Sincerely,
The Person Who Owns You
Gah.
It’s been long enough. I’ve been walking around with an extra ten pounds for several months now. And it’s time to bite the bullet, admit I’m chunky, and do something about it.
For the first few months after Sara was born, I remained in total denial about my weight. When I showered, I pretended like I was washing a car or something. And forget about looking in dressing room mirrors or exposing my thighs to direct sunlight. It was easy to deny my chubbiness on maternity leave, since I wore my Miss Piggy pants every day anyway. But then it was time to go back to work and I was still wearing them.
Yeah, well, I’m still wearing them.
It also doesn’t help I have to see Keri’s teeny-tiny thighs every day.
Or, as I played one-eyed tag at the company retreat, I felt my butt flopping up and down like two jackals fighting over a bone in my pants.
So, I’m going on a diet.
But that’s only part of the solution. I need to start working out, too, since losing weight will only solve the “mass” issue and not the “jiggle” issue. I’m going to ask my blog readers for their suggestions.
I considered not posting about my jiggly ass, due to the thought of Greg reading about my struggle of Clare versus Love Handles, but I’m not about to start censoring what I say. After all, if he read through the archives, he’s probably read way more embarrassing material.
9:30 P.M.
My readers suggested everything from kick-boxing to Tae Bo to Pilates to yoga. I even had a few offers for running buddies.
I still haven’t decided what technique I’m going to use to make my body look more like Jennifer Aniston’s and less like Jabba the Hut’s. The problem is, I’ve never really had to work out. Correction: I’ve never really wanted to work out. My body’s never been perfect, but it never necessitated serious athletic commitment to make it look decent. Of course, inevitably, a few times a year, I would watch some great infomercial about the latest workout and spend two hundred dollars and order the damn thing, only to have it collect dust under my bed. The slide thing with the booties, the Firm workout tapes, the Pilates ring, and the yoga band are all hanging out together and laughing at me as I sleep. Fat ass! they heckle.
Periodically, I take all of them out, dust the videotapes, and then slide them right back under my bed.
And that used to be the only workout I needed.
But, unfortunately, since having Sara, my body decided to kind of give up a little, so I think it’s going to take more than some light cleaning to whip this blubber into shape.
Love handles: Beware. Your days are numbered.
Tuesday, October 21
My diet is going well. If you don’t count all of the beer I drank yesterday.
Last night, I dragged Reese out of the house and made her come on a Haunted Pub Crawl with me. Keri told me about it, since she seems to know everything in the city that involves drinking, so I called and made a reservation. At first, she protested, claiming everything from not being able to find a babysitter to not having anything to wear to not feeling like drinking. I told her Jake offered to babysit all the kids, she had a closet full of amazing clothes, and she could drink water for all I cared. It was just about getting her out of the house and into the outside world. Of course, I felt a little guilty after I imagined all of the liquid calories I would consume, none of which would help me say arrivederci to Miss Piggy pants, but I figured I could sacrifice in the name of friendship. Yeah, that was it.
We met our transportation for the evening, a school bus painted black, in the city. There was a group of about thirty of us. The bus drove us from one bar to another, all supposedly haunted with the ghosts of everyone from old mobsters to jilted bartenders.
We didn’t see anything even slightly resembling a ghost, although Reese claimed ghosts were stealing her drinks because they kept going missing. The fact she was stumbling around after the first bar indicated no ghosts were involved. It was great to see her out, having a great time, having seemingly forgotten about Matt for the evening.
“Thanks so much for taking me out, Clare,” she slurred to me at the third bar.
“Of course. It’s been forever since we’ve been out together. I needed to get you out of that house before you turned into a pasty white albino.”
“You were right. I am having a good time,” she said, and patted me on the back. “I love you.” She leaned forward and hugged me.
“I love you, too.” I laughed.
“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” a cute guy behind her said.
“No, I’m—” She stopped and looked stricken.
“We’re OK,” I said quickly. I grabbed Reese’s hand and pulled her over to a corner of the bar. “So, how’s little baby Brendan?” I asked brightly.
“I didn’t know what to say,” she said. Tears formed in her eyes. “I almost said, ‘I’m married.’ But I’m not. I am, but I’m not. Oh, Clare, what am I going to do?” She buried her face in her hands.
“Reese, you’re going to be great,” I said, and put my hands on her cheeks and kissed the top of her head.
“But the kids. He hasn’t even come over to see the kids. It’s like he doesn’t care.” Her voice came out muffled.
“I’m so sorry, Reese. You’re such a great mom, though. Those kids are the luckiest kids in the world. Shit, will you adopt me?” I said, and tried to laugh.
“I just feel so guilty. I feel like—” She stopped and put her head down on the bar again.
“Is she passed out already?” Julie appeared by our sides.
Reese picked her head up off the bar and wiped her cheeks. “Julie, what are you doing here?”
“My shift ended early, so I thought I’d play domestic and meet the two moms out for some drinks. You guys drink your second beers yet?” She leaned over the bar, massive boobs resting inches from the bartender’s face. “Something strong, surprise me,” she said, and winked at the bartender.
