Saturday Evening Post

Last Sunday Carter turned four years old. It's been really amazing as each year passes, that I, a noble faired, long-haired, leaping gnome, have been able to keep each of my three children alive and kicking. I'm pretty proud of myself for getting up each day, making sure they are fed and watered, clothed and sheltered, and for the most part, properly hygienated. Cody and Colton for fourteen years, and Carter now, for four.

It was a lovely affair. Carter chose to have and "Angry Birds" themed party. For any of you reading that don't know what I'm referring to, congratulations--you probably have a very fulfilling and active life. For those of you that do know what I'm referring to, congratulations--you know what it is like to live with addiction. I'm not judging.

In the past, birthday dates would sneak up on me and The Husband. We would postulate back and forth about whether or not we should go all the way and have a party...with balloons. Inevitably, we would succumb to our slacker-selves and decide on taking the kids out to dinner, or out of town in lieu of an actual birthday party...with people. Well, this year we made the leap. Carter told us what he wanted, we consulted with one another, and finally The Husband said, "You better just send out the invitations before planning anything, because if you don't, we will back out and not have a party...with balloons and people." So, I made up a guest list, and shot off the invites through Punchbowl. And what do you know? People RSVP'ed. Funny how that works.

Our little Angry Bird-day party went down without any major occurrences. In fact, it was downright pleasant. I made decorations, barbecued, decorated a cake and socialized with people. There were even balloons! It was a success. It was so much of a success, that no sooner had the last guest stepped out the door, before Carter started planning his next party--a Spiderman party. With a Spiderman cake.

Haha! Fat chance young lad. In the four years you have known me, haven't you figured out I don't do action figures? Only iPod apps.

Me & The Neverending Weight Obsession Extreme Ramble-Fest

Okay, you might not know it by looking at me--but I'm a little weight obsessed. I know, you would think if I cared so much about my weight I would be health conscious, fit, or have a non-dormant eating disorder. But that's just it, I care about my weight--but only enough to obsess over the thought of being chunky, not really do anything extreme about it.

Don't get me wrong, I exercise and try to eat somewhat healthy--but both of those I do inconsistently. I will go through periods of time where my eating habits are really great, or borderline anorexic, either way during those periods of time I am watching what I eat. I also go through periods of exercise. In fact, I just got done doing an hour of Just Dance. Yes, I know, there are newer version of the game out there, but I don't update my technology all that often. In fact, I am typing this blog on a Datapoint 2200.

Recently, I took a trip to my home state for a couple of weeks and during that time I, of course, fell out of any healthy semi-routines I had been doing. In fact, I acquired another bad eating habit on the trip--I started drinking sugar free Red Bull. I know, you're thinking, "Okay Ms. Edgy-Edger-Pants, drinking Red Bull is not really bad." Okay, I know it's not bad, but it's really not good for me--right? I mean, I can tell by the way it makes my heart flutter like a bird in a bread basket that it's probably not what I should be drinking. Want to know why I moved to Red Bull? Because, Starbucks coconut frappucinnos are choc-full-o-fat. Okay? I replaced a fat habit with a heart attack habit. At least I won't be contributing my hard earned money to those greedy Jewish capitalists at Starbucks anymore...like I care. Anyway, now there are empty cans of Red Bull rattling about on the floor of the back seat in the car, because at least I care enough to think about recycling. THINK about it.

By the time I had returned home from my trip, my jeans were fitting a little snugger--and to this day, they still are. In fact, last Sunday afternoon I was taking a nap and the waist of my pants was digging in to my newly blossomed gut. I thought for a moment that if I undid the button on my pants, I would feel much better, but then I realized if I unbuttoned my top button, that would be acknowledging the fact that I have mini-muffin top. Instead, I pulled my pants up higher up past my belly button. The resulting wedgie was much less painful than the muffin top torture. I slept soundly for about 37 minutes. It was great.

