nearly there...

30th Jan!
wow.
so, it looks like I made it! yeeeeeahh. looks like I made it to the end... unless something terribly stressful happens tomorrow and I am forced against my quivering will to imbibe the demon alcohol.
but, fingers crossed nothing terribly stressful will happen tomorrow other than the usual Monday stresses (work, taking the girls to ballet - which is actually a form of hell on earth, however much 'one' likes ballet and small girls, its still hell...).

30 days without a drop to drink.
how ripe and ready for the picking do the bottles in my larder look tonight?

the halo is about to reach peak glow... and I wonder idly how long it'll take to tarnish?
answers on a postcard. or, better still, we can discuss it down the pub...
24 hours and not counting a little bit at all.

the big 13m...

OK, so while I polish my no-booze halo (Husband has fallen in a ditch... and now I'm going to verbally stamp on his weakness. You're WEAK Husband. WEAK. - he's been drinking red wine. In my house. Under my nose. And in front of my jealous eyes... Oh, but he's WEAK) I am also trying to buff up my mid-to-late-30's-some-what-unappetising-physique. Buffing up by which I mean, I've set myself a physical challenge. Via my super-fit brother-in-law. Who is a 'big runner'. He ran the London marathon in about 45minutes, and in December he flew out to Las Vegas for some gambling and another marathon which I believe he ran in-between visits to different casino's. With his pockets weighted down with lose change. And on top of all that he raised shit-loads-of-dosh (such a good phrase) for a very close-to-home charity (Saving Faces). So over a drunken Christmas conversation as I shoved my face full of Christmas cake, pringles, brussle-sprouts, olives, smoked salmon, brandy butter, Cadburys Roses, prosecco, toast and marmite, stuffing, pasta, pasta sauces, more prosecco, white wine, red wine, port, coffee, tea, cucumber, humous, butter, kettle chips, peanuts, beer, ginger beer, tangerines, home made fudge, the table, napkins, one Volvo, Father Christmas and a 200-year-old-lime-tree - basically anything in sight went down the cake-hole,  my lovely brother in law propositioned me with a half marathon challenge. Having just eaten Father Christmas and an ancient tree I felt a bit cornered and heartily agreed.
So now on March 20th, you may experience what is more commonly known as an 'earth quake'. Fear not! This will just be me stamping reluctantly and inelegantly around a 13mile (What the..?) track somewhere out in Buckinghamshire.
What I'm currently concerned about is a.) what to wear (does my bum look big in these skin-tight legging things and this strange fluorescent t-shirt which appear to be compulsory clothing for runners?); b.) how the fuck do I get around a 13mile course without dying? And should I collapse at the 1mile mark, how humiliating will that experience REALLY be (for me and then for my family, after-all, they'll be there, at the 1mile flag, with a stretcher...); c.) if I'm feeling really energetic, what's the etiquette for elbowing slow-coaches out the way and pushing them headfirst in the mud, laughing outrageously evil-y, down, ye of little speed?
I ran for about 45minutes this morning, (relief: not in fluorescent - although I was in tight leggingy things which have a certain amount of derrier-revelation... unpleasant for pedestrians who have to witness 'it' as I 'bounce' by like a baboon in trainers...) - and actually, I didn't collapse or wet myself or get heart palpitations or vomit - and when I got home in my blue leggings, I felt, wait for it - yeah, OK!
So. There is hope. There is hope.
Albeit small.
The other etiquette I wondered about running is, so, is it OK to have a pint of Chardonnay at the end of it or do I HAVE to have water?

over half way

To keep you updated.
The glow of my alcohol free halo is still shining, and feeling quite glow-mungous. Not a drop has passed my lips although I realise that in the paella Husband cooked the other day there was more than a 'dash' of sherry (I didn't even know we had sherry in our house... Must have inherited it from one of my Granny's all those years ago. She must be looking down from the clouds above, happy to see her bottle come out...)...
And now I don't feel the need to fall into bed at 9.59pm! I am actually super awake at 11pm! Reading my very most excellent Jonathan Franzen book Freedom although having said that I do then wake up at 702am feeling a bit like, huh? late night? no hangover? feel a bit snoozy? why is the sky SO DAMNED BLACK? etc. Winter still sucks however glowing my halo may be.
The recycling men must be shocked at our lack of weekly wine-bottle-disposal. Our recycling bin is one of sparkling water bottles and spinach packets. Oh yes. We are good. Very good.