“Very funny. Yes, we’ve had more than two beers,” I said.
“Great. I’m here now, so that means no more tears. No crying, only lots and lots of drinking, some dancing, and possibly some male heckling. Either of you two have a problem with that?” Reese and I smiled and shook our heads. At least Julie’s attitude distracted Reese from thinking about Matt.
“Good.” The bartender brought over a shocking green drink. “What the hell is this?” Julie demanded.
“It’s a Tree Frog,” the bartender said.
“Do I look like the kind of girl who drinks fluorescent-colored drinks?” She looked him squarely in the eye.
“Um, no, I, you said, um …,” he fumbled.
“Exactly. Now bring me something normal,” she said. She turned to us. “Can you believe that idiot?”
“I’ll drink the green thing,” Reese said.
Julie pushed the drink over to Reese.
“Want an umbrella with that?” I teased her.
“Any further along on your big life decision?” Julie asked me as the bartender placed a beer in front of her. “Better,” she said to him.
I shook my head. “Not really. It’s a game of tug-of-war and I’m that ribbon in the middle.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Reese said.
I reached into my purse to pull out my ChapStick. “It’s … nothing. I just can’t decide whether or not to continue working.” I took a quick swig of my drink.
“You’re kidding! But I thought you loved your job,” Reese said, eyes wide.
“I do, so that’s why it’s not an easy decision,” I said simply. I averted my eyes as all of the questions I wanted to ask Reese fought to leave my mouth.
Would you have chosen differently? Are you happy at home? Do you feel like in devoting your life to your kids you lost yourself?
Thankfully, she intuitively knew to change the subject. “I almost forgot! I have new pictures of the kids!” Reese said just as
I set my beer down. She reached into her purse and pulled out an album. She handed it to Julie, who leafed through it.
“I’ll be right back,” Reese said, and walked toward the bathroom.
As soon as she was ten paces away, Julie handed me the album. “Why do all parents take their kids to a pumpkin patch and then force you to look at the pictures?” she asked.
I laughed and took the album from her. “I don’t know. We feel compelled or something.” I mentally shoved my own pumpkin patch picture album a little farther down into my purse.
“She’s got cute kids and all, but damn,” Julie said, and shook her head.
“Cut her a break, Jules,” I said.
“I am. Doesn’t mean I want to see a thousand pictures of children, though.” Julie wrinkled her nose.
Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, I wanted to ask her about her date with my blog reader’s brother, Trevor. My reader said he seemed to really like Julie. “Have you gone out with Trevor yet?” I asked her as casually as I could.
“Yep.” She shrugged as she played with her pack of cigarettes. “He was nice. No drama. Dinner and drinks.”
“That’s good, right?” I said, and twisted my engagement ring around.
“I guess.” She took another swig of her drink
“Well, give it a chance. This is the first blind date that didn’t turn out weird, like in a strip club or—,” I started to say.
“Strip club. That would’ve been awesome!” Julie interrupted.
“No, I’m not going to a strip club, so don’t even think about it.” Reese reappeared. She looked down at her watch. “God, it’s still so early.” She reached forward and grabbed the green drink and downed it as Julie and I watched, mouths open.
“All right! Nice job! Let’s get you another, Mama!” Julie cheered.
Approximately a half hour later, Reese puked all over the black bus. Not her finest moment. Julie forgot Reese hadn’t really drank in several years and bought her a couple of shots before we left the third bar. We just pulled out into traffic, on our way to the fourth bar, when Reese’s hands flew up to her mouth and she tried to stick her head out the window. Except the window was up, so she puked all down the side of it. We were kicked off the bus .5 seconds later.
We knew Reese was too wasted to try to get back to the suburbs, so I called Jake and asked him not to kill me, but Reese and I were going to crash at Julie’s overnight and I would head to work in the morning. Thankfully, he didn’t ask for a divorce on the spot. He even told me to have fun with the girls.
So, the three of us headed back to Julie’s tiny apartment. Reese seemed to sober up after we plied her with lots of ice water and crackers. The three of us lounged around on a million pillows and blankets in front of the television, reminisced about our college days, and cried a little about my mom.
I don’t remember who fell asleep first or what time it was. I do remember waking up, looking over at my two best friends, smiling, and then snuggling back down in between the two of them.
And life was good.
Sunday, October 26
“Is she up yet?” I asked my mom as she answered the door this morning at seven.
“Still in the shower, but awake.” My mom smiled.
I looked at her. Her laugh lines seemed more deeply etched, her hair just a touch thinner, and her cheeks just a bit looser in the morning light, as she stood in front of me, not wearing any makeup.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I asked my mom even though I knew the answer.
“I’d love to, I’m just not up to it these days. But it means so much to me that you girls are …” Her voice cracked and became hoarse. She cleared her throat. “… that you girls are doing this,” she finished.
I put my arm around my mom’s shoulders. “Of course,” I choked out.
“Clare! What are you doing up so early?” My dad appeared with a cup of coffee.
“Dad, you know the walk is today,” I said.
“Oh, really?” He smiled at me.
“Dad!”
“He’s kidding. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” my mom said.
