If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, a teen, a tween, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 3 dogs, and a whole lot of love.

Family Story Pic

Family Story Pic


Thursday, December 17, 2015

Happy Birth-weigh to me

Last week I turned 44 in an emotionally uneventful transition.

This is the point I've reached in my life. It's good.
Life. Is. Good.

I think something happens in your 40's. You start accepting what is, and stop worrying about trying to change what isn't. You're hopefully at a place in life where you completely trust God to lead you, even if you don't know exactly where you're going. And you're still young enough to pursue the activities you love, yet old enough to stop caring what anyone else thinks about that...said the 44 year old Zumba instructor and writer of snark.

So when I awoke the morning of my birthday to a present from my husband and I opened it to find a new bathroom scale that blinks red if I gain or green if I lose, my reaction was nothing like the time he gave me a weedwacker for Mother's Day.

No, this was a confirmation that we both know and accept what I am...a scale addict.
And my poor old faithful Weight Watcher's scale was put through the ringer a few months ago when I packed it in my carry-on bag to take on vacation. The departure flight wasn't that big of deal. I mean, when they discovered a scale in my bag, I was spread-eagled, frisked and searched everywhere...like, every.where...but my scale remained unviolated. On the trip home, however, my bag was flagged, my scale was confiscated, x-rayed and thoroughly swabbed while I was interrogated by a TSA agent, who 1. couldn't seem to comprehend the life of a scale addict and 2. couldn't understand how it's possible to own a Weight Watcher's scale and not belong to the Weight Watcher's program.
Um, their scales show ounces, okay?! How is this confusing?!

Regardless, my scale and I were both traumatized, I think it's pretty obvious that I was weigh-cially profiled, and I'm still waiting on my invitation to the white house. Whatever.

Back to my new scale. I got it on Thursday. It blinked green on Friday. It blinked green on Saturday. (Talk about enabling an addiction.) I'd lost 7 whole ounces and as I dressed for my daughter's baby shower Saturday morning, my jeans felt looser, I was sure. So I think out of everyone in attendance, I might've been the most shocked when, as she opened her gifts, my dining room chair collapsed from under me and sent my ass crashing onto our new hardwood floors. Seriously, one minute I was sitting there. The next minute, I was just inches away from being irreparably gored by the leg of my own chair in front of a room full of witnesses.
So, okay. I'm 44. We live a family freak show, I document it for their future enjoyment, and normal does not exist in our world. 
This, I've come to accept. 
What I found a little harder to swallow was when my husband said,
"You've gotta be more careful...your days of dancing for money are numbered."

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