn't worked for whatever reason. So I decide to go and just have everything put on a disk. I thought I said just a disk. They apparently thought I ordered the same for the camera as the regular film. Guess what I got today? Over 1,000 prints -- doubles -- and a bill of $200 to accompany them. Remember, these are digital, meaning there are a lot of crap pictures...... I love photos, and I don't mind spending money on memories, etc. In fact, it's one of my favorite things.....but seriously? 1,000 prints? Some go back to before Christmas. Some I already have. Is there a such thing as a garage sale of photos? Could I sell them to family members? I am trying to think of how to explain this charge on the credit card to my hubby. I think this might be one of things he uses against me when he one day realizes that I do, in fact, need to be committed. "Look your honor.....her duplicate photos take up the entire guest bedroom!" Ah yes, I can see it now.......

 

And then speaking of photos..... I happened to flip through one set (I would be 80 before I flipped through all of them) and saw the pictures from our day at the fair a few weeks ago. All happy times until I get to a photo taken of me and my daughter. My first thought? "I look pregnant." My second thought? "I can't believe that is me." I looked at it long and hard trying to make myself completely nauseated at the sight in front of me--so nauseated that I would work even harder.....we'll see. I have been doing great with my exercise since getting this trainer, and I've been eating better, too. But I don't see results yet. Insert big sigh here.

 

So the clock tells me I need to quit wasting time whining and complaining for today........ Wait, one more whine..... So I have more than 74,000 hits on my site (thanks, smalls......;) ) but hardly any comments. I have been getting some freaky deaky searches that bring people to my site, all the way from WTF? to X-Rated. Nice. Oh well......maybe I should be glad they don't comment b/c of the "if you don't have anything nice to say....." rule.

 

Alright, that's it...... too much to do and I am so tired. I am training my mom tomorrow on Taking Care of My Kids During School Week 101.... wish her luck. Do a "don't be delayed for rain" dance on Wed. a.m. I also need to get to work on my cardboard sign: "Will work for silver tooth money...."

 

And, to quote one of my favorite morning DJ's....."That's all I got....How'd ya like that?"

 

Peace out peeps.

 

'I'

I Am...always thinking too much.

For as long as I can remember, I have paved the way for others. I haven't given this role much thought until lately.

 

When 4:30 p.m. hits at work, I get an anxious feeling in my stomach. I know I need to leave in order to pick up my kids on time and get them to the scheduled activity of the day. I have a long commute because I live in the suburbs. A lot has to happen to get me from one point to the next. The majority of my co-workers can't relate to this.... at all. They are young, as in 20-somethings. A few recently hit the 30 mark. Most are newly married. Up until this year, I have been the only person in the whole company with small children.

 

This is an innovative company where, for the most part, you set your own schedule. Likewise, I pretty much made up my own maternity leave. I didn't take advantage of the situation, but I didn't show up at work at 8 a.m. on the six-week mark, either. I worked my way back up to going in full days. Everyone appreciated my professionalism and ability to get things done, despite two hours of sleep at night. In the past year, one co-worker has had triplets, and another co-worker just had a baby boy. Another is pregnant. In a way, I paved the way for everyone to feel OK about their maternity leave. I left a template; others followed. At times, I've brought my kids to work. Kate slept under the desk as an infant more times than I can count. I expect to see more of that.

 

Sadly, these new moms aren't in my department. They too probably leave a little early and get to work a little late. In my department, it's almost like a contest to see who can stay at work the longest, who can brag the most about all the work they did over the weekend, who had to miss something big with their husband to be at the office on Sunday afternoon....you get the picture. These girls dont have kids -- are newly married, buying their first house.....you get the picture. Well, I can't even compete in this little game. I can't be at the office on Sunday. I can't work past 5 on most days. I have a family that needs me, big time. I get all of my work done and no one has ever questioned a thing. However, I can't help but feel really strange about the situation. Even when I know I work so hard, often at home and on the weekends when I get a spare moment, I feel inadequate. I also feel frustrated because, even without them knowing it, I am paving the way for them. I feel like I'm saying, "Look girls, this is what happens in your mid-30s. You are over the newlywed stage; you can't spend your free time updating your home or at a trendy bar at happy hour. Your Manolos will be traded in for Skechers. You will show up with spit-up on your your sleeve more than once. You'll wear your hair in a pony tail more than you did when you were 5. You'll try to guess what your kids are doing all day when you glance at the clock. You'll worry about what to cook for dinner because it's too hard to take the baby to a restaurant at this stage. You'll prioritize between homework, bath time, paying bills, organizing a drawer or closet....and there won't be a thing for you on that list. You'll think about sex but most often, you'll both be too worn out from the stress of your job and the exhaustion of raising children that you literally start to schedule it." I will also tell them that they'll love it, or at least they should.

