A sleepy Daphne is sitting next to me on the couch, watching “Sesame Street” with as much interest her little body can muster. I credit Jason Schwartzman in his cameo as a magic chef.

Next up: “Rushmore.”

me: Mia, am I your favorite Mommy in the whole world?

Mia: Um, I guess I’m not really sure…

Every time my parents come in town, as well as every time we visit my parents in Tulsa, we eat a lot.  A LOT a lot.  My parents, my sister and her husband, Hubby and I all love good food and new restaurants so we try them out.  And since my parents are always sweet enough to foot the bill, they buy us the appetizers and desserts and wine that Hubby and I would not normally splurge on.

During one of these all-out YumFests a few months ago I looked at the gorgeous piece of chocolate cake in front of me and sighed before blurting out, “It will take a lot of time on the treadmill to work off these calories.”

My sister’s face got very serious as she responded, “Erin, don’t be one of those people.”

I try very hard to not be one of THOSE people–the ones who obsesses over calories and exercise and the scale–but I’ve nearly always been one.  I was always one of the tallest in my grade, nearly the first to get breasts and hips and extra weight in puberty.  I remember standing in the hallway in 4th or 5th grade and looking at my shorter and skinnier friend Nicki, wishing that I could be shorter so that I could be skinnier.  As if one equaled the other.

I’ve never been overweight but I did come to understand social ideals right as Kate Moss and Calvin Klein’s cK one female models were androgynous, void of the breasts and hips and weight my pituitary gland had lavished on me.  At school, all my friends were a size or two smaller than me.  At home, my sister carried the skinny genes of my mother, not the muscular genes of my father that my body fashioned itself after.

So calories (well, fat grams in the 90s) and the scale have always been at the forefront of my mind.  Not the exercise, mind you.  I would let my mind be consumed with thoughts of the skinnier, happier girls around me but rarely exercised to take care of the problem.  It was easier to sit in my frustration than do anything about it.

Finally a few years ago I gave it up to God.  I didn’t want to torment myself with foolish notions that just because she (whoever “she” might be) was skinnier than me she was therefore happier than me, or even worse, better than me.  So every day, every time a ridiculous thought came into my brain about how I needed to lose weight to be happier, I prayed that God would take it away.  Because I don’t want to spend my time obsessed with food and calories.  There are better things to fill my thoughts.

My sister caught me at a bad time when she reprimanded me–the pregnancy weight from Daphne hadn’t gone away yet, I’d just joined the gym to get healthy and find the body I remembered.  And those calorie counters are everywhere.  Right in front of my face in bright red numbers on the treadmill that I use, calories per serving listed on most foods I put in my mouth.  It’s hard not to get caught in the this-many-calories-in, this-many-calories-out mindset.

Hayley was good to remind me of who I don’t want to be.  I don’t want to be a lady that the maid on Spanglish maid fun of, the ladies who are so muscular and fat-free that they look like they don’t have fun.

I will continue to be the mom who eats ice cream with her kids and drinks a beer at night with her husband, all while eating sensible portions of healthy and yummy food throughout the day.  And a couple times a week I will push my body through exercise and enjoy its changing shape and becoming stronger.

Which is kind of what I don’t want to be doing.  I want to be frugal and happy with what I own, but my winter wardrobe only slides easily into summer, not perfectly.  Lots of cute dresses fill my closets, but they are thin and require leggings to be appropriate in public.  And while I love layering in the fall and winter and spring, SO HELP ME, I will not layer when it is 100 degrees outside.

I have cute skirts and skirts that have hidden shorts sewn underneath–just like Little Missy!–but I don’t have tops to go with them.  Once upon a time I did, but those days are long past.  The weight I gained while pregnant with Baby Chickadee never went away.  Apparently it’s here for good.  And you know what?  I don’t really mind.  I’m going to continue not gorging myself on food, I’ll continue to work out when t-ball schedules and Hubby’s work schedule align, but otherwise I’m the weight I’m going to be.  Which means I had to buy new shirts, new shirts that aren’t so stinking tight as the ones I already own.

