We all gained weight over the summer.
Anthony and I got plump with good eating, rest and relaxation. Not to mention quite a bit of fine wine, and the odd G&T. Which reminds me, I've started reading a blog about Martinis for breakfast.
But, once again, I digress.
Alex and Kathleen only gained slightly, and that's because they also grew in height.
I got a lecture from my son last week about all the imbibing we've been doing over the holidays.
"You and Anthony drink a lot," he said loudly to me, teen aged-boy-brain undoubtedly twitching with glee over his calculating observation, while watching closely to see my reaction.
Of course, my response is always the same in such circumstance, which is to immediately make fun of my son.
"Jealous?" I shot back. He smirked and skulked away.
But I take his point, and this week, Anthony and I are on the wagon, both food and alcohol-wise. Also, I've been hauling my big fat bum around on my bike all week, and taking long, fast walks with hubby in the evenings. We'll continue in this vein until we can see our toes again.
But the biggest gainer was my mother.
Sally is vast.
Now, she's always been a fat woman, ever since I could remember her. And I do mean fat. Not pleasantly plump, "round" or whatever avoidant euphemism you may wish to tag it.
Fat. Sometimes verging on morbidly obese. She can't resist her chocolate and pastries and ice cream.
Since moving to Kookytown, she'd lost weight. She eats very well here, noshing heartily on the healthy and ample meals I provide. I also do separate chocolate runs just for her, and she accepts the bags of goodies I present with moist-eyed excitement , grabbing them and heading immediately for her room, where she stashes the bars and bags and boxes of assorted yummies here-and-there through her drawers and on the bed-side table-top, so, presumably, to be available wherever her fingers may happen to roam.
She has started drinking a glass of wine every night here, as well. Before she was strictly a tea-teetotaler. Of course, even without the desserts and wine, she out-eats everyone else here. Her plate is piled high with food every night, making Anthony's dinner seems disappointingly slight, when placed side-by-side with hers.
Despite her massive consumption rates, she lost weight after moving in with us, which gives you a pretty good idea of how unbridled her appetite must have been for the last thirty years, when she lived alone in Winnipeg, with no one else around to observe, and thus inhibit, her habits.
"I gained weight at the seniors' residence," she moaned to me upon her return this past week.
I said nothing, as what I thought really didn't make appropriate conversation.
"It's hard, though, you know," she continued. I knew an excuse was inevitable.
"They feed you three big meals a day. And there's always fruit and muffins available."
"There's always food available here, too, mom," I countered.
She mulled that for a second. Then:
"Yes, but there, I was paying for it."
"And so I had to eat everything, even if I wasn't hungry."