I have this ten pounds I struggle with. (Well, really it’s 20, but there’s this ten that’s actually attainable without too much effort, and that other 10 is like training for the Olympics.) I’m at the point where I’ve gained back the ten, and it’s time to hunker down and lose them again. My pants are too tight, and I refuse to buy the next size up.
We eat fairly well around here, but exercise tends to come in fits and spurts. When I can moving on a regular basis, that ten pounds comes back off. And it’s time. But mornings have been crazy and Shep doesn’t nap anymore.
So I think, “He’s four. Surely he can be trusted enough to stay in his room for quiet time.” So today we talk, into his room he goes, and I go downstairs to attempt 30 minutes on the spinning bike.
I heard an awful lot of footsteps during quiet time, but I figured we’d have a stern talk when I finished, because, oh, my pants don’t fit. At minute 23, Shep appears in front of the bike with noticeably wet hair.
“I accidentally put lotion in my hair.”
I see that, my friend. All over every strand of your hair.
I sigh. Finish my last seven minutes, and off to the shower we go.
And this is why I will never have six pack abs.
