, , , , , , ,

It’s that time of year again.  The time of year when I sit back and realize how much faster time is going, count my blessings, resolve to loose more weight and do some serious surveying of age to my body.

This year I cannot look at myself naked in the mirror.  I did a trial run a few days ago, couldn’t do it.  I know what I look like and I’m not happy.  So I’ve been slowly changing my diet (better chance of makng good changes stick) and working on getting a bit more excersize and activity.  I was hoping that instead of going gun-ho on something for a short period of time and burning out I’d be more successful if I went slowly. 

I did however do the pencil test.  Ok so it was a eyeliner pencil, same thing.  This year I didn’t pass the test.  My all natural boobs have moved from my collarbone to where boobs are susspota’ sit.  Which is what I thought I wanted for years, boobs that when I wasn’t wearing a bra didn’t look like I was wearing a pushup.  Sometimes when the grass looks greener on the other side you just need to be patient as you move slowly to the other side.

This has been an insane year.  I have become imersed in being a stay at home mommy / housewife.  Even though I am involved in various businesses and ventures and freelance projects, I’m still home in the afternoons to paint with Megan and watch Michelle discover new things.  My health has not been good and it’s really taken a mental toll on me.  It seems as soon as I was on the tail-end of recovering from one thing, something else would appear.  It’s one of the reasons my “blogging” has been weak this past year, who wants to read a blog about illness?

No longer am I yelling “I want more” as I did when I was younger, I am meeker and more reserved in some aspects of my life.  I am happy in my marriage and my children are a constant source of joy and entertainment for me. 

The facial lines are few and thankfully my skin looks younger than many of my peers.  I have been cursed with more white hair (redheads turn white) than either I or my hairguru will ever admit.  My skinny jeans call to me from the back of my closet and I know better than to try to shoe-horn my way into them.

What will this next year bring?

I wish I could say that I will loose more weight, have to buy smaller skinny jeans and that there will be no financial worries.

I’m not stupid.

I can say that this next year will bring joy, baby drool, chipped manicures, tons of elementary art projects, messy floors, muffin boobs, dog-eared books, cooking disasters, giggles, new adventures, laundry piles and love.