My New Regime

There are few New Regimes in the Wilson Household: one has to do with the Masses and their slovenly, childish ways (and since they are children, it is appropriate for me to find ways to train them up to be less swine-like, and more human... like); the other is my workout. I routinely engage a Medieval Torture Specialist (twice weekly) and enjoy 5 to 6 cardio workouts per week. I am motivated. I am motivated to fit into the 'skinny' jeans; motivated by swimsuit season; motivated by seeing my glaring white flesh naked in the mirror... and yes, it is STILL white.

The Hub... not so much. So I found a great circuit training series that is very cardio in its approach - the best of all worlds in under an hour! He'll love it. He will be motivated to do it! He will grow old with me and not die early leaving me to put the faucet covers on outside or fend off endangered woodpeckers by myself!!

And he does love it!!

And he is doing it!!

One catch... I am there with him.

Squat after squat, fly after fly, push-up to push-up, I am there... sweating and silently cursing the peppy bimbo (though I am really certain she is a delightful person, for the sake of my sanity I prefer to pretend she is a Food Nazi who works out 14 hours a day and is genetically a mutant; this makes me happy... so work with it) who's directing each excrutiating move and exercise!! And because I am a creature of habit (translate: a little OCD), I continue along with my REGULAR EXERCISE PROGRAM IN ADDITION TO 'GI JANE"S BURN YOUR BUTT OFF MAKE A BIG GIRL CRY' workout!!!!!

In short... even my eyelashes hurt!!! Now, the Hub's been manning up and saying yeah, I'm sore, but not terribly so... like YOU (raising eyebrows at me). And if he'd said it without raising his eyebrows I might refrain from telling you this (might is a big 'maybe'): I heard him cry like a little girl trying to sit on the toilet the other day!!!!

OK, that was a little bit of an exaggeration. But It Was Funny!!!!!!

Amazingly, all this pain has me thinking: what if I get all buff and beautiful (hey, that could be a soap opera title...), and then 30 or 40 years from now, when I am old and wrinkly and sagging, I hear someone say "she was once a real looker, but now..." What good was all the torture??? Face it: it's going downhill, folks... I'm just trying to slow the ball down, know what I mean???

So, I have come up with a whole New Regime for thinking: (drum roll) I'm gonna try to maintain what I have so that 30 to 40 years from now people say, ''Why, you haven't changed a bit!!!!" Just think!!!! I could be the gal who is JUST THE SAME as she was when she was... well, younger!!!! No, she's really porked out since then, or her muscle tone is shot, or her jowls hag low... No sireee!!!! Not me!!!! I could wear the jeans then that I wear now... if they are fashionable, of course!!

This has revolutionized my life!!! I am free!!!!

Except the Hub is expecting to workout today...

Summertime

The song from Porgy and Bess says the livin' is easy. Well, that's a BIG FAT LIE!!! I am totally exhausted!!! It's been soccer camp, and dance recital, and tennis, and art classes, and swimming, and laking...  What happened to sleeping in? Taking it easy? Lazy days of summer?? I'd like to speak to the management!!

Oh, wait, I AM the management.

This isn't looking good...

It started last summer, with letting the Masses try some new things, which is great and it is a good time with no school work and all, to try new things. And it sure kept them busy and out of my hair, which was never brushed because I was too busy flying out of bed and out the door. And they had a great time, and really, so did I. Fast forward to 2009. And we are on the same schedule, or at least a similar one. But I started the summer worn out, because all the neat activities from LAST summer somehow became year-round activities, and therefore continued through last fall, winter, and this spring.... which means I haven't had a break. Hence, I feel like I've been hit with a Mack truck, carried on the grill for about 25 miles, and endured the desert heat, polar snows, and hurricane winds and rain,... all while being pelted by giant horned winged angry slow-to-die bugs from some science fiction novel with large stingers. And my hair still isn't brushed. And yes, I do own mirrors and know what I look like. I am too tired to care.

So, today may be the ONE day of R&R... except the boys had some friends spend the night (which is no problem), and they are already up and going STRONG downstairs.. and it was 7:20 when this started. AM. However, they are in for a BIIIIGGGG surprise: NAPTIME!!!  YES! Today I will employ that good ol' summer tradition (lots of European and Central/ South American cultures have this sooooo right) of the afternoon nap, because frankly, I need one.

I just hope I can stay awake until then...

Bronze Goddess

I know you've been on pins and needles since reading about my self-tanning efforts. By now, you are picturing me as a bronzed goddess, no doubt. And since I used the 'firming' self-tanner, you are no doubt imagining me as a lean, mean muscle machine as well. That's how I imagined the results myself. Twice a day, I slathered and dreamed, slathered and dreamed. I became so proficient that I could slather mirror-less, which was better for my mental health. The self-tanner and I developed a close relationship... I was worried the Hub would be jealous of my commitment to the tanner!

