Some things you should know:

I'm Jennifer. aka Jen, JB, Bromley, Brom & Momma. I answer to most of them. Not always Jennifer-there were so many of us growing up around here I can get away with it. At least once a day, I can get away with not answering to Momma. Don't judge me, ya'll do it too. I'm an emotional mess-who cries at cotton commercials? Though it IS the fabric of our lives. I cry at school performances - it's not because M is the star...it's because she's MY star. I cry reading books & while watching the boob tube. Basically, at everything. My middle name should be "Emotional" and not Leigh - though Leigh does flow nicely. I'm madly in love x2 and probably the luckiest girl around. My plan here is to a) Vent. I mean, my friends can only take so much. b) Make myself a journal - like the one I promised myself I'd make after I figured out how to do this motherhood thing. I learned that since that's a work-in-progress, I'd better start before M went to college. and c) To make ya'll laugh. Well, mostly myself (to keep from crying). My life makes me giggle. With joy, with love and with complete embarassment more often than not. Feel free to LOL with AND at me.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

this cracked me up, ya'll

So, I've been exercising.  (Non-stop since my last blog.  JK.)  It's annoying me.  Not the exercising part so much.  It's what I'm exercising FOR that's plucking my nerves.  I am an instant gratification type of gal, you see.  I've been working on my problem.  Ebay has helped what with having to wait to win, wait for delivery WHEN ya win (and I always do).  Kindle and Amazon have NOT helped (just a click and looky there - the book is all in my face with the "New" saying READ ME!  READ ME!).  But back to my point...I simply cannot keep splitting my pants, people!  Ok.  It only happened once, and in my defense, I'm a shorty and getting into my truck takes effort.  It's much like climbing onto a horse if I correctly remember my one attempt at doing so Camp White Rock-style.  But they were a pair of my Seven For All Mankind jeans!!!  (No, Chapin - not ones you got me.  I'm not even ATTEMPTING to squeeze these newly shaped thighs into those until said excercising does more than it has dropping 5 measly pounds of the 15 unwanted ones I've managed to accrue.)

Apparently in my blissfully happy world of love, special momma/daughter giggles in the car (usually while I'm singing a song loudly...and badly), soccer practices and games, multiplication tables and fractions, and trips to the liquor store, I forgot that m'dang metabolism would slow shut the hell down as I aged and I shouldn't shovel in super-sized bowls of Rigatoni and Ragu smothered in cheese nightly.  (I'm sorry Ragu, I still love you.  And I cherish the times we spent together with Renee, Bacardi and Pepsi, Friends and Will and Grace.  Love and miss you, Nea.)


I sort of mentally beat myself up if I don't go to the gym and then stuff my face with a bag of Bold Party Blend Chex Mix wondering why my jeans are too tight, but today, with my gym bag waiting patiently for me in the car, I open an email from my old friend Melissa.  The subject was something along the lines of walking being good for you.  At first I was like yeah, yeah, I KNOW ALREADY!  But then I got to this part:

My grandpa started walking
five miles a day when he was 60.
Now he's 97 years old
and we don't know where he is.

I don't have a clue as to why this tickled my fancy so much, but it did.  I mean, it's funny!  So today, I'm gonna laugh while I'm on the treadmill wondering where this person's grandpa might be, call my Nanny Bananny to check in on her (hopefully, she's not out on a walk), and I vow this:

I Jennifer Leigh Bromley will only have my favorite-ist most delicious meal of all time ONCE a week.  Starting next week.  JK.  Starting now.

JB


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