Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Why Exercise is BAD

One of my new year's resolutions is to exercise 20 minutes everyday. Last spring I went to the Bahamas and in the summer I went to Hawaii and both times I was shocked and appalled at what I look like in a swimsuit. It had been a LONG time since I had put on a swim suit. Apparently with very good reason. It was not a pretty sight.

But I have two reasons to slim down.

I have a doctors appointment in March and they always weigh me. While I don't own a scale I do worry about this weigh in. Because my doctor has this skinny little MA who actually does the weighing and then gives me a spiel about how women "our age" have a difficult time losing weight. Like we're in some club together. (She probably wears a size 2.) Plus, I don't want to be one of those women who are classified as "our age" yet. That's what my mom says to my Aunt MaryEllen. People who talk about other people "our age" are old. Or at least older than me.

So it is discouraging on two counts. I get to hear my weight, and I get to be reminded about how I'm not getting any younger.

My second reason is that My niece, Brittanie invited me to go on cruise with her to Mexico this summer. So, once again I must pull on my swimsuit. Or not go. Yeah right.

So I am exercising. But here's the thing.

I AM one of those women who are "our age!" I know this because every time I start to exercise, things start to pop. My knees mostly, but all my joints are joining in the chorus by the time I'm cooling down. After my shower today I walked downstairs and my ankles and knees popped with every step. As I type, my wrists are popping. The vertebrae in my back pop as I sit down or stand up.

When did my body get older than my mind? I don't recall this process. It happened when I wasn't looking and I am not prepared for the consequences.

But, come hell or high water, in June I will be able to wear a swimsuit.

I'll still cover up because let's face it, the only thing scarier than my body in a swimsuit is my Utah tan uncovered.

Monday, January 19, 2009


The fineprint to this blog is, A) my room mates are AWESOME! and B) I have learned my lesson

I don't cook. I never eat anything that can't be cooked (AKA microwaved) and eaten in one dish. More often than that, I just hit the local drive through. I have terrible eating habits and it's beyond me how I am still alive. But that is another issue for another blog.

Because of my eating habits, I really never go into our kitchen. Really. Ask my room mates. They are used to this. If the garbage needs taking out, they just tell me. If they need paper towels or stuff, they tell me.

But with the new year, I thought I'd try something new, like eating regularly, and eating stuff other than junk. But I still only make easy stuff, like pasta. It requires only a couple of dishes to prepare if you do it right.

That's when I discovered the dirty dishes in my kitchen . . . meaning, I don't think anyone does them on a regular basis.

This is something I had never really noticed before. Because I only ever used one dish, I always washed and dried it by hand rather than let it sit. I figure this way, I was doing my share of the chores. This last week has been different. About four of the 50 dishes in the sink were mine. (Okay, I may be exaggerating a little, but only about my room mates' portion. I really only had four dishes in the sink. I hate dishes and will do anything, barring eating with my hands, to keep the dish count down).

Anyway, I think my room mates are secretly glad to have me in the kitchen, doing a fourth of the chores. Because the day after I started using the kitchen, and the dishes started to stack up, and I started to wonder how this particular chore was assigned . . .

They all left town.

So, after eating a meal of fettuccine, I cleaned up after fried eggs, broiled chicken, something else with pasta, something with cheese, and several bowls of cereal.

I think I have just been sent a message.

I'm glad I don't live with members of the Mafia.

Friday, January 16, 2009


Okay. So everyone in the known universe has at least read Twilight. And they all have opinions about it. Even my classroom of 10 year old children, which sort of frightens me.

I read Twilight right after my roommate did. While she was reading it she would share little tidbits with me and we would not swoon so much as laugh until tears came.

He watches her sleep? Don't they call that stalking?

He's too good looking to be a model? Has anyone seen the models these days?

He has an alabaster brow! Someone has been reading too much Anne of Green Gables.


You know. Stuff like that. So I was kind of biased when I read it by myself. And it took me a month when it took everyone else about a day.
But I saw the movie, and I didn't think it was half bad. Bella didn't whine as much. The vampires were pretty cool. It was shorter than the book, so, plus. So I thought I would try reading it again. And I now have a different opinion.

I think I would have loved Twilight . . . 20 years ago. New Moon and Eclipse were okay. Again, as a teenager, I would have probably followed Edward Cullen to the ends of the earth. However, What the heck was Breaking Dawn about?! I could have written that book better. One of my students could have written it better. They just couldn't have spelled it. It was a waste of paper, ink and my time.

Also, I don't see his attraction to Bella. If I whined like that, I would never ever have a date. My suggestion for Edward would be this: she smells so good? Eat her. You've got an eternity to find someone less annoying. And, no Breaking Dawn, so plus.

