The Big Cheese

How did I not know that April is National Grilled Cheese Month? That just seems like something I would definitely be aware of.  For instance, I know that July 7 is National Chocolate Day. And May 13 is National Apple Pie Day. And October 12 is Hugh Jackman’s birthday. Sigh. But, wait. I digress.

Luckily for me, I have wonderful friends in the blogoshpere who make me aware of important things like this. And I am honored to be a part of Chick Lit Chit Chat’s celebration of all things cheesy. I was invited to write a guest post which–duh–had to have something to do with cheese. I’m going to give you a tease, right here on Anonymous Soccer Mom…you know, like that gooey, melted bit of cheese you get when you lift the grilled cheese sandwich from the pan, the bit you pull on until it is a long, buttery, stringy morsel that tastes wonderful when you pop it into your mouth, and promises that your sandwich is going to be delicious when you finally tuck in to eat it. Oops, digressing again.

Okay, so here’s the tease. And if you want the whole sandwich (which is code for blog post), you’ll have to hop on over to Chick Lit Chit Chat.

IT’S EASY BEING CHEESY

Remember when you and your spouse were first dating, those endless nights you spent talking and sharing and revealing things about yourself? It was a world of discovery, and you felt as though you were meant to be with this person forever. My husband and I passed many of those nights early in our relationship. To be honest, I recall very little of what he said—it was a long time ago, mind you. But one thing he said sticks with me to this day:

“When I retire, I want to learn to make cheese…”

Yes, at that moment I knew I wanted to spend my life with this man.

Of course, when he went on to say he also wanted to own a goat, I had to rethink my decision. Not that I don’t like goats. Goats are very nice. And I hear they make great lawnmowers. But I’m not so sure what the neighbors will think, and I’m pretty confident there’s a city ordinance banning farm animals from residential backyards.

Anyway, I happen to enjoy cheese, all kinds, from mild to stinky, although I draw the line at the really foul-smelling stuff that makes your eyes water and brings to mind foot fungus. I take my cheese in any form: cut into cubes or sliced or smeared on crackers or baguettes. I like cheese melted under the broiler or in the pan. In fact, I spent the whole of my first pregnancy eating grilled cheese sandwiches made with…

How’s that for a cliffhanger?

Head on over to Chick Lit Chit Chat for the rest of my post. And hang out for a while. It’s a great place to spend some time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a hunk of Gouda in my fridge and it’s calling my name. I’m going to call it Hugh…

The Next Big Thing

I love the game of tag. Even now, in my forties, I love running around the yard with my kids. Invariably, I am ‘It.’ And I pretend to myself that I’m letting them win even though they’re much faster than me. I could tag them if I wanted. Really, I could.

But now I am ‘It’ in a totally different tagging situation which, thankfully, doesn’t involve chasing anyone. I have been tagged in ’The Next Big Thing’ blog hop by the wonderful Jill Smolinski, author of Objects of My Affection and The Next Thing on My List–and if you haven’t read either of these fun, lovely, witty books, do so ASAP.

But enough about Jill…I’m supposed to talk about my next big thing by answering the following questions:

1. What is the title of your work?

My second novel is called Sweet Nothings, and it will be out July 2nd.

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?

I love desserts…and making desserts…and eating desserts…(and I don’t understand those people who say “I don’t like desserts” or “I’m just not a dessert person.” Seriously? What is the matter with you?) I also make theme cakes and you can see some of them here. So, baking is definitely a part of me.

3. What genre does your book come under?

Humorous women’s fiction.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

That’s a tough one. Ruby would have to be played by an actress who’s good with subtle humor and who can do both the plain Jane and the transformed hot mama. Jennifer Garner’s a little too young (hate her!). Sarah Jessica Parker, maybe. Julia Roberts? As for Jacob Salt, well, hmm. Hugh Jackman isn’t right this time, darn it! (But don’t worry, Hugh–you’re still my Ben in Something New!) Aaron Eckhart would be perfect because he can be both the nerd and the hunk, which is kind of what Jacob is.

5. What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

Life’s sweetest moments happen when you least expect them.

6. Is your book self-published or represented by an agency?

My publisher is Berkley Books, a division of Penguin USA

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Roughly four months.

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Chick Lit Central compared my writing to Jane Porter’s–thank you Chick Lit Central! And I’ve been compared to Jennifer Weiner–thanks, Mom! This book has a baking element, so perhaps Deep Dish by Mary Kay Andrews (loved that book!)

