Monday, February 06, 2006

Monday Monday, na na, na na na naaa...Something something good to me...

Forgive me the Mammas and Pappas' song. I spent my childhood in a Scooby Doo type van, travelling the country with my hippy parents.

In the far off distance, I can hear my Mom snort her Diet Coke. We had more of a "Green Acres" childhood, really. Only our pig Itchy wasn't as smart as Arnold. There is nothing more fun to a lightweight teen than trying to corral a 300lb boar who thinks he's a lappig. Ah, the good old days. (They were! No sarcasm, real or imagined!!) Mom is also far and away a much better cook than Zsa Zsa. I'd rather have leftovers there than anything 'fresh' here.

Fry's first mit is done! Plus, I knitted a few inches more on the gray sweater this weekend. Blogger won't let me post pictures just now, I'll wait until later.

We goofed around on Saturday, went to church on Sunday, then to Sonic for ice cream. I know. "Don't run crying to me when you are too heavy to run." Later on today, I'll grab my proverbial bootstraps and do the numbers thing for Monday. Yechh. Some bad numbers I've discovered over the weekend are my blood pressure ones. Usually, the pressure is so low, people hold the mirror over my mouth to make sure I'm alive. Yesterday, the machine read 147/95, then 137/87, then 134/85. Yikes! Of course, I'm such a wonderfully calm and rational person. Not one for melodrama, oh no! My thoughts go like this: High blood pressure, migraines, stroke and aneurism, heart attack at 41, gray hair, I'm doomed! Thus, when Fry comes home and I'm curled up in the fetal position, she's sure to ask, "Do you want me to get you a Diet Pepsi? How about a popsicle?" If I'm totally pathetic, I'll drink the soda out of a straw while still curled until and after Husband gets here. Then, during which time Fry has gleefully stepped over me, jumped on computer to play, and flipped the TV to Nickleodeon, Hubby's in the door and asking, "Zoloft? Food? Diet Pepsi?" My saying "Red Lobster," never works. The little bugger is on to my con.

Americans treat exercise as a verb, go exercise, to exercise, make myself exercise. Meanwhile, the British treat the activity as a noun as in, take exercise like take a pill, take a rest. My thinking is when one has been slapped upside the head with proof of how emulating Silly Putty can affect your health, yeah, 'taking' exercise is totally appropriate.

If I can just figure out how to make taking exercise as much fun as taking a nap, I'll be set!

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Slow and Steady Wins the Race