New Year…Wider Butt

Well 2019 is off and running and it’s already looking better than that miserable 2018.  For starters, Mama’s back to work full-time. (Which is good because, though it was fun for a few months, I’m not a good stay-at-home mom and we’re not near a tax bracket that allows me to take on ‘lady of leisure’ as a career choice.) I’ve kicked the sugar monkey off my back for a couple weeks so far, reintroduced kale into our diet (much to the dismay of my family) took the stationary bike out of storage and I’ve managed to exercise twice. (I do not have to disclose how long each of those sessions lasted.) I’m not usually a diet resolution kind of gal as I’m not a fan of failure but after a year from hell filled with a cross-country move, a shift in old lady hormones and a banged up foot that left me gimpy and in a boot for months, my ass spread needed immediate attention. (I also have a 5 year old whose height hovers around butt-level and reminds me daily in his little lisp that “Mom, I wuv your big, fat butt.” Gee, thanks kid.)

So as the clock struck midnight on December 31, I decided to made some changes. No more watching My 600 Pound Life to feel better about myself. No more excuses using the bum foot (It’s not going away until I have surgery over the summer so suck it up woman.) No more eating like an adolescent boy and basically getting back to the way I lived life before all hell broke loose last year. While I have been busily shifting gears to return to my ongoing quest for a Tyra Banks bod, (I won’t let any 10” height difference dissuade me damn it.), I also realized it important to take a minute to pat myself on the back for having survived last year.

I dreaded the start of 2018. I knew that as soon as Ryan Seacress dropped the ball and the champagne was spilled, it was game on. (Full disclosure: I seldom see midnight on New Years’ Eve but you get the gist.) The start of 2018 meant boxes needed packed, houses needed bought and sold, jobs needed left and really crappy decisions needed to be made. The new year meant that the process of relocating once again was upon us and that totally sucked.

In case you missed it (or ICYM as the kids say. I just figured that out recently because after years in the bible belt I automatically assumed the CYM part stood for Christian Youth Ministry. This heathen’s scars linger.) let me recap our 2018:

January –

• Made the official decision to accept my husband, the Turk’s, relocation from Indianapolis to Boston – making it relocation #8 for our 10 year old. (Yes, he has a therapy fund.)

February –

• Began the horrific task of prepping a fixer-upper that wasn’t quite fixed-up, to sell. (ie-undoing, redoing and finishing The Turk’s “projects”)

March –

• Fought off a relocation-mandated spousal job counselor who called daily to remind me to begin my job hunt in Massachusetts. (Yo girl, how ‘bout we find a home first?)
• Broke the news to my students I was abandoning them.
• Celebrated 2 family birthdays.
• Began the horrors of packing up a family of 4.

April –

• Headed to Boston to house hunt with the world’s worst realtor.
• Considered buying a house until we noticed a prison in its backyard.
• Upon returning home, fired the world’s worst realtor.
• Got new a realtor.
• Sent the Turk back out to “Just buy a damn house. I don’t care where, I don’t care what – just buy us a damn house!”
• Bought a house in Massachusetts and sold a house in Indiana on the same day. (Booyah.)

May –

• Did the 700 pages of papers necessary to sell a house.
• Did the 800 pages of papers necessary to buy a house.
• Taught the final month of school, including exams and wrote 60-plus grade reports.
• Bought homeowners insurance on a house I’d never seen. (Thanks Zillow)
• Began a half-assed job search after excessive pressure from the pushy relocation-mandated spousal job counselor.
• Organized packers, movers, moving vans, car carriers, closing dates on both homes, travel accommodations and all those ridiculous things you have to do to buy and sell homes, pack up a life and schlep halfway across the country.
• Said good-byes.
• Quit my job.
• Questioned my sanity. Repeatedly

June –

• Closed on two different houses 3 days apart.
• Drove from Indiana to Massachusetts with two kids, a Turk and a surly cat.
• Waited on a moving van.
• Spent hours on the phone trying to locate said moving van.
• Finally unpacked new house.
• Dealt with ridiculous power issues at new house and forged a wonderful bond with the linemen from the power company. (This will come in handy during the storm this weekend.)

July –

• Finally sat down. On the beach. Which is 15 minutes from my house.

August –

• Ate copious amounts of seafood in honor of my new homeland.
• Took my little half-breeds to frolick on the beach on the reg.
• Threw myself into the new culture through PeeWee football.

September –

• Sent my children to school and shared the weirdest moment of silence ever.
• Spent every other moment taking kids to football.

October-

• Netflixed and chilled.
• More football.
• Tried to decide what to be when I grow up.
• Became painfully aware that while I was distracted with relocation, my ass had grown substantially.
• Decided to start running again in an attempt to rein in my ample backside.

November –

• Jacked up my foot trying to reduce my substantial ass and was sentenced to a boot for the next two months.
• Decided it was time to actually find a job.
• Mourned because I couldn’t find a job.
• Celebrated the end of the longest PeeWee football season known to mother-kind.
• Lamented my grande gluteus maximus from my gimpy position.

December –

• Bit the bullet and took up substitute teaching.
• Realized I already knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I’m a teacher. That’s what I do.
• Got a job teaching.

As you can see, it was a hell of a year. I needed a nap and a cocktail after just recalling it all. If gaining 15-20 pounds was what I needed to survive that crap show, then that’s a reasonable trade-off. I’ll give this whole new lifestyle a change for a few more weeks and if we don’t agree then no harm no foul. I’m just as feisty with a fat butt and I might need those extra pounds to get me through my first New England winter. One thing is for certain – I have no intention to relive a year like that ever again. (Hear that Turk? I’m not relocating again…unless…they show the big bucks…)