Fat: The supreme grumpy-maker.

Tomorrow is going to be great.  Husband and I are taking a ditch-the-kids day to Disneyland to celebrate our 6th anniversary, a few days belatedly.  We get to go on the fun rides, the ones they don't let kids or pregnant ladies on (so it's been a while, you see).  There will be lines, and some heat, but that's fine enough.  Because it's about the day, about the "hey let's pretend we're 19 again and parenthood is a little discussed part of our future instead of our day to day reality" freedom of the experience.  And it'll be great.

Except for one stupidly, annoyingly, pesky little unavoidable thing.

I'm fat.

Argh, I am NOT feeling great about myself today.  I feel like a great big sack of excessive flesh.  I CAN wear a couple pairs of non-maternity jeans, but it definitely does not feel comfortable.  And the maternity pants, well, they really help emphasize the fact that I still look about 4 months pregnant.  I really don't want people to think I'm 4 months pregnant, not that I'd blame them or feel terribly offended if they assumed.

Tomorrow is going to be a nice long day outside in the sun.  A day meant for tank tops and shorts.  Cringe.  Man I wish I had clothes that were better at hiding what I don't want seen.  Or, I wish I didn't have those parts at all.

So here's hoping that tomorrow is SO good that I don't find myself thinking about my upper arms and lower abdomen.  Now that, my friends, would be a pretty incredible day.

Why today rocks, if only for pretend

I am very sleepy.  Mostly, since being a non-neglectful Mommy means that today I've mostly been awake since 4:45am.  But sleepiness aside, this morning, I decided to be awesome.  This morning, I was insanely proud of myself.  Stupidly proud, as it turns out.  Backstory time.  Diddeloo diddeloo diddeloo...

A couple weeks ago my daughter discovered a hand fan of mine, one that I purchased in Japan for about a buck.  Despite its low low purchase price, it's the fan I used while I was there, and one of the few souvenirs I brought home.  And let's be honest, it's not the easiest thing to replace.  Daughter decided that the fan made an excellent treasure map for her trip to outer space, and it quickly became her new favorite toy.   The fact that she is the coolest kid alive aside, she didn't exactly display the care for my souvenir that I might have hoped.  So this morning when she noticed it again, I came up with a brilliant plan.

I set aside my cup of coffee and super duper long to do list (Tuesdays are housecleaning days, so far today, I'm doing a TERRIBLE job) to be an awesome Mommy and and draw my daughter a real treasure map.  THis is my treasure map:

See?  I set a path, with obstacles, and an X, where the treasure surely lies.  Yarrrr.  I also folded it up, to mimic her favorite aspect of the fan.  I know it's not exactly a brilliant piece of artwork, but well, bite me.  I was proud of myself for being such a cool mom.

At this point, you may be curious why I'm holding it, instead of my daughter, since it's obviously her new coolest toy ever.  Well, that would be because of this conversation, which occurred when I handed off my brilliant creativity to my duaghter:
"Here ya go Madelyn"
"Ooooh Mommy, did you color on a treasure map?"
"Yep, it's for you!"
"Awww, good coloring Mommy, it's soooo purty!"
"... Thank you."
"Here you go Mommy, you can have it!"

::Sigh::

She's terribly polite, and terribly, TERRIBLY patronizing.  So she gave it back, and I gave her some chalk and her chalkboard so she could express her own self creatively.

UPDATE:  Later, she re-found the map and is now riding on a pillow-boat to cross the river so she and Bunny can board the space ship and head to outer space.  She was intimidated by that river for a while, didn't think she could cross it.  Good thing we found that boat.

Did I mention how much I love having kids?

And stretch... And down.... And feet together feet together ONE MORE TIME!

New life plan for awesomeness:

1-Ignore weight loss.
2-Don't stress about things.
3-Pray more.
4-Play more.
     **Side note: Toddler daughter is a whole freaking gym wrapped up in a bouncy little 30 pound package.  The gym membership is relatively cheap.  Plus, she sings.  Bet your gym doesn't sing.  This morning we're singing happy birthday to her playing cards.  The cards can't believe it's been a whole year already, but I guess time flies when you're a playing card.

Some other stuff that will be worked out later...

10-Profit.

And by profit, I obviously mean lose lots and lots of weight and look amazingly sexy.  But I assume that's obvious.

