High / Low

High / Low is a game that John and I play at dinner sometimes, and we were sure to play it each night while his (our) niece was staying with us for two weeks, as part of our Christmas gift - which was sending her to her first summer camp.

The day she arrived, August 1st, I had the highest high and the lowest low that occurred on the same day, in the same incident, that I had had in a long time.

That morning, despite having read a story precisely about this happening, I walked Reno with the retractable leash. I know it's not a good idea, but he likes it a lot since it gives him a little more range than the normal 6' leash, and it gives me a welcome break on the occasional walk - I don't have to pay as much attention wary of tangling since the leash takes care of it for me.

But you see where this is going. In quick succession, on a route we never walk, I walked into a spider web. I gave a little "eep!" and tried to wave the threads from off my face. While doing this, I loosened my grip on the leash, so it was lightly secured in my hand.

However, the "eep" and scuffle of my foot scared Reno. And he darted away (as he does to every crushed leaf, cracked branch, scuffed foot, garbage truck, siren, car door, shouting kid, bouncing basketball… and so on…). Usually, no big deal. But you, of course, recall the loosened grip.

Yup. Down went the leash handle, BANG, on the sidewalk. And then it zipped up toward Reno, retracting as retractable leashes are wont to do.

And off he went.

Like a freaking shot. I've never seen him run so fast. If he even could hear me over the clatter clatter clatter of the leash bouncing behind him, he was out of ear shot in under eight seconds. This was a moment that it would have been really nice to be a runner. But as it was, I reached VO2 max in about sixteen seconds, long after I'd seen the last corner Reno rounded and had no idea where he was headed next. I stopped shouting and started texting John in desperation.

He asked if he should come home, and I said no. He said I should go home, get the car, and drive slowly around the area I last saw him, and call his name.

Low point.

So I walked, jogged, ran, walked again, huffed and puffed my way home. As I walked, I sent a crazy email to my boss that read, "Not sure when I will be in today; dog ran off and I have to look for him."

I started to sniffle and cry. How could I have done that? How could I have dropped the leash? I kept seeing him, flattened out and running full tilt, tail between his legs, glancing back in terror at the horrible clattering monster that wouldn't stop chasing him. Was that the last time I'd see him? Oh god. I remembered that he had on his citronella collar but not his real collar with his tag. Not that he would let anyone get near him, and sure, he is microchipped, but it feels like a long shot.

With a stitch in my side and a hitch in my step, I rounded the corner onto our lawn and for less than a split second - for less than even a full thought - I couldn't believe the insult of a god damn cat on the front porch.

But no!

Not a cat!

A little red dog! A panting, ears folded back, nails-scraped, tail wagging, waiting patiently, leaning against the front door little red dog!

I couldn't believe it. I kissed him on the face, let him inside, and took off one beat-to-hell retractable leash.

High point.

Two steps forward...

It was, it turns out, too many foods introduced too closely together. And though if I see you in person I will happily share TMI about my digestive tales, should you be interested, I think sharing in writing with the wider internet world is not a wise thing for my future run at the U.S. Senate. Suffice to say I did not feel 100% this week. I took quite a few steps back. 

I'm back on a diet of mostly meat stews, with carrots and celery in them, and a little bit of pureed fruit. There is one problem: I had started grain-free baking. And I probably need to dial that to Zero for a week or two. But among the four or five failure recipes - like the almond flour 'bread' - I've hit on two good ones so far! A banana bread that tasted like banana bread - and not like 'pretty good for almond flour banana bread' and then… ahh, for the Super Bowl party today… peanut butter cookies!

Grain free, refined sugar free. Just peanut butter, butter, almond flour, salt, honey and a pinch of baking soda. I don't know if I am allowed baking soda; I am not asking about it. Head in the sand on that one, I fully admit. But I've baked up a storm for the Super Bowl party and like any good plan it is starts tomorrow. I am going to take all the baked goods out next week to see if I can't start more steps forward again. 

And in related taking-steps-back news, I have never been a hot bath person. This is because I am a clean freak. And almost everywhere I've lived since the age of 21 has been a rental, and no matter how much I clean that tub, it still (emotionally) feels dirty and used to me. (I know. I know. Psychological field day.) 

And so it just became a habit to always shower. Even after a long day or when enduring a sickness, I'll take a nice long hot shower - not bath.