One of my tactics during a time of weight gain is to avoid the scale. I don't know where or why I acquired this tactic, and needless to say it doesn't help the problem at all. When I had gotten home from my trip I weighed myself and realized that I had gained almost four pounds. After avoiding the scale, I gained two more pounds. Obviously scale avoidance isn't working. On the other hand, when I am doing well with my weight management, I will weigh myself an unhealthy amount of times throughout the day. I have gotten better with this number obsession over the years, which is to say I now weigh myself less than half-a dozen times a day. I know, it's stupid, but you are wasting your day reading blogs about weight, so what does that say about you? Just kidding. You're not stupid. I love you and so does Jesus and his harem of angels.

Anywhooooooooo, just thought I would get this weight thing off of my chest, butt, and thighs for a moment. Like I said, I played Just Dance for an hour, and I'm going jogging this evening, so as for exercise I'm on the right track. However, I did eat chicken enchiladas with sour cream, a few salt water taffys, a white chocolate macadamia Cliff bar, and a peach...so far. Time to moderate the eating too, I guess.

I was telling one of my friends the other day that I needed to hit the gym because I was pudging up. She was so nice to tell me that she hadn't noticed, and that it was probably water weight. See, that's what really good friends do--they tell you it's water weight. Even though it's obviously coconut frappucinno ass.

Love,
Charise

Afternoon Intermission Brought to You by Tori Amos...and Moby

Right now I am at home alone. Anthony took Carter to an Angels game, and the boys are at school. I've got Tori Amos on right now, the iTunes is delivering "Tear In Your Hand"...

Normally I don't listen to Tori Amos, at least not much since 1994, but for some reason I put her on. Tear In Your Hand is a sad song, and for some reason I feel like crying even though everything is pretty much wonderful in my life. I guess that's what good music does. Listening to it takes me back to junior high crushes and high school heartaches. Not this song in particular...just Tori Amos, and a time in my life when she was on the local radio station rotation.

I don't long for the days of obsessing over boys, and the adolescent mood swings. I don't miss homework and unpredictable hormones. I don't miss the awkwardness of it all. I do, however, miss the everyday possibility of getting lit up over silly little things--like somebody smiling at me in the hall, or getting punched in the arm by the crush of the week. The smell of cologne on a sofa pillow after an unexpected visit. I miss the high from getting A's on tests. Blowing my small paycheck from Around the Clock Answering Service at the mall. I miss having days and days of unscheduled summers with sun-baked adventure being the only plan.

I still get lit. It's just different things light me up now. Things I would have never imagined bringing me joy as a teenager, are now the source of my pride. The other day Cody came home from school and told me, "Mom, all the kids at school say you make the best grilled cheese." I walked on effing clouds the rest of that afternoon. Last week I dug up a patch of lawn so Carter and I could plant some seeds. We planted carrots, tomatoes, beans, basil, cantaloupe, columbine, and sunflowers. It's a hodge-podge of a garden, but I smile everytime I water those little dirt mounds. I check every day in anticipation for small shoots of green. I can't wait to see Carter's face when the seeds finally decide to sprout. Before I started to write this post, I repaired the toilet handle in the master bathroom. I felt like a freaking magician! A toilet that would once not flush, was now flushing again, whisking waste away like a magical little whirlpool. Is there anything now I cannot conquer, I doubt it.

Anyway, another rambling post from yours truly. I've got to keep these fingers nimble, if not for writing blogs--for the next broken toilet, future grilled cheese sandwiches, and invasive weeds that are sure to attempt a sneak attack on my cantaloupe.

Teary Tori is not longer playing. Moby and his hardcore disco is pumping away, and I must rush off to get some cardio before I pick up the boys from school. Now that Tori's gone, I don't feel like crying anymore. I do feel like snapping a couple of glo sticks, chugging a Rock Star, and dancing like an animal all over the front room. Unfortunately, there's no time for that now...