Today, I am celebrating being 15 pounds overweight.  HooRAY!!  By that, I mean I've hit 170, 20 pounds down since giving-birth day.  (Or instead, giving the gift of LIFE day.  You're very welcome, tiny humans who live in my house.)  Official records report that this took 27 days.  Great googly, I've only got 2 more weeks till the post baby doctor's appointment.  Think I can lose 10 more pounds in.... no, no.  Remember the steps. Remember the steps.

Okay, off to the aerobic circus that is a trip to the grocery store!  Whew, better stretch it out first.

Yo Vanilla, kick it to me one time, Booooyyeeeee

Last night, under safety and shroud of darkness, I did the unthinkable.  I committed the least socially acceptable act I have ever personally done, which is saying a lot from someone who is considered so generally socially unacceptable.  I know this changes a lot of things for a lot of people, but I just. Can't. Help. Myself.

Last night, I had a bowl of vanilla ice cream.  Nothing else, just plain old vanillay vanilla.

And I liked it.

Not just liked it, but REALLY liked it.  Liked it so much that I question what I've been doing pouring that syrupy chocolate crap over my awesome vanilla all of these years.  Who invented that stuff anyway (Mr. Hershey, I'm calling you out).  Not chocolate, of course.  Real chocolate is incredible and I will fight anyone who says differently in their face.  Right in their face.  I mean that bottle of liquidy baby diarrhea that every American family has stored in their fridge since the turn of the last century.  Who had the audacity to profane the name of my glorious Vanilla Ice Cream and insist that we use the sticky poo bottle to "liven it up"?!?

Well no more for me folks.  I'm liberated from the "syrup", and I fully intend to continue eating Plain Ol' (More like Plain INCREDIB-Ol') Vanilla.

Okay, my kid insists he needs attention now, but here's your PSA for the day:  Vanilla.  It'll freaking rock your face off.

And you're welcome.

Big talk. Bigger butt.

Nursing Mom has made a command decision over the last couple of days.  As of now, I am making no more Herculean efforts toward weight loss.  At least for another month or so.  I'm having a hard time focusing on weight loss and eating a sufficient amount of calories to continue feeding m' baby, and since my little boy (seen below) is one of the two cutest kids in the world (seen below), I'll choose to keep him alive, even if it keeps my pants size at a "bigger than 8" for an extra month or two.

Speaking of which, my current goal jeans, not my smallest (size 4.  Take that, Communists), but my most "pretty sure I look mega hot in these jeans" jeans, are a size 8.  And while I can put them on, and can technically attach the attachy parts, this is not a bakery, and really, no one likes muffin tops quite as much as Elaine Benes.

I really want to look hot in those jeans again, shortly before I look like I'm drowning in those jeans.  But my priorities have realigned.  My perspective has cleared up.  I weigh onehundredandseventytwo pounds.  I am 17 pounds over my healthy weight, and like, a buncha pounds (technical term) over my goal weight, and here's the truth:  I'm not upset.  No, I don't think I look terribly attractive these days.  But it's okay, because I'm not fat.  I'm just temporarily stuck in this fat suit.  Again.  I've wiggled my way out of it before, I'm sure I can do it again.  And when you look at it that way, you can actually get to a point where the jiggly image in the mirror causes more amusement than deep and abiding depression.

 So yeah.  I'll keep working out, I wanna start "running" (more hypothetical than technical I'm sure) again soon, but I'm not going to be a diet Nazi.  I'll lose the weight soon, but in the meantime, my my my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!

Yep, these are the two cutest, most amazing kids ever.  With a hat.  This house is getting very theatrical.  Hollywood, well, just watch out.

COFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEE

Sleepy, by the way, has other side effects too.  Aside from the uncontrollable weeping, that is.  Sleepy is a terrifyingly sadistic Serial Diet Murderer.  When I wake up sleepy, I wake up ravenous.  Specifically, ravenous for comfort-y food.  Ravenous for ice cream instead of breakfast.  I wake up sleepy and want to shoot my diet out of the sky and watch it go down in a blaze of chocolate covered glory.  With whipped cream.  And chocolate chip cookies.  If the cops ask, Sleepy made me do it.

Also, I may have dreamt (dreamed?  I can't decide which is right here and I'd rather type this sentence than search Google for the answer like a real grown up human) about chocolate chip cookies last night.  It's hard to tell what's real and what's a dream, because I'm so sleepy.