Well, this week broke me. I've taken a bath every night. I just needed to be surrounded, immersed; held.  And you know what? Baths are really nurturing! (Yes, you did know that.) This year's word of the year for me, if you recall, is Nourish. These baths have been quite nourishing to this slowly repairing body and fragile spirit. So that's something. 

Go Sports Team! Happy Super Bowl! An American holiday especially treasured by this fantasy football league winner right here.

(Photos of all the baked goods to come.)

Oh, the places you will go!

Or rather: oh, the foods you will eat!

In the last week, I've introduced strawberries, pineapple, lentils, red leaf and butter lettuce, full butter instead of just ghee, coconut meat, hazelnuts, raw whole almonds, a banana, fresh crab meat, Brussels sprouts, HONEY and aged white cheddar cheese. HONEY deserves all caps. It's a glory. And so outrageously sweet! It never tasted this sweet before.

One of these things did not go well - but all the others did, for the most part! I bet you can guess which one. Yup; it was the cheese. Within an hour to 90 minutes of eating it, I had terrible stomach pains that first felt like a side ache, and then a dull ache, and then everything passed uncomfortably. It is sensational to be both this aware of one's digestion, and able to pinpoint exactly what is causing what.

And there I was in last Monday's entry, waxing poetic about venturing out into the world… which I did, but only a little. I met some friends at a bar for one drink (which typically means 2 or 3 drinks). I successfully sipped chamomile tea the whole time and no one really cared at all; we still gossiped and caught up and laughed and debated. I also went out to lunch for a work event, and managed to eat a restaurant meal, only slightly modified (leave off the cheese, please add a poached egg). I suspect that the vinaigrette had some sugar in it, but if it did, how much - really? A pinch or two? Everything else in the meal was menu-approved. I also made it back to working out, just today; a huge challenge, but the first day back is always the worst.

And so yes, this process - it's tearing down my identity still, the same way I felt last week, though I AM feeling a little more like myself. Being back to 99% health (a slight sniffle remains) certainly helps. The mental clarity helps. I'm off caffeine now too, and I'm sleeping well, rising well, and have no energy crashes during the days - at all. That's actually a little disquieting when I think of it!

But there's one other little piece, that I first thought was due to deprivation. Then I thought it was due to illness. But now I think there's no explanation for it other than living my life without sugar, and the sugar highs and lows that occur from using food to fill time, to create breaks, to reward and to self-comfort. And that is that I'm way more emotional. If something makes me want to cry or tear up, I used to be able to choke that back damn well. And now, these last few weeks, I can't. I have to let the tears come, and let them flow. They may not last long, but it's like I have no choice - and it's pretty damn scary. For a control(led) freak like me, knowing the world is coming in, ready or not, is both terrifying and marvelous. Meaning: I marvel at it. This partnership between body and mind is indeed a marvel, isn't it? How about yours?

July 31 in Pommern.

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

At breakfast, Edward tells me I'm not allowed to work today. "One more day to rest. You don't leave the mission house this morning."

I'm so disappointed. To lose a second day!? Nearly my last?! But within thirty minutes of breakfast - one plain slice of bread (so oddly sweet, I need some sourdough up in here!) and 1/3 of a banana - I find I'm ready for a nap. So perhaps Edward knows best - and perhaps he's been through this before with a previous volunteer (ha, ha, ha - that's a joke; I know he has).

So today I find stillness, whether I want it or not. And it ends up a very powerful day, connecting with fellow volunteers. 

We're finally discussing openly our frustrations with African time versus American time, and our complete inability to understand how teachers can fail to show up for class, say, as happened today - there was a prominent death in the village. Then everything stopped. And so students go without teachers and lessons, while Nurse Patricia is in a fog (tells Meggie, who has been there yesterday and today without me) and can barely work. Most volunteers were sent back to the mission house. Everyone is feeling useless. 

Rather than find this stoppage an admirable sense of community, we volunteers are mystified and frustrated. You can't stop everything, every time a person dies! Or can you?

Oh, and on another note, Dr. Elton leaves a line of eight sick patients while he watches a tree being cut down, using a rarity here - a chainsaw. It seems that every, and any, interested person has the right to be involved in any decision or event - and so we have a village, region and country possibly incapable of making forward progress. Every voice is heard, maybe, but also everyone who wants to stop working to watch how cool it is to see a tree get cut down can take a break. A break, a break, a break.

