My Booty Has Met Its Match

Oh dear heavens. I don't know what I was thinking, asking Mr. R for a bicycle for my birthday. An easy way to drop pounds, I thought. Easier on my knees, I thought. Way better than running, I thought.

Pfffffft!!!

Oh, I talked a good talk. I received said bicycle on my birthday. I also received a special booty chair for my generous posterior. And a helmet. And an odometer, plus a bike chain.
Then it rained for almost two weeks straight. And finally, this morning, I said to Mr. R confidently, "Wanna go on a bike ride with me?"

Oh dear me.

I started off strong. After all, I'd had a physically stressful morning of drinking coffee, talking on the phone, and typing. That's stretching, right? Uh-huh. I swung my leg over the rail, hopped on my special padded booty seat, and took off strong.

Got maybe halfway down the block when I thought, "Ummm, my booty hurts already?" People, Wal-Mart made a bike seat for booties even bigger than mine. I wasn't sure it was possible. Yet, it has happened. I actually have ridges in that special little place where your booty means your thigh, where this seat DUG INTO MY TENDER FLESH as punishment for being a slacker for the past fifteen years.

My cousin Dee is dating a personal trainer, who informed me that as a beginning bicyclist, I should start off only riding 4 to 11 minutes. Why? So that peanutheads such as myself do not wear ourselves out too quickly and give up. I thought, what a nincompoop. I can ride for at least 30 minutes. I am, after all, only 34 years old and even though I'm fat, I'm still in shape, right?
Oh so wrong.

I had to stop after 8 minutes to breathe. I had sweat trickling in my hair and into my new shiny helmet. I was fantasizing about setting the booty seat on fire and dancing around it naked wearing a hula skirt. Mr. R gave me a lecture about how babies don't start off running, but start crawling instead. I started thinking that crawling on broiling hot Florida pavement sounded pretty good. But I hopped my booty back on the booty seat and wobbled my way home. I checked my special odometer. 11 minutes, 45 seconds. I went over the recommended time by the trainer. No wonder I'm dying. And I burned...75 calories.

Hooray!!!

Deleting Previous Post

Because people may be on the computer, deleting previous post. Spanks.

Not Bad for a Birthday Weekend

I fully expected to post a high birthday weight, but am pleasantly surprised that I lost instead.
I have a great birthday post, except I need to take a few pictures, so it will have to wait until later. Until then, let me say that I am happy for the rain we're getting. I know most of the country has been inundated lately with the wet stuff, but we still need it! There are wildfires surrounding us and there is a 90% chance today. Praise God.

Where Has the Time Gone?

This morning, I got up and turned the coffee pot on. Started waking sleepy children. Sleepy myself, I stumbled through the house. Left the news off because I already know how the weather will be...hot, with a chance of burning pavement. I reveled in the relative silence, just the dog snoring, children yawning and stretching, and the percolating burps of Mr. Coffee. Even though I wake up and immediately start "doing" stuff, I felt relatively relaxed. I prayed that it would be a smooth morning.
And it was. Until my oldest boy, Tiger, got up.
He did nothing wrong. He was cheerful, boisterous, his usual loud self. I was in the bedroom when I heard him speaking.
I immediately dropped what I was doing.
Is that Mr. R home a few hours early?
That deep, manly voice, in the living room? Is Mr. R home?
Oh no. Just my 12 year old son, talking to his older sister.
I immediately felt tears rush to my eyes, completely by surprise. 12 years ago, I was playing with a ten day old baby boy. And now he's in my living room, with a voice deeper than mine, and almost as deep as his father's voice. He's starting to grow a mustache and he's very proud of it. He wears a size 12 shoe in men's, the same size as his father. Size 32 waist in pants in men's clothing. He is, in essence, a man in training. I marveled at how fast 12 years go by. I never thought as I cradled my baby boy that I held a future musician in my arms, a boy who loves ketchup but hates tomatoes, and can eat almost an entire pizza on his own.
The years go by quickly, but they are such a blessing. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Ugh...