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

As always, I am inspired by other forty-something moms, who are working hard to raise their kids, take care of their husbands, help the household financially, and also grow and evolve as individuals.

10. What else about your book might pique the readers’ interest?

Anyone who likes to watch those Food Network baking shows will love Sweet Nothings. Anyone who likes romance will love Sweet Nothings. Anyone who likes to root for the underdog will love Sweet Nothings. But here’s a warning: This book will very possibly cause you to crave something sweet, even if you’re ‘not a dessert person!’

For more about me and my debut novel Something New, please visit www.janisthomas.com.

And now for the authors I’m tagging:

I have had the pleasure of getting to know Samantha Stroh Bailey over the last several months through social media and emails, and I appreciate all of her support of me, both personally and professionally. Samantha is a writer, editor, and mother who is determined to have it all. She enjoys spending quality time with friends and family, and (don’t tell!) watching reality TV.

Her debut novel Finding Lucas asks the question: Can you ever really go back to the past? After five long years of living with Derek, her former bad boy turned metrosexual boyfriend, Jamie Ross finally reaches her breaking point. She’s had enough of his sneering disdain for her second hand wardrobe, unusual family and low-paying job as the associate producer of Chicago’s sleaziest daytime talk show. When her new boss plans a segment on reuniting lost loves, Jamie remembers Lucas, her first love and the boy she’d lost ten years earlier. Spurred on by her gang of quirky friends, Jamie goes on a hilarious, disastrous and life changing hunt to track Lucas down. But will finding Lucas give Jamie everything she’s looking for?

Samantha is currently working on her next book, Everything But. For more info on her visit: samanthastrohbailey.blogspot.com. 

I happened upon Bonnie Trachtenberg quite by accident, but what an unexpected pleasure her book Neurotically Yours was. It tells the story of smart, attractive, and ambitious, thirty-seven-year-old Dara Harrison who is still single, and on sabbatical from dating. Ironically Los Angeles’ most renowned relationship advice columnist, Dara has become a Southland sensation with her “tell-it-like-it-is” approach to the mating game.Parlaying her success into a new business, Dara launches a revolutionary dating service geared for the perennially single and romantically challenged. Its no-holds-barred theme soon makes the company a roaring success, even catapulting Dara onto the national talk show scene, until, of course, it all backfires.With her company under threat and a publicity stunt gone haywire, Dara is forced to join the ranks of her lonely heart clientele, and suddenly realizes that saving the business she cherishes, means facing her lifelong fears, and maybe even falling in love again.

For more about Bonnie and her debut novel Wedlocked, visit her at Bonnietrachtenberg.com.

TV-ous Interruptus

For Christmas last year, my husband got me what I really wanted. Not a diamond necklace or a trip to the spa, not a romantic gondola ride through Newport Harbor or dinner for two at a swanky restaurant. But something I could really use: a TV for our bedroom.  I know this sounds slightly pathetic, but I was absolutely thrilled about this gift. Because usually, I sit on the couch watching the television until I feel tired enough for sleep. (A good sign that I’ve reached this point is when my eyes roll back into my head and I jerk awake with drool running down my chin.) But then, I have to drag my butt off the couch, do my going to bed things, check the kids, and by the time I hit the hay, I’m wide awake again. With my Christmas present, I could do all my going to bed stuff, check the kids, then climb into bed and watch TV, and when the drool started I could just switch the TV off with the remote and dive right into slumber. Hallelujah.

I feel, at this point, I need to backtrack a bit before I move on to the point of this post.

When we first got married, those many many many years ago, my husband had one of those rules that seemed ridiculous, like the one he made while I was pregnant with our first child about how the baby was NEVER going to sleep in the bed with us. (Yeah, that lasted all of about twenty seconds–he wasn’t the one with the boobs.) But this particular rule revolved around having a television in the bedroom. We were NOT going to have one in ours. Because we shouldn’t be watching TV, he’d said, when there were other more important things to do. Wink wink, nudge nudge. I agreed at the time, partly to placate him (wives learn early on to choose their battles) and partly because we were having sex quite regularly.

Okay, so. Now, fast forward fourteen years. We still have sex…you know, when we’re both in the bed at the same time…oh, and also AWAKE at the same time. It does happen. More often than the solar eclipse. But I guess my husband finally came to the realization that while I may like sex more than Bones (at least that’s what I let him believe), since we aren’t doing it as much—for no other reasons than scheduling and fatigue, mind you—it was okay for me to have the TV in the damn bedroom.

