Some grapefruit, a fetus, and some thoughts on treadmills. We're all over the place today.

Is it already February 22? How in the world did that happen?! Usually February crawls by like ... February. Longest shortest month of the year. Cold air. Short days. Valentine's Day.

Total crap.

But for some reason this February has not made me as hateful and depressed as it usually does. I don't know what is different this year.

I gave up eating sugar. I am 21 days clean. Clean if you don't count that maple syrup that I eat on my pancakes once a week. And clean if you don't count milk and pretzels and hamburger buns and every other food that is essentially sugar parading as food. I'm clean in the "Public Restroom" sense of the word.

But that's 21 days of not eating a bowl of ice cream after each meal. 21 days of not having a sleeve of Oreos for a midnight snack. 21 days without Sour Patch watermelons or cinnamon hot lips or pretzel M&Ms.

Wouldn't you think that would have made February so much worse? All it has done is reminded me of how much I love grapefruit.

I am going through a lot of grapefruit these days.

To me, eating grapefruit is like reading the scriptures. Every time I do it I think, "That was awesome. And good for me! Why don't I do this more often?!" And then I don't do it for a while. And then I think, "Eating grapefruit is a pain in my butt. I have to dig the segments out with a little spoon. The seeds are everywhere. I always get squirted in the eye. Instead I'll have a doughnut." And with every doughnut it becomes more and more difficult to eat grapefruit.

You see where I am going with this.

Doughnuts are delicious.

Speaking of my sister-in-law's baby shower, here we are showing off our respective bumps. Hers is from an eight-month-old fetus. Mine is from grapefruit, pancakes, and a Chipotle burrito bowl.

Can you believe how tall I am in this picture? Sometimes I forget that I am tall and then I see a picture of myself with a normal person and I start to wonder if I am, perhaps, too tall. And then I remember that I can reach whatever I want and people don't give me any crap. I like being tall.

Can you tell that I am stalling? My husband is out of town and since I can't run outside without leaving  my children to their own devices, I am forced to run on the spinning hamster wheel of doom, A.K.A. the treadmill.

Treadmills are the worst. They take something that I enjoy under normal circumstances - running - and make it a completely hellish nightmare.

Say your favorite thing to do is read. Now imagine that you are in Hell and the only thing you have to read is a Crock Pot manual. And you have to read it over and over and over. That's what it is like to run on a treadmill. Like reading a Crock Pot manual in Hell.

I guess I'd better get to it. The treadmill won't run itself.

Peace.

(Nope, I'm not peacing out yet because I just remembered that I need to share THIS LINK with you. It's what I wrote this week about a special ed. teacher at Snow Canyon High School who entered her students in a Samsung video contest. Out of 1500ish applicants they have made it into the final 15 and are poised to win $110,000 in grant money - given they receive enough online votes. That is where you come in. Click the link, click the link!)

(One of these times I will update you on the rest of the people I live with, but to be honest they don't do much besides ride their bikes and eat string cheese.)

(Enough stalling. To the treadmill!)

(Not you, me.)

Adios, Chancho

 This little hoser decided that he no longer wants to be called Chancho:

Here is what happened: We were at my sister-in-law Sheree's "Eat Food and Occasionally Watch the Super Bowl Ads" party. Chancho overheard DJ telling some people what Chancho means in Spanish. 

He was not pleased. 

This whole time I thought he knew. We have told the tale of how he got his nickname so many times I assumed that he must have figured it out at some point, but I was grossly mistaken. I keep trying to sneak it into conversation like it was all just a bad dream, but he won't have it. I am very sad about this. My boy has outgrown his nickname.

Happier news: I ran this week! It was glorious and wonderful and every other sweeping, generic adjective that you can think of. I may regret this later in life when I have to have all of my foot bones fused together or something like that, but for now I am happy and blissful as an ignorant clam.

I love running so much, which is weird because I'm not that great at it. Consistent, yes, but not naturally talented. If we're ever faced with a zombie apocalypse situation my brain will be the first to be eaten since I'm so slow, but I persist. Yesterday I went for my morning trot and it was raining. The sun broke through the clouds and voila:

I stopped dead in my tracks on the trail and took a picture. Can you think of a better way to start your day? Until I can eat doughnuts again, I can't.

