Weighty issues

W E I G H T. What's yours? I know — you're not about to tell me. Nor will I share mine with you. Ever. Even though it's just a number, and even though you have eyes and can see my relative bulk and amplitude, and even though you could estimate, probably pretty accurately, what my number is, I'm not going to tell you. I'm just not.

But I'm confused.  I wrestle with weight, in one form or another, each and every day.

I'm seemingly always on a quest to LOSE it.  And I bet 95% of whomever is reading this right now has recently, or soon will be, trying to give those extra l-b's the old heave-ho — whether you really, truly, honestly need to lose it or not.

I valiantly, oftentimes futiley, fight back when I GAIN weight. Now I bet less than 5% of whomever is reading this (except for maybe when you were an infant or coming back from an illness) has ever been told: “You need to gain weight.” If you're one of those people, you're a brat.

I CARRY it, figuratively, 24/7. When Julia told me, through tears, hyperventilation and dry-heaves after only two days of junior high that she hated it and never, ever wanted to go to school again, a hundred-pound weight descended upon me. When Cassidy —  bawling, curled up, lying in the fetal position in the girls' bathroom at school — called to tell me she was too scared to give a 7-minute oral presentation in her Spanish class,  the weight of the world fell on me.

Looking back now, not a big deal. But then? Then I felt the weight of Chris Christie at his most robus

t on my shoulders. And now? I can't help myself.

I carry the weight of whatever my loved ones' burdens are — every second of every day, everywhere I go. Ten-fold.

I bet you're the same way, huh?

What's that saying? “A Mother is as happy as her most unhappy child.”


And if I'm good, I

LIFT weights about five times a week. To ward off hereditary osteoporosis, to keep those bones non-chalk-like and supple, I head to the downstairs weight room at the gym regularly. I've kind of gotten hooked. And I've tried to convince myself it will help to firm up, tone and keep tucked-in all those various body parts that are slip-sliding south as we speak.

My friend Susan was nice enough to take a quick picture of me doing some upper body work this morning. (Thanks, Susan!)  (Pardon my sweat.)


So yeah, I'm a multi-tasker. I can lose, gain, carry and lift weights. I can also stretch the truth and pull pranks.

Because that's not me in that pic. But then you knew that… :)


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About Me

It's true! Despite playing defense virtually all my life against the onslaught of this sometimes-ugly aging process, it...has...arrived! I naively thought I would escape cellulite (the Cottage Cheese) and crow's feet (the Crepe Paper). But I didn't! And why didn't anyone tell me about this emotional roller-coaster that comes with being an Empty-Nester?! My name is Jodie Barringer Myers. I'm a 54-year-old Friday/chardonnay/ hydrangea-loving wife/mom/court reporter living in Sacramento (Gold River!), California. Writing is cathartic for me. And because I look to find humor and humility among the rubble that is my now very peri-menopausal self, I'm hopeful that you will laugh, cry, learn, enjoy and, most of all, relate to what I have to say. After all, we're all in this together, right?

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