I believe in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and we get into a group discussion meandering around it. Is there true happiness without emotional knowledge of the full self, and are we here to help, to hurt, to be neutral observers? Can we forge personal connections with villagers when the need to manipulate us is so great? (And so justified.) 

We asked each other if we'll try another Global Volunteers trip - yes's and undecided's. 

We discussed how this is called a volunteer vacation, or voluntourism, and can that phrase take a little pressure off (of, ahem, me)? Did white, Western colonialism create a culture of dependence - and are we reaping what we've sown? 

And then my great revelation - in which I realize, truly, for the first time, that for all the talk of global natural resources and the water wars we're sure to see - only one thing seems certain to me; we in the West aren't going without our hot showers to help anyone here. We'll absolutely let them die, and the clean water and availability of oil will winnow down to being available only over America eventually, and probably zoom right down on D.C. as the last place with modern comforts. 

I didn't write this to be heartless - or inflammatory - or because I think it's OK to let people die so we can have hot showers, cars, plastic baggies in our lunch everyday. I wrote it because it smacked me hard as truth. We will absolutely watch people die if it means we get to keep our Stuff. If it means we have to give up a lot, including the comfort we're used to, for them to live lives we don't understand and don't respect, I just don't think we're gonna do it. One of the problems a volunteer wants to solve here is to get the children to eat with a spoon, not their fingers. Porridge is wasted, it's messy and dirty, she argued. Tell me we're going to give up life as we know it for them? 

In the afternoon, I convinced Edward I was feeling recovered fully, and that I was ok to go to Zumba with Meggie - her last class, and my last chance to see the high-school girls. I promise I won't dance - I've been sick, I need to rest, I know. I'll watch. Lies! All lies. I dance one song, and that's where all the YouTube videos previously posted are from - not exactly in my best form dance-wise, and it sure tuckered me out - but it felt great to get my blood flowing a bit, to dance with the girls, to watch Meggie leading them in total joy and confidence. 

Tonight Edward gives a little lecture on Tanzanian migration patterns (of the Bantu and Masai, largely, and some Indian and Arabic), and then on modern society here. Of course the most interesting part if the Q&A - yes, polygamy is common. Yes, the 1964-65 history of integrated education, that sent people all over the country to school, to learn Swahili, broke tribal loyalties and thus has prevented civil war. Yes, men here think American women are funny - they hear in our country we talk more than men. How can that be?! Men do the talking! And that women in America expect to do all the same things as men - they get it in concept, but really can't picture it.

Tomorrow: hopefully I get to go back to work!

July 26: Ruaha Hilltop Lodge

(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)

Coming back up to speed on Friday, we work a half day - Meggie and I spend from about 8:30 to about 12:30 working on the septic.

I see why those who go to do this work keep going back. With gestures and a couple words in each language, we make great progress - almost three corners complete by lunchtime! And I don't need to be a mason. I can be an attentive pair of helping hands and that is totally enough. And rather than repeat the words that "I care, I want to help" instead here the people know that our Western money bought the bricks, the mortar, and clearly we care - we're here helping put it all together. This septic may be the only good thing I take away from the entire trip - well, that and if I don't get sick, I can leave two courses of antibiotics and an honest course of Cipro could save a life here that would otherwise be over. That medicine cabinet on our tour was bleak.

A side note and a few pictures from septic day with Meggie... all the schoolchildren run out during recess to watch the ladies working in the pit, it is hilarious and mesmerizing to them. 

I like Moses here, on the right with his hands on his hips - in his same outfit, we're on day five - telling them to keep back. 

The kids (boys) also, on these cold mornings, dig in the ash pile for coals to warm their hands.

They find things to burn, and thing to ignite from smolder to flame. Then they throw them like toys. Meggie is having a heart attack at this, Ms. Safety Officer.

And this young man found a pen to burn. Smells wonderful. 

The ask pile's intended use - one on each side of the latrine - is to carry ashes into the toilet, and scatter them after you do your business, to cut down on the smell and attempt a little composting. I did not see anyone do this. 

So after lunch, we journey back to Iringa via hired coach (Jeep with no shocks, no AC, windows that may or may not roll down, which is good, or not, depending on the dust, and a sweet driver Joseph who speaks no English other than "Photo?" It is nearly two hours to Iringa Town - for a hilarious meeting with Mr A., the lodge owner who I've emailed with from Oregon to set up this one-day safari. The story of Mr. A can only be told in person; ask me about it! 

