Working Mom Blues and The Fat People On My Refrigerator

Just as I was contemplating a leisurely afternoon in the forest picking boughs with my friend, Mist, the phone rang. I was on the other line with my neighbor, "Narley Gilson". You may remember my post about Narley and his annual community pig roast. Well, as I was saying, Good ol' Narley was on the other line. He was relaying details about his bout with the flu. I promised Narley I would check in on him and bring him some of the peach crisp that was baking in my oven. Then I checked the caller ID history. It was the hospital. I contemplated pretending that I hadn't noticed this call and escaping into the forest as planned, but curiousity got the better of me. Before I knew it, I had agreed to come in. Instead of the forest, Mist and I settled for a speedy run on the road. Other than my ears still ringing from some yahoo teenagers shooting too close for comfort, the run proved enjoyable.
You may be wondering about the silence after my last post. In the event you aren't, I'll tell you anyway. The fat people on my refrigerator were to blame. No, I'm not hallicinating from having been off sugar these past few days. Yes, fat people on my refrigerator really are to blame.
After my last post, I had determined to come up with a creative way to deter myself from eating too much. Suddenly, just like the unprovoked pizza box, it just hit me. "I know! I'll decorate my refrigerator with fat people!" Yes, this was a brain child of an idea and I was quite smug with satisfaction. I put my kids right on it. "Everybody draw me a picture of a fat person!" I demanded excitedly. In no time at all, fat people began looking back at me from the refrigerator. Of course, the children had to draw what they knew and so unfortunately, familiar faces began to emerge on the door. This created an unfortunate dilemma. This idea disturbed me exceedingly. Suddenly my idea was not nearly so clever as I'd once thought. Instead, I remained mortified. Adding insult to injury, I burned the fat people alive in my fireplace, feeling guilty for all the time the children had invested in their art work. All that remains there is
"Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles."(Pr 21:23)
After this venue, I was in need of some sugar. My mind began to conspire against me. It craftily schemed on how to feed it's cerebellum and cerebrum glucose. A little walnut looking man who resembled a brain conned me into making fruit tarts (sweetened with honey). I was not at all pleased with turn of events because I ended up eating one and then pretending to share another with the children. Yes, it's the oldest trick in the book. You want more, so you pretend to "share" with your kids. They get a token couple of bites, while Miss Belly fat fiendishly exhales a hearty belly laugh. Come on, who here has "shared" with their children?
Other than the "tart incident", I seem to be holding my own. My cerebrum and cerebellum both eventually decided to take a mental vacation. I'm not sure where they are, but they check in every so often from some tropical port. Hopefully, they'll return to base if I need them for something strenuous.