I have fallen so far off the wagon, it is not even funny. Not even remotely.
Have you ever seen an item of your own clothing lying somewhere – on the bed, on the floor, from the rafters – and thought “There is NO WAY that thing is mine. That cannot POSSIBLY fit me. It’s HUGE! Perhaps i’ve mistaken this pair of pants for a curtain?”
And then you laughingly put it on, certain it cannot fit… and you are right… it doesn’t fit because…
it’s too f-cking small
As I burn off my TV-watching, chips-and-dip-eating guilt, I am reflecting on a new beginning. My son starts second grade tomorrow. My daughter is turning 3 next week, and two weeks after that I am turning 37. FAR too many changes happening right now. This time last year I went and chopped all my hair off. Turns out that didn’t solve much except my need for shampoo was cut in half.
As I was proactively making my son’s lunch for tomorrow while eating mini Peppridge Farm chocolate mint milano cookies, I said to myself “What the hell woman?! Get it together!!” And it worked. I put the bag down before it was completely empty.
There are little paper cookie holders that make it impossible for the bag to be empty even when the cookies are gone (shhhhh)
I can either look at the upcoming changes as sad changes, or new beginnings. .. or reasons to eat my evenings away while my husband is out of the country.
So far the eating thing hasn’t given much happiness. Only distraction.
I would like to commit to a new beginning for myself when he begins school and actually go back to a routine that involves the treadmill. And not just walking around it, or looking at it and feeling the need to dust it. But actually flip it on and use it…. for myself.
I have used it sporadically, but it turns out it takes more than one time to form a habit.
HA, who knew?
“I DID!” says my gut. “Us, too!” agree my thighs.
So here’s to accepting the truth that i need to climb my fat butt back up onto that wagon of self control. I’m hoping i can ride a while before throwing myself off of it again.