Now, where was I?

Where was I? Avoiding writing a blog by the looks of things.

It isn't that I haven't been dieting, because let's face it I'm going to be "on a diet" now for preeeety much forever. I'm have been trying to reconcile that fact in my head and struggling with it a little. I know, it's supposed to be about creating a new way of life as opposed to dieting, but the fact remains that as I age, (somewhat disgracefully I hope), I no longer have the freedom to eat and drink without consequences. Bits of me hurt and ache that never used to before, and so my ability to go out dancing all night and burn off the kebab that staves off the munchies induced by three bottles of red wine shared with not quite enough friends is diminishing. Anyway, I no longer have the arse for that mini skirt.

So now it's about choices. I can decide to make healthy choices and melt off some of the excess me, or I can make less healthy choices and watch my weight creep up and my health become worse. It sounds easy enough, but as always, I want my cake and eat it. (Sorry.) I want to be able to eat and drink what I like AND lose weight, and I've been fighting against the knowledge that this isn't going to happen.

Kid the eldest has been struggling with the whole choices concept as well. He arrived home from secondary school (yes, it has been that long since I updated this blog...they've all moved up a year and one has moved school!) with a letter in hand informing me that the school were hoping to take some of the children to Spain in the summer. Six hundred odd quid it's going to cost. Six hundred (or possibly even more) of my finest pounds. Well you can imagine the look on my face. I think there might still be the odd stray eyebrow attached to the kitchen ceiling. Anyway, we thought about it and offered him a choice. It's his birthday this week. He could forgo a present and we'd put the money in the Spanish Fund. He can ask everyone who would normally give him a gift for dosh and that can also go in the Spanish Fund. And likewise at Christmas. And if he's really keen to go, he can give up a goodly portion of his monthly pocket money. He has a week to make up his mind and I can almost see the cogs churning as he weighs up the pros and cons.

Talking of money, Kid at the Bottom of the Heap had the best fun this weekend. It was her birthday in June and she was lucky enough to receive vouchers for Argos, book tokens and cold hard cash. For one reason or another, we hadn't taken her to spend any of these until Sunday when we braved the mall. So many things, so many choices, so many decisions! (She's another one who hates to commit to anything!) I didn't think we were ever coming home. Still, eventually she picked out three books, a heap of plastic tat and a wedding dress for a stuffed rabbit. I asked her who the (girl) rabbit was going to marry and she said "*Custard. Because you know, just because granny doesn't approve, girls CAN marry girls now."


*Bad mummy alert. I have no clue which stuffed critter of many stuffed critters is called Custard. I also don't know if the rabbit has a name, although if the state of most of her toys' clothes is anything to go by, Miss Havisham will soon seem appropriate.