Chubby Mommy

It’s no secret how much I hate to exercise. It’s not that I don’t understand the health benefits: I most certainly do. I just always feel like there are other, more enjoyable ways to spend an hour out of my day. (OK, so cleaning house isn’t necessarily more enjoyable than aerobics, but the results are obvious so much more quickly!)

Experts advise that folks in my situation just need to find ways to make exercising fun. Skip rope, they sometimes say, or jump on a mini-trampoline while watching TV. But any woman with an ample chest can tell you, aerodynamic engineers have yet to create a sports bra that can take such strain without being so darned tight they threaten to break the wearer’s ribs.

Last weekend, a friend of ours mentioned something that actually does sound like it might fit the bill: paintball. Here in Kansas City, we’ve got a huge paintball fan base, thanks to a cave structure down near the Missouri River. There are, it turns out, a half-dozen or so businesses down there which have bought underground space and sell tickets to folks looking to play. My husband was clearly enthused about the idea, and my son hasn’t stopped asking whether we can go check out the paintball park.

So I’m thinking this year I might spring for a paintball gun package for the family as a Christmas gift. There are some truly awesome paintball guns available. We’re talking wicked-looking things that would light up my 7 year-old’s face, since he’s now in a “GI Joe and all things military” worship mode. My husband, a retired soldier, would no doubt love one as well.

Now, I’m not ordinarily a big one for messy games, but I do have to admit it sounds kind of fun. After all, under what other circumstances would I legally be allowed to shoot at my husband, relieving myself of all sorts of tension while also getting a good workout in the process?

Yes, I’m still crazy about my juicer, much to my husband’s surprise. Part of it’s due to the exquisite difference between freshly made orange juice and that bitter stuff which comes from the store. It’s just such a pleasant way to start the day… until you run out of oranges, as I did this morning.

My juicer, incidentally, is why I may be the only person alive who is actually hoping to get a “Fruit of the Month” Christmas gift this year. (My husband’s sticking with his request for Super Bowl tickets. I’m thinking we’re both out of luck.)

Anyway, this morning I whipped up a new juice recipe, and I think it’s a winner. This one even passed my son’s taste tests, which is not an easy thing to do. Since it’s bright orange, my little guy dubbed it “Sunshine in a Glass”. Works for me!

Sunshine in a Glass

- 3 long carrots, scrubbed and with ends removed
- 1 red apple

Add ingredients to juicer in order given, stir and enjoy.

Last week when I informed my husband that I was cutting gluten, dairy and red meat out of my diet, he was surprisingly supportive. After all, he’s suffered from my allergies almost as much as I have, with both of us losing sleep as I’ve sniffled, sneezed, coughed and hacked my way through many a night.

Since then, I’ve served a number of dinners that have undoubtedly pushed his patience. The man does love red meat, after all, and if left to himself would gladly eat it three meals a day… plus snacks. Going without it for one night? That’s fine — he knows he can make do the next day with a double cheeseburger at lunch. But seven days of it? That, as he’s since told me, is just downright cruel.

Yes, I know I’d initially planned to serve him red meat on the side. He’s reminded me of that fact, too. But as the person doing the cooking as well as most of the dinner dishes, it only took one night for me to realize that making a separate dinner for him (and a third for our son, who eats dinner most nights before we do) was just too much.

As his patience has worn thin, so has his support. The first night, he smiled and complimented the spinach and soy cheese frittata I’d served alongside a tossed salad. The second night when I served chicken pad thai (which uses rice noodles), he cooed over the tiny bits of grilled chicken breast without pointing out that I used 1/4 the “normal” amount of meat in favor of including more vegetables. The third night? Well, that’s when he started playing dirty.

Out came the ice cream, chocolate sauce and marshmallow topping… with a dusting of crushed Oreos, all of which he proceeded to eat while making little cooing sounds as we watched a movie together.

But you know what? I can play dirty, too. I told him that if he manages to do a month’s worth of meat free dinners with me — without binging on no-no snacks in my presence — I’ll return the favor by letting him watch football each Sunday without bitching about it. (No, I’m still not going to agree to spending money on Cowboys tickets but he can watch them from home all he wants.)

What I didn’t count on was how sneaky he can be when he wants to: he’s planning to invite his friends over to watch football this Sunday, and pointed out that I couldn’t tell them they weren’t bringing nacho chips and dip into my house.

Grrrr.