Let me be abundantly clear: Christ and Christ alone truly owns me. But assuming His sovereignty, there are more than a few earthy things that have a pretty decent hold on me. I’m all for working to take control of your life, but let’s be honest, these things are calling the shots right now for this Mom of the Year.
Source
If she can make that body happen, I’ll follow her for life
Jillian Michaels. She sucks. Her militant, graceless orders on her workout DVDs so, so suck. But she also has me in the best shape of my life. There is no one else who can scream, “Go! Go! Go! Dig! Dig! Dig! DIG!” at me who I will willingly return to for a half hour each morning. I’m yours, Jillian.
Google. I don’t understand Google + to save my life. Yet when Google says “Jump”, I say “How high?”. I log on, I pretend to play along, and I live in fear of the day when Google overtakes the world because I’m pretty sure I still won’t understand what a Google Circle is by that point.
Diet Coke. I quit drinking it months ago. That continues to go so, so well. Please feel free to read in endless sarcasm here. I’m just thrilled about all the nasty chemicals which I am officially addicted to.
Consignment sales. Cognitively, I understand that if I go, I will spend money that I would not have spent if I didn’t go. But the prices! New-ish kids’ sneakers for $2? Um, how fast can I get in line?
How are you supposed to rationalize with this face?
My psychotic dog before meal time. He operates under the powerful conception that we will forget to feed him. He starts panicking about this approximately 4 hours before each meal time. He runs in circles, leaps like a jack rabbit, whines and shakes his annoyingly noisy collar. This threatens to wake my sleeping children, the most serious offense in my book. So I give in, I cave, and feed him to stop the hysteria, which only reinforces his behavior for the next mealtime. I am weak, so very weak…
Sippy cups. This makes me cranky. The whole of my 30s is apparently to be dedicated to sippy cup management. Washing them, filling them, refilling them, and then finding them rank of spoiled milk after they have been hiding under my couch for 3 days. Gag me.
Slim hopes for breaking free of any of the above in the near future. At least if you are trying to find me, you’ll know who to look for–I’ll be the one running madly to the consignment sale, Google +-ing on her phone while downing Diet Coke in a sippy cup.
What’s got a hold on you?
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