No one has yet come up to me and said, my god, you look 10 years younger! whats the secret?
But that's ok because its not about looking younger. No. I'm really not THAT superficial, thank you very much. No. Its how I feel! And if I'm really honest, I now feel about 36 instead of 46. So, kind of age appropriate I should imagine.
Husband has done very well too and imbibed no alcohol as far as I can tell. Unless he has a very good breath-adjuster for his homebound journey from Soho.
Only a few more weeks to go.
And then it may all fall about in about 24hours. But at least I'll have done it.

New Years Resolutions

Hello! I'm here! Remember me? I used to write an awful lot of rubbish a lot of the time and post it up thinking that you guys would want to read it! Ha! So big headed.
And then I had a bit of a calamatous time which involved a lot of sofa-lying and a lot of brain-shut-down and a lot of not a lot. Poor Old MothersRuin really felt like life wasn't playing fair. So MR kind of fell off her own perch temporarily.
But don't worry!
New Years Resolution is to come back. Make a Take That Come Back. Selling out in Wembley Stadium in less than 60 seconds - that's me! Or in cyber terms, 100,000 download click-through traffic jam gridlock come back.
Already as I type the power surge is teetering on the cliff of all out failure.
Talking of New Years Resolutions... I have made one. And it lasts for January. And its so predictable and I feel so terribly 30-something-suffering-from-over-indulgance that I'm nearly embarrassed to disclose it. But I shall. And then all of you other 30-something-suffering-from-over-indulgance can join me in the fight for the Quick Finish Of January.
Usually I wouldn't want to rush a month, especially one as fragrant and rewarding, colourful and warm as January. But now that I've given up imbibing alcoholic bevs for the entire month, I'm wishing it away. My nightly mantra is wake up and it be 1st feb, wake up and it be 1st feb, wake up and it be 1st feb ...
I know I'm a bit sad.
God how sad I'd be if I'd given up chocolate or cheese as well. Maybe I'll do that for Lent though later on in the year. Depending on how the current battle goes.
Actually its not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I did this last year and remembered feeling like a frisky 24 year old by the end of the month. Jumping out of bed at 7am without a groan, wrinkled eyes no longer wrinkled, bouncing through the day without batting an eyelid of exhaustion - my health halo was glowing a deep gold. So I do this with anticipation. The fridge has been cleared of all offending bottles and Husband has decided to join me until he decides to not join me. Fair enough. He's done 7 whole days with no complaint. We've even been out to dinner and been in a BAR where booze is sold and visible and shouting out buy-me, buy-me quicker than a chocolate bar says eat more eat more, and we have resisted. Will our will be so determined this time in 2 weeks? The proof will be in the pudding. Or Liver.
So.
And since the absence has been so long here's a small update on the kid situation.
Mol nearly 8, still believes in Father Christmas. So we had a joyous and magic time filling stockings in the dark whilst full to bursting with rich claret, and then in the morning we realised that FC had totally fucked up and put all the wrong presents into the wrong stockings. So Mol and Liz didn't have such a joyous time as they opened their presents with slight frowns on their faces as they realised that most of their presents were completely age-inappropriate.
"Ha ha" we laughed nervously with smelly morning Claret breath, "Father Christmas must have been so tired and it is so dark in your room - poor him, I've heard of this happening before..."  - seemed to do the trick.
Mols faith in the magic was tested again at a later date when my brother opened up AN IDENTICAL chocolate Lindt Bell - "but that's amazing - Father Christmas gave me one of those too Uncle Scratchy..." exclaimed Mol with wonderment. We all exploded with more nervous laughter and said HOW AMAZING!
Liz is a 4.5year old who is, I sympathise also being the youngest, on perma-catch-up with Older Sister and Older Sisters Sophisticated Friends. I feel for her. I can understand why she has outbursts and hits and throws things at people and behaves like an escaped asbo a lot of the time. But she had such a great time over christmas - measuring how much mince pie and carrot were eaten by FC and his reindeer with such care, wishing that every day could be Christmas, finding the idea that if winter was HOT and summer was COLD extremely hysterical. Its the little things in life that make a person tick.
My kids don't know about New Year Resolutions and by default of being my children they're perfect anyway so no resolution aint gonna improve on them I tell ya dat! ha.
(Am I delirious...)
So that's about it for the first one of the year.
No big story line (unlike East Enders...). Just chewing the fat.
But there'll be more. I hope. In time.
Adios amigoes. From the increasingly glowing from super human self restraint MR.