I really am super stinking proud to say that I have not had ice cream for breakfast... yet.  Okay, not "not" as in "not ever in my life", more like, "not lately".  Like, not in the past weeks or months and maybe years, though that might be a lie.  And maybe sometimes I don't call it breakfast, I call it breakfast dessert, and maybe that should be a legitimate meal, if you think about it.  I apologize, I digress; the point is I have not indulged ridiculously in the mornings, and for one very specific reason:  COFFEE (was that not clear?).  That black cup of morning goodness that gives me just enough pep to keep me on my feet and my eyelids in an upright and locked position without leaving me spastic and paranoid.  Also, keeps ya regular.  It's like a miracle food.

God bless safe, legal drugs.  Because he most definitely had this mommy in mind when he created that incredible little bean.

Postnatal Depression FTW!!

Just so we're clear, I'm not depressed.  Don't let the Cherokee worthy Trail of Tears I'm leaving behind fool you.  I. am not. depressed.

I'm ridiculously sleepy, and that's totally different.

And in point of fact, I haven't cried at all in like, 3 days.  So booyah.

Also, I've been depressed before, so I very much know what I'm talking about.  The last significant time being early on in my first pregnancy, when the crazy part of me was convinced that I was a scourge on society, the world in general and more specifically my family, and that, say, dying during childbirth and leaving my family a handsome life insurance policy would be the best thing for everyone involved.   And then the less crazy part of me said, "Lady, you're depressed.  Have a cry, take a nap, and getoveryourself."  *Lucky* for me, it was the year 2009 and you really have to go out of your way to die during childbirth in 2009.

Side note: The best part about having a post graduate psychology degree in psychology and experience as both therapist and thera...pee?  is being able to call out your own crazy.  I am, if nothing else, a bona fide expert at calling myself a lunatic.

But the point is, these days I'm not, NOT depressed.  That being said, absolutely everything makes me cry.  I definitely blame my children, as they have very obviously broken me.

Example 1:  Stupid folksy music.
My husband and his family love Peter Paul and Mary.  Personally, I think this is a poor life choice, as they are a bunch of corn-dog hippies with semi-ridiculous music.  Years ago, my father-in-law tried to convince me how incredible they were by presenting the song "Danny's Downs".  It's the story of how a set of parents find out their newborn has Downs Syndrome and choose to NOT kill him (wow, you didn't kill your baby... do you want a medal?!?)  It includes the incredible line, "Danny's Downs, but love is up".  Brilliant, right?  I spent a good amount of time explaining to my well intentioned in-laws how incredibly stupid this song was.  And rightly so.  Because it's stupid.

Only now, this song makes me cry.  No, this song makes me weep uncontrollably.  Because it also has a sagely old Jamaican woman telling the parents to take their baby home with them because "God's gifts are only good, you know".  It also talks about Danny riding his own bus home and carrying his little lunch box, and good heaven's, I can't handle it.  The crying comes and won't stop ever.

Example 2: Poop.
On Mother's Day, my husband was working at church, and I stayed home with the kids, as all 4 of us were actually quite sick.  With a cold.  No excuse for all the poop.  Just the same, my potty training toddler and my vicious little newborn chose to spend the whole morning cranky and yelling and pooping on everything, myself included.  I don't even know where all the poop came from, they seem far too small to hold so much smelly demon inside, but there you have it.  It truly was a Mother's Day, or more appropriately, a Mother's Trial By Fire Day.  I'll bet other people got flowers, or taken out to lunch, right?  Psh. Amateurs.  What does THAT have to do with being a mother?

Anyway, I was exhausted and sick with very few coping skills.  So I just cried.  All morning.  I leaked a steady stream from the face while I changed diapers and scrubbed every surface in the bathroom as well as some of the carpet.  Because my tear ducts are my only pressure release valve, and some days I need a pressure release valve.  You know.  Cuz of the poop.

So there you have it.  NOT depressed.  Now I'm going to go hang out with my kids because at the moment, this very very strange moment, everyone is awake, and no one is crying and no one is pooping.  Not letting this one get away from me.

Happy day y'all!!

Learning to Count

Yesterday, I learned why I have a weight problem.  So that was fascinating.

During my Thursday trip to the grocery store, I made the decision to get some healthy living going.  I'm not using the words "diet", because I'm 2 weeks postpartum and I'm a nursing mom and I have no desire to be immediately arrested by the crappy-parent police.

