I'm No Gym Rat

Mesa has not been kind to my waistline. I hesitate to even write this out loud because I have made a commitment not to engage in "fat talk," which according to a recent news article is one of the first topics of conversation when women get together. I have vowed not to give into that social pressure needlessly.

However, that said, this isn't just fat talk. It is my truth right now. A sizeable portion of my day is dedicated to whittling away the waistline. That's right: I'm back at the gym after a couple of deliriously happy, exercise free, summer months. I know I should feel guilty writing that. "But what about those endorphins?" "Doesn't exercise make you feel great?" "Don't you always feel better when you're exercising?"

Maybe. But the real truth for me is that I find it a pain in the butt. It just takes a lot of time, and I've got a lot to do. The extra hour devoted to sweating gives rise to another hour devoted to clean up, hair, makeup, then add the travel time to and from the gym, and the minutes it takes to get little Griff checked in and out of child care...well, it just adds up. And I find myself thinking the whole time about the other things that need to get done.

But I'm doing it. And I have been inspired by the 78-year old woman in my body sculpting class. I LOVE her! This class kicks my butt by the way and a lot of younger, more in shape derrieres as well, so I give her all kinds of credit. I talked to her after class one day, and she said, "My friends think I'm crazy, but I told them if God's let me live a long life, I want to take care of myself." I want to be like her when I grow up.

...Crap! That's a lot of hours at the gym.

Short Memory = Larger Waistline

So if I'm spending all this time working out, I might as well watch what I eat, right? And generally I'm pretty good about that. But I live with the devil! Mr. Wicke has a sweet tooth, and now I do, too! My goal of cutting out sugar has not been going well. Thursday night might be the best, or is it worst, example.

I was invited to speak at another ward's RS Enrichment Night on Thursday: Well, you know there is always a dessert of some kind at these things. Tonight it is 3 different kinds of homemade cheesecake. I love cheesecake. The carrot cake cheesecake tasted delicious by the way. I stopped at one piece, so give me credit.

Now, I hadn't had a chance to eat an actual meal before the event, so when I get home I sit down and have a bowl of the chicken soup I had made for the fam. Also good, by the way. Then just to chill out I turn on the TV. This is an effective brain numb-er, an important point when considering the following events. An hour later Thomas is scavenging around in the kitchen looking for his evening snack. "I'm making a mint chocolate chip shake. Want one?"

Having appropriately numbed my brain and truly not remembering the carrot cake cheesecake a couple of hours before I say, "Sure." I love mint chocolate chip milkshakes. It is really good, too, by the way.

After the milkshake I feel unusually full and a little sick. That's when I remember the carrot cake cheesecake. Crap! Almost simultaneously I remember the digital display on the treadmill that morning. It said I burned off like 28 or so calories. I'm pretty sure I just ate that up. Ah, nuts! Maybe I can make up for it tomorrow in step aerobics.

I Now Pronounce You...Complete Strangers to Us

I generally enjoy wedding announcements and invitations. We have been getting a lot of them, and it's fun to see with whom some of our favorite kids ended up picking to spend the rest of their lives. Sometimes I think the layouts and photos are subtle and elegant. Sometimes they are cheesy, and sometimes, like yesterday, this happens: "Do you know who these people are?"

Thomas hands me a wedding announcement, and I give it a once over, then a twice over. "I have never seen these people before in my life."

Then we stand there, heads together, squinting at the photo, perusing the return address. None of the names are familiar, and the closest I can get to placing either of them is that the groom looks freakishly a lot like a nephew of mine.

"It must be one of your students," Thomas concludes.

"No, it isn't. I have never seen either of them before. Names I forget, but I'm great with faces."

"They were married on a beach in Malibu. Sounds like something your private school kids would do."

"I am telling you, I do not know these people. Besides, how would they know our address in Arizona? And why does it have to be someone I know? You're the one with a million cousins you've never met. Remember your cousin who called asking to stay at our house when they were in town, and you didn't know who she was? It's probably someone in your family."

More perusing, more squinting. Now we're flipping it over, double checking inside the envelope, looking for any possible clue.

"It's a girl's handwriting--"

"That doesn't mean anything. The girl always end up doing all the addressing."

"I don't know anyone with the last name of Hampton. He's definitely not related to me."

"Do you know anyone with a daughter named April?"

"I don't think so..."

"Me either...It's a shame that wedding dress doesn't fit better. And I think the bare feet was a mistake. He doesn't have great feet."

"Hmmm..."

"Yeah. No, we don't know these people."

"I guess that means we're not sending a gift?"

Interestingly this is the announcement I'm most likely to never forget.

Don't you hate girls who always pick men over their blogging friends? Yeah, me neither!

I totally get that. I mean who can blame someone for choosing love? I can't, especially when it me! Therefore, I have no time for blogging today. Mr. Wicke and I are going out on the town and finally seeing the Bourne Ultimatum. I know! We are some of the last people in the country to catch it. What can I say? Maybe we are old and lame. But since we haven't even had time to talk to each other for the last month, a dinner and movie night was really out of reach.