What is that statement? Oh yeah, 'tan fat looks better than white fat'.

For those of you that uttered this phrase, live it, or even remotely thought it... may you struck with a thousand oozing boils and a really bad zit!!! Bronze goddess? Nothing could be farther from the truth!!!!

I AM STILL WHITE!!!!!

So, now, white-boy Hub has recommended a spray-on tan, with bikini so I have tan lines... because he thinks that's 'cool'. And he's declared that he thinks he wants one too! 

But I'm recommending he skip the bikini...

Fish and Family

We had house guests this week: three young British (one was Polish, but lives in Britain) Challenger Soccer Camp coaches. Never met them. Delightful folks. Took them to the lake a few times, cooked, supped, shared some good times, and got to know one another. Such a neat program that Challenger runs so that kids benefit from a great soccer camp, and these young adults get to travel the US, and make a little cash as well. They get to eat with their hosts and have a warm bed - cuts down on their costs significantly! 

They were here a week. Very unusual for us to have house guests for a week. Now a days, our schedules are so packed that 'we' generally only have a long weekend or 'a few' days to spend with family and friends. We are too busy. And this week was a classic example of busy - but that isn't what this was about.

These coaches were fabulous house guests. Polite, grateful, and very chilled - and they really liked the Masses... in fact, Neva Kate has found herself a man!!! She really took to our Polish friend, and him to her; alas, it isn't to be, as he has a girlfriend, and is much too old for her....

The whole visit got me to thinking: why am I able to tolerate complete strangers in a relaxed, happy manner, but not my own family? Seriously. If this had been DOD or Sybil, I'd have slit my wrists and dove into ring of sharks!! A week with my family?? There is not enough Diet Coke in the state to get me through that - and I know because we've done this before!!! 

Could it be that we have so much baggage that I wonder when the train will lurch and it will come crashing from the overhead bin right onto me? Yes. And most likely is. I tread a fine line with Sybil - you never know who you're getting (please see previous blog about Sybil, or blogs)! And I do worry about DOD, and his various annoying habits... such as constantly talking about what he wants to talk about (mainly himself) which we've already covered at least 15 times since he arrived (this is NOT an exaggeration). I count the hours until they leave... OK, I'm lying... I count the minutes!! And yet, out of guilt for feeling this way when all the movies in the world say I should feel warm fuzzies toward the fam, I let them come. And they do. And they are. This summer. Because I am powerless in my guilt to stop them. And therefore am questioning my decision to NOT install a fountain drink machine in the new house.

I have no immediate solution to this problem, except moving without telling them, and the Hub said I couldn't do that.... My cousin is coming this summer, too, and I adore her, and am quite thrilled and very happy and excited - no worries... only fun to come!!!  But that smile turns upside down when I hear the others may be headed east of Texas, and I suddenly get the desire to join  WitSec; really no good if the Hub is gonna rat me out, though. 

So, today, we said good luck and farewell to our new friends, and sent them on their way.... Sure would love to see them again. Sure wish I felt this way about DOD and Sybil.

Perhaps we are related somehow....

My White Legs

I want to make a dangerous statement, that in NO WAY is meant to racist, or racy: I am a white girl. My legs are white, my butt is white, my arms are white... I am white. I was white when born, and have been except for a few years when I tried to lay-out and get a tan: this for me consisted of one hour of prep for about 30 minutes of sun time; I hadn't had hair removal yet, and I get bored easily. I tried a tanning booth for two months, but found it too much like a very unmotivated dating relationship that left my skin smelling funny; this was not for me.

I was white when the Hub married me; white for the past 13 years of marriage. White today. But, recently (for the past 13 years or so) the Hub has been making noises about how he thinks it would be sexy for me to get a spray tan, or self-tanner. And he mentioned something to Sister Lunch Lady, too. So, I decided to take him seriously. And try to do something about being white.

I am sitting here, buck-nekkid under my bath robe, trying to recover without alcohol from the shock of seeing myself naked not once but twice now, as I slathered self-tanning lotion on my whole body. My vision is blurry, and I can't remember the names of my children! I almost passed out during the back of the thigh area!!! All this in pursuit of some color. That the Hub thinks he'll find sexy. Well, sitting here for 'several minutes before dressing' with a look out of a horror movie plastered on my face (imagine talking-severed-head-glaring-at-you-scared face) ain't particularly sexy, folks!

