I can do very little to surprise my husband any more. More than once, Johnny has seen me strip naked to jump in some creek or to run through some out of the way field just because the moon was full, the sky was clear, and I had the urge to feel that kind of freedom right that moment. Johnny will haul a bookcase into the backyard, and help me turn that sucker into a vegetable garden with no questions asked. He'll help me bury garlic tincture for a holistic asthma remedy and he'll stay out of my way when I need to scream until whatever anger has been growing inside me is spent. Johnny knows every morning, before the sun rises, I meditate and he doesn't say a word when I return with the smell of frankincense and myrrh all over me. He may not hold with any of these shenanigans personally, but he's the kind of guy who believes you should do what works for you. He doesn't judge.
But then, he wandered out into the kitchen earlier this week to see what the hell we were doing- music up full blast, table pulled back, and Gracie sitting on a stool, head thrown back, laughing with the force of all her six years. Bailey, Shelby, and I were thirty minutes into some cha cha sliding and cupid shuffling. Every now and then, we like to do this kind of impromptu dance party remix. Today, I was determined not to quit despite how out of shape, how large and in charge, I am.
For all my size and jelly rolls, I got some moves. I mean, I have to be shown the rhythm a few times and I might get confused about what precisely I'm supposed to be doing, but damn, I'm happy when I'm boppin' around to some bass heavy music. You know how awkward Baby is in Dirty Dancing when she first tries her moves out at that employee only party? Yeah, that's me only about 200 pounds heavier and with more enthusiasm. I can't help it, y'all. I'm just a happy person when the music feels good.
It’s those 200 pounds and enthusiasm that have me dancing with my kids in the kitchen. See, my teenager, Bailey, is going to Italy in 2013 with the Alcovy High School Latin Club and I want to be there with her. That can’t happen unless I manage to fit my super size butt into one of those teeny, tiny airplane seats. I’m all for flying first class on an international flight, but this trip has given me a goal with a deadline. I need to lose 100 pounds before that plane takes off in 2013.
Can you believe I’m declaring this here in the newspaper? I figure, I let everyone know I’m riding the crazy train and taking meds, so I might as well let y’all know I’m trying to lose 100 pounds in 21 months. Nothing like telling the whole town to keep me on track and focused, right? This does not give anyone permission to slap ice cream cones out of my hand if you see me indulging at Scoops. Y'all can't say a word if I'm enjoying a bog old burger out at Frank's Seafood Restaurant & Sports Grill. Just encourage me and remind that I can do this. Because if I can do this, other folks can too. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a healthier, less crazy community? We’ll start with this fabulous, unhealthy, crazy mama and see what happens.
Now, all my daughters know is that their mama wants to hang out and dance every day. To them, I’m not someone who needs to lose 100 pounds. To them, I’m just one fabulous mama. The dancing hurts me after while though, but they encourage me to keep going. I can make it through almost an hour of this workout and they manage to keep me laughing. Thuggin' to the oldies, y'all, this is how I do. Turn that music up loud and that bass down low. I'll start movin' like Richard Simmons done got soul and showed up rightcheer in my house. Johnny better invest in some ear plugs for the rest of the summer. Despite my aching calves, I'mma be right back out there every single day. Nobody puts Baby in the corner.