the Easter Bunny is not mentally challenged

Yesterday was Easter, and I hid eggs and baskets for my three kids ’cause even though my oldest is seventeen, she will still get out of bed early for jelly beans.  My four-year-old woke first and immediately found a chocolate egg.  She began searching and had amassed quite a stock-pile before her siblings came downstairs.

My son, who just turned fifteen, started looking for his basket, which I had hidden in the kitchen cupboard, but he kept looking past it and couldn’t seem to find it.  In his frustration, he began making disparaging remarks about the Easter Bunny, knowing of course that I AM THE EASTER BUNNY.

Looking straight at me he asked, “Do you think the Easter Bunny hid anything upstairs?”

“No,” I replied.  “I am sure the Easter Bunny stayed down stairs.”

“Why?  Was she too lazy to hide eggs upstairs?”

“No, I am sure she is a very hard-working bunny who didn’t want to wake your lazy butt up.”

“Why would she have woken me up?  Is she really fat with giant thumping feet?”

“No,” I insisted.  “She is quite a skinny bunny with very sweet little feet.”

“No, I’m pretty sure she is fat.  I bet she had a big bag of jelly beans and while she was filling these plastic eggs she probably ate half the bag of candy herself.”

I had no defense for this accusation.  I had indeed eaten some jelly beans.

During our conversation, my son continued unsuccessfully to find his basket.  “She’s mentally challenged, isn’t she?” he said.  “The Easter Bunny is a little off.”

“I suggest you quit talking smack about the Easter Bunny or she is going to eat the ears off your chocolate rabbit.”

Cole inhaled loudly, “CANIBAL!” he sneered.


Broken Arm Update:

I have mentioned many times that my son broke his arm several weeks ago.  He was due to have his cast taken off next Friday.  On Saturday, we were running errands and Cole decided to stay in the car while I ran into the store.  When I returned he had removed his cast by using the serrated edge of the car key.  “You were gone a long time,” he said.  “I got a little bored.”

Winter Weight Update:

I have officially lost three pounds and officially gained one pound back.  On the upside, I had my body fat tested and only 23% of my body is fat.  That means that under all this cellulite I am totally ripped!





winter weight update


On Monday, I confessed that I had gained three pounds this winter.  (YES!  I know I actually gained five pounds; you really don’t need to remind me).


I wanted to update you on operation eat-less-candy.  I spent the week depriving myself of peanut butter cups and when I got on the scale this morning, I had lost ZERO pounds.


Frustrated, I did what every slightly vain forty-four-year-old woman would do; I took a Prozac and bought a new scale.  Scale number two blinked its digital display cheerfully and declared that I had NOT gained three or even five pounds this winter; I GAINED SIX!


I am not going to let this get me down.  (That is not totally true; I will probably mope for another hour or so).  I am going to continue with my CRP (candy reduction plan) and I may add a few other foods to the list, like delicious bread and gouda cheese, but I draw the line at spaghetti.  I am not fricken’ giving up spaghetti; that would be barbaric.




winter weight

I am not the kind of woman who obsesses over her weight.  In general, I am pretty lucky, with a fairly fast metabolism, and tend to gain weight slowly, if at all.  I rarely weigh myself but did hop on the scale yesterday, and discovered I had gained three pounds (FINE! I gained five pounds, you’re all so critical.)

When I told my husband I gained three (or five) pounds, he brushed me off by saying, “You hide it well.”

YOU HIDE IT WELL!  You hide it well is like saying, “Yes, your are an enormous elephant, but clothes camouflage your heft.”

So I said, “Yeah! Well, you have a receding hairline, and you can’t hide that AT ALL!”

Ok, I didn’t actually say that because I didn’t think of it until right this minute, damn!  What I did was take a Hershey’s bar from the cupboard, sit down next to my husband on the sofa, and proceed to slowly eat the candy.  perhaps not the best strategy in hind sight.

This conversation reminded me of a similar event with my first husband.  Those of you who follow my blog know that Scott died in 2005.  I remember a time when I told him I had gained three pounds.  His response was to laugh and say, “Three pounds?  I can poop three pounds.”

OK, I know that’s gross, but it totally made me laugh, although it did not make me feel better about my weight gain.

So, I am going to try to lose my three (or five) pounds during the month of March.  Exercise is not my issue; I go to the gym all the time.  My issue is a rather serious candy adiction.  In the past when I have decreased my candy intake, I simply increased my brownie intake, but this time I am going to attempt to eat only one serving of candy a day; that equates to five chocolate Dove Promises.

I will keep you posted on my progress, but if I fall short, you have to support me, and I don’t want to hear that all my followers had a party and placed bets on my failure.  That would hurt my feelings and force me to down a bag of chocolate.

my resolution lasted 36 hours

I was recently in Paris where I ate a caramel éclair every day.  I believe God called me to eat these éclairs because if he didn’t want me to eat them, he wouldn’t have located a bakery right under the apartment we rented.

There are two notable pieces of information that stem from the éclair experience.  First, while in Paris, I did eat a lot of pastries, but I also walked 843 miles a day while carrying a thirty-five-pound three-year-old, as a result, I didn’t gain any weight (Yeah, ME!).  Second, I still feel a bit bad about the éclair binges, so I made a New Year’s resolution to eat less sugar.

Yesterday, I had to run to Target to grab a couple of things, and I found Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in the shape of Christmas bells on sale 70% off, which is basically free candy.  Forgetting my resolution, I threw a bag in my cart.  In the car on the way home, I ate six.  FINE, I ate fourteen, but they were MINI, OK?  It’s not like I ate fourteen full-sized cups (geesh, get off my back).

Here is my question.  If one LEGITIMATELY forgets her resolution and eats fourteen pieces of candy (FINE, I ate sixteen.  Damn-it!)  Does it still count as a broken promise?  I really need to know.  If it does count as a broken promise, then to hell with it; I am going to eat the rest of the bag.

candy wrappers.  Stop judging me!

candy wrappers. Stop judging me!