The Sweet Life

So, I'm eating less sugary junk food. Again. Yes, I already fell off the wagon and I started two days ago. But I'm taking a big yoga breath, and being gentle with myself. Therefore I write, "less," not "none."

In conjunction with my sweet-consciousness, I'm writing at least one post about the sweetness of my life.

Tonight, I walked out of my bedroom and into the family room to find Luke watching "This Old House" and Brandon on his hands and knees with Pete slung over his shoulder. They were wrestling.

Tonight before bedtime I held Pete in the doorway of Luke's bedroom. He switched the light off, he switched the light on. Off. And on. Over and over again with a very contented smile on his face, which was upturned towards the light, and then dark...

Luke answered the phone today and said, "No." And then eventually hung up. I asked him who it was and he said, "Somefin' about the Texas Tech police, maybe?"

We are writing lists of things we're thankful for and then storing them in our "Thankful Box" to be read Christmas morning before presents. (I encourage you to STEAL THIS IDEA. I found it in the Ensign or Friend.) Anyway, Luke is thankful for many things, but last night he was thankful for all of his "aminals...especially my puppy and Baby Bear."

I am thankful for the women who have gone before me and made sacrifices that I sincerely hope never to make. But I hope my sacrifices will still be meaningful to myself and my God.

I am thankful for my Grandma Petersen and the time we had together in May. She knew me for 40 minutes to an hour on our last visit together in this earth life. I'm thankful for the freedom, and time, and peace and quiet of her home and for the radio she put in my room and the BubbleYum she left on my pillow.

Libraries.
Bookstores.
But mostly, libraries.

Progress: When I "fell off the wagon," I did not eat a whole piece of carrot cake (yes, my favorite kind, a first-place slot sometimes tied with chocolate). Brandon brought it home just for me, but I shared it with him and Luke and I even left one bite for Pete. And he never would have known if I hadn't...

To be sung with Scottish Brogue:

I would walk 500 miles,
And I would 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.

Da da da da!

And if you seriously can't sing along with me (how sad):

http://search.playlist.com/tracks/i%20would%20walk

So, my birthday is coming up. And this one's not just any birthday. It's the Big 3-0. I remember when my parents were in their thirties. They were grown-ups.

As a birthday present to myself, I'm setting a goal to walk, not 500, but 100 miles by the happy occasion.

This isn't a weight loss goal, although that'd be nice. Nor will this excuse me from gym time. And I'm not counting the walks I take around Walmart...you know, that purposefully, poorly designed store that sucks you in and only spits you out until after you've spent 3 hours and 3 times as much money as you'd planned. (Aaaaaanyway...)

Walking 100 miles will not be difficult. But it will take a concerted effort to getter-done. (Yes, I did just use the words "getter done" and "concerted effort" in the same sentence. I'm conflicted.)

In order to accomplish this goal, I will need to walk an average of 11.1111111 miles per week.

So, will you help me? You don't have to walk a mile in my shoes, you can just walk a mile beside them.

It'll be the cheapest birthday present you ever bought.