Rambling...

Earlier this week my level of dissatisfaction disgust with my physical appearance finally reached critical mass. Groan... I can't resist a bad pun. I decided to make some changes in what I eat. Some drastic changes.

Who am I kidding? I went on a diet. A diet for New Years. I know, I know...my originality is overwhelming. The diet has a name but I'll spare you the details in exchange for no trite comments about "diets not working" or "just exercise and eat right." I exercised this week. One whole time.

Thankyouverymuch.

And for the last five days I have measured and counted and planned my meals and drank my weight in water. I have been very, very good. But tonight I ate Wendy's. And an ice cream sandwich. Because sometimes a week with four children, albeit wonderful children, makes a Mama want some grease. And chocolate. Especially when the week has been so lacking in toddler-free time that Mama hasn't been able to write one lousy blog post.

And for those of you now thinking it's obvious my problem is I use food for comfort...Well, duh. I am years ahead of you on that revelation.

This morning I started the arduous process of un-Christmassing my home. Which, it turns out, I enjoy even less than the process of Christmassing my home. Oh, I love having a cheery decorated house at the holidays. It's just that something of those warm fuzzies gets lost when your tradition involves flinging things around your house, in desperation, five days before the holiday.

That being said, I think most of us agree that taking down the decorations is the greater of the two evils. Especially when a wide-eyed three year old stands before you asking,

"Why you taking away our Critmas tree, Mama?" as if I were not just Grinch-like - which we've established - but the actual Grinch. The next thing I know I'll be tying antlers to the dog and throwing the whole holiday off a cliff.

Suddenly the defense, "Beck said it would be very bad luck to leave the tree up until tomorrow" seemed somewhat lacking. Even the fact that it had been a crispy, brown fire hazard for a week no longer seemed reason enough to remove this treasure from our home. However, despite Ben's impressive guilt-trip powers, we dismantled the tree and properly disposed of it tossed it into the woods behind our house. Which is not like a cliff at all. For the record.

And then Ben and I headed off for the afternoon to our second very fun, very loud, birthday party in as many days. And when I returned home tired and starving, I found comfort in a sloppy fried chicken sandwich & cup of chili that weren't even that appetizing. But they were very comforting. Go figure.

And tomorrow night - for those of you wondering if I'm planning to stay on this wagon - I am cooking salmon and spinach. Which I love, but don't find comforting at all.

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Incidentally, yesterday's birthday party involved a couple old friends/acquaintances standing around talking about my blog. As in, some of them have actually read it. And each time it was mentioned my embarrassment level rose until I found myself wanting to crawl under a table.

Which was an enigmatic response, in retrospect. Because, while I know many bloggers keep their writings separate - even secret - from their real life relations, I never have. I offer it up to anyone who would like to read it. Eagerly, I admit, sometimes even proudly.

So why, when I find out that people I know actually do read it, do I find myself questioning what I write? And suddenly feeling it's silly, sentimental babble not worth reading at all?

It seems I am setting myself up to feel insecure, which is an area where I don't generally need any help.