Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be twenty-six.
I have some personal goals for my twenty-seventh year. Wanna hear 'em?
[In no particular order:]
Take better care of my skin. I think it could be really nice, if I were nicer to it. You know, that golden rule.
Lose my last 20 pounds of baby weight. Dang, guys. Losing weight is so hard. Fat Americans, I feel you. Biggest Loser contestants, you are my kindred spirits. I get it. It feels so impossible. But I am doing it, slowly. And this year I want to finish up and stay finished.
Play more with the boys. Down on the floor with them. And not thinking about all the housework I should be doing instead.
Eat better, more consistently. Right now, my super-healthy pattern is to spend a week eating tofu sandwiches and quinoa soup, and the next week eating ice cream (half gallon in one sitting) and french fries. I'm a closeted junk-food junkie, parading as a hippie health nut. My body really doesn't respond well to these two warring factions. Time for my healthier habits to win out.
Stop chewing my nails. This one is laughable. I don't think I'll ever break this habit of [at least] twenty years. But it would be nice.
Less big-box shopping, more Etsy and Thrift Shopping. I could probably stand to buy less stuff in general. When I do need something, though, I want to avoid Target. Right now there is sort of a joke among my family, especially with my dad. He'll say, "Where'd you get that _________ (shirt, necklace, bag, etc)? Oh, wait, I know. Target." He's usually correct in his assumption. I'd like to change the default answer to Etsy or Goodwill.
Get to bed earlier. I'm talking, like 9 pm. I want to stop watching tv until 10 or 11, just because I'm too tired to climb the stairs to bed. If I can get to bed earlier, it's a lot easier to get up and exercise, which gives me more energy for the day. Besides, I've already seen every single Sex in the City rerun. So I don't have that excuse anymore.
Tomorrow will bring more birthday reflections. Until then.