I feel as of late I have been writing about some serious subjects. Don’t get me wrong, I do not mind being serious (when I have to and I mean, really, when there’s no other option but to be serious). So, last night on the way home from Wal-Mart, my “tween” was listening to Taylor Swift and I pounded out a fun little parody. So here’s the video from my YouTube account. I hope you all enjoy and remember: I am not responsible for deafness as a result of my singing and this is what many would consider a low-budget production.
Once upon a time in suburbia came an evening of bitter cold; and even through the screams of my threenager which were shrill enough to crack the ice cubes in my 7-11 Big Gulp full of Mountain Dew, I was able to hear the sharp fingers of the trees tap against the
not so extraordinary insulated siding of our humble home which is strangely reminiscent of a dwelling one might come across while sitting in front of his or her plasma television, eating a Big Mac, and watching a rerun of “Three’s Company.”
My glistening yellow snuggie proved fallible that evening, as I watched small bumps rise up on my arm reinforcing what I already knew to be true: I was, indeed, cold (
the fact that I was indulging in a triple chocolate Magnum bar may or may not have acted as a contributor to my current state of misery).
Panicked, I hastened to my thermostat. The temperature was already set to 70*. My dilemma seemed impossible:
crank ‘er up one more degree or suffer?
I could feel beads of moisture rising on my forehead as plainly as I could feel the dollars coming out of my checking account as I turned the temperature up not one degree, but two.
I spent the remainder of my evening
drooling over Ian Sommerhalder with no shirt on while simultaneously indulging in a bag of Lay’s potato chips and French union dip balancing my checkbook and reworking my budget.
Before children, I never had a reason to watch what I eat. I indulged myself in BBQ dripping with grease, fantastic cakes made of chocolate with chocolate icing, and (gasp!) deep fried delicacies: Oreos, Snickers, and even soda.
Those days long have passed and for years I have been shamefully hiding in dark closets under the black veil of the vapid night consuming everything from spicy nacho Doritos to Ghiradelli fine chocolates. Many days I find myself absentmindedly pausing at the green light outside of our local Krispy Kreme doughnut store,
— drooling. Eyes wide and staring with intensity at the glowing red light, taunting me into a caloric abyss that one might easily compare to that one guy who has absolutely NO business hanging around an all you can eat buffet.
Now for those of you who expected me to profess an unwavering commitment to counting calories in a futile attempt to burn off that muffin top, I apologize (my muffin top is way too sexy and I don’t for see it going anywhere!). The title of my article might be a bit misleading as my intent would be to literally watch what I eat: after having children, any food I leave lying around for the most minute period of time disappears.
Where did that Hershey’s dark chocolate bar with almonds really go? The answer lies in a pair of big brown eyes staring up at me. The mouth that professes that she did not eat it, lends evidence in the form of a cocoa colored ring.
Hmmm…A bit suspicious?
I will no longer leave a smoking plate of salmon sitting leisurely on the countertop. I will watch it with an unyielding eye, while unloading dishes and taking out the trash. My food will no longer disappear.
With a total of eight mouths in the household, my ability to watch what I eat means the difference between procuring bits of chewed, wet morsels of chicken nuggets off of my toddler’s high chair trey and a good, warm meal.