‘Know your numbers!’ isn’t that what they say? So I decided to get to know my cholesterol number.
But now that we’re acquainted, I can honestly say I don’t like it very much. This is one test I would rather have a low score on. But I got a whopping 7.9. It seems that when they doled out ‘genes for high cholesterol’ I was first in line. Which is kind of a bummer, because usually I’m in the wrong line. You know the one: the one where the cashier is still learning how to work the cash register? Or the one where there’s an extreme couponer in front of you.
Anyway, once I knew my number, I kind of freaked out. I decided then and there that from here on out, no more chocolate Easter bunnies would pass my lips. I donated half of them to my kids, and locked the other half away in our cellar. I like my chocolate nice and mushy, and the cellar is quite cold, so I knew they’ld be safe there. Then I started the slow proces of kicking my chocolate bunnies habit.
But every night at around six o’clock they hopped into my mind. Siting on the couch, nursing my cup of tea, I started to yearn for a piece of chocolate Easter bunny. I lasted two days. Then I snapped. But I didn’t eat a chocolate Easter bunnie! No, because that would have been wrong. Instead on Monday I demolished all the little mars bars in our cookie jar. Tuesday I ate all the twix bars, and on Wednesday I ate all the little nuts bars until there were none.
Since I obviously can not be trusted around candy, I have now forbidden myself to refill our cookie jars. I’ve been on the wagon again since Thursday.
But I think that maybe having half a chocolate Easter bunny isn’t so bad after all.
Not if the alternative is pigging out on candy bars…
Knowing your numbers isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
I got this unexpected present for my family. Are they trying to tell me something?
Almost Wordless Wednesday
‘I don’t want you looking at my timeline!’
It sounds like a line from a futuristic science fiction movie, but I swear it’s straight from my daily life as a mom in the year 2013.
Last Friday I was busy in the kitchen, having my cake and eating it too, when the phone rang. It turned out to be my eldest son’s ex-girlfriend, who dumped him because she wanted to see if the grass was indeed greener on the other side. Even though I don’t feel very warm and fuzzy towards her, I obediently took the phone up to my son’s bedroom. After I’d handed him the phone, I lingered a bit, hoping to catch some interesting soundbites. Yes, I was trying to eavesdrop, so sue me! A mom has got to get her intel somehow.
But I was out of luck, because my son firmly closed the door on me. I cursed my luck and the bad timing for my parenting skills to finally pay off. Because for years I’ve been shouting: ‘Close the door behind you!’ to no avail. And nów when I dídn’t want him to close it, he did… Typical! So I went downstairs, back to my natural habitat: the kitchen.
After about a quarter of an hour my son came down, returning the phone
‘Well?’ I asked gently. ‘What did she want to talk to you about?’
‘She was angry, because she thought I’d been looking at her timeline,’ he shrugged. ‘But I think she had blocked me, or I her.’
‘But that means you cán’t look at her timeline, can’t you?’ I said, because I’m very ‘with it’.
‘No, that’s right. I don’t get it either,’ he mumbled.
And then he went back upstairs.
To his own timeline.