It is a good thing that I never have tried drugs or tasted alcohol. I am thinking that I would be an easy person to become addicted and an even harder person to kick the addiction. Why do I say this? Because of cookie dough and babysitters. Weird, I know.
I am on a constant loose weight kick. Not because I think that I am overly obese or have significant body issues (minor, maybe. significant, no.) but because I refuse to buy new jeans and want to be a weight that I can fit into any pair of pants in my closet. I usually do good for a while and then I start to realize nothing fits again and I have to jump back on the wagon. I have been doing really well the last two weeks except for one thing. Cookie dough. In three days I have managed to consume almost an entire tube (not the small ones, the giant ones) of cookie dough. I know that I have eaten it all too because Mack hates cookie dough. I can't help it. It is so good. It calls my name at all times. Oh well, soon enough the tube will be gone and then I can move on with my life.
But what do I think I am addicted to even more than cookie dough? Babysitters. Mack and I hired a babysitter for the first time ever this last Saturday night. We have gone out only twice without kids since we had Brisbane. Pathetic, we know. Both of those times though the kids were watched by family or awesome friends. But this time we hired a teenager that we had to pay. Selecting a babysitter is hard work. Then figuring out how much to pay them is even harder work. But we bit the bullet. Now I want to hire a babysitter every weekend. It was an awesome feeling, to walk away from my house, know my kids were being taken care of, and do something that we wouldn't get to do if the kids tagged along...go to the movies.
I guess it really is the simple things in life, huh? And if I have to have some addictions I would say that I could do a lot worse than cookie dough a babysitters.
This is the beauty (and I do use that word loosely) of having a tumor in your abdomen. The fact that my pants don't fit anymore... This could be too much cake. It could, just as easily, be a growing mass. (Here's hoping that it's at least a little bit of both. Because I'll tell you what I don't want - to go to the dr and find out all of this belly matter is cake. Because then I'll have to stop eating the cake, so I can fit into my clothes.)
ReplyDeleteAnd I can only imagine how a night out with Mack, sans children, felt. I say that you should declare a date night every weekend! At least for the summer. Because while he's not in school, you should enjoy that time together. And that's my opinion (and yeah, I know you didn't ask for it - but you know me... you get it anyway). :-)
I take your opinion to be hugely important. And after Boards I may in fact institute the date every weekend rule. I actually appreciate you bringing it up so that I can use you as proper justification for it later.
DeleteUnfortunately/Fortunately for me, no tumor to blame for my pants not fitting. But I do like to see that you have discovered yet another silver living of "The Cancer"!