“I’m joking. I think it’s great you girls are doing this.” He paused. “Just try not to harm each other. The hospital ER is always slammed on Sundays.”
“Dad, you know Sam and I never fight.” I grinned back at him.
“I recall a few years ago, when you still lived at home, and your mother was out of town and you and your sister wound up pulling each other’s hair and fist-fighting.”
“Oh yeah. That was for a good reason,” I said.
“What was the reason?” my mom said.
“She took my flatiron,” I said.
“Ah, yes. Good reason,” my dad said.
I heard the shower shut off upstairs.
“I guess she’s out,” I said to my mom as I flopped down on the couch.
“How are you girls going to do this?” she asked, sitting down next to me.
“I have no idea. Maybe we’ll just walk in silence for four hours. Or maybe we’ll call a truce. Or maybe we’ll discuss the recent political turmoil in the Sudan. Anything’s possible,” I said to my mom.
She smiled at me. “Good luck.”
“Good luck with what?” Sam appeared, hair still dripping wet.
“The walk today. You two. Together,” my mom said.
Sam rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’ll be fine. I’m bringing my iPod anyway.”
We drove into the city, parked the car, and walked over to Grant Park, where the walk was to begin. We checked in and walked over to a patch of grass to wait for the event to begin. I sat silently next to Sam as she listened to her iPod.
I let her listen to her music for the first half hour of the walk, until I yanked one of the earphones out of her ear.
“Sam, that’s enough,” I said.
“What? Jeez? Rip my ear off, why don’t you. What’s your prob?” she said, and took the earphone out of her other ear.
“I thought we could talk. That was kind of the point of doing this together.”
“Oh.” She paused and watched a very fit woman speed-walk past us. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Um, I don’t know. I just thought we could catch up.” She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “So, how are you doing with all of this?”
Her head snapped like a rubber band in my direction. “With what?”
“With Mom.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly.
“No, you’re not—,” I started to say, and stopped myself. I switched tactics. “That’s great you’re doing so well. I’m having a hard time with it. I mean, she’s our mom. She’s always been like Supermom, so it’s hard to think of her as sick. I don’t know, what do you think?”
“I know,” she said slowly, and nodded.
We turned the corner onto Michigan Avenue, a swarm of pink T-shirts and pink visors. I was already sweating, thanks to being 100 percent out-of-shape. At least I could get exercise and feel philanthropic at the same time.
“Has it been hard to be at home?”
“Yeah, kinda. It’s hard to see her sick, you know?” she said.
“I can imagine. It’s hard for me to come over and see her, let alone see it every day. Must make it hard to think about anything else.”
“Sometimes,” she said quietly. Then, she caught herself and shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s whatever.”
“I know. Just don’t feel like you can’t talk about it. I know we’re not the best of friends, but I’m here if you want to talk,” I said.
We walked silently for five minutes, our feet pounding the pavement. As the crowd turned onto Canon Drive, Sam stopped suddenly.
I stopped next to her. “What’s wrong?” I said.
She twisted her hands in front of her and gazed out onto Lake Michigan, as though contemplating something. She met my eyes briefly. “Thanks,” she mumbled, and leaned forward and hugged me q
uickly.
“You’re welcome,” I said, my voice cracking a bit. “Sam, it means so—”
“Hurry up, we’re totally going to be the last effing people to finish this race. I have major plans tonight,” she cut me off, and started briskly walking in front of me.
It was a start. A good start.
I’ll take it.
Friday, October 31
Happy Halloween!
This has to be my third-favorite holiday. The first being Thanksgiving, for obvious gastronomic reasons, and the second Christmas, for obvious gift-receiving reasons
I mean, what other time can you shove pounds of chocolate into your mouth and claim you’re just “celebrating”? Plus, calories don’t count today, right?
Right?
I realized this year would be extra-special since Jake and I had an excuse to go trick-or-treating: Sara. I went to every kid store I could think of in search of a costume for her, but I didn’t find anything I really liked. I lamented to Julie, who ignored my questions about Trevor but sent me a link to an online store with some of the weirdest infant costumes I’ve ever seen. Costumes like a whoopee cushion, a taxicab tree air freshener, and a roll of toilet paper. I’m fairly certain the owners of the company did a serious amount of weed during their creative design sessions. Anyway, I voted for the whoopee cushion, but Jake didn’t seem to find it as funny as I did, so she’s going trick-or-treating as a pumpkin.
I say she’s going trick-or-treating, but really, it’s Jake and me pushing her around in a stroller. We’re going to knock on doors, say, “Trick or Treat!” and point to Sara while sticking our hands out for candy. It’s like, We made an effort to dress our kid up. Now you are socially obligated to give us candy. Fork it over, lady! I will allow myself to have but two pieces of chocolate this year, as my goal is to decrease the size of my ass rather than tack on a few more rolls.
I posted a photo of Sara in her pumpkin costume on my blog, and wifey immediately left the first comment of: OMG! I WANT TO EAT HER! And I honestly took it literally. I quickly scanned through the other comments, including one from Greg wishing me a Happy Halloween, before I closed my laptop and shoved it under the bed.
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