So for the specifics: Yes, I'm using slim fast again.  Yes I'm also snacking throughout the day, but going back to more whole fruits and veggies.  Crackers instead of chips.  Just, you know, slightly better life choices.  And as of last night, I'm counting my calories.

I spent yesterday "cutting back a bit", trying to stick to the circa 1800-2000 calories recommended during nursing.  I told Husband that I was surprised, because even trying to cut back to that felt mildly restrictive, and FYI, I really should have been eating that much during my pregnancy too.

Then last night, after finishing my "not terribly restrictive, but cutting back a bit" intake for the day, I sat down with one of my calorie counting phone apps, and decided to plug everything in.  The total?

2597.

I'd eaten roughly 2600 calories for the day.  And that, if you recall, FELT RESTRICTIVE.  I felt, throughout the day,  all the moments I didn't eat something.  I felt I'd been restrained.  And for me, right now, restrained looked like 2600 calories.  Aye chee freakin wa wa.

So yeah, if you're curious, that's why I'm fat.

I'm convinced now, that most days I've probably been eating somewhere around 3000 calories a day, and I haven't even had to eat fast food to do so.

Oh, and just to solidify this realization, I lost a pound between yesterday and today.  I fell from 173 to 172, because my body was so relieved that it hadn't been stuffed with 3000+ calories.

When I had my daughter, I griped that I was never one of those women who naturally lost a lot of weight while breast feeding.  Now I realize that this is because I was probably eating 50-100% more calories than I needed in a day.  And because I was, well, primarily eating crap, I could very well have been malnourished at the same time.   Cuz super duper fat and malnourished is a thing, ya know.  Maybe not outside of this country, but it's definitely something we've got here.

Well that's it, folks.  I learned to count yesterday, which was disturbing, but weirdly, nice.  I don't need to worry about which days I'm going to "randomly" gain or lose weight.  I don't need to try and starve myself to lose weight.  I just need to stay on the ball.  Make better choices.  And of course, never never never forget how to count!

My first time.

That title may have been just a smidgin misleading.  Oops.

I've been thinking about firsts a lot lately.  This past couple of weeks has been filled with them.  Today I took both kids to the library, and then to the grocery store for the first time.  I'm also cooking my first dinner as a mother of two.  By the way, thanks to all the wonderful family members who made it possible for me to wait almost 2 whole weeks before I had to cook a single meal.  That was pretty awesome.  I'm also sick for the first time as the mother of a newborn, something that I never experienced with my first.  Oh, and my daughter told us she wanted to poop in the potty.  And then she did.  For the first time.  It was life changing.

The thing with firsts, is that they're magnificent.  And terrifying.  They incite incredible amounts of anticipation, fear, excitement, a vast myriad of emotions.  But soon, these things will happen a second time.  And a fifth.  And a seven hundredth.

A first kiss is something you remember forever.  You tell your friends about it.  You blush when it crosses your mind in the middle of work the next day.  But some kiss you get on a Tuesday morning from the man you've been with for almost 10 years?  Still nice, but generally speaking not the kind of thing you'll tell stories to your grandchildren about.

Over the next months and years, the firsts from this week will all become the mundane, repetative parts of my life.  I'll take the kids shopping, frequently wishing I could have come alone.  I'll cook a million mediocre dinners.  I'll change hundreds more diapers.  But then one day, I'll also have a last.

It seems now that I've probably already changed my daughter's last diaper.  Something I did over and over, every day for over 2 years, and it's done forever.  And because it was a last, not a first, I didn't actually KNOW it was the last.  Such a huge, monumental adjustment in our lives and I didn't even know it happened.

One of these days, I'll be done changing my son's diapers too.  I'll take them to the grocery store for the last time.  I'll cuddle them in my lap for the last time.  I'll have one last kiss from the man I've already been with for almost 10 years.  And just like now, I will have no idea that it happened.  None of these things will feel special, my mind will categorize them among the 5000 other times, not set apart, like a first.

Depressing, right?  SERIOUSLY.

I'd love to say that knowing this fact will make me appreciate every single mundane experience of every single day of my life.  But that's baloney, and we all know it.  I know it's baloney, because I'm taking things for granted even as I write this.  It's part of the human condition, it's impossible to avoid.  I guess what we can do is live a little bit more in the now.  Spend today basking in today's blessings, even when today's blessing want to feel like trials and curses.  Because one day, one day probably very soon, those blessings will be memories.  And at the very least, I want to make sure those memories stick.

