For those of you that have been on pins and needles waiting for updates about my efforts to get in shape, progress on my garden or the rescue puppy (you know the puppy is the only one of these you find interesting...), I have some sharing to do. Though, in the interest of altruism, I must advise anyone that is on tenterhooks to hear about my life to get a hobby and at least one friend that does not require batteries or electricity of any kind.
Firstly, I (idiotic and short-sighted) made an announcement about my plans to get in better shape. I started a workout plan and, by day 3, every time I went to sit on the toilet I wept in agony from the burning in my thighs. I made it over the initial I-would-rather-die-600 lbs-and-covered-in-cookie-crumbs-than-hurt-like-this phase and started to see some small improvements in strength and endurance, not to mention my clothes were feeling a little looser.
I should have known that I was in for a treat. The last time I attempted to get in shape, I put in 6 weeks of hard work, only to have it undone by a severe bout of pneumonia. I really think God wants me to stay fat. I know small children and babies love me because I am warm, cuddly and usually smell like baked goods. Maybe this is my fate....oops...I am rambling again...
So, about the same time I could lift a fork without my biceps feeling like 40 lbs of lead, I got the flu. Then the kids were sick, then me and on and on until about 2 weeks ago.
Now, you would think with all the illness, I would be weak, but certainly not fatter. You, foolish reader, would be WRONG!! At first, in the best case of denial, this side of Hilary Clinton circa 1998, I honestly was convinced I was setting my dryer heat too high. All of my shirt sleeves were tighter and some of my usually tent-like t-shirts were form-fitting.
Reality came crashing down one morning when I put on a bra that had been hiding out in the back of my lingerie drawer (and therefore, had not been 'shrunk' in the dryer). It was tight enough to cause me to see stars when I ate a quesadilla. Like the end of a mystery movie where the main character sees all of the clues come together in rapid succession to realize the killer was their lover the whole time, I finally admitted the truth. "Holy sh*t! I am GETTING FATTER!!"
My lovely children, attempted to reassure me that I was not, in fact, busting the seams of all my fat clothes. Nice kids...very poor liars, but nice, just the same.
It isn't the fat that bothers me...I have been fat since a car accident 14 years ago. No, it is the fatter. I don't want to get fatter. Hell, I don't deserve to get fatter. It isn't like I have been indulging in all the yummy things I love. I guess it is because I have been so icky feeling that I have been so inactive and slothful and the weight just packed on. I don't know why my body didn't just tell all the new fat cells that we were already at max capacity, but they didn't. Nice betrayal, once again, crap body of mine.
I have gone speed walking twice this week and while I am certain I was hallucinating at some point on the first foray, I intend to stay active as much as possible. Even when my body fights me on it by doing things like hitting me with migraines, diarrhea ( I know, too much info) or bouts of crippling body pain. I want to be active for my kids, but more importantly, I absolutely refuse to buy even bigger clothes. So, I either hold the line against the fat fairy or the locals are going to start seeing a lot more of me busting out of my rags.
As far as the garden goes, there had been very little progress until yesterday. I had only cleared and planted one very small plot for my lettuce patch. We have often had lousy weather and my neighbor had offered to use her parent's tiller on my yard, so that I wouldn't have to till it all by shovel.
Pictured: My pathetic attempt at a lettuce patch.
All day I was ill (surprise) and laid on the couch under a blanket, ignoring the dishes and housework and feeding the kids cereal, sandwiches and fruit.
I received a call at 6pm from my neighbor asking me to go outside and show her boyfriend where to till. I showed him, thanked him and returned to the house. Once inside, I started washing dishes so that I could keep an eye on the work and because I felt guilty about sitting around when someone was doing work for me. He made one pass with the tiller and I ignorantly assumed that he was finished, so I rushed to the basement, where the back door leading to the back yard is, preparing to thank him again.
The only partially tilled garden patch with my lettuce patch at the foreground.
But, once I got downstairs, I realized he was going over the plot again. So, I did some laundry. He made a 3rd pass. I felt sick with guilt. I had stupidly assumed that with the big hulking tilling machine that it was a quick and effortless chore. Little did I realize that it was in fact a long, hard chore.
After an hour and a half of a guilt induced cleaning frenzy, the machine was silent. I rushed outside to grovel in gratitude only to be told by my neighbor that since it was getting dark and rain was imminent, they would 'finish' another day. This tilling is serious work. I feel like absolute garbage for agreeing to let them help. Granted it would have taken me 3 years to till what he did, but I feel so bad.
I asked my neighbor (the tiller guy's girlfriend) if he would like cinnamon rolls or chocolate chip cookies. She declined. I insisted. I don't pick my nose while baking, I promise. She stated that he does not like sweets, but that he might like some of my homemade bread. Guess what I am doing this afternoon. Did you guess clog dancing? Well, then you are silly. I will be baking. I am not sure how many loaves of bread it will take to alleviate my guilt, but I am guessing that I will be sick of baking long before I feel better.
Finally, the puppy is doing very well. He still does not like being outside and in fact spends much of his time trying to struggle his way back to the house, spinning and tugging at the leash.
Trying to make a break for the house.
He thinks my oldest daughter is the bee's knees and follows her everywhere and sleeps next to her each night. We still haven't settled on a name, I guess because we are uncertain if he has a future in our home.
Of course, we would love to have him, but not if it means certain eviction. Living in a wet refrigerator box under a bridge will not be a better home for any of us.
Too cute for words.