The churn.

If there's such a thing as a "beer butt," I have it.

I'm trying like crazy to slim down to something head-turningly fabulous in time for our upcoming ski trip, but it doesn't matter how many uneaten hotdog slices on my kid's plate I forgo, or how many FitTV sessions I cram in between finger-painting sessions; I digress my progress every night, with the TV's witness.

Every single night: Kids tucked in, check. Formless jammies, check. Remote control... hang on, Hubby has to scan the CourtTV reinactments, infomercials (oh, come ON!), COPS, SpikeTV. Wait until he needs to go to the bathroom.

NOW! OK, Remote control, check. Beer and beer-backup, check. Ahhh.

Is this wonderful or just sad?

I dunno, and I won't care after beer-backup-backup.