Dis...

I am still 15 lbs. heavier than I want to be, even though my eating has been near immaculate, my exercise near Olympian. I accept what my body has done and what it can do. I just hate to see that whatsherface has yet to reclaim her derriere and replace my proportional one back where it belongs.

I don't have the energy to truly focus on a diet that will guarantee a slimmer Kendra by summer's end.

I don't have the bandwidth here to capacitate a more formal, abysmally boring discussion of diets in general.

What I do have is this:

Today I pointed to this picture that is in our hallway. Lovey Loverpants looks like a bouncer for a Mafia bar (but dead handsome, no?) and I look half-baked (my allergies were horrible that week!).

Who's that? I asked.

Baby Girl points to Loverpants, "Dis dis Daddy."

Baby Girl points to Mama, "Dis dis Mama Mine," and pulls her greedy hands to her chest on "mine."

I could die fat, but I would die happy.

On Holiday(s)

Lovey Loverpants recently said something that hurt me, although it was not meant to be hurtful. It was actually very perceptive. He said, "I don't think you really like holidays very much." Punch to the gut. First reaction: YOU'RE SO WRONG! I live for holidays. I call off work for holidays (comedy!).

More removed reaction: Why would you say that?

Much much more removed reaction: Maybe you're right.

Having my own family has been as much about fulfilling my own want of connectedness as it has been about fostering that for my husband, for my child. Holidays would come and I would zealously be doing a rain dance around the campfire, chanting and wearing my proverbial feathers and wondering why everyone wasn't following my lead. I was becoming so zealous about HOLIDAY! TRADITION! COME ON JUST LIKE WE DID LAST YEAR ON ARBOR DAY! that I was depressing myself. I was going through the motions, I was filling a jar o' holiday magic that had Swiss cheese holes in it.

So for Father's Day, we kept it low-key. Earlier this week, Loverpants took the day off, we hiked around a cool cemetery with our friends Jane and Martin, and today we just ate some soul food, and Loverpants put together his Dad's day present. And after he was done, he did some push-ups on it, and then Baby Girl demo'd her push-ups, and we all laughed, marking this holiday as one in which we laughed and counted our best blessings, not because we were prompted to do so by Hallmark, or any lame tradition I tried to invent, but because we were together in our tiny living room with shoes and raisins all over the floor. Together, healthy and laughing and so blessed.

Weekend that Was

I won't remember this weekend. Perhaps, even by the end of summer, I won't even remember that Baby Girl puked piles of cumulus cloud-like vomit accented with mandarin oranges (YUM-O!) from Thursday to Saturday. I will barely remember our pasta salad dinner with Amy and Isaac. And even though I obsessed over how post-preggo-chubby I still am while I was sitting on Chris and Erin's back deck (eating lightly salted chips, go figure), those thoughts will no longer be printed on the wet cement of my brain by the time that August rolls by... But if I post just a few pictures here of this last weekend, then maybe I will remember how my heart came close to bursting over and over again all weekend long. She was no saint, but that mother in "Gone Baby Gone" said it right. "My hahht. My hahht is brimmin'."