I hate numbers. I hate counting. I hate anything that requires precision. And I LOATHE dieting.

I feel like I should be good at dieting, but I’m not. I’m pretty terrible at it, actually. I think I might be one of those ridiculous people who don’t “count” the bites they took while cooking (a lot of bites), what was put in their cup of coffee this morning (a lot of half & half and real sugar), or even realize they just ate a few handfuls of Blast O’ Butter popcorn out of their husband’s bowl without even thinking about it. I do all of these things, yet expect immediate results when I start a new regimen.

CALORIES CONFUSE ME! What does this even mean? Seriously.

Sometimes I think to myself that it’s silly to worry about a few extra pounds. I should just enjoy myself, whip up more Paula Deen recipes, park my butt on the couch, unbutton my too-tight jeans, and maybe take a nap. But the fact of the matter is, heart disease, diabetes and thyroid problems run in my family. I don’t want my dislike of counting and my love of full-fat cream ruin my future health and quality of life.

It’s time to woman up, learn how to count calories (UGH), force myself to work out, and be disciplined enough to follow some sort of long-term plan. Is it possible to be the kind of mom who cooks such good food that the kids look forward to coming home to it, even after they grow up and have families of their own — while at the same time looking amazingly great? For their age? I mean, without some assistance from a plastic surgeon?

I’m skeptical. But … time will tell.

Today, my little boy let me hold him for awhile like he used to before he learned to walk and run and (sort of) hop. We sat in his room, he put his head on my chest, and for a few precious minutes I soaked in the pure joy of being a mother.

And then … he slept.

I love seeing the end of the week roll around just as much as children love Christmas morning. Today is going to be a GREAT DAY!!!

It’s 5:25 a.m. and I am about to work out with this woman …

 … Mari Winsor. She’s probably in her 60’s, and her body is amazing. I can’t hate her, because she could be my grandmother.

My pants are tight. Too tight. At first I blamed it on the holidays, but now that it’s March … I no longer have an excuse. It’s time to DO something. Yesterday, I got up the nerve to actually weigh myself and see how bad the damage is. I never would have had the guts, but Husband left the scale out so I hopped on before I put it away.

The verdict was not horrible, but not good either. I always think it could be worse. I also always rationalize whatever is happening by telling myself, “I’ve had a BABY, after all.” This is silly, since that was quite some time ago. Like the holidays excuse, it’s no longer valid.

GOAL: I would like to lose about 20 pounds before Maverick’s 2nd birthday which is September 3rd. I think I can do it!

This is what happens when you give the Toddler a box:

This is what my desktop background at work looks like.

It makes me wish I was not at work.

Happy Friday!

I’ve decided that there is no possible way to prepare yourself for life. Your choices are:

1. develop survival skills, or,
2. suck at life.

My set of skills seem to change with each decade. I recall coping in my teen years by eating a lot of comfort food. A lot of french fries, bagels with cream cheese, ice cream sundaes, and pizza. I was fat. I don’t think food is the answer.

Then, in the first half of my 20’s I slept. A LOT. I wish I would have kept track of how much I slept. It was sick.

In the second half of my 20’s, I met Husband. I think this is when my life truly began. It was fun. Ridiculously fun. I drank a lot of coffee and energy drinks. I basked in newlywed bliss. Then about two years later reality started to hit me and I have been scrambling ever since to achieve the right balance of skills … lest I go off the deep end. Here are my current keys to survival:

1. Google.
2. Epsom salt baths.
3. Coffee. I’ll always drink it, and it’s the highlight of my day.
4. Deep breaths.
5. Smiling even when I don’t feel like it (which is often).
6. Taking the time to make myself presentable EVERY SINGLE DAY.
7. Cooking a lot of food on Sunday.
8. http://www.allrecipes.com/
9. Southern Living magazine
10. Keeping up with house cleaning so it doesn’t overwhelm me.
11. Netflix.

Today was Monday which is my least favorite day of the week for obvious reasons.

This one was particularly bad because we sent the toddler to daycare with our fingers crossed, hoping he was well enough to endure it. They were supposed to call us if he seemed not himself, and — to my surprise — the call never came.

When I picked him up today, he looked a lot like this:

Except he wasn’t wearing a suit. But that’s pretty much the look he had on his face. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slap myself for leaving him there all day when he didn’t feel good, or slap the unsuspecting teachers who didn’t think he seemed sick enough to call us. I decided they deserved it more than me, so I hurried out of there before I said or did anything psychotic.

I’m a very nice person usually but I’ve noticed that when it comes to my son, all bets are off. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that.