Thanks, honey.

I love my TV. I don’t watch it every night, but often enough. More often than I’m having sex. Would you like to know what I watch on that TV at night? Sex. No. Not PORN. But nice, fun, TV sex. You know, like between David Boreanz and Emily Deschanel, or Juliana Marguiles and Josh Charles, or any one of those British dudes and dudettes in Downton Abbey. Or sometimes I catch a movie on HBO or Starz, and those are fun because they get a little bit more hot and heavy than network television. (I do draw the line at the Cinemax soft core porn stuff. I mean, occasionally I linger on that station for a few seconds, not because I’m interested in the faux sex, but simply because I am totally transfixed by the size of the woman’s gazongas.)

So, last week, I was channel surfing, and I came across Blue Steel. Now this is a very B-movie kind of flick. But I happen to really like it. You know why? Because there is a great love scene toward the end of the movie between Jaimie Lee Curtis and Clancy Brown, this big strapping hunk of a guy that was never heard from again except for a guest starring role on ER playing opposite a character that later turned out to be a lesbian. Anyway, as I was saying, there’s this great love scene at the end, and by the looks of it, it’s about thirty-five minutes away. Now, I’m tired, but since TV sex is the only thing that gets me through those long lonely stretches of time between eclipses (full moons might be more appropriate—get it?), I figure I can stay awake long enough to catch the scene. (And anyway, right after the sex scene, something awful happens in the movie, so I don’t mind turning it off right then.)

So, I’m waiting and waiting and watching and watching, counting the moments until the scene finally comes where Jaimie and Clancy will do the hot sweaty nasty and it’s getting closer, it’s almost here, they’re in the apartment, he’s reaching for her, they’re starting to kiss, now they’re really getting passionate and the clothes are coming off and…and…and…

“Mommy? Can I come in?” my daughter calls softly to me from right outside my bedroom door.

Seriously? Right at this moment? Is somebody kidding?

It used to be that I worried about my kids interrupting me actually having sex. Now I have to worry about them interrupting me watching sex.

Of course, being that I am me and not Cruella deVille, I quickly turned off the television and invited my daughter into my room. But I might have been just a wee bit crabby to her the following day, which she didn’t really understand since I’m usually crabby toward her brother.

So, the moral of the story is: If you don’t have a TV in your bedroom, don’t get one. If you do have a TV in your bedroom, either put a lock on your door, or get used to watching the Disney channel.

Hairy Scary

I try not to question God. Honestly. Although I have to admit that when I get to Heaven, I am going to have a seriously long discussion with Him about cockroaches. Because, really, why? Forget about hunger and plagues, and man’s inhumanity to man. I’m going to talk to the Big Guy about bugs.                                  

And lately, there is another issue that comes to mind, and that is unwanted hair.

I’m in my forties. And a whole host of things happen to a woman’s body in her forties. Take, for example, all of the symptoms of menopause. You can just wrap them all up together into one big suck package. And then there’s the saggy chin-saggy neck disaster. The beloved Nora Ephron was really understating things when she said “I Feel Bad About My Neck.” I’m starting to really hate my neck. And my chin. Or should I say chins.                                                                                                                                              

But perhaps the greatest irony of middle age is the ‘Hair Thing.’ While the middle age man wakes up every morning, grieving over the many strands of hair the night has robbed of him, the middle aged woman wakes up every morning to find that same amount of hair sprouting from her (double) chin. And it’s not nice, soft peachy fuzzy hair, either. It’s coarse and black and strong enough to put an eye out. And the chin isn’t the only place this unwanted hair grows. It grows between our eyes in clumps—where, before, a little weekly plucking would take care of it, now we need a weed whacker. It grows on our upper lips, making us look more than a little like Magnum PI. It even, occasionally, grows on our cheeks. We gaze in the mirror and are horrified to see this two inch strand of hair sticking straight out from just under our eye, and we think, How the hell LONG has that been there?

Anyone who has lived with me, or dated me, or (sorry, Honey) has been married to me knows that I am not exactly an award winner in the grooming department. I am clean, yes. I shower regularly and scrub my teeth several times a day and always slap some antiperspirant on my pits. But the everyday business of plucking and clipping and shaving and Q-tipping has never been my forte—especially once the kids came along. Seriously, who has time? (I’m a slave to my kids, not to my reflection.)  When I see a problem, i.e. a hangnail or an errant whisker, or if my leg hair is so long I fear my husband and I will start a fire under the covers (and not the good kind of fire, mind you) I deal with it as needed. But lately, as needed is a daily damned thing.

