Monday, May 30, 2011

Everyday Life: Like Free Pizza Coupons

No less than three coupons boasting three free pizzas have become adornments atop the baker's rack in our front hallway.

{Coincidentally, it's the rack you must pass to go almost anywhere in the house.}

We haven't had a free pizza coupon since we moved into our house three years ago, but all of the sudden, right at the end of May, right when I'm serious about shedding the last of my unhealthy pounds, three magically appear in the mailbox.

I'd caught some sort of viral infection from one of the two cutest petry dishes this side of the Mississippi last Wednedsay, and I'm still suffering from some sort of weird fatigue and sore tonsils that can turn me almost instantaneously from quiet and tired mommy into if-you-ask-me-one-more-time-where-we're-going-I'm-going-to-FAREEAK-out-on-you mommy.

You know -- she's some close relative to the mommy who loses it on a preschooler who has yanked the dog's tail for the tenth time in so many minutes SOLEY because she's in a state of irritation from having to redeem a million requests of her when she really has to pee so badly that she doesn't even realize that she has to pee. But she really does.

So - yeah - that mommy.

As I drag my feet through the hallways picking up clothes strewn about like a bunch of naked hippies live here -- oh, and today it's, like, 90 degrees, so we really could be naked hippies-- those pizza coupons screaming Free! Free! Free! seem like they should maybe, maaaaybe, MAYbe be redeemed.

In those moments, of tossed about clothes and sore tonsils throbbing, those free pizza coupons actually seem like a really good idea.

Except for when they don't -- namely the moments that happen after I recall stepping on the scale and realizing through the haze of sickness that I've broken into the the 140s for the first time in my entire adult life.

Or since fifth grade.

But who's counting?

So I pass by those pizza coupons -- not because I cannot have pizza while on the Curves 90-Day Challenge but because I cannot see why I'd make a turn that's in the opposite direction of where I'm trying to go -- and instead I venture into the kitchen almost triumphantly to rinse the fresh-picked, pretty-close-to-locally grown {but not my backyard} green beans.

As if the moment demands some sort of drama, a certain preschooler enters the cooking arena asking for the seventh time in so many minutes whether or not he can go back outside to help daddy.

Deep breath in, swallow the pain in my throat, evaluate if I have to pee -- I do -- venture toward the bathroom and ponder the direction I'm trying to head.

It's this point where it seems so much easier to just stay here in this threat of "if you ask me one more time ..." and so much more work to recalculate and remap.

But, decidedly, due north or south or east or west has got to be better -- any direction that's away from that mommy -- the impatient, irritable one of past five days or so who hasn't been able to keep her cool any better than a popsicle in the sun.

Or a pizza lover on a diet.

But there are green beans in the sink.

And the free pizza coupons are still on the baker's rack.

And to me, today, that spells out hope in the most visible of ways.

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