However, tonight's the night! So time to pull out my date wear, trusty heels included, my no-fail lipstick, and my fall-down-on-your-knees-and-worship-me perfume. That's right, ladies! I'm gearing up for some romance.

And with that option available...sorry, I've got to stand you up, girls. Hope you don't hold it against me.

Large and In Charge

My new favorite trick: One load of laundry a day. Big or small doesn't matter. Just one load to wash, dry, fold, and put away, and I am laundry free. No huge piles waiting to be done and causing me guilt like back in the day when I trudged through "laundry day." I hated that torturous day. Now my closet stays more organized, I have tons (okay, not tons, but ample) clothes ready to wear at a moments notice, and my laundry room is not an embarrassment. It makes me happy. And I have always despised the laundry beast. Who's in charge now, huh?!

Why I Hate Flying

I have been out of town again! I think it is time to take the wings off my heels and be still for awhile. Home is a good place to be.

Having spent a long weekend in California, I can attest to one true thing: I do not like to fly. The whole experience is unsatisfying to me. My trip home will sum it up.

I waited in the security line for one hour and 5 minutes. When I finally made it to the front, I could see my gate. The plane was loading; there was a hope that I might just make it, especially when the boarding pass checker ushered me into the first class line. I was feeling lucky for a few seconds until the first class line was stopped while they checked 3 wheelchair bound people and their families through. It would have gone a lot smoother if they would have had both metal detectors up and working, but that would have made too much sense. So, because I always get in the slowest moving line, my first class experience was second best as it turned out.

Out of frustration I said to the blue-tooth and suit wearing man behind me, "Kind of ridiculous today, huh?"

"It's working OK for me," he replied coldly.

"Really?! I've been in line an hour!"

"Your kidding?"

"No. See that line that snakes all the way around down there?" pointing to the rest of my coach sharing passengers, at least those I could see without using binoculars.

And then he said, and I quote, "Well, you should have paid more money."

Snobbery like that doesn't sit well with me. I laughed out loud. "Oh, yeah! I should have paid more money!" As in "Why didn't I think of that!"

"You've got to know your worth it."

"Oh! I KNOW I'm worth it. That's not the problem, believe me."

He bugged. Pompous ass.

Then security had to search my bag. They opened it, and, of course, my underwear was on top. Nice. Do you know that at some airports they want you to carry your plastic bag of mini-toiletries through security? They are called toiletries because they are supposed to be private! AND what kind of facial products come in 3 oz. sizes? Seriously.

I also hate walking through that thing barefoot. I just know I'm catching athlete's foot the whole time. It's gross.

Ever noticed how everything is getting smaller on the airplanes? Like the seats and my micro bag of peanuts. I think there might have been three nuts total. Yum. Why even bother?

And if they are that cheap, how do I know they aren't cutting corners elsewhere? Like nuts, bolts, engines, that sort of thing. Basically I am of the belief that we human beings should not be that far off the ground anyway. I always have to say a little prayer during take off. It goes a little something like this: "Please bless this hunk of metal. I do not want to die today." And it is repeated until my blood pressure settles. It's not poetic, but it is sincere. When we finally land I am always relieved. That is until we have to stand in another long line waiting for the doors to finally open. And what is it with the people who can not wait their turn?

So yes, I need to stop traveling for a while. It's making me grouchy. Maybe I just need to go shopping and throw my big wads of money around for awhile. After all, I've got to know I'm worth it.

Let's Giver Her Something to Blog About

Yesterday was a sort of blogless day. I mean I wondered what in the world I could write about because nothing really interesting happened. That is until Family Home Evening.

Now for my non-LDS friends out there--a quick explanation. We Mormons are encouraged to keep Monday nights reserved for our families. We do fun activities together, have a lesson, eat treats, that sort of thing. I think it is a great idea-LDS or not. It's good for our family, and in theory, this evening should be delightful. Sometimes it is. Other times, like last night for instance, it is a disaster.

First, Logan came home from school yesterday thinking that she was 13. I don't know what happened to the sweet girl that left my house in the morning, but she was replaced by a back-talking, moody little thing, and by 7 pm I was on my last nerve with her! Added to that, Griffin was clearly tired and grouchy, and as usual not wanting to sit still at all. I could tell we were in for it. So the FHE Masterplan was get in, get out, and get it done, and it was working until about halfway through.

We'd had a song, said the prayer, and Logan insisted on giving a short "lesson" about love and family (oh, the irony!) and Mr. Wicke and I were just getting to our part about chores and the new plan for the school year (yes, this is the brainwashing portion of FHE) when all of a sudden Griffin, who is seated on his Dad's lap yells, "Stop holding my neck!"

Daddy responds, "I'm not holding your neck."

"Yes you are because my neck is hurting!"

The rest of us are all a bit confused until he suddenly grabs his mouth and begins spewing vomit.

Well, FHE over! Now I am on carpet clean up, Logan is ordered just to stay back, and Mr. Wicke is on kid clean up. But my favorite part of the evening came when Mr. Wicke asks from the other room, "Do you think I should put him in the bath?"

Well, give me a minute. Let's see...he's covered in vomit...hmmm...yeah, why not?"

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a Family Home Evening worth blogging about.