Last week, I spent several days in a row reviewing the line edit of my second novel, Sweet Nothings.  I devoted every minute of every hour that my kids were in school to this edit. Every other hour was spent on mothering and house-wifing and generally taking care of the business of family life. I gave no thought or energy to grooming. And by Friday, I looked like a freaking Sasquatch.  Seriously, I picked up my kids wearing a hat, a scarf wound all the way up to my mouth and Jackie O sunglasses to disguise myself. My kids didn’t even know who the hell I was.

Now, I know there are a lot of moms out there that do not have this problem. (You know, the Swedes) Or if they do, they take care of it quietly and gracefully. But I am just not that graceful. I can’t wax, because not only does ripping that cloth strip off my upper lip hurt like a son of a bitch, it also makes a cold sore erupt faster than you can say Vesuvius. Same goes for Nair. Instant eruption. And plucking is worse. My hair seems to grow in direct proportion to the hair I pluck. If, say, I pluck six (just a number) hairs from my chin on Monday, by Wednesday, there are seven hairs growing in the exact same spot. And plucking my eyebrows makes me sneeze uncontrollably— a succession of violent sneezes that threatens to blow my head apart. Electrolysis…um, just saying it makes me shudder, and laser removal is far too expensive for me. So waxing, Nairing, plucking, electrolysis and lasering are a no go. What’s a girl to do? Usually, I just say “Aw, hell!” grab my husband’s razor (don’t tell him) and take a half a dozen swipes across the entirety of my face.  Boom. Done.  

Ah, to be a French Bohemian. Wouldn’t that be nice? I could give up shaving my pits and everything. But alas, I’m just a middle-aged American woman with an unwanted hair issue.

I know this is a lesser evil of growing old, and there are far more important things to discuss with God. But hey, if you’re listening Oh Powerful One?  I’m not asking for no more whiskers. (I’d certainly ask for a new chin first!) But if You could make a depilatory that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t cost a lot, and lasts for a year, I’d be grateful. You made that happen with birth control, and I’m not going to hold it against You that You waited until after I stopped needing birth control. Thanks so much. Just let me know when it comes to pass. You’ll be able to recognize me. I’ll be the one in the hat, scarf, and Jackie O sunglasses.  

The Liebster Award

I am very flattered that MerrylandGirl nominated me for the Liebster Award. Thank you, Melissa! The Liebster Award is an award given by the blogging community to new and upcoming bloggers with less than 200 followers. (Well, I certainly fit into that category…hint, hint!)

The rules for the Liebster Award are as follows:

1) Tell 11 things about yourself.

2) Answer 11 questions from the blogger who nominated you.

3) Post 11 questions for those who will be nominated by you.

4) nominate 11 bloggers.

5) Get in contact with those bloggers to inform them that you nominated them.

Here are my 11 facts:

1) I drink coffee with half and half. Can’t do milk, unless we’re talking a LOT of milk. Oh, and sugar, too. In college, I tried to be cool and drink my coffee black, but YIKES! Nowadays, black coffee would burn a hole through my stomach!

2) I am a pathetic housekeeper (much to my husband’s dismay). I might be allergic to cleaning. Honest! A long time ago, in desperate times, I got a job at a cleaning service. On my first day, after using some of the cleaning products, my right eyeball swelled up to twice its normal size. I’m not actually sure if this was due to the cleaning chemicals, but it still makes for a great excuse!

3)  I have a birthmark that is a congregation of freckles on my left leg in the shape of Australia–which is probably why I have such a huge thing for Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe.

4) I have never watched Jersey Shore, Honey Boo Boo, any of the Real Housewives Shows, the Bachelor/Bachelorette, or American Idol. I do, however, love any and all reality shows that deal with cooking.

5) I have the same birth date as Julia Child and Napolean Bonaparte. No comment necessary.

6) I secretly want to get a tattoo, but wouldn’t know how to hide it from my kids, husband, and, most especially, my father!

7) I can’t draw. At all. I can make a cake in the shape of pretty much anything, but I wouldn’t be able to sketch it first because my drawings look like a preschooler made them. 

8) I read PEOPLE Magazine in the bathroom. Nowhere else, just the bathroom. I feel that this location is appropriate.

9) A few years ago, I wrote a very steamy novella–we’re talking 50 Shades steamy–and submitted it to Harlequin. It was summarily rejected.

