My Mother’s Day celebration began in earnest on Saturday night, with a frothy brightly colored plastic cup full of heaven. Garnished with fruit.
The most perfect way to celebrate. And I chased it down with some delicious Lobster Chowder and Crab Cakes, while sitting outdoors on the river, enjoying the fact that Florida forgot to trot out Spring before hitting me full on with Summer.
So I did what any mature woman would do, I drank a frothy frozen colorful creation on an empty stomach.
And then I really didn’t care that we were sitting right on the river, and Jensen was perched up on a high stool by a nearly nonexistent safety railing. I figured if anyone was going to end up in the river, it would be my son. And since we were celebrating Mother’s Day, Fiddledaddy would take pity on me and go in after him. So I wouldn’t have to get my hair wet.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I’m not a fan of being wet.
The dinner was excellent and I finally loosened up and enjoyed the fact that we were outdoors and on the water. With all 3 of our children. And it was 90 freaking degrees.
In other words, it was a particularly strong drink.
By the time I climbed back into the van to mercifully head home, I was pulling out the requisite trash bag from the little ducky diaper bag dispenser that I keep handy. Because 2/3 of my children are prone to motion sickness.
When Fiddledaddy hopped in beside me, he astutely noticed, “You don’t look so good.”
Just drive. And don’t hit any bumps.
I made it home without incident, and after an hour or so I was fine. But I had to ask the question, WHEN DID I TURN 90?
How is it that I can’t enjoy a cocktail every once in a 100 years without it turning my stomach upside-down. I’ve never been one to drink more than on special occasions (even though I threaten to). But lately my delicate system can’t handle the sugar.
Which brings me to my next point.
Sadly, oh so sadly, I’ve put on 10 pounds since I’ve had my knee issues. And we’ll just add that on to the left over 10 pounds of pregnancy weight from Jensen (WHO IS NOW 5). I only knew this because my stretchypants have threatened a revolt. I was horrified when I finally pushed denial out of the way and climbed on to the scales.
Inactivity and drowning my sorrows with Oreos have only served to push me up a dress size. Or three.
And now it’s time to pay the piper. I always hesitate to publicly state that I’m going back on the wagon for real. Only because the chances that I fall on my face in a public arena are great. Are greater than great.
In a nutshell, this all means that I’m heading back to the gym this week, and, gulp, probably doing the South Beach Diet again. Phase 1. Because evidently Phase 14 isn’t working for me.
I’ll let you know when I start, because I have to actually plan the meals and shop for real food. I wish I could just start dieting/eating healthy without the 2 week cleanse of NO SUGAR and NO CARBS. But I am completely bereft of will power. And I know me well enough to know that without the cleanse, I’m powerless and will not be able to resist the deliciousness of those chocolatey cookies with the creamy center.
I’ll of course be as transparent as possible, even if it means complete humiliation.
My son is cheering me on. Today he told me, “Mom, I think you’re FIFTYPERCENT beautiful.” And then he quickly corrected himself, “I mean FIFTYHUNDRENPERCENT.”
So the way I see it, I can only go up from here.
I hope all of you moms had a wonderful Mother’s Day. One that did not include a barf bag!