The Last Eleven Pounds


When I stare into the mirror, I see an inflated version of myself. Eleven pounds – to be exact – have been added. At times, I struggle to recognize this latest reflection of myself. She looks tired.

As I write this, it is approximately 10:42 p.m., and my body wants to run. I have eaten calories that need to be burned. And yet, I am readying myself for bed. Sleep trumps fitness and any neurotic weight concerns that I may have.

The children will need my energy and, more importantly, an agreeable mood tomorrow.

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The Fruit of Addiction


…is rotten. Just rotten.

Sweltering late summer in the Deep South combined with the unrelenting demands of a newborn create the perfect recipe for restlessness, and I was desperate to escape to the mountains. My husband, bless his soul, loves me an awful lot. He not only drove us several hours to the mountains but also delayed our departure by a few hours so that I could fulfill a special dream: apple picking with my children.

In my mind, the entire trip would be no less than perfection. In reality, however, I caught a most dangerous glimpse of myself as an information addict.

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