 

The thing is, there is no way I can get them to understand this concept now. It's foreign to them. They'll figure it out once they leave the hospital with a tiny baby in the backseat, though. I remember this same feeling when I was just 22 years old. I was the first of all of my friends to get married after we graduated from college. While they were getting their first nice apartment, buying a new car, starting a new job, and leisurely enjoying happy hour every day at 5, I was cooking dinner for my "man", getting by on one salary, trying to figure out how to pay the rent, putting away wedding gifts, grocery shopping on less than 50 bucks, trying to figure out how to live with man for pete's sake......... I could talk to them about it, and they could listen and lend a sympathetic ear.....but they couldn't relate. They thought I "left them" and that I was done with "girlish things" now that I was married. Suddenly, we no longer had anything in common--they thought--when actually the only thing we didn't have in common was a marriage. I couldn't go to Cancun for the weekend for a variety of reasons. I couldn't pick up and re-live college days on a whim. I had to watch my long distance calls because we were flat broke. I watched their lives from the sidelines, and realized that someday, they would understand staying home and watching t.v. with your husband, why you want the house straight at night, saving money, and staying with him even when you fight...... They would figure it all out, when they got married. Once again, I paved the way.....

 

And then there is childhood. I'm the oldest of four. From the day I was born, I paved the way. I had the most rules and restrictions. Then, when my siblings reached their teen years, my parents thought, "Hey if Jennifer survived it, then they will too." And just like that, they had permission to go to a concert, ride around with kids who didn't have a driver's license, stay out past midnight, have parties, get a car earlier than I did, and have less chores and responsibilities around the house. It's like I gave them a clean path--free to enjoy their youth. I remember when I came back from college my freshmen year--no one had to do homework, going out on a school night was the norm, typical chores I had to do were being done by my parents. Yep, I definitely paved the way for them.

 

Sometimes I wonder if my old friends, co-workers, and even my siblings ever realize how I made things a bit easier for them. I figured things out and forged a path....they just walked down it. Do they appreciate me? Do they even remember, know, or even realize it?

 

Think about it..... If you are someone who paves the way, realize that eventually, they'll figure it out. Don't get frustrated; just do your thing. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer......And you know who "they" are. And if you are someone who travels a paved road, try to remember the person who cleared it for you and thank them. In return, be cool about paving the road for someone else if you ever have the opportunity. Life is a cycle. We all go through the same things, just at different times. Try to understand the person next to you.....chances are, they're just doing what they have to do. Respect each other.....it will matter one day.

Went to the State Fair of Texas today..... I have only four items on my agenda when we go to the fair....

 

Eat a Fletcher's corn dog

Drink a beer (preferably with the corn dog)

Buy some salt water taffy

Ride the ferris wheel

 

A funnel cake is a nice extra, but hubby doesn't like them and I don't want to eat the whole thing....plus there's nothing remotely good for me in every single warm, delicious, sugary bite........

 

Anyway, me, hubby, and our oldest headed to the fair this morning. My daughter got a free ticket at school and they learned all about Big Tex. She said she wanted to see Big Tex. Little did she know that he isn't all that fun, but that the rest of the fair is really fun. We took her when she was almost 2, but of course, she doesn't remember it. The first thing I noticed is that the huge Texas Star ferrris wheel wasn't moving. Surely, it's on a break, I thought. Nope, not operating today. I was so looking forward to the three of us riding in it together and taking my daughter's picture. Oh well.

 

The corn dog was damn good. I would have had two if I wasn't watching my girlish figure and all. Beer was tasty too. I would have had two of those excpet that it costs half a month's salary to buy a beer at the fair. I got a sampler bag of salt water taffy. I ate two pieces. Somewhere along the way, hubby lost the rest of the bag. Funny, last time we went to the fair, he lost the baby's diaper bag that had my wallet and all of my identification....and the car keys....... Long story short, we had to have the SUV towed to the dealership, drop it off, have someone drive us home, break in to our house, have a new key made, etc., etc. And I had identity theft from the loss of the wallet. Good time, good times....