All this has led me to believe that we should have fewer, and smaller... MUCH smaller, mirrors. I, for one, could care less about what color I am, or anyone else. I think, live and let live. And I am too lazy to care if my legs can reflect rays from outer space. This is how I was made. I'm stuck with it.  Or am I? I suppose in light of my recent blog about hair removal and vein zapping that I am a ginormous hypocrite for NOT doing something about the glow-in-the-dark properties of my extremities!!!  In fact, I suppose the horror of my nakedness reflected back at me, which surpasses the intense pain of abdominal surgery, rings in with 'painful to be pretty'. Of course, after what I witnessed today, I think pretty is terrifying!!! But, I will continue to slather and color, and slather some more... only now, I think I can do it without a mirror.

But, I will have that wine now....

Day dream believers

And Homecoming Queens... of which I never was one! So, today I am thinking of all the things I thought I wanted to do someday, and all the things, I have done, and am planning, and wondering if I am fulfilling God's great plan for my life. Nothing deep, you know, the usual! 

I would never have guessed I'd end up the mother of four children, and some days I pretend they belong to someone else (esp. in Walmart, or at the Olive Garden in Branson the other day) - but I am always so grateful for them when I watch them sleeping, and hear them laughing, and realize that I could have chosen something so different.

I thought I wanted to be a secret agent with the FBI, or CIA; until I learned that I'd have to be OK with sneaking around in the dark... and my deeply rooted fear of the dark won out. Then, maybe and archeologist; that too went by the wayside after I learned about the bugs and the dirt and the digging in it... yea, not for me so much.

Next, I decided that I would love to be a recording artist. And for this I had the talent. But my parents talked me out of majoring in music, and told me they wouldn't pay for me to do that (big decision maker there) because they were afraid I'd fail and starve... or worse, move home. Love and support. BUt I don't blame them. I think I should thank them! After all, I decided to go into nutrition, and there begins the love story of me and the Hub. (This was a brief summary of my formative years... very brief; but the highlights!)  And with that, four kids.

Pretty amazing for just an ordinary gal. Which makes me wonder why I still feel like there is something I am supposed to be doing (besides laundry). Yet, I am so clueless as to what that is! Should I be a writer? (well, you're reading this...) Should I start a business? (please, no!) What is it that I am supposed to be doing? (again with the laundry comment? you have a one tract mind!) I'm not sure, but I'm keeping my options open.

And going to start the laundry, already!

Much Ado About Nothing

I'd like to preface this blog with the statement: I am not really that much of a Shakespeare fan. And this has not much to do with Shakespeare, other than the use of his title. This blog is about nothing. That's correct: nothing. There are several types of nothing. Yes, there are. Think about it. Or, I'll save you the brain cells and explain 'em.

1)Nothing. This is what you say on an average day to a friend's inquiry of "whatcha doing?" "oh, nothing." Or, "nothing much." this means that you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary or worth wasting your breath and their time talking about.

2) Nu-thiiiinn... This is what your kids say when you hear a strange noise like the cat being loaded into the dryer, or eggs frying on the stove and you call out 'what's that noise?' or "what are you doing?' Their answer: nu-thiiiinn (in a little sing-song voice). It usually means something, and specifically something really bad, and you'd better get off your hiney and hustle in there before the smoke alarm goes off, missy!! (no personal experience here - pure speculation)

3) Nothing. Be careful not to confuse this nothing with #1, as they are VERY different! #1 means you are doing something... this nothing means you are doing nothing.... Nothing that uses any brain waves, voluntary or involuntary, no actual work or function other than that of breathing. This 'nothing' is the most elusive, because the minute you start to tell someone about it, well, there it goes! You're doing something, and thus nothing is very over! Watching TV? Nope, that's something - watching TV! Duh! Sleeping? Nope! That in itself is a definable action. Blogging? Still definable... starting to get it? 

Thus, when one says one is doing nothing, it is safest to assume he/ she is actually performing rote, daily tasks so mundane they'd snooze the brain off a sloth! To be doing actually #3 nothing is a real challenge, and should not be undertaken by your average individual. Leave this up to the professionals!!! And today I had the pleasure of talking with one such professional who braggingly shared with me - once she had finished doing #3 nothing - that she'd been doing #3 nothing and would be going back to #3 nothing after her phone break with me! I was humbled and astonished to be graced by such greatness! I myself spend the majority of my time doing #1 nothing in pursuit of caring for my family and home, and had to bask in her... well... nothing-ness! I had no idea we had this kind of talent here!! 

Do you think she offers seminars???? Gotta go do something....

(NOTE: this is written completely tongue-in-cheek, MY tongue in MY cheek!! I applaud those who eek out a little peace and quiet once or twice a month in order to maintain sanity... you see why I am not, therefore, sane...)