Time for smaller jorts!

And then Nora needed breakfast. Again. (Just like yesterday!) And then while she was playing so happily with a mixture of kitchen utensils and bath books, I decided it was a good time to work out; i.e. thwack at the Wii Fit with a half-dead Wiimote. 

And after the usual guff from the console- (“Oh, hello, P.J. Wait, is that Keely? It’s been SO LONG.” =actual ‘tude.)- I did the body test where, most mornings, it tells me that I’m overweight, am on a fast track to hunchbackville and limp like a pirate with a peg leg. 

But today- the day where I had been utterly prepared to rip into the notion of losing the “last five pounds” (bones become heavier after babies, I was gonna say) and magazines and self worth and fitness and the fact that the ice cream cartons in our freezer seem to be multiplying and making delicious offspring- on THIS day…the Wii Fit informed me that I’d met my goal.

My pre-baby weight. 

Kinda. ‘Cause- and this is a huge Schoeny family secret- we lie to the Wii Fit. When it asks what kind of clothing we’re wearing to work out…we tell it “parkas.” No joke. Our console thinks we’re doing yoga in the Arctic Circle. (They shouldn’t give you the OPTION if they don’t want you to take it.) So, I guess I’m pre-baby weight plus some winter gear. But- and this is the truly confusing part- I’d been lying to the Wii Fit for so long now that I can’t remember if I had told it my true pre-kid weight or if I’d been adding “parka” since well before Nora came to play.

Serves me right. That said, I guess my bones lost weight. I am of some indeterminate poundage floating around my “ideal” weight. (Which is a riot anyhow- what am I gonna do now? Wear an evening gown? A bikini? A Spandex unitard? Nope- still yoga pants and an earnest tee-shirt.) 

I’ll be wearing an earnest shirt tonight, by the by, at the premiere of Snapshots 2010. My play, Right On Cue, starts the evening off! Care to join? It runs through Sunday with a two performances on Saturday night (one’s late, for all those folks with other shows to perform, watch, write, whatever) and it will be a grand ol’ time.

And speaking of grand ‘ol (but youngish, too) times- fare thee well to one of my bestest pals, Miss Annie Gloyn, soon to be Martzell, moving to L.A., gettin’ outta Dodge, leaving me fabulous furniture, also terrific memories for which the photos have long been destroyed….The kind of pal that doesn’t need an event- hanging out is the event. When travesties or joyfulnesses occur, she’s the one to bring a baked good, a scented candle and a hand-written note- she’s also the kind to write a thank-you for a thank-you (and one time, even, for a thank-you.) She’ll have a drink waiting for you at the bar and a spare toothbrush in the apartment. Yet, while all of these things are nice, they don’t make a best friend.

Nearly eight years of trips, randomsauce sleepovers and impromptu dinner parties make a friend. But remembering and celebrating important, whimsical, trivial and teensy tiny things (like caring for an ice chip in the eye- with an ice pack/ how ferrets get fursty/ why certain napkins are for display and display ONLY)…those make a best friend.

One that I’m already missing dreadfully.

So, smooches, sugar- seeya in a couple of short months. I’ll be the one in a divine bridesmaid’s gown, drinking the best that Napa has to offer, and celebrating a happy couple.

If you’re free, we should try to meet up.