10) I would eat sushi 365 days a year. (However, I cannot afford to eat sushi 365 days a year.) But I don’t like cooked fish. Broiled Halibut? Shudder. Grilled salmon? No, thank you. I will occasionally eat fish and chips, but we all know that has nothing to do with the fish itself.

11) My favorite sound is my children’s laughter. No, wait, it’s a tie between my children’s laughter and the oven timer going off when I’m baking a Tollhouse Pie. 

Questions from Merrylandgirl:

1) What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be the 5th Beatle. Problem was, I didn’t really discover the Beatles until after John Lennon was shot.

2) What was the best thing that happened to you in 2012? My debut novel, SOMETHING NEW, came out on November 6 from Penguin USA. The next day, at my first-ever book signing, I sold out, and the Barnes and Nobles event coordinator told me it was the first time a debut novelist had ever sold out at that store. 

3) If you had to perform at a karaoke bar, what song would you sing? Funny that you ask this question–I’ve performed on stage and at music clubs, but I have never been to a karaoke bar and was thinking about trying it–you know, ‘something new’ and all. Ever since Madagascar 3 came out, my daughter and I have been belting Katy Perry’s Firework out around the house. Maybe I’d do that. Maybe something by Janis Joplin, although that really dates me, doesn’t it?

4) If you could live someplace else besides where you currently live, where would it be and why? I have a fantasy of living in the south of France, writing novels in between drinking wine, exploring the beautiful countryside, and eating croissants at the nearby boulangerie with the warm-hearted and welcoming locals (cue montage music, please). 

5) If you were to take me on a tour of the town where you live, what is a must-see? I could take you to the beach or downtown or to Irrasae Sushi (see Fun Fact #10), but if you were here in winter, I’d take you to a spot just up the hill from my house. If you look in one direction, you can see the Pacific Ocean and Catalina Island, and if you look in the other direction, you can see snow-capped mountains in the distance. Very cool.

6) Given I’m a book addict, tell me your favorite book of all time. Wow. Really tough question. How can I pick just one? I love so many books. Recently, Water For Elephants, anything Jennifer Weiner, anything that makes me laugh out loud, even in public, A Suitable Boy, by Vikram Seth, which my mother made me read, and although I resisted for years, when I finally opened it, I couldn’t put it down. I can tell you that I’ve read The Talisman, by Stephen King and Peter Straub, three times. Something about the parallel universes and Jack’s plight really spoke to me. In fact, it’s about time for me to read it again…

7) What movie, in your opinion, should never, EVER, be remade? When Harry Met Sally and Jaws. You will never find two people with chemistry like Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal, and no matter how advanced special effects become, the original Jaws cannot be topped.

8) Tell me the last thing you dreamed about (while sleeping), no matter how crazy it sounds. I wish you’d asked me this last week, when I could have reported a lascivious dream starring Hugh Jackman…but the last thing I dreamed about was being back at my old job in my old restaurant in New York. It was lovely, though, because I was hanging out with my boss who has since passed away. I didn’t want the dream to end and was a little sad when I woke up.

9) What is the nicest thing someone did for you recently? Nominating me for the Liebster Award, Merrylandgirl!

10) What is your favorite month and why? September, because I got married in September and both my kids were born that month.

11) With the Oscars coming up, I’d like to ask this question: What movie (of any year) should have won an Oscar but didn’t? Or which movie won but shouldn’t have? Well, for some reason, I have a thing against Chariots of Fire. I mean, seriously, guys running in slow motion on a beach vs. Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark, fighting Nazis, snakes, and creepy, face-peeling ghouls? No contest. 

11 Questions for my Nominees:

1) What is the last ‘something new’ you tried?

2) What is something you’ve always wanted to try but never have? (and why haven’t you?)

3) Who is the last new author you fell in love with and the last new book you read?

4) What cartoon character do you identify the most with and why?

5) What dessert do you crave more than any other?

6) Who is your biggest celebrity crush of all time?

7) If you were trapped in an elevator for hours, what (besides your cell phone) would you want to have with you?

8) Which person in your life do you rely on most?

9) Describe your proudest moment.

10) If you could be any kind of pet, which would you be and why?

11) What is your favorite place that you’ve ever visited or lived?

My Nominees (some of whom don’t fit the number requirement, but I love their blogs):

Hong Kong Spinster

Chick Lit Chit Chat

Imperfect Mommy

A Novel Review

Qi Ancient Medicine, Modern Health

That Girl Reads

Mama J Hearts

Angry Julie Monday

New to Me!