And on to Ruaha National Park. Tarmac roads till they give out for more gravel, and again past the place where electrification ends - another 2 hours past Iringa. For the first time when we drive through a small village, I hear the children cry, "Mzungu! Pipi! Pipi!" White person! Candy! Candy! which is not new. But what is... "Give me money! Money!" We all pretend not to hear it and wave back, smiling, as Joseph speeds us on by, laughing himself. Uncomfortably? Or in ignorance?

I struggled with posting about this; the entire weekend excursion cost $400 per person. But I feel, and felt, guilty that we let ourselves leave Pommern - and that we let ourselves have this tourist experience when the majority of the trip was funded by generous friends, family, coworkers, neighbors. However, to be true to this trip journal experience, to the national park we went, at a cost of $400 each outside the funds we raised - and in a much-needed gentle nod from the universe, we were a group of five (that's the most efficient way to price a safari, it turns out). And the gentle nod was that the three women from the Denver area, to whom Meggie and I have grown closer and closer this week, were the ones to commit to to going with us many months ago - and our little Fearsome (Fearless?) Fivesome was ready for a couple nights on a smaller scale of intimacy than with the full group of volunteers.

First things first at Ruaha: our wine is fantastic. Four of us share one bottle and it's perfect. And our little unelectrified safari camp dinner is lovely, no refrigeration needed! But the conversation between the five of us kindred spirits is even better. It warms me. (Good thing too because there are little solar hot water heaters here in each little twin-bed lodge - but - oh - don't get excited - Meggie and my heater is broken! No hot showers for us in Ruaha.)

I am the only one who feels I may be doing actual harm and can't even see any good from the joyful children's faces. I only see colonial, imperial reverence for white faces - I only see them touching us as a mzungu totem, not making or seeking to make any human connection. Although, to be fair and as Leslie reminds me, Meggie's Zumba class may be the lone exception to that feeling I have about the kids - the joy of dance IS so pure, and the involving of everyone through a class and choreographed format, is admittedly worth a whole lotta bad. 

Sunset from the deck at Ruaha Hilltop Lodge; that's the largest national park in Tanzania there, and the second largest in Africa behind the famous Kruger National Park. Tomorrow - to the park!

Squirrel!!

To, ahem, quote the dog from "Up."

When you ride your bike, it's true what they say - you become newly connected to your neighborhood, and your route, by the smells, the sounds, the feeling of pedaling uphill each vertical foot.

And this intimacy of enjoying your route also means that a lone, dashing, daring, gutsy, inspirational and incredible squirrel - who darts from under a car in front of a bike - is actual cause for genuine alarm. It could really mess you up! Or in this case, it could really mess up the guy in front of you - who almost hit it!

Tales from the road, and my wild urban life, indeed.

Bike Updates

Me and Linus the Girl Bike (you remember her) have been commuting to work lately - the goal is two days a week, and preferably three; I have the "out" of loading Linus onto the bus if I really can't face the ride home - or if it rains!

On day three of commuting, me and Linus passed our first other biker! Felt great.

On week three of commuting, me and Linus were aggressively honked at for the first time. Felt terrifying; I almost steered INTO the car. It should be noted that the honk was intended for the biker two behind me, who was passing the biker one behind me, and I got caught in the tangle.

And on week four of commuting, I completed a real hurdle... I went to Zumba after riding home 4 miles (mostly uphill) and made it through class! Barely. Linus the Girl Bike called me Rider the Jelly Legs after that one.

Here's a tip...

If you wear your workout pants backwards, don't be embarrassed. Don't call it an accident. Just enjoy the fact that the waistband rests comfortably above your belly roll instead of comfortably over your behind! A win win!

More Truth in Advertising

You might remember the useful tip at the federal gym, all honesty it was about how we are going to get in shape, as regular people and not super-human will-power machines.

I noticed another sign today, in the elevator. It's above the emergency phone, and it contains instructions on what to do if the elevator breaks, but the perfect part of it is the first line, which reads, in all caps:

TRY NOT TO PANIC!

So supportive! So true! Try not to... even though we know you will, and we would too if we were there with you, because who wouldn't!?!... just try. And even if you do, that's OK, just move on to step two and we'll come to get ya out. Comforting!

