Driving and cars

Conversation in the car on the way to school/work:

Son: Cover the brake, cover the brake.

Me: What?

Son: You’re going downhill and there’s a light – cover the brake.

Me: My foot is fast. I don’t have to cover the brake.

Son and daughter in unison, sounding horrified: YOU DON’T COVER THE BRAKE?!?!?!

I love driving lessons from my kids. By the way, the light was green and there were no cars in front of me for quite a ways. I think I was relatively safe not covering the brake at that particular moment.

While walking to the parking lot at the end of the day, my daughter and I saw the strangest little car. I have no idea what it was, but it looked like a roller skate with a large man stuffed inside. It was TINY. I’m sure it was an environmentally friendly electrical car or something, but I’d be scared of being SMASHED LIKE A BUG in an accident (and not from lack of brake covering). My daughter and I determined that the car must belong to the man’s wife. Not only was it teeny tiny and funny looking, but the license plate read: SO CUTE. Yeah, no guy would have that license plate.

And speaking of license plates, what is this one all about?

BBYBNZ

Yummy baby bones? Soft baby buns? Any guesses? ‘Cause it’s driving me crazy.

Women and their closets

I’ll let you in on a little secret. Women are rarely happy with the way they look. At least the women I know. They all want to be thinner or in better shape. And they NEVER get rid of any clothes that ever fit them when they WERE thinner or in better shape. NEVER.

So I, for instance, have a closet FULL of clothes that don’t fit me. Because I hate to buy clothes in a size I don’t want to be.

It’s been about ten years since I have been anywhere near a size that I actually wanted to be. Which means there are lots of clothes in my closet that haven’t seen the light of day in a very long time.

But do I get rid of them? NO. Why? Because SOMEDAY I WILL BE THAT SIZE AGAIN!

Strangely enough, I’m very quick to unload clothes that are too big for me. So when I did the Phen-Fenn “I don’t care if I EVER eat” diet and lost the most weight I ever lost as an adult, I was happy to offload my “big” clothes on someone else who could wear them.

Yeah, that made it even harder to deal with when I gained all that weight back and not only did I have to look at myself in the mirror every day and bemoan my lack of self control in the food department, but I also had next to nothing to wear.

Did I get rid of any of my “small” clothes? HECK NO. I have clothes whose styles will not come back for another 20 years (because eventually every bad clothing idea comes back). But I refuse to donate them to a thrift store. There is a minuscule chance that SOME DAY I’ll wear them again.

You notice that, even with a track history of gaining lost weight back, I still got rid of the big clothes.

And that’s why right now, I have the pants of Sharon’s past - recent enough past that I haven't had a chance to get rid of them yet. When I wear them, I need a belt to ensure I don’t resemble the teenage guys who seem to want to share their underwear with everyone.

And I have the pants of Sharon’s future, which I can manage to squeeze my ass into if I really try. But just because a person can get a pair of pants zipped that in no way means they should actually inflict them on the public.

The pants of Sharon’s present? Nowhere to be found.

They grow up too fast

My baby is winging her way across the country right now. Okay, okay – she’s not really a baby. She’s 18 years old.

She’s flown solo many times. To attend a Civil Air Patrol powered flight encampment (where she was learning to fly airplanes, rather than just ride in them), to attend a CAP leadership encampment, and to attend Summer Seminar sessions at both the Naval Academy and Air Force Academy.

Still, this marks the first time she’s gotten on an airplane by herself and will be disembarking not into the able hands of a responsible adult, but into the hands of several other 18 year olds.

Me: Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.

Daughter: Of course I won’t.

Me: You know, that leaves you an awful lot of options.

Daughter: Stunned silence.

My personal horror story

As I’ve mentioned in passing, I started Weight Watchers – again – about four weeks ago. Yesterday was the weekly weigh-in. Only a fellow non-svelte person can truly understand the horror of a weigh in. The horror that is present even when I KNOW I’ve been following the program somewhat religiously.

Oh, okay, I’m not journaling nor have I been very good about drinking my water. So I guess I’m not really being all that religious about it. But I’ve been pretty darn good. And I’m not stunned when the scale shows a loss (8.6 pounds so far – and only a fellow Weight Watcher can recite his or her weight loss to 2/10ths of a pound!).

And yet, when it’s time to weigh in and have someone else see the number? Music akin to that which might be heard in a Hitchcock movie starts playing in my head. Funky graphics like those accompanying Jimmy Stewart experiencing vertigo flash behind my eyes. And, of course, everything that might possibly affect the number on that scale is removed – sweater, shoes, heavy jewelry. And, yes, there is the requisite potty break immediately prior to stepping on the scale. Heck, if I could weigh in naked, I would. But it wouldn’t be fair to traumatize my fellow shoeless weighers like that.

My entire family belongs to Mensa (the club of good test-takers) and we have hosted the local group’s annual “chocolate” meeting at our house for the past two years. The 3rd annual Chocolate Challenge is this Saturday.

As Lloyd Bridges might have said in “Airplane” – it was a bad month to start a diet!

I’m fearful for my points-counting self at tomorrow’s meeting/chocolate fest. I mean, I will personally be baking a scrumptious chocolate cake. Decadent Fudge Cake to be precise. And there will be many, many other delicious chocolate items available for consumption.

Pray for me.

General warning to those who inhabit the planet Earth

I took my son in to get his driver’s permit this morning. By the end of March, he will be behind the wheel of a car that does NOT have a brake on the passenger side. Let this be a warning to you all!

On another, less frightening, note, we’re perusing applications for next year’s exchange student. We’ve hosted four girls so far (two from Germany, one from China and one from Italy) and have, for the most part, thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We’re branching out to the other sex for next year and have received three applications from German boys to look over.

This is always a nerve-wracking time. We’re a pretty laid-back family and think we’re easy to get along with. So far, we’ve had great luck with our students. Of course, the beauty of hosting is that if the student is simply not working in your home, you can ask for him/her to be moved to torment another family. Don’t you sometimes wish that was an option with your own kids? YOU JUST SHAPE UP OR WE’RE DUMPING YOU ON SOMEONE ELSE!!! Yeah, I can see how that would be a useful tool.

But no matter how good previous experiences were, I’m always nervous during the choosing phase and while waiting for the student to arrive. What if the introductory letter they wrote was more about getting picked and less about what they’re truly like?

So, keep your fingers crossed for us. We’re just looking for someone who enjoys the outdoors, will eat my cooking and pretends our jokes are funny. How hard is that?