Sometimes, your Something New is something you see, not something you do…

Resolve THIS!

Another year has passed, another year begun. The Christmas lights have come down. The tree is gone. All the holiday decorations have been stowed away, except for that Santa Claus soap dispenser in the bathroom that still has some Soft Soap left in it. The time has come again. The time to keep the resolutions we made a week ago, written on that scrap of paper we wish we’d misplaced, but which keeps turning up whenever we’re searching for something else.

I made a few resolutions for 2013. Not that I wanted to, or anything. I hate setting myself up for failure. But it seemed like a good idea at the time (“the time” being when I was drunk on holiday eggnog). I resolved to spend more quality time with my children, who seem to be growing up far too fast. I resolved to finish my third novel, which has been giving me agita, and which I happily set aside whilst making merry and baking myself into a coma. I resolved to be more organized with my paperwork and possessions (read: crap). And finally, I resolved to take better care of my body, this organism that has been a friend and nemesis to me, for better and for worse, for the past forty-five years.

Okay, so resolutions one through three seem pretty simple and straightforward, fairly easy to achieve if I put my mind to it. But the last—the body thing—is a different story. I am an average person in the health department. I take vitamins sporadically…you know, when I remember to. I work out regularly—logging several hours a week on the treadmill. I make sure to have plenty of veggies and lean proteins. But I also like my sweets. And my carbs. And my beer.

Over the course of my life, I have probably lost and gained hundreds of pounds. It used to be so easy. I’d say, “Okay, Janis. Get with the program.” And I’d starve and work out until I was fitting into a single digit size, smirking smugly at myself in the mirror. But now that I’m in my mid-forties, my body has changed. That thing about menopause making barrel-bellied women—that’s happening to me. And no amount of starvation or jogging or sit-ups is having any effect on my midsection. I trained and ran a half marathon last year, for God’s sake. But the photo of me crossing the finish line reveals not a fit, toned middle-aged chick, but an estrogen-challenged porker who also happens to have enough stamina to run 13.1 miles without stopping (not even to pee, mind you).

Sometimes, I think it might be nice to embrace my inner fattie, let myself go, and start amiably packing on the pounds with all my favorite foods. There are many women who make plus-sizes look great. They have confidence up the yin-yang! They say, “Yeah, I’m fat. And I’m FABULOUS.” Unfortunately, I have never been one of those women. I’m more the kind of woman who pretends to be pregnant, rather than overweight. Lots of forty-somethings are having babies nowadays, so, for the time being, no one questions it. Although this ruse might not work so well when I hit my fifties and sixties…

But what I realize now, aside from the fact that Mother Nature is a cruel bitch, it’s not so much about size for me anymore as it is about feeling good in middle age. I’m a mom, first and foremost. Yes, I want to be attractive. But I’m happily married to a great guy who has seen me carrying around a ten pound baby in my belly and still managed to have sex with me, so he can handle a few generous curves. But I want to be a healthy mom. The kind of mom who plays tag on the front lawn with her kids. Who jumps in the ocean and climbs on a surfboard right alongside them. Who does the three-legged race at the 4^th of July picnic without having a coronary. Not the mom sitting on the sidelines stuffing her face with a corn dog and continually pulling her over-sized shirt down to hide her tremendous gut.

So, hell, I just have to keep this resolution. As much as it pains me, I’ll forgo the dessert most of the time—not all the time, because endless days without chocolate are not worth living. I’ll cut out the beer, except on hot summer days. I’ll do my treadmill religiously, so that I can actually tag my kids instead of huffing around the front lawn ineffectually, causing my son to dial 9-1-1. As a mom, this resolution is my duty, my cross to bear, my honor. Okay, maybe not that last one so much.

And if all else fails, if cutting out the sweets and hops doesn’t work, I’ll bribe my husband into paying for a little lipo and a tummy tuck.

Wait a minute! Just hold on a sec. That’s a much better idea! Lipo and a tummy tuck! Much better than starvation and deprivation! Just shove a little vacuum into my navel, set the suction to high, staple up the excess skin. Boom. Done.

Wow. I’m so glad I thought of that! I mean, it’s not like I’m blowing off my resolution. There are many ways to take care of your body, right? Eating healthfully. Exercising regularly. Going to the spa. Doing yoga (gag). Drinking wheat grass juice. Getting lipo and a tummy tuck…Awesome.

Now, where did I put my beer?