Bad > Good

Bad habits are stronger than good habits. It is so much easier to say, "Oh, I'll get back to Zumba on Thursday instead of tonight." "Oh, I'll eat one more cookie rather than throw them out or pawn them off on some coworkers."

One of these I did... but, but, but I put so much work into those cookies! And one I did not; I did, in fact, go to Zumba tonight.

My mind, that old enemy always muttering at me from dawn til dusk and in my dreams too, kept saying, "You'll be dragging after taking almost 3 weeks off from class! You won't remember the steps! There will be new people, or worse, all the people you know scorning you for not being there for so long! Your teacher will think you are lazy for missing it! Today was the first day back at work, you DESERVE to skip it! Relax tonight! You can go Thursday. That would even save money, too."

Well, my dear husband graciously said yet to my request that he cook a dinner-to-order (I ordered a chicken and brown rice stir fry with onions, bell pepper and mushrooms, in case you're wondering), and I hauled myself to Zumba.

And not only did it feel fantastic to sweat, to stretch, to whoop, to laugh, to shake my booty to the beat, I came out of it with an enormous endorphin rush. What a surprise, to be this noticeable! My body is just screamin': "It's the new year, I only gained 2 pounds while off the diet for ten days, and I have goals to get back to!"

Not to mention new ones to start!

Down, down, down we go...

So, a Weight Watchers update on me and John - for those looking to cheer*, to scold**, to take inspiration*** or derive jealousy**** from:

I'm down 23 pounds and John's down 42. (!!) As for the high point and the low point so far...

While I dearly love Ann Taylor LOFT for letting me fit into a size 2 skirt at the outlet malls last weekend (and for $13 I sort of had to buy it, so they are the real winner), I also know better that I'm about a 6 right now. And THAT feels as great as a 2 ever could, don't get me wrong! It's basically the size I was back at age 23, when I lived alone over the winter on Cape Cod and only had one friend and ran on the beach a few days a week AND didn't know how to cook yet.

As for the downside, I am now cold most of the time. It is a noticeable difference from last autumn. Sure, I've always had cold fingers and toes, but I have never been downright shivery for much of the day! I am surprised, and not pleased about this. But since I have to buy all new clothes anyway, I guess it's just time to implement a style based on layers and buy a second (or third) pair of fleece jammie pants.

* many, many friends are wonderfully supportive and take joy in our success;
** some friends tell me I shouldn't even care about losing weight, or about maintaining a silly number on the scale - and some hear the number 23 and say, don't lose any more!;
*** I think I can safely be held partially or wholly responsible for about 4.5 other people joining in the last few months;
**** well, yes, it's very rare but we're Americans and this is weight loss - pretending this doesn't exist is just a lie.

Unexpected

So here's a funny one. When you are on Weight Watchers, you have NSVs... non-scale victories. This would be something like losing inches, fitting into an old shirt you loved, or truly feeling satisfied with a very small dessert.

An NSV in our house this week? I had to get rid of two belts.

And now they fit John.

Reduce! Reuse! Recycle!

10

What things weigh ten pounds? Well, I almost did, when I was born. I believe I was 9 pounds 8 ounces (and I am sure my mother will set me straight in the comments!).

A big bag of sugar weighs ten pounds. A bowling ball - a small one - weighs ten pounds. Some dogs and cats weigh ten pounds, and Google says a gallon of water weighs ten pounds.

But what weighs ten pounds less? Me! Less than I did on May 21st at least, the day I started Weight Watchers!

I have put off writing about the program because it has a silly name, because some days I absolutely hate it, because it has made me deeply address my relationship to food and alcohol on a daily basis (as in, how they is my daily (or thrice daily) reward to self), because John and I are doing it together, and because it sort of feels temporary. Could I stay 10 pounds down? Could I maintain this? Could I feel more positive about my body at any given moment than negative? (This is the biggest change; looking in the mirror and saying something nice to myself. It's like living on a new planet.)

My goal, for those wonderful readers who remember a post from a couple years ago (that I am too tired to find the link for, sorry!), is to lose 20 pounds. Two years ago a doctor recommended I lose 15 to 20 pounds, and I thought, gah! What? How? Eat less and exercise?! Please! Like I can do that!

