Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A Dangling Carrot

 Like the majority of women in this country, I have constant and rarely reached health/weight-loss/get fit, (whatever you want to call it) goals.  I go to the gym regularly, but I rarely change my routine, or work hard enough to make much of a difference.  I like to eat a lot of healthy food, but I also eat an equal amount of junk food.  These make for a problem when it comes to reaching my goals and looking better.
Today, in an effort to motivate me a little more, I bought a pair of pants that are currently too small for me.  Goal pants, as I like to call it.  The thing is, this is not a new tactic for me, and the worst part is, it's never worked in the past, I just end up donating my never-been-worn-goal pants to someone else who is fortunate enough to not need to make the same goals as myself.
So here I am yet again, with goal to fit into a pair of pants that I bought knowing full well that I'll have to do some sufficient hiney shedding before I can comfortably claim them as mine.  Hopefully they'll still be in style when that day comes.  I'll try to keep you posted if it happens, perhaps there will even be a picture featuring my legs in said pants.
Does anyone else do this to themselves?

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Not Dreaming of a White Christmas

I never liked the song I'm dreaming of a White Christmas, because I've never liked snow and winter.  I like sunshine and warmth. 
Upon moving to Ohio, I had no idea that the sun liked to hide for the winter, last winter it didn't show it's glorious face for what felt like 4 months straight. 
Today I received a Christmas miracle from my friend the sun. 
December 24th, the sun is shining!  There is no snow, and the sky is blue with a high of 40 degrees. That's my kind of winter.

Monday, December 12, 2011

words

Gracie has a growing vocabulary. But sometimes her words require a little translating. She says :
Momma= momma
Momma= play with me
momma= get that
momma= i'm hungry
momma= pick me up
momma= let's go
momma= hi dad