 

But back to the day..... Turns out my daughter is a really cheap date. She didn't really want to ride anything. I went through a little fun house with her, and she rode the tea cups with her dad. She rode the carousel, of course. She ran into one of her good friends from school and they rode a ride together, which was cute. The highlight of her day was playing the duckie game where she won a stuffed animal and then making one of those sand bottles. Why that's fun, I don't know, but she seemed to enjoy it. Why do I foresee a mound of multi-colored sand on my floor within the next month or so? Maybe that bottle will mysteriously disappear....... I split my corn dog with her, and then she got some cotton candy, which was her only goal for the day. We roamed our way through the car show, which was cool. Fell in love with the Chrysler Aspen SUV. Then we made our way to the petting zoo/barn area. Ahhhhh, the fresh scent of cow crap. Blech. The animals there ranged from a giraffe to baby pigs.... pretty random. My daughter fed a lot of them and loved every minute of it.

 

I figured she'd be energized enough to ride more rides, but she wasn't. She was fine leaving, and so were we. Turns out, we had about 28 tickets left. She went through the fun house with her dad to show him how silly it was, and then they bought an ice cream and split it. That took up all but one ticket, which I'll use for a souveneir for her. I am putting together a scrapbook for her, but everything is in a big box. ONe day, it will make it onto pages. At least I know where everything is.

 

We didn't make it out of the parking lot before she was fast asleep with her mouth wide open. It was easy to see her loose tooth which is now hanging by a thread. I'll be surprised if she goes back to school Monday with it. She is so excited. It will be different to see her like that. She was gone for four days, and it seems like she grew while she was gone. She is so much fun..... I am so lucky to have her. It's actually fun taking her places and hanging out with her. It's not aggrivating or frustrating because she's really good and always acts so nice and polite everywhere we go. She had a blast, and so did we.

 

Now, the weekend..... Two birthday parties, choir practice, and then gearing up for school again on Monday. Reality returns in a few short days. My first official training session is on Monday, and then the drill of dance class, gymnastics, swim, etc. begins. And then..... drum roll..... it's girls spa weekend! Yea me! Yea us! I am going to start on my super-duper huge photography project this weekend--updating albums, getting reprints and enlargements done, updating framed photos...... I have been putting it off but I think I'm going to start tonight.

 

Oh, and on the last entry...... I want to clarify again...... everything I said was about ME. ME only. No one else. One of the ways I get motivated is to go to an extreme on something...... even though I KNOW I'm not fat if I say it out loud and realize that TO ME I am fat, then I'll be more motivated to get my big bootie into the gym. To ME, I am "fat" because my pants don't fit or are really tight. I don't like the way I look in my jeans. My shoes even feel a little tight. I'm noticing some "plumping" to my face. I don't like what I see, so I'm going to work on it. I'm not obssessed with it -- never have been and never will be -- but I am going to make some changes. I feel like enough is enough. It matters to me because I like my clothes and shoes and I want to wear them again comfortably and with confidence. I want my shirts to button across my chest! lol. So there...... that's what I am trying to say. I needed to write the blog to kick off my motivation and my new workout plan. I don't want to go on a diet and I won't. I just want to eat healthier, move more.... slim down some to feel and look better. It's a simple as that.....

 

Now, to borrow a phrase from a dear friend and all-around cool dude,

 

Have a RAD day and a bitchin' weekend...........

 

 

        I chose this phrase as the sub-title of my blog because it’s one of my favorite quotes about writing. I have several favorites, but this one sort of jumped out at me when I first read it because it describes the reason I started the blog in the first place. When I write for work, I am writing primarily to please advertisers and to inform our readers about a certain consumer-service topic—health, interior design, legal matters, etc. Although I admire the talented editors on the “editorial side” of our publication, I don’t know that I could ever be as “gutsy” as they are with their words.

            Just as I am in real life, I am in my job – a people pleaser. I always say I have the perfect job because it allows me to do what I love—write—and it also incorporates my affection for sales and reaching goals—promotional/client service writing—and it lets me dip my toe in the marketing world as well. It’s like I have three jobs in one; I get to do a little bit of everything that interests me. Because most of what I write is client-approved before it goes to print, I rarely face the dreaded call from an angry reader or subject in my story saying I got something wrong. When I was a newspaper reporter, I dreaded the mornings. I never knew who was going to be on the other end of the phone, angry about something I wrote. Sure, the facts were true, but sometimes the facts hurt. Therefore, the answer for most is to kill the messenger—the writer.

