I'm too old for this poop.

My darling, precious boy, in an obvious attempt to inoculate us all against work-a-day pathogens, is spreading our environment with a fine layer of poop.  His poop, somebody elses's poop, it doesn't matter.  Poop is poop, and poop is AWESOME. 

I throw away as many of the poop begrimed items as I can, as this serves two purposes: I declutter, and I get to say, in a voice of calmest ferocity, "See this?  It is covered in poop.  It's going in the trash."  Then I clean, and as I do, my darling, precious boy does not get to watch (ha-HA), because that would be entertaining.  No, he must sit in the corner with his back to me, except when I demand his attention to say, "See this?  It is covered in poop.  It's going in the trash."

So, my gift to you is this, something you could have found if you googled it.  You're welcome.


Oh, and I made lacto-fermented okra pickles.

Yes, I washed my hands first. Gah!

Inspiration!

I was watching a series of WAPF videos I found on Dyno-Mom's blog when my husband came in and started watching with me.  The videos are of a press conference WAPF held in response to the FDA's nutritional guidelines.  Anyway, my husband actually stayed and watched them all, over an hour's worth of viewing.  Now he is surprisingly enthusiastic about reforming our diets.  Yay!

Back on the Wagon

It's disgusting to me that the only way I seem to be able to accomplish anything, in this case dieting, is by obsessing over it.  I mean nothing I do gets done unless I charge it like Hamburger Hill.  So, here I am, back to the only thing that ever works, but dadgum is it so unpleasant, counting calories.  Eyeballing, weighing, measuring, logging, and always, the nagging hunger.  Food is all I think about, and my pride won't allow me to say the words that are scrolling through my head like a news ticker:

I'm hungry. I'm hungry, I'm hungry.

The only thing I can say about this method, besides the fact that gosh dog it, it works, is that it gives me a feeling of control, and the hunger lets me know it's working. Cuss, though, I wish I had the self control to just be sensible.  Ironic, isn't it; I have the will to be ascetic but not to be comfortably restrained.