Back on the wagon


Yeah, so I’m starting up again.  Writing, exercise, menu, housework, the whole nine yards.  I’ve been on hiatus for about six weeks, long enough to realize I need that kind of structure to actually reduce some of the stress in my life, and long enough to have probably negated any progress I had heretofore made.

But you know what?  I’ve ridden the guilt train, and I realized I was on it with an invalid ticket.  Now I’m back on the wagon.  It may be slower, but it’s going the right direction.

Today, I made it a priority to get up earlier, get out, walk the dog, make breakfast, take lunch to work, and avoid eating Easter candy or those delicious homemade cookies.

Sounds great, but the reality was a bit shaky. 

The Hailstorm of ’11 hit this morning, rattling the windows, pounding the house, and sending that ever-loving weather radio bonkers at ohmygodit’searly o’clock.  Pair that with a five-year-old who decided she couldn’t sleep without me, but who became the World Famous Flailing Dynamo sending random limbs into my face, chest, and side all night, and you got one heck of a combination for insomnia.

To be fair, though, I did only snooze the alarm for ten minutes, and then I was up and walking the dog.  I could feel all the tendons in my legs complaining from disuse.  They twanged and ached with each stride, generally informing me that they had not been stretched or really even used in far too long.  My word to summarize my walk: ouch.

Breakfast nearly burned on the stove.  I had the bright idea to go wake up my seven-year-old while the eggs were cooking so that I could give her eye drops.  Point 1) Never assume that you can wake a seven-year-old in the time it takes to cook an egg. 2) Never count on anyone opening their eyes to accept eye drops first thing in the morning.  Yeah, well.  I live and learn.

I had nothing to take for lunch.  I’d planned to go grocery shopping over the weekend, but instead I got the kids’ room really cleaned – cleaned to the point that they can keep it clean for the foreseeable future.  And then there was Easter.  No shopping is going to happen on Easter.  So, I surveyed the dismal offerings of my bare, pre-payday pantry, and concluded that I could either bid a fond farewell to the wagon, or I could get creative.  I brought a can of tuna,* a hard-boiled egg (yes, yesterday was Easter), an apple, and a baggie of carrots.  Then, when I got to work and looked at it together, I realized it was tuna salad: the hard way.

The Tootsie Rolls of Doom.  So, here I am, looking at my desk, and I’m caught in a staring match with the other half of the can of Tootsie Rolls.  Without thinking, I pick them up and nearly pop the top off the can.  Then I look at the “nutrition” facts, and quickly realize that 6 little Midgies are not worth 140 calories.  The Tootsie Rolls are still giving me the evil eye, but I have plans for distributing them to some raving chocoholics.

I sent my husband shopping today with a list to fill out my menu, so I’m going to have the right things to eat without excuses.  I’m going to go back to the gym and take my kids to the swimming pool.  I’m going to finish sewing that dress that’s partially made.  I’m going to clean and organize my room.  I’m going to finish that really awful book I started and return it to the library.  I’m going to take my kids to Half-Price Books and reward them for great behavior and effort at school.  I know that the week ahead looks pretty sunny, even if it was hailing this morning. 

Climbing back on board the wagon is an act of willpower.  It’s so much easier to sit in the grass and watch from the sidelines or slide into a cabin on the Whistlestop Guilt Tour.  But, hey, since when have I ever done things the easy way?


One response »

  1. *Penance food. Canned tuna is one of the most inhumane tortures, and it is something reserved usually for repentance of sins against God, humanity, food, you name it. Canned tuna is a sad, sorry excuse for sustenance, snubbed even by Spam, Spaghetti-O’s, and Chef Boyardee Ravioli, the head mobsters and kingpins of the canned food mafia.

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