On Monday morning I hung my sheets and assorted other bits of laundry on my new clothes line to dry. Now it is Friday. I am just putting my bed sheets in the linen closet this evening. I was excited to sleep on the sheets and inhale their sweet scent but after a week of rain the weather has changed quite a bit and now it is too hot out to sleep on fleece sheets. My brother in law, Meteorologist Mike, tells me I'll have good laundry weather throughout the weekend and into Monday. I will try my lighter sheets tomorrow morning even though I am aware that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results each time.
Speaking of which, it has come to my attention that I need to drop a few pounds. I have been dropping a few pounds on and off for twenty years now. The time has come to do it again. Today I tried on some pants my grandmother gave me to wear until I lost the weight from this last pregnancy (how an eight pound baby packed sixty pounds on my body is beyond me) and they were too tight. But that isn't why I'm beginning a diet. It is too easy to rotate the two pair of leggings and two pair of sweat pants that I CAN fit into to have that motivate me. I'm also not shedding the blubber because of Ariel's little helpful hints or offers to diet with me or teeny tiny bikini purchases (if I got back to my birth weight I couldn't fit into those silly things, and I was a very small baby, not even six pounds). My husband isn't a pay the mortgage on a house he no longer resides in kind of guy and he isn't going to fork over alimony just because I've become chubby. So, no motivation there either. I don't feel particularly unhealthy and I'm pretty sure I pushed out what was left of my vanity with Baby Dorothy.
So how on Earth has Mrs. Jones found the motivation to shed unwanted weight for the umpteenth time??
My mother. My mother was whining about her muffin tops and how hard she was finding it to care long enough to lose them (she has been dieting on and off for almost forty years). I suggested we diet together, more to fill the gap in the conversation than anything else. She brightened as she pondered a The Biggest Loser sort of situation then told me she couldn't possibly because she wouldn't want to make me feel bad. She quickly apologized, that hadn't come out the way she meant it, but it was too late. The spark had been lit. I had found the motivation I had been waiting six months for. Good old fashioned being told I couldn't do it. Spite. Sure I'll be happy when I can fit into the contents of the garbage bag labeled Lora's Normal Clothes in the attic, and sure I'll feel more confident in my ability to maintain my title of the current reigning Mrs. Ariel Jones, but I'll be laughing my skinny tush off when I can sit thirty less pounds of myself in front of my mother. I know it is pathetic and even a bit sick, but it is all I've got right now and I'm running with it!
Wish me luck!
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