I decided to head to Gap because I’m tired of shirts from Old Navy and Target and Wal-Mart getting stretched out after one season, then having to buy more.  With Gap I spend more but they last a long long time.  Well what do you know, but both times I went to Gap I got mega bucks off.  I bought lots of t-shirts and tank tops and paid less than $6 for each of them.  That’s cheaper than Target.

Then I bought an adorable sundress from Wal-Mart that I don’t need but it’s LINED which means I can wear it on its own when it’s really hot out.  I haven’t committed, though; it’s still hanging in my closet with tags on in case the buyer’s remorse overtakes me and I have to return it.  But it might be a keeper.

And that’s my summer fashion.  That should be it for me.  I figure if I stay honest with you about  my purchases then maybe I won’t buy as much junk.  Confessing to you keeps me frugal.  My husband thanks you for that.

My friend Jayme used to have a wonderful blog that she has since deleted–Facebook is her new blog–but on it one time she posted this verse from Exodus 32: “But Jacob replied, ‘I will not let you go unless you bless me.’ ”

That verse comes to mind a lot as I wrestle with God, as I try to figure out my life and what He wants from me and why, as I search for Him, does He allow my mind to be weighed down by insignificant frustrations?

Monday morning God and I wrestled.  Mostly it was me crying to Him for help because I could feel myself sliding down my well-used slope of frustration and anger and depression.

And I will not have it.  That is not the life I want.  I refuse to let myself be encumbered by the unnecessary trivialities of this world.  That’s what yesterday’s column is about.

Late summer/early fall I sat with my dear college friend Amy and talked dogs.  We both wanted a new dog and felt it was important to have a pure breed so that you know exactly what you’re getting.  Mutts are fine, but when you have tiny babies in the home you don’t want any surprises in the personality of your family pet.

Hubby and I decided on a boxer.  At dogluvers.com boxers’ top traits are listed as very friendly and affectionate.  Perfect.  Also they need very little grooming.  Super perfect.

So I watched craigslist for boxer puppies and signed up at nextdaypets.com to be contacted by boxer breeders.  Man do those people want a lot of money for boxer puppies.  Maybe it’s that way for all breeds, but yowza, they want lots of cash.

Through craigslist I found one litter in Oklahoma and when the lady sent me pictures they looked suspiciously like pit bulls.  Ain’t no way we’re getting a pit bull, no matter how nice Cesar Milan says they are.  Even if Augusta didn’t have a rule against owning them within the city limits.

Then I started checking the Kansas Humane Society website on the off-chance a cute little boxer might make its way there.  One day I found two three-month-old boxer mix females just after Hubby got home from work.  We rushed to check them out.  One of the girls was already being looked at so we went to a room and played with the other one.  She was cute and we took her home.

We have no idea what she’s mixed with.  For a while I thought maybe German Shepherd but now we’re joking she’s part boxer, part great dane.  Because our dog Molly is enormous.  Right now she’s eight months old and Hubby read that boxers can grow until they’re eighteen months old.  That girl will eat us out of house and home pretty soon.  Good thing she’s sweet or we’d be in trouble.

From Hayley’s blog:

So I kind of debated about whether or not to write this post because it could be a tad controversial, but then I decided that I feel strongly enough about it that I’d like to talk about it. And Todd said it was okay.

Sara Kruzan met her future pimp when she was 11 and he was 31. When she was 13 he started pimping her out twelve hours a night, 7 nights a week. When she was 16 she didn’t see a way out of her situation, so she shot and killed her pimp.

She was tried and found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison without parole. She’s now 32 and a model inmate who’s about to receive her associates degree.

A number of people are now working to get Governor Schwarzenegger to grant her clemency before he leaves office. Today, December 16, is a day some of those people have designated as a day to use social media to get the word out about Kruzan and get as many people as possible to petition Schwarzenegger. So, I’m doing my part on my little blog. If you have a blog or are on the Twitter or the Facebook, please consider blogging or tweeting or status updating about Kruzan. This is an article summarizing the situation, and here’s a petition to sign. The Facebook page has lots of suggestions on things to do to help Sara. Thanks.