            Last night I was thinking about a truth I don’t want to face—something I don’t want to say out loud. To some, it would be a minor thing and nothing they think I should concern myself with. But that is precisely the point—other people. What I’m talking about here is me, so yes, it does matter what I think. Before you think I’m going to reveal and deep, dark, ugly secret….I’ll go ahead and reveal what the remainder of this entry is about so you can log off if you’d like. It’s about weight.

            The reason this is a difficult topic for me is because I’ve never had issues with weight. I can’t say that I’ve struggled with it my whole life, or that I’ve been on endless diets that never work. I don’t have skinny clothes and fat clothes. I don’t scrutinize every bite or punish myself with starvation after eating a piece of chocolate. Most of the women in my family are petite. Short, yes, but relatively thin. Food is not an issue with me, and I’ve never had to work out for anything other than to tone up and to feel healthier and more energized.

            Until now. Yesterday, I faced a truth. Today, I am writing about it so that I can see the words. Read the words. And say them out loud, so to speak, to the world. Maybe this will push me in the right direction. I am going to use numbers—the very numbers I hate and that embarrass me. To some, these numbers might be low. These people might tell me I am vain or that I don’t know what fat really is. Well, again…..to me, it’s important, and comparing myself to others who are larger is probably part of what got me here anyway, as in “well, at least I’m not that big.”

            Hubby has been going to a trainer once a week for about two months. It costs $55 every time he does. I didn’t care about the cost because he told me that he needed discipline—someone to hold him accountable. He turns in a food diary and is learning the correct way to lift weights and what his individual needs are for weight loss and fitness based on a variety of factors. He just wanted to feel better and look better. Of course, I supported that. The thing is, he has a terrible diet. If we order a pizza, I have one piece and each of the girls has a piece. He eats the rest. He has no issues with consuming an entire bottle of wine in one sitting. His favorite breakfast? Whataburger taquitos. I could go on, but I won’t. Essentially, he could work out every day but little will change unless he alters his diet. I essentially eat three meals a day. For breakfast, I usually have a small packet of plain oatmeal at my desk. Possibly, I’ll eat a bowl of whole-grain cereal at home. Lunch is typically a salad (I do not glop on dressing—I prefer no dressing, actually) or a simple sandwich (no mayo, ever.) Dinner is usually a small portion of whatever we’re having, whether I cook or we have take-out. I try to live by the “palm of your hand” guide when it comes to portions. I drink occasionally, usually socially, and I definitely don’t have a sweet tooth. I would say my most poor dietary habit is drinking too much Diet Coke and hardly any water at all. And, if we ever eat Mexican food, I am all about cheese enchiladas! At every check-up of physical, doctors talk about how great my cholesterol levels and blood pressure are. I like to eat healthy simply because, to me, it tastes better.

            As it turns out, this sensible diet of mine isn’t enough. What’s strange, though, is that it has always worked for me in the past. Outside of high school and the first year of college, when I weighed about 100 pounds, I have always maintained a weight of about 115 pounds. I typically wore a size 4. I had a great proportion of chest, waist, and hips. I have never been stick-thin—curves run in my family—but I have always been thin and petite. Shopping for clothes was never really an issue. Outside of tailoring the legs because I’m so short, clothes just fit well.

            Then I got pregnant. My mother warned me that most of the women in my family gained a lot of weight in the pregnancies—about 30 pounds. I was 28 and about 115, as usual, so to me 30 pounds was unthinkable. Would 30 pounds even fit in on my body? The answer was a resounding yes, and make that 60 pounds. I really did gain 60 pounds during my first pregnancy. My oldest weighed almost 9 pounds at birth. When I left the hospital, I looked about seven months pregnant. It took me exactly one year to lose those 60 pounds, and by the time Kate was 18 months old, I weighed 115 again. My stomach was flat again, although not as flat as it was before pregnancy. No stretch marks. I was proud of myself.

            I stayed this way for four years, all without exercising I might add. Then I got pregnant again with my second child. I didn’t know I was pregnant until about eight weeks. I should have known, though, since I gained more than 10 pounds in what seemed like no time. At my first check-up to confirm the pregnancy and take blood work, I had already “blossomed” to 126. I knew that if I didn’t keep things in check, I’d gain another 60 pounds easily. This pregnancy, I gained about 48 pounds. Keep in mind, the average weight gain in pregnancy should be 25 to 35 pounds.

            The weight came off a little faster with the second baby. This isn’t unusual, considering I was now caring for two small children. I barely had time to eat. However, I hit a brick wall. I couldn’t get under 120. Try as I might, the scale wouldn’t budge. So a year ago I began power walking and going to the gym at night after the kiddos went to bed. And then I stopped. I don’t really know why, but I just stopped. I remember coming back from a trip to Disneyland one year ago this month and realizing that I had gained some weight.

