Tag Archives: responsibility

Tokens of Ownership

Just now Mark pulled three brushed nickel house numbers out of a rumpled Restoration Hardware bag. The receipt tumbled out with them.


Three days after my 28th birthday. The day after our closing. Our first house. Our wedding less than two months away. Unbeknownst to me, my current job will end very soon, another opportunity presenting itself favorably. So much change, so much new responsibility. Going into Restoration Hardware, on the corner of Boylston and Exeter Streets, and poring over the styles and finishes, wanting to purchase a small, perfect something. A token for the house. Something to make it immediately ours. Feeling very adult, going to buy new numbers for my house at a fancy store in Back Bay.

Now, Mark sits at the kitchen table, an Azek board and a screw gun in hand, and mounts the numbers to the board. Three more minutes and the board is on the house.

Five years, four months and seventeen days later, those numbers, my token of ownership, are finally on the house. In that time, Mark has gutted eighty percent of the first floor, replumbed and rewired the whole house, built two new staircases, a bath/laundry room, a home office, a new front porch and back deck, reroofed, and fenced in the yard, we’ve decorated a nursery, brought home two puppies, and our small boy. I’ve planted gardens, transplanted flowers from my mother’s gardens, we put in a sandbox. Through all that, the old numbers stayed where they were, on the old front porch post, leaning up against the street face of the house. Somehow all those responsibilities and lists crowded around, jostling for attention, and time slipped away.

Today, though? We have three new brushed nickel numbers on a block on the front of the house.

Crave-y Rabid Boar

I have been all kinds of crave-y lately.

As with many behavior changes, when I start out, it’s hard. For the first two weeks I was back on Weight Watchers, I literally wanted to EAT EVERYTHING THAT WASN’T NAILED DOWN. Seriously. It was gross. But I stayed on track, I made smart choices, I stacked the cabinets and fridge in my favor.

And I lost.

And as the weeks went by, my body adjusted to fewer, more nutritionally dense calories, and I stopped wandering the kitchen like a rabid boar.

And I lost some more.

So, I started exercising. Just some WiiFit in the afternoons while Felix was napping. It was hard, and I was sore, but it was fun. I know. I know. Fun? Seriously. Fun. Exercise packaged as play. Whodathunkit? So, I started doing it more, and daily, and now I’m challenging myself to faster, more, yes, oh, yes, more, faster… wait. What? Ahem.

And I lost some more. I hit a small weight loss milestone. I stepped up my goals.

And promptly fell on my ass.

This week, in part because hormones are tricky wee pests, and partially because I am just a teeny bit nervous and stressed about my new job which starts on Monday, I have, again, been eating everything that isn’t nailed down.

This doesn’t bode well for my trip to the scale tomorrow. But I will go. Because accountability, to myself, even if I show it by being accountable to a receptionist at a Weight Watchers center, is at the core of why I’m making these behavior changes. I am responsible for keeping this body healthy. When my body is healthy, I am happier, more focused, a better wife and mother, a better nanny. I am the only one who can accomplish this for myself. I cannot do this if I’m too busy scarfing down pretzels and macaroni and cheese leftovers.

Which is why I put down the string cheese and the chocolate cookies, and wrote this post.

Also, today is my 5th Wedding Anniversary. I love you, hon!