J-E-L-L-O

I've been trying to be healthy. Especially after the 6 week binge-fest I'll refer to as "the holidays". I know it's February, and most people have long forgotten about the time spent mingling with friends and family members and stuffing thier faces with all kinds of home-cooked goodies, but my jelly-belly hasn't. It's my daily reminder of my own personal little holiday tradition. I don't know about you, but I pretty much use the holidays as a convenient excuse to indulge myself to the extreme. Eat and drink like a mindless drone -- 12 pieces of fudge for breakfast; crack a beer by noon. (Which would be OK if that once-a-year time didn't span 6 weeks. Yee-HA!!! It's Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year's time!) Which brings me back around to my opening statement.

Since then, I've been trying to be healthy. I've been working out 5 days a week. I've been counting my calories. I've been making good progress. And I've been feeling pretty darn good about it. Until last night, when in an effort to save some time I dragged the boys into the shower with me. (What can I say......? It's efficient.) And then, without warning, Gibson spun around to face me. It happened all of a sudden, as he was right in the middle of scrubbing his hair. Catching me totally off-guard, since I was right in the middle of scrubbing my own hair, he grabbed 2 handfuls of my stomach and jiggled it all around. "Hey mom!" he shouted. "Look how jiggly your belly is! That's funny! Look how it shakes!!"
My response? "Aaaaack!!! Quit shaking my belly-fat and fininsh scrubbing your hair!!!!!!" I peeled his fingers off my stomach and made him resume his washing. And then I watched as all of my "I'm-lookin'-good" smugness washed itself down the drain with the Suave.