            Some weight has eventually morphed into 10 pounds in one year. That’s right: I said it out loud. Ten pounds. TEN POUNDS.

            The signs have been there. My pants are tight in the waist. Some pants don’t fit at all. My shoes even feel a little tight. My bra is tight. In fact, when I look at myself in the mirror, for the first time ever, I feel like I look “busty.” Even my face looks puffy. I haven’t liked the way I’ve looked for months, but I’ve been so busy with everything else in life, I’ve just avoided it. Like always, I pretty much have eaten what I want. However, the food is “sticking” this time around.

            After much heated discussions with hubby about his new-found interest in encouraging me to go to a trainer, I decided to just end the arguments and go. I met the guy last week. He’s young and not at all what you think a trainer would look like. He’s very non-threatening and non-intimidating. The gym was that way too, which was nice. So I set an appointment for my consultation for yesterday at 5:30.

            We sat down and discussed my goals. I asked him if it was too much to go for the Nicole Richie look. He looked at me like I was nuts. Kidding! So I told him Denise Richards, and we had a deal. He asked me to have a tangible goal. I decided that I’d like to look good in a pair of Seven jeans. So Seven is our key word now for motivation. Then the ugly part came….the ugly truth.

            I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror. There was no hiding here. My hips looked large…my chest way too big for my frame. I saw the beginnings of “love handles” on my sides. Surely this isn’t me! And then it dawned on me….this is what I’ve said over and over for the past several months. “This isn’t me. I’ll lose it like always. It’s just a stressful time. I sit at my desk too much. I’ll start walking.”

            Whatever! I am just going to say it and say it loud…. I AM FAT. Maybe not fat to the person reading this blog, maybe not fat to the woman next door, and maybe not fat to the girl three desks down at work, but to me…. I AM FAT. FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT.

            There. Whew!

            And the best part? I have proof. I can’t remember exactly but I think I have this right…. My waist measured 33.5 inches. I remember one time feeling fat at 30 inches. My hips/butt area? 40 inches baby! Yep, 40! That is unacceptable. Chest? 37. If these were booming new boobs straight off the plastic surgery table, that might be OK. If I was tall and built to accommodate a nice 36, it would be OK. None of these scenarios are actual truths, so the fact is, this area is fat. Yep, fat. I can’t really remember the measure of my thighs. I think by that point, I was in a state of shock. I do remember him saying we needed to work on them, though. Arms were OK, but I anticipated that. They haul kids around half the time.

            As if this weren’t punishment enough, we head over to the scale. He asked if I knew how much I weighed. I told him it’s probably 125. Wrong. Anyone want to take a guess here?

            I’ll spare you—130. My goal weight is 115. However, I know I would feel and look good at 120. Therefore, I have 10 to 15 pounds to lose. In someone who is really overweight or obese, that 15 will melt off in no time. But for someone with my small frame who only needs to lose that much, well, this is going to take some work.

            So work, we did. We jumped right into toning exercises. Damn! Those hurt. I remembered instantly why I hate to work out – it, in a word, sucks. Just plain sucks. It also sucks to have someone hover over you and have you do “five more.” Yes, it gets the job done but it doesn’t take away the overwhelming feeling of wanting to smack them in the head with your Skechers.

            The plan is that I meet with him once a week to learn the right way to work out, toning exercises, etc. I need to go on my own several other times during the week. Between ballet, gymnastics, and swim class….. it’s hard to see how I’ll make this work. Factor in work, hubby’s time with the trainer and at the gym, weekend activities with the kids…… I get overwhelmed just thinking about it.

            Yesterday, my oldest daughter and I zoomed through McDonald’s on our way to meet her Nana for her week away at the lake. Normally, I don’t eat a lot of fast food, but  I was so hungry and we were there. I had a #3, an old favorite. The night before, I had two pieces of pizza with the girls because we had ordered it as a quick and easy meal while their dad was away. The night before that, I ate a cheese enchilada plate from one of our favorite Mexican food restaurants. And I wonder why I’m fat. I wonder how I was even the slightest surprised when I ventured into the size 8’s at Marshall’s a few weeks ago. Please.

            I have the wake-up call I need. The scales don’t lie. There’s no easy way to do this—no pills, no magic diet. Cut out the crap food and get to the gym. That’s really all there is to it. And face reality, once and for all. So I’ve said it out loud—fat—so no more excuses. Just results.