Hurt so Good! Waaaaiiiit...

Admittedly, getting a root canal on the same day that I already knew I was getting a cold was not my best life decision.  In my defense, I was in a lot of pain.

The only thing is, right now, I'm in a lot more pain.  I think.  Pain is sometimes difficult to quantify, and I don't have one of those smiley face/crying face/oh dear lord kill me now face scales that doctors use.  On one hand, I can brush my teeth without screaming and seeing bright spots of pain in my  and throwing myself violently against the walls, on the other, my root canal pain has melded with my swollen lymph node pain to make it feel like I've stuck everything above my collar bone into one of those shop class vices, and am continuing to tighten it, despite my own screaming to stop. Why, oh WHY won't I just stop?!? ::sigh::

Last night I had the thought that it's been a pretty long time since I've felt so incredibly miserable.  Then I remembered that I just gave birth less than two weeks ago, and I figured I was probably wrong about that.

At this point, I started writing about the birth story, and about why I'm feeling more inclined toward adopting any future children than I've ever felt before.  I can't seem to get the words on the page, not sure if it's because I don't want to write about how flipping unpleasant that part was, or if I was just being super boring.  Probably just boring.

I will say this though.  I've been reminded a lot this past couple of weeks about how difficult it is to numb me.  I've also been reminded about how difficult it is to convince anyone in the medical profession of this fact.  But of course, they're not the ones who have to feel the live drills in their mouths.  They're not the ones experiencing nasty negative side effects of an epidural, while still feeling a great deal of labor pain.  And stop condescendingly asking me if it's "just pressure".  It's not "just pressure", unless pressure is a new word for things that hurt a lot.  Jerks.  Ah well.  At least they had the common decency to check and notice that "yes, I CAN feel that" before they stitched me up.  Yikes.

And that's all for now folks!  It's 3am and, although I'm not lonely (Matchbox 20 anyone? ... Anyone?) I do need to see if I can convince my son that going back to sleep is the best idea he ever had.  I say he, because convincing someone it was THEIR idea is the best way to get them on board.  Master's degree in psychology, thankyouverymuch.

Real quick: because it's 3am, have anyone of you seen this Tummy Tuck Belt thing?  Man, that looks awesome.  I want magic to come and take away MY belly fat!  ::Sigh::

I think I can, I think I can, I... ah screw it.

Life has gotten a little backwards and crazy these days.  For maybe the first time in my life ever, my motivation to DO things, exercise, do chores, etc etc etc, outweighs my ability to do so.  Typically speaking, my body is strong, but my laziness is far, far stronger.  But this past week, I've been feeling good (all things considered) and that's made me want to be up, want to do more.  I really really wish I could run, but I know the body's not ready for that yet.  Instead, I'm doing some weak-sauce Wii Fit exercises, to try get my body accustomed to moving again.  Plus, I throw in some 5lb weights, just to see if I can't get myself some tank top-worth arms in the next few months.  It seems though, that even this small effort might be overly ambitious, as my body has, shall we say, not responded terribly positively to those efforts.

Well, except for the fact that I weighed in at 174 again today, which was pleasanter.

Today though, I think I've been grounded for realskis.  Yesterday was a day of unpleasant medical interventions for the Miller family.  Precious little baby dude got his itty bitty foreskins dis-attached from his itty bitty peeps.  Needless to say, he was not a big fan of this particular doctor visit.

Then, 2 hours later, I got to visit the dentist for my second ever root canal.  It was a last minute decision, prompted by crazy loads of exposed-nerve pain that I was pretty sure was trying to kill me.  Root canals blow, by the way.  Root canals make it feel like someone took a baseball bat to the side of your face.  And to top it off, this stupid temporary filling is too big, so it hurts like nuts if I close my mouth all the way.  Maybe I'll lose weight just because eating sucks now.  That's... promising.  And a little bit sucky.

All that to say, I feel less awesome than I could.

Oh, plus, it seems I have a cold.  Cuz why not, right?

So I'm assuming that I'm grounded from even sadly small amounts of exercise today.  Which is probably okay, really.  Seeing as every part of my body that is not distracted by throbbing pain is crying out for a nap.

And then there's my daughter, who has taken up a new artistic endevour: Beat Poetry.  She's riffing on her piano and interspersing her playing with her verse:

::Plink plunk::
Green means GO!!!
::Plunk plunk plunk::
Red means STOP!!
::Plink::
Yellow means SLOW DOWN!!!!