Usually I don’t do this… I don’t post important things on this blog.  There are certain things that are near taboo on here–politics, mostly–but as for the heavy stuff… usually I just can’t go there.  I can’t go to things that are too heavy for my mind to process, and I don’t want to lay that on you people.

But sometimes something is so important, so attainable in our ability to help, that I have to post.  Or repost, in this case.

I got the following blog post from my sister’s blog, who got it from Tom Davis at beliefnet.  You can find the original post (I changed nothing from the original, just citing my source) here.

Read on and pray daily for this work, for these precious girls.

How to make a profit selling virgins for sex

by Tom Davis

[I get a daily devotional from Alistair Begg's Truth for Life website (see sidebar for the link) and today's was too good not to share . -Erin]

The Divine Method of Love

As the Father has loved Me, so have I loved you.

John 15:9

As the Father loves the Son, in the same manner Jesus loves His people. What is that divine method? He loved Him without beginning, and thus Jesus loves His members. “I have loved you with an everlasting love.”^{1[Jeremiah 31:3]} You can trace the beginning of human affection; you can easily find the beginning of your love to Christ. But His love to us is a stream whose source is hidden in eternity.

God the Father loves Jesus without any change. Christian, take this for your comfort, that there is no change in Jesus Christ’s love to those who rest in Him. Yesterday you were on the mountain, and you said, “He loves me.” Today you are in the valley of humiliation, but He loves you still the same. On the hills and among the peaks, you heard His voice, which spoke so sweetly of His love; and now on the sea, or even in the sea, when all His waves and billows go over you, His heart is still faithful to His ancient choice.

The Father loves the Son without any end, and this is how the Son loves His people. Saint, you need not fear the prospect of death, for His love for you will never cease. Rest confident that even down to the grave Christ will go with you, and that up again from it He will be your guide to the celestial hills.

Moreover, the Father loves the Son without any measure, and this is the same immeasurable love the Son bestows upon His chosen ones. The whole heart of Christ is dedicated to His people. He “loved us and gave himself for us.” His is a love that surpasses knowledge. We have indeed an immutable Savior, a precious Savior, one who loves without measure, without change, without beginning, and without end, even as the Father loves Him! There is rich food here for those who know how to digest it. May the Holy Spirit lead us into its marrow and fatness!

[edit: now with adorable picture]

My kids have lately been asking for all of us to have a camp out in the living room.  And while sleeping on the floor or sharing the couch with my husband sounds super fun and I’d love to do it right away,  we’ve held off the kids by saying that we’ll have to wait until a night when Daddy doesn’t have to work the next day.  Because the only thing better than being uncomfortable all night is getting up at dark-thirty and getting to work by 5.

Last night they asked again.  And with Daddy not getting a day off for at least another week, he offered to let them sleep by themselves in the living room in a tent they make.  They were thrilled!  With no thought of the boogeymen they would soon be scared of!

So we moved the coffee table and the chairs (well, not me, I’m pregnant and refuse to do any heavy lifting/moving) and Daddy and G set up the tent.  Those kids were so excited.  Giggles while they got their own pajamas and their own sleeping bags.   The whole time Hubby and I looked at each other, knowing full well G and Little Missy would last all of 30 minutes before they were scared and wanted to be upstairs in their own beds.  But we had our Bible stories, brushed teeth, prayed and kissed and hugged and the kids settled in while Hubby and I went upstairs to our bedroom for a long evening of watching the Olympics.

We kept the door open and the hall light on, shushing each other at every sound that might be a frightened kid.  Twenty minutes passed, thirty minutes passed, and there was still quiet in the living room below.  Eventually we turned off the light but left open the door so that we could hear their whines as they realized they were sleeping somewhere different and it wasn’t all that fun without Mommy and Daddy right next to them.  But this morning when Hubby left for work those two booboos were happily snoozing in their tent.  I woke up at 7 to my own internal alarm and not to two preschoolers climbing in bed with me.  Thirty minutes later when they finally woke up they talked and giggled in their tent and never needed me.  They were content to laugh and play without first climbing all over me and asking for something to drink.

And they continue to grow up.  Without my permission.