Alison and I have been outraged lately by what we see as the hammock abuse we witness on the way home from school every day. We really want a hammock and a backyard pool and for summer to come back.
Seeing this snow covered hammock every day is just a kick in the teeth to all of that.
We want to knock on the door and say we'll take better care of the hammock they apparently don't appreciate. But I don't know that I have any room to complain about not taking care of important things. It pains me to admit it, but I've fallen off the fit wagon.
Alison drew this picture of me to depict what she thought I'd look like in Key West. We should all be grateful it was a head shot.... :)
With a trip to Turks & Caicos just 38 days away, I've apparently slapped an extra 10 pounds on my ass. It may be in other places, too, but I'm guessing my rear-facing fat cells were the first to bloom. I've long known they're all still in there somewhere ready to pop out like umbrellas on a rainy day.
I don't think I embarrassed myself on a recent work trip to Key West, but I didn't help myself either. I drank and ate more on that trip than I did that first, really hard Weight Watchers year. I worked out a bit, but not enough.
Was it the tub of chocolates I found in the cupboard among Alison's cupcake supplies? The red licorice standing happy guard in the Dr. Who candy jar? The wine? The bread and oil?
Yeah. Probably all of that. Sigh.
For those of us not blessed with a body that rejects fat faster than a supermodel can puke up a sandwich (I don't mean to disparage those with eating disorders; I'm just really annoyed right now) the struggle to lose and maintain weight never ends. It's hard to climb that mountain every damn day.
And I got cocky after I hit the number Weight Watchers said was my ideal 3 digits. I held it pretty steady for a couple of years. I started adding back in some treats and life was good. When the scale started to show bigger numbers, I reminded myself that I was more muscular. My clothes still fit. I was on my period. Blah. Blah. Blah.
In the vernacular of my youth, I backslid. It's a good thing I have a good support system to get me back on track.
I might be a little more cranky than usual for a few weeks. If you're my friend, you'll understand and grant me a little slack while I repent to the fitness gods.
In other news, it's snowing again. The captain caved in to our demands for NetFlix and we celebrated with a family movie night with Sharknado. It was delightfully awful. I was watching "You've Got Mail" when the other two tumbled onto the couch. Alison expressed her dissatisfaction with the movie and Jeff actually shuddered.
"What is this?" she asked.
"It's some awful spappy thing called "Sleepless in Seattle" your mother likes," he said in disgust to his fellow Dr. Who and Mario Kart fanatic.
"Blech," she said.
He agreed. "Yeah, but when you become a girl you'll like it, too."
I reminded them both that she already IS a girl. They paused.
And that's how we came to invite flying sharks into the house.