Seems we'll need to start investing in some turtle necks and berets here pretty soon.  Cause otherwise, this would all seem ridiculous.

::Snap snap snap snap snap::

Forgive me Internets, for I have sinned. It has been a whole bunch of days since my last blog post.

Last minute thoughts seems to have been a pretty good title for my post on the 26th, since it wasn't more than 18 hours later that I found myself being stitched back into something vaguely resembling a human while I held my brand new, 8lb 1oz bundle of awesome in my arms.  He arrived, against all odds, exactly on schedule.  Seriously, the US postal service should hire him to shape that place up.

Long graphic story short (because I never know who reads this thing, and there are some people who I might need to make direct eye contact with over the next couple weeks), we got home Saturday afternoon, he's an incredible sleeper, his sister is very excited, but a little extra loud and a smidgen extra naughty, just to let us know she's still here.

At this point I've been home for a week.  I've had a couple of days of being alone and outnumbered by my  offspring, I've taken them to the park and we've all three survived, we've joined in with the neighborhood-wide yard sale, I've completed one low impact, 30 minute work out, and today, in about 90 minutes, we're making our first trek to church.  So first, I must relax with coffee, I must emotionally prepare.

Breathe in..... Breath out..... GulpGulpGulp.

Now, on to the purpose of this blog:  Getting my gigantor behind back to some more acceptable size, and if we're lucky, some recognizable shape.

The first week after having a baby is typically filled with loads of little encouargements, especically if you can get over the initial shock of leaving the hospital carrying your newborn and STILL magically looking 6 months pregnant.  During this first week, you feel a little less crippled every day, as your body begins to heal.  You make incredible realizations, such as noting the fact that you can lay on your stomach, on your back, on any part of you that you so desire and that's okay.  You'll realize that you no longer need the house to be 58 degrees F, you don't need to sleep in a sitting up position to avoid constant stomach acid blasting holes in your esophagus, you don't need to support every inch of your girth with stacks of pillows, and if you're lucky, swelling and restless leg syndrome are almost instantaneously a thing of the past.

Another thing that feels awesome-sauce is the weight loss.  Coming home from the hospital, you may only weight 8-10 pounds less than you did when you went in.  For me, I went in at 190, came home at 181.  But this was not my first rodeo, and I remember week 1.  Because in week 1, you can lose like, 2 pounds a day for days.  I found myself down to 174 by Thursday, 1 week after heading into the hospital.  Even though you know you just had a baby, and that you're still heavier than you need to be, it really doesn't matter.  Losing 16 pounds in a week is exhilarating.  You FEEL 16 pounds in a week.  And even though your belly and let's be honest, probably some other parts are all gooey and jiggly, catching a glimpse of yourself without that giant belly for the first time in roughly 5 months, well, that'll make you feel like a super model.

Now though, apparently I found the place where the work begins.  Because over the weekend, I actually gained 2 pounds back.  I'm sitting at 176, and my body seems aggravatingly comfortable with that.  Also, one of my neighbors asked me to let him know when I have the baby yesterday, 8 days after I gave birth.  His wife (who generously suggested that I looked maybe 3 months, not NINE months pregnant) got a good laugh at his expense, but just the same.  He's seen me over the past few weeks.  He didn't notice that the "due any day" baby was no longer gestating.  2 pounds weight gain plus terrifying comment from the neighbor does not a big load of self-confidence make.

Ah well, at least I have a freaking adorable son to take my mind of my jiggly jiggly waistline.

So if you're curious, this is how I look today---

Feel free to consider these faceless chubby shots my 2012 "befores", because I absolutely do not intend to spend more than the next week or two looking like this.  Also, they're faceless because I still need to do some hair and makeup.  As ick as this part looks, above the neck is vastly more terrifying at this point.  Especially with the "I wore big sunglasses during the garage sale yesterday so only my nose is sunburned and of all the reindeer,  I most closely resemble Rudolph" look I'm currently sporting.  Oh the hotness, oh the sex appeal.  

Well, that's about it for today, time to sign off and go fix that face I was telling you about.  But before I go, I'll share the 1 goal I've set so far:  Weigh 139 or less before 2013.  I was never able to make it into the 130s last weight loss.  This one's going to be different.  This one's going to need a lot more sit ups.

Have a grand day y'all!!