It went up. Yet I'm not super annoyed, as I knew it would. Peeps, I had pizza and pepsi and ice cream and loved EVERY MINUTE. I'm also going to Olive Garden today with my mom and sister. And guess what. I'm not dieting for it. I'm going to have a great lunch, and then finish with a salad for dinner tonight.
I refuse to stop living over food.
At the same time, I know my weight is dangerous. I'm not giving myself the go ahead to be a total pig. Last week was an anomaly.
In other news, I hooked up a new mouse and keyboard. One would think this is a simple task, but for me...oh my. To say I'm not technical or mechanical would be an understatement. It took me forever, but I'm happy and everything is working. HOORAY!

Welcome to my Crib

I bought these coffee signs at Goodwill for 4 bucks each. I love coffee themed stuff!


This is Mr. R's drum kit. Why, yes, they ARE right next to my office area. Delightful, no?



This is one half of my kitchen. It is really small and hard to keep clean because there are five of us using it all the time. I dream of a larger kitchen where I can spread out. That one area is the only counter-top in the entire place. Not functional at all.


Pantry! We desperately need to repaint and put up some trim.

The filing I'm avoiding. Yes, that's an entire laundry basket full of important papers that I'm desperately trying to ignore.



This is our dining room and china cabinet. And my dead plants, too. They are up on bar stools because our cats kept pooping in them when they were kittens, but I really want my bar stools back at the kitchen counter. Our table always has something on it, we really use it a lot.



This is one of my bookshelves. I have things fairly organized. Those huge black boxes are called power sorters and they hold 2400 pictures each. And they're both full. I love taking pictures!
I also have my paper shredder, my cpu, some photo albums, and the very few knick knacks I own. I am not a knick knack person at all.
I don't like the color of our walls. They are peach. We painted them that color when we thought we were going to be selling the house. Now that we know we're not moving (due to the economy, not because I wouldn't like to) we are going to paint the walls green. Goes with Mr. R's tropical theme. I will also be moving my desk again, but we'll get to that soon enough.




This is where I'm sitting right now!


My Manhattan kitchen. Way too small to cook for a family of five. As you can see, I painted it red. Mr. R is over it. I think we'll be painting that room green also. It's a good thing I like green. I will either be replacing the cheap cabinets or painting them. They are that cheap laminate crap so I'm not sure how well they will paint. You can't really tell in this picture, but the cabinets are actually pink toned. I mean, really. PINK?


And thank you for visiting!

Momma Guilt

Excuse the smoke, peeps. I've been thinking. *cough cough*

I have to ask a question...and I hope my faithful readers will be kind enough to answer my query. Most of us are moms...why do moms put themselves last? Why do we do this to ourselves?

I'm not depressed over my little bit of weight gain, just because I know that ups and downs come with the territory.

I was just thinking, if a doctor told me that one of my kids needed A, B, and C, I'd do it. I'd move mountains to make sure instructions were followed. Heck, I gave up a sort of high-powered career simply because my kids needed me. Moms do that. Gladly. Happily. That's what we do.

And yet, my doctor is telling me, lose weight. Join a gym. Get physical. Go for walks. And yet, I'm not doing ANY of it. Why? Why am I self-sabotaging my progress?

My usual excuse is, I don't have time. And let me tell you, my life is busy. Oh yes sirree Bob. Between work, housework, my children, church, kids activities, school, I am one swamped Momma. I fall into bed at night and fall asleep within seconds. I'm so tired, I don't even understand the concept of insomnia. I hate my alarm clock with a passion that ranks up there with child porn and Satan. But if my kids needed something, I'd rearrange my life in order to accommodate their needs. Why won't I do it for myself? Do I hate myself? Is it depression? Or is it simply a martyrdom issue? Do I just need to reorganize my day in order to fit in a work-out? Can it really be done?

My birthday is next week, and I had planned on using my paycheck (I get paid three times in May simply due to how the Fridays fall) to obtain a family membership to the Y here in my city. As a birthday present to myself. I'm already talking myself out of it. Why am I doing this? I know I need the exercise. I know I don't have room for any exercise equipment in my already cramped house. Plus I'm home all day long, I could use the excuse of a trip outside these four walls. And yet...I feel bad spending my money...on me.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

It's Been A While

Last week was just crazy. It's still crazy now. I have to go back to the lab for one more round of blood work before I'll be officially declared diabetic. I'm fasting right now and will leave for the lab as soon as the two older kids get to the bus.
Gained a small bit of weight this week. Not enough to discourage me. Just a blip on the radar. Today is another fine day to jump back on the horse.