Lastly, here is a little something about the new Monopoly game piece and what is wrong with America. I figured it out, so you can rest easy.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

My sister, Lisa, and I had a long text discussion a little while ago about things that are our favorite. This lotion  is one of her favorite things:

She recently mailed a tube to me and now it is one of my favorite things. It smells of pomegranate and makes my hands silky, but the best part about it is the little key that rolls the tube up, making for efficient lotion usage. So cute.

Lisa is classy.

Me? Not so much.

When she asked one of my favorite "things" my answer was this three dollar lip gloss from the grocery store:

Anyone tried this stuff? I love it. Especially the red-with-green-writing flavor. It smells like Smarties and makes my lips feel silky. Until this moment I hadn't realized how invested I am in feeling silky.

And then there is Tess. Her favorite thing is my blue eye shadow:

She tries to sneak some every day. Blue eye shadow is difficult to sneak. She also wears my smelly lotion, paints her nails on a daily basis, and - I am not exaggerating - she combed her hair in front of her mirror for twenty minutes tonight before bed. She is my mother-in-law reincarnated. She doesn't get this stuff from me. I didn't even realize I was female until I was seventeen years old.

My husband's favorite thing lately is anything to do with lifting weights and weight lifting supplements and eating more lean protein and vegetables. He's been Mr. Healthypants since October. I am very proud of him. Here he is on our last date:

Please notice that he ordered the under-500-calories grilled chicken breast and salad, but won't keep his grubby mits away from my onion rings and barbecue cheeseburger. The cheeseburger thought it was funny, too:

I guess I've been thinking a lot about the little "things" that make me happy lately, since my go-to Happy Thing is off limits for another 25 days. This is my third sugar-free day. No Oreos. No Marshmallow Mateys. No Bordeaux cherry chocolate ice cream. This is really happening. Wish me luck, friends. And pray for my family.

Speaking of funny "things" check out what I wrote about the moisturizing Wrangler jeans that I found online. I laughed so hard when I stumbled up them. And then I briefly considered buying a pair.

There is sunshine in my soul today!

This boy. For the past four or five years he's been going through this phase of not wanting to sleep in his bed. That is how my husband and I found him the other night. Maybe a nightlight will help.

In other news, I am toying with the idea of doing a sugar detox. I am fairly certain that I am addicted to sugar. I have been reading about sugar addiction online and have found all of these great 21 or 28 day sugar detox plans which I have been circling around like a shark, but I am not sure if I am ready for that kind if commitment. This is how I know that I am an addict: I do not think I can live without sugar. I am not sure if I want that kind of life. But I do know that eating the amount of sugar that I eat on a daily basis is going to cause me to die young, not to mention what it's doing to my skin.

February is notoriously sucky anyway, maybe this will be my sugar detox month. I really want to do it, I'm just not sure if I've hit rock bottom yet. I mean, why bother with the recovery process until I've reached that point, ya know? I am craving Oreo cookies.

Speaking of rock bottom, this week was kind of the pits. My poor husband got strep throat. I have no idea from whence he contracted this horrible illness. It was his turn for the penicillin shot in the bum this time and I took great pleasure in watching him wince whenever he sat down. "Imagine running thirteen miles like that!" I declared self-righteously and repeatedly. This was the day before his 31st birthday.

Yesterday - DJ's birthday-  I woke up with one of those 12-hour flu bugs that eternally destroys your appetite for whatever you ate the previous day (Vietnamese shrimp soup, spring rolls, chicken shish kebabs). And when I say "woke up with" I mean the nausea pulled me out of a dead sleep at three a.m. Totally lame.

AND ON TOP OF IT ALL I think I have a stress fracture on my foot. The thing about stress fractures is that you can't run on them for 6-8 weeks or the bone will completely break and you will need surgery. Long story short: I will spend crappy February unable to do the one thing in this world that I enjoy most. I best rethink this sugar detox plan.

Finally, here is a link to my latest column at St. George News. If you haven't already read it, it is about the geological perils that surround us in southern Utah.