It turns out, I can! After 5 pounds were gone, my clothes started to fit and feel better. And now at 10 pounds gone, some things are really too loose to wear. And so while some weeks are going better than others, it's an overall downward weight trend, so maybe I can go back to that Doogie Howser lookin' doctor in another couple months and say, look! I did it!

Summer is Here

OK, no more lazing. Summer is here! Sauvie Island begs to be visited, the patio furniture has been BOUGHT and we had our first al fresco dinner last night on it!, the first houseguests have come and gone, my first trip is done and John has one concert under his belt. So, a few things for you and I to blog and chat about:

• A pile of shoes by the front door of a home; does this indicate shoes-off-house? Yea or nay? Do you do shoes-off? Did you grow up with shoes-off?
• I have kept two secrets from you over the last month: I started doing Zumba and I am in Week 7 of Weight Watchers. (More on this to come, don't fear!)
• The crazy neighbor has not stopped. He is making ME crazy and I am accepting any and all suggestions on how to deal with a honestly mentally-unbalanced neighbor who is loud all the time... not the kind of neighbor you go chat with about the noise.
  

Oh, dear.

I was browsing healthy eating and exercising tips online the other night, divided into "Your Stage of Life!" What do we have?

• New to College?
  
• Bride to Be!
• New Mommy
• 40+

Well, there ya go. Easy as pie - pun intended.

Sending Sunshine.

This is me, Tuesday, 4:36 PM Central Time, on the deck, working. I was just at the gym - !!! - so my hair is wet. Only one purple flower in the photo, but lots more nearby. I am sending the bright, warm sunshine and light breeze to those of you wherever it is snowing, cold, raining, dark or all of the above. It's about 68, just enough for light jeans and later a sweater, and this hills behind me have long afternoon shadows in the fading light, as the sun sets behind them, into the Pacific.

Today I was thinking a lot about independence, and marriage, and balancing those two things for a lifetime. And everyone thinks they're doing things right, of course, so I'll join everyone and tell you something I think I'm doing right, at the moment.

I miss John terribly, I wish he were here experiencing Latin culture and taking in the sun and eating dinner with me at night, but there is something sweet about us having a breath to ourselves... a little time (14 weeks being little in the grand scheme) to remember who we are as individuals, to stop in this pause and be present to it, whatever it is each day, when it's fun, sad, lonely, exhilarating, easier today, harder today, on and on. I think this time apart is a gift for two people who fiercely want to remain independent and also turn into the relationship as the most important thing in our lives. It's a time to learn that balance and return to each other in May, centered, matured, leaping into a new stage of love.

I suppose it's a long winded way of saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder. So I think I am saying that, yes, perhaps this absence will make our hearts grow fonder... both for each other and also for who we are as individuals. For how we create and live our partnership.

So it's a nice day in the sunshine here, and today was a good day.

Fitness Regime.

I know I keep promising beach photos - I will upload them tomorrow!! But in the meantime, a quick diversion before I fall into bed, completely exhausted.

You know all the things you tell yourself, as reasons why you can't lose weight or get into better shape? (Whatever better means to you, that is.) Well, I believe you. Whether it's the doughnuts at the office or the cold weather that means no afternoon runs, or whatever it is, it's real.

Mine, as most of you know, is snacking. I probably eat as many calories in snacks each day as I do at meals. Well, I'm spending time with folks who not only don't really snack, they truly keep only healthy food around. No chips, no cookies, no trail mix from Costco, nothing, nada. It's like I'm on a reality show. I go to the fridge... nope. The pantry? Nope.

So I settle maybe for some fresh mango, and lots and lots of water. Am I hungry? Not really. I'm head-hungry, but not actually hungry. I do know that I don't have the self-discipline to do this at home!!

All of this is a very tired, very roundabout way of saying that I'm convinced between the lighter eating, the fresh fruit, the lack of snacking and the when-in-Rome action of me working out more (from never to sometimes)... I will end up being all fit for the wedding I said I wasn't going to lose weight for!

And it's also a way of saying that moving to another country where you don't speak the language and living with very healthy, active people is THE ONLY WAY to get in shape, for me. So I better enjoy the wedding photos in May, because kiddos, this is probably going to be the best I ever look.

I miss you all. Today was my first day of a big pang of homesickness, so thanks for stopping by to read the blog and I hope you have a great weekend ahead of you.