But after venting this over and over and hearing people tell me they were shocked. (They were sure that out of everyone, I was the one that was supposed to love these books. After all, I'm the one who loves books, right?) I realized that I also have some books on my shelves that are pretty stupid that I read over and over. Because I love them. And no one else would understand. These books have no brain nutritional content whatsoever. But their spines are bent and the covers are torn. So, to those of you who love Twilight and can't believe I don't, I give you my list of marshmallow books to show you I too am shallow:

  1. Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife: a sequel to Pride and Prejudice - this book is so poorly written and yet, I just finished it for the third time. Who among us hasn't wondered what happened after the wedding? At least now I know which boring parts to skip (anything to do with Wickham).
  2. Prince Joe (and the rest of the Tall, Dark, and Dangerous series) - These were some Harlequins I came across years ago at a used bookstore. The author has become rather famous and I like her newer books too but these are her first and best books. They are silly and sappy and corny. They are the only Harlequin Romances I own, back when a kiss was the steamiest thing in the book. Sigh.
  3. Susanna and Caroline (and the rest of the Sunfire series) - When I was 12 I ordered Susanna from a Scholastic book order. It was a really thick book and it was about a 16 year old girl during the civil war. I ordered Caroline later. It was about a 16 year old girl who followed her brothers to the Gold Rush. There's a little romance a little of adventure and a lot of history. I read them until they were in tatters. Susanna's cover fell off and it was in two pieces. Then I ordered it on line a few years ago for $20. Yep. $20 for a paperback. People are collecting these books now. There are 32 books in this series and I own and love them all, but Susanna and Caroline are still my favorites.
  4. The Other Boleyn Girl - I know this is thought of as a very good book by some people. It is even read in book clubs and the "themes" are discussed (I ask, what themes?). But it really is just about Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII and how dysfunctional that whole place was and I love to read it. I love that Mary Boleyn gets what she deserves (land, money, family) and Anne Boleyn gets what she deserves (dead). Who can complain with a happy ending?

Maybe there was no more room in my brain for the corny and the sappy when I first read Twilight. Maybe Twilight came right when my brain had reached it's capacity.

Or maybe not.

I've been thinking I might want to pick up book one again.

Still, should heroes and pixie dust ever mix?

Thursday, January 8, 2009


As you all know from my last post, Max was born Saturday. I neglected to say that he was a healthy 8 lbs. 11 oz. and 19 inches long. And, of course, he is adorable. But so are all my nieces and nephews. I mean, have you seen the pictures?! :)

Unfortunately, Sammy had a terrible cold when Max was born so he couldn't really be near the baby. It's a hard thing trying to get a 3 year old excited about a baby brother, and then refusing to let him touch his brother. But seriously, the kid was SICK. I went down on Sunday to stay with the kids while Rob was with Erin. And Sam, who is usually hell on wheels, laid on the couch with me all day.

This was taken at the hospital when we visited Erin and Max on Saturday. Can you see the oozing? This kid just looks sick.

I took a personal day on Monday and went down again to help. Sam was a lot better. still running at the nose a little, but getting into trouble and having temper tantrums, so, situation normal. My job was to keep the 3 year old whirlwind busy and relatively quiet while Erin slept after that first night home. All you mothers know that's not the funnest experience.

After watching Kung Fu Panda for the third time in two days, I desperately pulled out my MP3 player. (There's only so much I will or can take). Sam loves music and he fell in love with the MP3 player.

And I got these shots. What you can't see is him bouncing to the music. He would say "next" when he didn't like or know the song. It had to have rhythm.

His favorite? Route 66 and Life is a Highway from the Cars soundtrack.

He looks so "cool." Such a dude.

This is Sam singing along. He knew every word.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Where the Wild Things Are!

"The night Max wore his wolf suit
and made mischief of one kind and another

His mother called him "Wild Thing!"

"And now! Let the Wild Rumpus start!"

Max Robison Wells

Nephew #7
Grandkid #12

Friday, January 2, 2009


Last year between us we had 6 new calendars after all the Christmas stuff was given and gotten. This year we had none. So yesterday, Jennie and I went out to get one for the kitchen. If you recall, last year we had a Studs and Spurs calendar. We were very sorry to see that particular calendar go. I think Jennie saved Mr. May.

But we found a calendar by a woman named Anne Taintor that we fell in love with. I actually gave it as a gift last year, so we got the new edition this year. This isn't your Mary Englebreit calendar. It's sarcastic, and very funny. I thought I would share with you a few of the months but I had to go online to get the pictures. Did you know they make calendars too large to scan? It's like they know someone is going to break their copyright.

(I'm not sharing all the months. Then what would I blog about in August, November and December?):

January: this just makes the picture a little scary.
February: My question . . . trial for what?

March: Very appropriate that this is my birthday month, eh?

April: Seriously, this reminds me of my roommate who is a natural blonde and doesn't have any gray hair. We hate her.May: I wonder who "plan A" is.June: :)


September: We are thinking this should be framed and hung in our living room.

October: I love how tidy and organized the fridge is. Raise your hand if your fridge EVER looks that neat.